Chapter Nineteen

Scrubbing her skin raw underneath the hot spray of the shower was a ridiculous waste of time and energy. Hermione knew that no matter how many outer layers of skin she removed, she would never be able to remove the memory of what it felt like to be held in Thorfinn's arms again. She could wish away the thoughts all she wanted, but she could still feel the ghost of the man between her legs. Likely it would never fully go away. All she had to do was think up thoughts of him and she was back to the Shrieking Shack or in the damned cafe lavatory. He would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Truly it was sad that they had to have met on the opposite sides of the war. With no Voldemort and no Death Eaters, he could've been a fun relationship. Maybe not serious enough for eventual marriage. Something about him just wasn't serious enough for her taste when it came to a man she thought she wanted to marry. Of course what did she know about love and marriage? She was only nineteen years old. Though she had done a lot of living in those years, there was a lot she didn't understand.

Playing the part of a woman who actually desired him was taking its toll. When she had no other weapons in the Shrieking Shack, it was a little bit easier. Not to mention she truly was desperately lonely during her imprisonment. Ripped away from her best friends and terrified every moment that she was going to be hurt, being alone with Thorfinn and knowing he wanted just to protect her was a balm to her weary soul that she didn't know she needed. It was much easier to ignore all of her concerns and fears when she needed an escape.

Out of her prison, however, she could see how terribly fucked up the whole situation had been. He wasn't the only weapon at her disposal any longer. She didn't have to rely on enticing him with carnal delights and promises about the future she had no intention of allowing into fruition. With a wand in her hand and a handful of allies she trusted, she could see him as what he should've always been in her view: an enemy.

Except she couldn't deny that he seemed to have some usefulness still. Was it wrong to exploit that? She couldn't help but feel like she was a terrible human being and letting him slither back in between her thighs was a mark of her failure at being a decent person.

Unable to stand being in a bathroom for another moment as the reminders of her activities with the Death Eater kept overtaking her thoughts, Hermione rushed through getting ready for bed. All she wanted was to slip underneath the sheets of her narrow bed and escape to a dreamworld that was just a little bit less stressful than her waking hours. Once she was dressed, she unlocked the door and stepped out into the corridor.

It shouldn't have been a surprise that Kingsley stood with his back against the wall waiting for to exit. Had he been there the entire time she was inside? She thought it likely that he was. Clearly concerned about her and wanting to know what she had been up to, he wasn't about to give her the opportunity to hide away without satisfying his curiosity. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't in the mood.

"Good night, Kingsley."

Not even giving him the chance to say anything in response, she practically ran across the corridor to her bedroom. Halfway inside the room, she groaned when his hand caught the piece of wood before it could be slammed shut behind her. The man was tenacious. She should've remembered that Gryffindors rarely changed as they got older. Unwilling to escalate the conflict into a full-blown argument, she didn't protest when he followed her inside her room. Maybe if she gave him some half-answers or assurances that she was careful, he would leave her alone for the night.

"I'm worried about you."

He wasn't the only one in the Order safe house to tell her some variation of the same. It was getting old. Did they not realize that they were in the midst of a dangerous war? None of them were truly safe even when they hid in old houses behind security enchantments. More of them would die before the end. Of that she was certain.

"There's no need. I'm all right."

"Where did you go earlier?"

Kingsley was obviously the sort that wouldn't give up until his own personal curiosity was somewhat sated. It was a character trait she could understand all too well. If she had any hope of spending a moment alone that night, she would have to give him something.

"I was working on a way to get into the Lestrange vault."

As soon as she made her confession, his displeasure was written clearly across his face. Of all of the people in the Order who knew that they needed to break into the Gringotts vault, Kingsley was one of the ones who despised the plan the most. More than once he'd made it quite obvious that he thought the mission was impossible. They would have to try to figure out some other way to accomplish it. Maybe Bill Weasley could find a goblin who might be more sympathetic to their cause. Life wasn't great for any magical creature under Voldemort's power.

"How?"

Hermione sighed. Of course that wouldn't be enough for him. That should've been obvious from the moment the conversation began. He was enough like her that she understood what he would find acceptable and what he wouldn't. In a perfect scenario, he would only be satisfied with a three foot long parchment where every detail of her plan was clearly written out for him to read. As much as she understood his desire and could see herself demanding the same if the roles were reversed, it was frustrating. She didn't want him to know what she forced herself to do in the cafe lavatory to keep her grip on the wizard.

"The details aren't important. There was someone I needed to meet. Someone I thought might be able to help."

