Disclaimer: I don't own HP :)
A/N: Hey guys, it's me posting a little later than usual on a Wednesday night. :) This week has been so crazy - my senior Prom is coming up on Saturday, so my week has basically been running around going, "Okay, finish that math assignment. Okay, now buy shoes. Write a paragraph. Did i make a hair appointment yet? Write another page! Oh, no! I forgot to order a corsage. Did I write that Lit paper yet? FINISH EVERYTHING!!" So, sorry if this chapter is a little... lacking.
The office was old and still kept the horrid wood paneling her father had laid himself when he built the place in the seventies. Her long, graceful fingers skimmed along the boards and collected dust and memories. She remembered the grand chair that dozed lazily behind a large desk and her father pouring over work on the weekends and how she would bring in lemonade and they would drink it together and how all of it was still hers. Felicity sighed and looked out the window, her hand drawing back the moth-eaten curtain only slightly. The only thing to look at was rolling, green fields spurring towards the daybreak. Her eyes closed.
"Sit down, Felicity," an impeccably effortless voice drawled from across the room. It wasn't a direct order, but she would follow it anyway. Agent Hidalgo Skillen was as brown as the wood of the chair he sat in, blending into the room in a cunning, deceiving way. His voice was his magnet and he knew how to use it well.
Felicity sat and smoothed the robes she had acquired only a half hour before her meeting. They were old and worn, but new uniforms were not on the top of the budget. No one dared complain. However, simply donning the attire made her feel alive – she was part of her family again – and surrounded by good things. She fully expected to be repaid handsomely for her work abroad.
"How are you?" Hidalgo's voice ran over her in cool rivers and made her shiver. How she had missed him. He smiled that wonderful lopsided smile that showed his lengthy, gleaming white canines.
Felicity cleared her throat, trying to restrain her smile. "I'm quite well. A bit tired, but it's been a long journey to get home. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Head Agent."
Skillen shook his head and laughed piteously to himself. "Please, Ms. Felicity, please call me Hidalgo at the present." He held out his hands, as if to gesture to the whole office. "We're only acting as friends for now. No need for formalities – those will come later."
Felicity blushed and nodded.
"I am glad to hear you are well, despite the recent events."
The image of Ted was clear behind her eyes. No matter how many times she blinked, his lanky, handsome face would not rid itself. Felicity swallowed and betrayed how saddened she really was. It was policy not to become friends, but it was near impossible not to like Ted Ryker. He was humorous and fiercely loyal and The Shop was sore from the loss of him.
"I trust you did nothing to inflict this tragedy, Ms. Felicity." Hidalgo's voice had become rock hard, his hands folded tightly in front of him. He had raised an eyebrow in accusation and Felicity scrambled to prove her worth.
"Of course not," she answered in a tone that matched his. Felicity steeled herself against the attack – it was nothing personal, just business – and went on. "I did exactly as I was told. I waited down the street in the phone booth and left on schedule. I did not laze or purposefully wait. I went to the gutter just after and unearthed the portkey. It was Theodore's own fault for not doing his job."
Hidalgo waved his hand and a quill began scratching down the record. "You're very cold," he observed, staring into her hard, green eyes. They were like flint, but he did not recoil. He held the very same gaze.
Felicity shrugged with sharp, taught shoulders. She was surprised how easy it was to shrug off the false identity of Heather. Her old life, name, and manor came flooding back and she felt slightly happy that it was not a difficult transition. She could tighten her face and scowl without being questioned on her mood or day and she could speak as little as she wanted to, instead of chatter away like the happy doctor.
"However," his voice flooded over her again, reclaiming her attention. Felicity now remembered how good it felt to be around the people who weren't obsessed with her wellbeing, who didn't attempt small talk, who could not feel emotion. It was soothing to hear the promise of indifference in his voice. "There is someone who might melt that rigid exterior."
Felicity raised a thin eyebrow, scrutinizing his cryptic message.
Hidalgo nodded and the door to the side opened slowly. A stately, short man sauntered in with a struggling grin wide on his muted features. Felicity blinked and then stood in astonishment. He offered her his hand and she shook it with both of hers.
"Very nice to see you again, Felicity," his voice was light and pleasant enough, but had a dangerous undertone.
"As to you, John," she replied, composing herself. It was John Rivers standing before her, looking as he always had. His forehead sloped largely and seemed to hang over his bright, glimmering eyes and strong nose. His mouth was curved nicely and he held himself in high regard. He was regal in the physical sense and crafty in the mental.
John's grasp was cold and his fingers were icy. Felicity already knew he held no warmth.
John waited until Felicity had taken her seat until he took his own chair. He may be a heartless killer, but he still obeyed the rules of decorum. Never murder a woman who wasn't clothed, respect your elders, don't speak down to your well-matched victims, and always treat a lady like gold. He straightened the high collar on his robes and waited.
