November 15th, 2005
Ministry of Magic
Tom Riddle decided they needed a meeting. But not just any meeting.
Harry tries his best not to fidget on his seat. Everyone is there. Riddle called his best Aurors and his counselors - who Harry is discovering at this very moment are those who were with Riddle when they were held captive by the intruders: Bellatrix, Narcissa, Sirius, Remus, Molly, Arthur… Peter Pettigrew.
An empty chair for Lucius Malfoy.
Hermione is sitting a few chairs away from him, by Asmodeus' side. Ron is on Harry's left and Draco on his right, Ginny by his side.
It's an understatement to say that he's uncomfortable.
The Minister is the one in charge of the meeting, so, on his feet in front of everyone, he's doing all the talking while the others only nod and agree.
Harry had to suffer through an opening speech in which Riddle thought it would be proper to point out the many qualities and superiorities of Purebloods. A twisting knife to his chest would be preferable than hearing such nonsense. However, it was a nice moment to observe the others. The counselors showed little to nothing, their faces serious and their eyes on their leader. But Harry could tell Ron was… uncomfortable by his side. The man shifted a bit on his chair and his hands moved many times on his trousers, almost as if Ron was trying to dry them. Interesting.
Harry didn't as much as flinch the entire speech. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin, his training helping him to keep a straight face.
Hermione only glanced at him once.
It was enough for memories to come rushing back to him. Their hands pressed together while they danced; Their Patronus lying on the floor with such intimacy that it bordered the obscene; The way she moaned while he thrust inside her; How tightly he held her; How good it felt; How hard he came; The way she acted in front of the mirror; The attack; Their hug before he left.
They haven't talked since.
And Harry has no idea what to expect when they do. Pretending it never happened might be a good idea. Maybe they lost control because of the dance, maybe they hugged outside because they were too shaken. Maybe.
And he can't deny Hermione is like quicksand. He never knows what to expect. When he thinks he's stepping into solid ground, it gives in and he starts being swallowed and the struggle to find a way out is immense. He's afraid that if he lets her, she'll trap him under forever.
"Now," Tom Riddle is saying, "words can't express how utterly dissatisfied and disappointed I am. Since the Fair my rule is being incessantly questioned by families that were always by my side," He raises both hands, "and I understand the concern. Ninety-eight dead. It's unheard of, it's a massacre we never faced. Then, a squib," Riddle's makes a face of disgust, "escapes right under our noses." He fixes his gaze on Asmodeus. Harry almost smiles. "But what happened at the Ball." Riddle shakes his head. "They dared invade my house!" He yells, startling everyone a bit. "They held me hostage, threatened my wife and wanted to take my daughter!" His tone is still a bit higher than usual. "And I can't, not even in my wildest guess, fathom how they got inside. It's something that has been bothering me gravely." He takes a deep breath, recomposing himself. "I did not want to take such measures, but there's no other explanation for this. There's a traitor, or traitors, on the inside."
Harry raises an eyebrow at that. Many move on their seats, clearly anxious. Hermione looks down, her fingers drumming the table a bit. She probably remembers Harry said the same to her. There's no way these things could have happened if someone from the inside wasn't meddling.
He narrows his eyes. Indeed. Hermione helped him save Lucinda and her daughter. His heart beats faster. If it wasn't for the fact that a bullet was shot at her at the Fair, Harry would be certain that Tom Riddle's daughter is sabotaging her own father. And his mind and heart battle internally at the thought. He doesn't want to admit how much he wished it were the case.
"I won't rest until I find this traitor or traitors." Riddle resumes his speech after the dramatic pause for the information to set in. "Inside this room are the people I trust the most to bring justice for us. All of you will be part of this investigation. My counselors will be my eyes and ears outside these walls, while my Aurors will be responsible for interrogations and taking action. And let me be clear on this matter, I want answers regardless what it takes, is that clear, Hermione?" He asks his daughter directly.
"Yes, sir." Her answer is firm.
"Good."
Harry doesn't even want to think about what Riddle means by that. At the same time, his brain is catching up with what he just heard. Does the Minister really considers Harry one of the few he can trust? It seems improbable. And it unsettles him. He remembers a few conversations he had with his grandfather and the only conclusion he reaches is that Riddle is using an old tactic, one Harry is making use of himself.
Keep your enemy close.
It's easy to envision a list of suspects made by the Minister, and for Harry is even easier to imagine himself at the very top. Maybe his best excuse is that he arrived the day the attack happened at the Fair. He had no informations on the inside, it would be pretty hard to hold him accountable for that.
Which he can't say the same regarding the squib's escape and the invasion at the Manor. Having Matteo D'Angelo as a grandfather makes things a bit harder for him too.
"The attack at the Fair," Riddle keeps talking, "As I know, the investigation team already settled the bullets were shot from the bushes around the park," It doesn't go unnoticed to Harry how the muggle word comes out of Riddle's mouth with disgust, "the interrogations led nowhere, and the cursed women vanished. However, we know, from the interrogation Auror D'Angelo conducted with Lucinda Summers, that a man set her up to that." He opens both hands, fed up, "I want to know who this man is. What he wants. What he plans. Who are the people supporting him. Everything. Again, I don't care how, you'll find him, do you understand?" He's again looking at Hermione. She only nods. "The alchemists are trying to figure out the spells used on those bullets, working hard to unravel how they were able to penetrate through the heavy shields around the Fair, but from what I know they're getting nowhere. Hermione, I'm handing this over to the Aurors. Put together a team that can at least think, people who aren't total incompetents for a change."