"You're being reckless. None of us can afford to act like that now. There aren't enough of us left. We have to be more careful."

"It doesn't matter what happens to me. No one will miss me."

The pathetic words just fell out of her mouth. Even if she had thought them more than once since the war began, she never expected to actually say them out loud. As she moved through the Order house and spoke to the survivors, she couldn't help but feel there were several who would've preferred she have never been found again. Many blamed her for what happened to Harry and Ron. She couldn't argue with them either. For the rest of her life, no matter how long or short it turned out to be, she would blame herself too. Seeing her alive when so many others were dead was a bitter potion. Never having been one of the more popular members of their little group, she knew that if given the option to trade her life for one of the ones they lost, she would be gone before she even had a chance to protest.

"So, I'm no one now?"

Kingsley might have been overly exaggerating his offense at her statement, but she could tell that part of him really meant it. She couldn't keep from smiling. As soon as her face split into a grin, he winked and smiled back. Some of the tension that had been present from the moment they entered the bedroom lessened. He stepped closer to her.

"Because if something were to happen to you, I would definitely miss you."

"Thank you."

In truth, his was the only opinion that mattered. Out of everyone that she knew still alive, she didn't give a damn what they thought except for Kingsley. That was why it had been so difficult for her to tell him what she had been reduced to doing to survive. He was the one who told her to whatever was necessary, no matter how dark and devious, to make certain that she came out of the war alive, but a part of her worried that he would still look down on her if he knew what she was capable.

"I don't like when you run out of here without telling anyone where you're going."

"You do the same thing."

His cheeky grin at being caught actually made her laugh. Yes, he was just as guilty of doing what he was telling her not to do. It seemed they both had opportunities for improvement.

"Yes, well, I don't worry about myself. I worry about you."

"And I worry about you. It makes me feel better to know you're here, Kingsley. Sometimes I feel like you're the only one I can trust."

The grin on his face morphed into a rather sad smile. She almost wished she hadn't said anything out loud. It made her feel pathetic to admit that she felt so alone in the world. To offer her a bit of comfort, he reached out to place his hand on the outside of her upper arm to gently squeeze it.

"I'm glad to know that you can trust me."

"Of course I do. You were the one…"

Anything she might have said in response was cut off by his lips against hers. Caught entirely by surprise, she froze, unsure at first what to do. That hesitancy only lasted a second or two before she was kissing him back with enthusiasm. Although she never would've guessed he was on the verge of kissing her, she didn't hate anything about it. The kiss was quite nice even if it didn't last nearly as long as she hoped it would. He was the one to abruptly end it and step back.

"I'm sorry. That… I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"Why?"

His nervous laughter was adorable. Knowing that he might not appreciate that she found any real humor in his reaction, she tried to keep her smile as small as possible.

"That was inappropriate. I'm far too old…"

"I'm not a child, Kingsley. And I haven't been one for a long time."

There was a hint of bitterness in her statement. Yes, she might be young according to the calendar, but she certainly didn't feel it. Too much had already happened in her nineteen years. In less than half a year she wouldn't even be technically a teenager any longer. Part of her was surprised she didn't have half a head of grey hair and a face full of wrinkles. She felt like she should.

"No, I know you're not a child, but it is a shame that you had to grow up so fast."

Hermione stepped closer to him, closing the gap between them he made. In much the same way he'd offered her comfort minutes earlier, she placed her hand on his arm to gently squeeze it. His response was to pull her into his arms to kiss her all over again.

From the moment she met him years earlier in Sirius Black's childhood home, she'd liked him. Even developed a bit of crush on him as much as it would embarrass her to admit so. He was a handsome, powerful man who exuded confidence that she found very attractive and comforting. Could what was happening between them be something real? Or was she only interested because of the stress she was under?

War wasn't great for romance. Emotions were heightened and it made people think they were in love when they really weren't. It was unfortunate that most of the romances that developed in those sort of high-stress situations didn't last much longer than the conflict usually. Some did, but they were the exception.

As she tried to focus entirely on the wizard who was kissing her breath away, Hermione couldn't help but think about Thorfinn. It hadn't been that long since he was in the same position as Kingsley. Heavy shame fell all over her again. It was her turn to break the kiss. She stepped back, unable to look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I should go."

She didn't even try to stop him from leaving. It was the right decision. If he tried to stay any longer, she worried that she was about to unburden her soul. He didn't need to hear everything that she thought. It would only make him upset and probably angry. They had enough to deal with as it was just trying to get through the day. Any additional unnecessary problems could be ignored.