"Now that I see we've all caught up, Mr. Rivers has come to discuss with us our next step," Hidalgo drawled, drawing himself up in his chair. It was the real reason he wanted to hold the meeting – to plan and strategize. They needed to make up their lost ground, and quickly.
"Yes," John's airy voice perused the room and his eyes filled with a glint of maliciousness. "There should be a return attack as fast as we can order it. Such a loss cannot be overlooked."
"Agreed," Hidalgo murmured. The two men looked at Felicity for input.
Felicity's thoughts filled her mind, reviewing all that she could offer. "Who," she cleared her throat, "is the greatest threat, presently? Who needs to be eliminated first?"
It was Hidalgo's time to think carefully, cautiously.
"We have quite a myriad of people that need to be removed from the situation," John observed in the silence of his colleagues. "Viktor Krum, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley," he listed off their names on his stubby fingers. His lips lingered over the last name, as if there were more to say on the matter. "All members of the Order."
"And Seamus Finnigan," Felicity tried to keep herself from scowling. That man was always around, wanting to know how Granger was, how she was coping, how she liked St. Mungos, if she had learned anything else on The Shop, and loads of rubbish about the weather and Quidditch.
"The right-hand man to Krum?" Hidalgo was suddenly interested.
"Yes," Felicity answered curtly.
"Tell us about the relationship between Granger and Weasley," John asked coolly, his head cocked handsomely to the side. "They were married?"
"No," she replied, turning towards him. "About to be, but she left him some three years ago when she came to work at our agency under falsehood, as you remember. Weasley seemed aggravated had her arrival and did not take a liking to her in the least."
"Heartbroken, I presume," John responded, a cruel smile on his lips. "How lovely."
"The last time I visited under friendly circumstances, it seemed like they had reconciled some. They had no doubt grown together again under such stress. She trusts him and that's all I can say for certain." Felicity's back was stiff.
"The trust is the only thing we need," John sniffed. "Put a bounty on his head and we've got both of them. Simple."
"What of Finnigan?" Hidalgo asked, the previous conversation unnoticed in his eyes. His eyes shone unnervingly. "I've heard his name many times. He has good connections."
Felicity nodded angrily. "I can honestly say he is the most repulsive man I've met in a long time. Finnigan answers only to Viktor Krum and his sector in the Order. He's registered to plenty of authority and handles very sensitive materials. He wants to know everything all the time."
"Anyone besides his business who would notice? No family that we know of, but friends, perhaps? Drinking buddies, poker pals?" Hidalgo's mouth curved smugly around the words. He leaned forward, genuinely interested in what was about to be shared. His mind was whirring.
"His mother and father were killed by Cullen eight years ago, when he was a renegade. He signed up with Shop two years later. It's in his file. His cousin Fergus committed suicide when his wife was murdered a year later. Finnigan has no immediate family left and no social life to speak of," Felicity answered stiffly. She had already submitted all of this in writing some months ago, but doubted the men had read the file.
"None at all?" Hidalgo frowned.
"There's Krum, of course," she replied, easing back into her seat. She had found herself in a small position of power and savored it. "A few acquaintances through the offices. I never heard him speak with a woman that didn't work for him, never saw any notes on his desk not signed by employees. Finnigan lives for the Order."
"No matter," Hidalgo sat back in his chair. It didn't matter that Seamus didn't have any real weaknesses. He was still the heart of the Order.
"I want him." And it was decided.
--
They had gathered tightly in a circle, though the room was empty save for the quintet. It was cold and bumping shoulders provided them warmth and an easy atmosphere to reestablish their friendships.
Viktor was the first to speak, wary and ready to get back to office Headquarters. "So it's to be agreed?" his voice thundered and echoed in the tiny space.
"Yes," Hermione answered firmly from her seat in the armchair. Ginny, sitting next to her in a separate chair, nodded her head softly. Viktor looked at the men on either side of him and saw that everything had been settled on. His eyes darted from the masculine hand on Ginny's shoulder to the obvious space between Hermione and Ron. Viktor knew that he should leave and give them all time to speak privately, like the mates they had been once before. There was a quiet understanding as he gracefully nodded and went to leave.
Harry left Ginny's side to shake his hand and Ron soon followed. Hermione stood shakily and kissed his cheeks, murmuring a goodbye in his ear. Ginny copied, but detained him for a short while, whispering, "Tell Seamus hello." As Viktor left, the women took their seats again.
Harry took a great sigh and looked round the group, pleased to see that everyone was together again. Viktor had brought them all safely to the house – he presumed Ginny's presence was due to Viktor – and locked them into a plan of defense. They would all stay together at Grimmauld Place for the next day and then Ron would take Hermione to another Safe location. Ginny and the rest of the Weasley family would stay where they were until they got the signal to go home again. Harry was free to go where he pleased and had already chosen to stay with Ginny.
"I know I've said it before," Hermione began, smiling confidently, "but I'm so glad to see you again, Harry. It's been quite a while."
"Years," Harry agreed, unused to the sound of her voice. He was unfamiliar with the mannerisms of the people that surrounded him – the sad lilt of Ginny's laugh, the way Ron's eyes darted warily around the whole room, the sag of Hermione's eyes. The years had certainly worked them all over and he felt himself a completely different man, separated yet again from his peers. However, this was his girlfriend, his best friends. No matter how long the time apart, the group would merge again. Harry held that as his strongest belief. In the worst missions in the most horrific conditions, there was still that warm part of him that held images of these people now standing before him.
Harry glanced at Ron and noticed how disheveled he looked. Ron had not spoken to him after the initial shock of his appearance had worn off. It was not kept a secret that Ron had blamed him for Hermione's disappearance more than once. She was the attractive, best friend of the great Harry Potter and warranted a lot of attention. Ultimately, the accusation had died, but the two had drifted. Harry had drifted quite a long distance from everyone and did not fault Ron for his hesitance to speak. However, it coveted some interest in the way Ron had coasted from normalcy as well. He was a walking skeleton with white, sheen skin that dropped off his bones and stringy hair that lay flat against his forehead. He seemed alert – paranoid even – but Harry knew the feeling well.
At least Hermione and Ginny were looking a bit better. Hermione had flushed with relief as soon as she had laid eyes on her rescuing crew. Those spots of color had yet to vanish and lent her a glow that reminded him of that summer after The Defeat, that time they had spent in the summer sun all together. The memory passed fleetingly, but Harry vaguely smiled and remarked to himself how much she had grown and changed. His heart, however, was kept strictly to Ginny and he hoped to remind her of that fact in the pressing days.
She shone brighter than Hermione ever could. Though her nose was crooked and her eyes blackened, Ginny still held that air of confidence. Her shoulders were bent into a hunch and it was obvious she had not showered or slept – none of them had, excluding him – but she looked as beautiful as the day he left her seven months ago. In his mind, Harry idolized his companion – put her on a pedestal too high for her to jump down from – and he had yet to realize that all the Greek and Roman gods were stories, every book hero fictionalized, each pin-up airbrushed. All he recognized was the amount of time he had to make up to her.
With all the thoughts whirling in his head, the conversation had ended and everyone was looking at something else.
"I'm tired," Ginny spoke bluntly, hoping for relief of the tension.
"Then you should rest," Harry replied quickly, in a serious voice. "Immediately." He took her hands in his and gave a small tug. "I'll help you upstairs."
Ron wished secretly that Ginny would quietly accept the offer. He wanted Harry to go, partly because he wanted the private time to speak with Hermione and partly because he didn't want to deal with the awkwardness of speaking to him. It was embarrassing to stand next to him, to know the silly, unfounded grudge still lingered on the periphery. Harry seemed to pretend not to remember the hostility. Ron, however, dwelled in it constantly. Not only was he critical of others, but beat himself about the past on a regular basis.
"Wait!" Hermione said, surprised and upset. "Are you really leaving?"
"Yes," Harry answered, his eyebrows raised. "I think its best – isn't it?"
Hermione's mouth opened and closed, before any words came to mind. She looked to Ron. "Not at all! Shouldn't we all at least spend some time together?"
"There's plenty of time tomorrow," Harry countered kindly. He pulled Ginny to her feet, ignoring the glance she shot him. He wrapped his arm around her waist.
Hermione stared at Ron until she realized that he didn't understand how vital it was that they were friends again. She knew that he wouldn't speak up for her. So she hardened her face. "We're leaving tomorrow morning. We'll have no chance like this again."
"She's right," Ginny agreed, turning slowly.
Harry set his face very sternly and opened his mouth to argue Ginny's point, though he did want to stay.
"No," Ron's voice rang out clear and strong – louder than anything Harry had heard him speak all day. "Everyone needs this time to rest. We can speak over breakfast and that will have to suffice."
Ginny gave him a steely look, but Ron did not flinch. Instead, he sat in Ginny's unoccupied chair and turned his shoulder stiffly to her. Hermione gaped at him with cross eyebrows.
Harry cleared his throat. His grip around Ginny tightened and he decided it was best not to bicker. Ron was right and Harry wanted his alone time with Ginny.
"I want to stay," Ginny whispered harshly as they walked into the hallway. Harry shrugged and stopped at the bottom of the staircase that would take them to their bedroom.
"Listen," Harry murmured, his hands rubbing circles on her arms. "I just want to be with you for a while. Ron and Hermione may leave, but we can see them tomorrow morning. Ron is right." He leaned closer, enough to smell the faint, metallic odor of blood. It reminded him of battle and he grimaced and shook his head. "Let it just be you and me now, okay?"