Despite being exhausted, for a long time that night she lay awake in her bed thinking. Her mind just wouldn't shut itself off no matter how hard she tried. Was she being a fool to try to get Thorfinn to join her side? It seemed to be an impossible task, one that would come back to bite her in the future. She would call him a useful idiot except he wasn't stupid. Just made poor romantic decisions. He was hardly the first man to think primarily with what he carried around in his trousers.


A few awkward days passed in the house whenever Kingsley crossed Hermione's path. Though he always smiled at her, they were both very careful not to be alone in a room together. The two kisses has been amazing. Much of her time had been spent in thought remembering every detail. It was tempting to try to seek him out again, but she knew it was best that they try to remain as professional around each other as possible.

Their actions didn't go unnoticed by others in the house. As careful as they were, they weren't careful enough. Someone was always watching, always waiting to express their opinion whether it was wanted or not.

One evening she caught Remus staring at her with a furrowed brow after Kingsley left them in the kitchen. His scrutiny left Hermione feeling very uncomfortable. It did not take her long to confront her former professor.

"What?"

Remus tried to brush her off at first. When she asked her succinct and slightly rude question, he seemed to realize he had been staring. His gaze was quickly returned to the book he held in his hands. Most nights she might have been willing to let it go. That night, however, she was frustrated and annoyed more than usual. Being cooped up in the house with no further progress on her mission was getting to her.

"You're obviously thinking something, Remus. Tell me what it is."

His heavy sigh was proof that he didn't want to have the discussion at all. She wasn't about to give up until he said what he was thinking. Tension was rising in the Order's unofficial headquarters. If the pressure wasn't released soon, there was bound to be a terrible explosion.

"I was thinking that we often make poor decisions when emotions run high. It is even more important that we are careful with our actions during stressful times."

He didn't have to go into any further detail for her to understand what he was trying to say. His disapproving looks weren't the only ones she saw when she dared to share a private laugh with Kingsley or if she stood a little too close to him when the Order gathered for a meeting.

"May I remind you that you were my professor, not my father?"

"I'm well aware that I am not your father, but since yours isn't around, I do feel a responsibility for you."

"Well, don't. I'm fine."

"It's normal when one goes through a trauma…"

If she thought she was annoyed already, it was nothing to how she felt when he started to talk about some supposed trauma she was meant to have gone through.

"What are you saying, Remus? What sort of trauma are you assuming I've been through?"

Her tone was far from kind. She didn't care.

"You were captured by Death Eaters and held captive for weeks. It's not unreasonable to assume that…"

The words seemed to stick in his throat. Suddenly she understood far too well. If Remus thought he knew what she experienced when she was stuck in the Shrieking Shack, she knew that others in the Order likely believed the same way.

"I was not… harmed in any way when I was held captive. If you're somehow concerned that I was assaulted, don't be. That's a ridiculous assumption to make."

"Because Death Eaters are known for being perfect gentlemen who never do anything wrong?"

Sadly, he had a point. She knew that it actually wasn't a ridiculous assumption to make. Some might even claim that in a way she had been assaulted because of what she did with Thorfinn. Because they would assume that he would force himself on her and that she would never willingly go to bed with the man. Except she did. It had even been pleasurable. Sure, a part of her considered what she did as little more than an act of warfare, but it hadn't been done against her will. Maybe that's why she still felt so much shame about it despite both Kingsley and Snape telling her she shouldn't.

"Stop worrying that I'm some pathetic, broken thing. I'm fine."

Remus wasn't convinced that was the truth. Neither was she really. Unwilling to sit across the table from him any longer, she stood up quickly and made her exit into the corridor.

"Special delivery."

The sound of Fred's voice behind Hermione caught her entirely by surprise. She hadn't even been aware he was in the house. While she had no idea where he spent his nights, she usually saw him a few evenings a week. When she spun around towards him, he pushed a copy of the morning's Daily Prophet into her hands.

"Oh, thank you, Fred, but I read this over breakfast."

"Not that one you haven't. There's a very interesting article on page six I think you'll like."

Saying nothing else to explain himself, the wizard disappeared into the kitchen with a wink. Standing in the corridor where anyone could find her wouldn't be the most ideal place for her to read what she was certain was a private message, but her curiosity got the better of her. She quickly turned to the page Fred indicated. Written in a small script in the margin was a short message. Only one word, she knew instantly what it meant.

Watford.