Ginny had seen the expression on his face morph into distaste – like he was forcing the words out under duress. Her eyes were sharp, like her tongue. "Fine," she replied curtly.
Harry bent to pick her up, but Ginny twisted away. Her cuts burned and tears welled in her eyes. He looked up at her, as if hurt.
"I can do it myself," Ginny snapped and began limping terribly up the crooked planks. She brushed the wetness near her eyes away with the back of her hand. Harry scowled, but slowly followed her.
They didn't speak as the climbed the stairs, but Harry had to catch Ginny a few times when she slipped. She grunted a few thanks, but did not wait for him when she reached the hallway. Harry wondered what he had done wrong – what he had done to deserve her treatment – but didn't speak his worry aloud. Instead, he rushed ahead and opened their bedroom door.
Harry began to undress with no regard to the shocked look on Ginny's face. She faltered for a moment, but remembered that this had once been normal. Before all the missions, Ginny had pulled his shirt off for him, unzipped his pants, and pulled him backwards onto the mattress. She blushed and turned, tugging at her sweater. It must've taken her longer than she thought when she felt Harry's smooth fingertips brush her shoulder. Ginny shied away, but rewarded him with a shy smile.
"Do you need to bathe?" his voice was subtly suggestive, smooth as velvet.
Ginny flushed red again, staining her freckled cheeks embarrassingly. She jerked her head towards Harry and saw that he was smiling. "No," she whispered, "I did that a few hours ago when I arrived."
Harry scratched the back of his head and sighed, "Well, alright. What do you want to do, then?"
Ginny sat on the edge of the mattress. She tried to fill her voice with as much sleepiness as she could muster. "I'm so tired."
"Say no more," Harry obliged, and threw back the cool, summer sheets. It smelled like Mrs. Weasley's laundry detergent and he was glad. Perhaps the night would turn around after all. He waited until Ginny had slid beneath the covers before he dared climb in after.
Ginny watched quietly as Harry sidled up next to her. Their legs touched and intermingled, his hand was on her waist in a moment, and his bright, lean face was only inches from hers. Her heart fluttered madly. She swallowed, but felt the nervousness of the moment well back in her throat. His breath was sweet against her nose and cheeks and eyelids. She almost succumbed to a happier time when they spent lazy evenings like this as if it meant nothing at all. Now, it had turned into a pivotal moment in their relationship and Ginny had no idea how to act.
Harry's eyes were searching hers and Ginny tried to hide the anguish and confusion from them. She obviously did a good job when Harry leaned over to kiss her. It was light – as if a feather had brushed over her mouth – and gentle, that was the only reason Ginny allowed it. She pulled away after a while, but Harry followed, suspecting it was a game.
Ginny went to push him away, but found that her hands fit nicely against his naked, broad shoulders. His mouth was warm against hers and it was more urgent than before. Ginny let him, because she was needy too. She wanted all of her problems to be over and done with and kissing Harry seemed to make her mind wander. His hand went to the back of her neck, pulling her to him, their bodies pressed flushed against each other.
It was only when Harry rolled on top of Ginny with his broad palm under the hem of her nightshirt did she object.
"What are you doing?" she whispered frantically, her eyes wide.
Harry was panting and very confused. "What are you talking about? What do you think?"
Ginny struggled beneath his weight, feeling him on her hips and thighs. She began to realize she didn't like the hot embrace.
"Wait," Harry gasped, coming to his senses, "you don't want to make love?"
"No," Ginny answered in a small voice. "I don't."
Dejected, Harry rolled off of her. His mouth was a crooked line, the lines on his forehead prominent. Ginny saw the doubtful look in his eye and wanted to eradicate all suspicion of unfaithfulness.
"I just feel bruised tonight," she was quick to whisper, tugging her shirt back down. "You understand, don't you?"
"Yes," Harry's voice was deadpan and cool. "I must've forgotten for a moment what you went through. I'm sorry." This was not the way the night was supposed to end. He and Ginny were supposed to make hot, passionate love to the other and reclaim their wandering adoration through the experience. He was supposed to hold her naked body in the darkness, until dawn came and the birds sang. It was his first night with another woman in too long and it was ruined. Harry rolled over and shut his eyes.
"I'm sorry, too," Ginny answered through the still darkness. She placed a hand on his shoulder and was relieved when he did not turn away. She crawled up to him and pushed her body against his back. She still wanted to be close to someone.
They feel asleep unsure of what the next day would bring.
A/N: Did you like it? I wasn't sure whether or not to write in Ginny and Harry over Ron and Hermione, but I like the extra Ginny plotline. I hope you do, too.
Leave me some comments and questions in a review!! Have a great week and enjoy the sunshine, everyone who lives in the midwest US!! Spring is finally here!
Katie