Before leaving out the front door into the cold night, Hermione made certain that she had a handful of galleons in her pocket. Maybe Scabior finally found out something about the cloak. Finding the Sword of Gryffindor seemed too much to hope for. Not bothering to tell anyone where she was going, she tried to be as quiet as possible. She didn't want anyone to try to stop her from walking into what may very well be danger.

The Snatcher's back door was unlocked just as it had been the visit before. When she slipped quietly inside she found the wizard impatiently pacing the floor of the kitchen. He was annoyed, appearing on the verge of lashing out when he saw her face.

"I'm ready to be done with it all. This is too much. It's getting to be too dangerous for me."

He gestured to the small table that still held remnants of his evening meal on top of it. When they were both seated, he exhaled a loud, dramatic sigh. Hermione could feel her patience fraying. What was so bloody important that he would risk getting a message to Fred?

"Maybe I'll make a run for it for France. Want to join me?"

His wink only drew a frustrated eye roll out of his guest. There was nothing in the entire world that would entice her to go on the run with the wizard. Nothing at all.

"Why am I here?"

He slid a roll of parchment across the table.

"Your Death Eater boyfriend wants you to have that."

Expecting to see some sort of written message when she unrolled the scroll, she was surprised to see a beautifully drawn picture of a tree. Every single detail was immaculate down to the veins on the leaves. The artist took a great deal of pain and effort to make it perfect. She couldn't understand why Thorfinn would bother making sure she had it.

"Nice drawing, but if you'd rather a wizard who writes you love letters…"

Scabior's waggling eyebrows made her scoff, but she couldn't deny that there were times he was slightly amusing. The more she stared at the drawing, the more she knew it was something familiar. Where had she seen it before? After a minute of careful examination, it struck her.

It was the tree in her parents' back garden she climbed down to meet Thorfinn. Of course it would be familiar if she had been seeing it her entire life. That house had been the only one she had lived in with her parents since she was born. Standing abruptly up from the table, she wasn't even sure if she thanked Scabior before rushing back outside.

Apparating straight to her parents' neighborhood was perhaps a very silly move. If it smelled like a trap, it was probably a trap. Even her Gryffindor brain knew that. How many times had she learned the hard way with Harry and Ron to not just go rushing off into danger without a plan? Sure, Scabior implied that the parchment was from Thorfinn, but he never actually said it was. Some other Death Eater like Dolohov could've found out about the tree and tricked her. All of the memories were right there in Thorfinn's blond head. It wouldn't be impossible to force them out.

She approached her parents' house slowly and with a great deal of caution. It felt strange to be back there after so long away. Everything looked exactly the same as it always did. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part. The garden wasn't as neatly cared for as it usually was when her father lived there. He enjoyed puttering around in the garden as a way to relieve the stress that came with his profession. Hours every Saturday and Sunday were spent trimming his prized rose bushes and making certain the grass was carefully mowed. Seeing a few weeds in the usually immaculate flower beds made her stomach sink. No, it wasn't the same after all.

There was a light on inside the house. Careful to creep up to a window where a neighbor wouldn't be able to look out and see her, she tried to peek inside to see what was happening. Any hint of someone other than Thorfinn being inside and she would run. Even trusting that he wasn't just trying to lure her there with the hope of dragging her back to his flat was a lot to ask. Maybe too much. He could've become frustrated and impatient.

A familiar figure crossed in front of the window. She was part-relieved and part-worried to confirm Thorfinn's presence inside. What was so important that he would want her to meet him there? It probably wasn't the safest location for them to meet. If the Ministry of Magic or the Death Eaters wanted to look for her, that would've been the first place they would go.

After a few minutes of arguing with herself, she made the decision to sneak back around to the kitchen door. Thorfinn had repeated opportunities where he could've hurt her or kidnapped her again, but he didn't. She had to trust that the work she had already put in to manipulate him to her side was working.

Moments after she pushed open the kitchen door, Thorfinn was in the room ready to attack. Seeing that she was the intruder, he relaxed though not entirely. She had never seen him look quite so nervous. Had she made a mistake seeking him out after all?

"What is it, Thorfinn?"

His usual fair complexion took on a sickly green tint. Instead of saying a single word to explain his odd behavior, he took her hand to lead her into her father's library. On the settee where her father liked to take his naps sat a man she didn't know acting very peacefully. Too peacefully. He didn't seem to even realize he was tied up.

"Thorfinn, who is that man?"

He sighed.

"Rabastan Lestrange. Thought he might be useful to get into his family's vault."