Harry sees Peter Pettigrew smiling at Riddle's acid comments.
"This brings us to Lucinda Summers and her daughter, the squib." Harry avoids even turning his head to Hermione. "From the deposition Pettigrew and the other Aurors gave, two rebels were responsible for rescuing them. They were able to immobilize and knock out five highly trained Aurors, which still bothers me immensely. Again, only staff from the inside knew about their transference and the condition of the daughter." He stops. He's looking fixedly at Hermione. "Auror Pettigrew said one of them was certainly a woman, he stabbed her on a last attempt of detaining her, but the partner, that Auror Pettigrew bets was a man, stunned him. When he woke they were gone." Tom Riddle clicks his tongue. "I also want a heavy investigation on this. I want names. Of those who knew about the transference and that one of them was a squib. Is that clear?"
He asks no one in particular, but Harry is sure Hermione nods again. There's a lump on his throat and he swallows it. This particular investigation will be a pain in the ass. The list of people who knew about the transference is small. Mostly because it all happened pretty fast. They seized mother and daughter, both were interrogated the next day and rescued right after.
Riddle walks from one side to the other. "However, nothing makes me angrier than knowing they had the audacity of invading my home at one of the most important nights of our society as a whole." Way to go, guys. Harry secretly marvels at this particular thing. "Lucius Malfoy is dead and we'll never forget how much he did for us, how vital he was in the uprising of this society and in maintaining order. He was our most vocal and fierce voice when the Potters' Persecution began." Harry feels cold inside. At least Lucius' death wasn't an error. Peter Pettigrew sets his eyes on Harry. Nasty and accusatory. No one else seems to notice. "But I want to talk about what these rebels did. They drugged a whole ballroom, shutting down any ventilation. We still don't know how. They took advantage of this and easily dragged me and my counselors out to our safe room. They said loud and clear we would wait for Hermione." Harry looks at her. Hermione is pursing her lips, her only reaction. "I have no idea why they want you." Riddle says directly to her. "But we'll find out. We'll stop them. We'll end this uprising and bring order to our community!" He bangs a hand on the table, his last words loud. Harry can see fury in Riddle's eyes. "I want to know how they got inside. Every and each guest was being checked at the entrance, so, they surely were on the list-" He exhales. "But we were unable to identify the invaders because… apparently they don't exist." Riddle purses his lips.
Harry widens his eyes at this new information and sees Hermione lowering her head in thought. Evidently, whoever is doing this, is extremely prepared. Both situations were well thought and planned. There's hardly anything for them to investigate and find the slightest lead to follow.
"Hermione," Riddle calls her, "set up a team to investigate possible wizards or witches who might have been vocal about Muggleborns' rights. The tiniest evidence is to be taken seriously. Bring them in to interrogation. No one will be spared. Am I clear?"
He asks to all of them. And in unison they nod. Harry follows the motion automatically.
"Good. That's all. For now." Riddle pulls a chair and sits between Bellatrix and Sirius. "You may leave. Back to work."
Harry observes as they all raise from their chairs. Apparently the counselors will stay inside to discuss things further.
As he stands, his eyes immediately seek Hermione. She's quiet, putting her chair back in place while observing her parents. Walking out of the room, he sees Pettigrew putting a hand on her lower back, wanting her attention. Hermione turns her head and says something to the man that Harry doesn't comprehend. Pettigrew nods and pulls her closer to him by the waist. Harry looks down and walks back to his desk in silence, his eyes now intentionally avoiding her.
He chews the insides of his cheeks. He knows that Hermione is alone inside her office because he's been observing her door incessantly. Maybe he was a bit naive, but in a way, deep down, he thought Hermione would come to him. Seek him out for them to talk about everything that happened at the Ball. But she didn't even say her usual 'Good Morning'. She ignored his presence at the meeting and after. And he's not proud to recognize that he was indeed waiting for… something.
Harry moves his right leg up and down. Anxious. He could knock on her door and bring up the subject. But he's not even sure of what he wants to say. Or hear from her. Taking a deep breath, he stands and strides to her door, not thinking twice or else he might give up, he knocks, his hand cold. She calls from inside and he enters.
She's sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, a paper in her hand. She raises her eyes to him immediately and Harry searches for a reaction, but her expression stays the same. In fact, she seems bored to see him there.
"D'Angelo." She greets him.
He wanted to talk about the Ball. About their dance. Ask again what was the big deal in people clapping for them, the whole 'harmony' thing. Not just that but he wanted to talk about the fact that they… fucked. Ask if it changes things or not. Make sure that she wants it to happen again or not.
But his resolve falters and instead he clears his throat and says:
"We need to talk about the investigation."
She raises an eyebrow. "Which one?"
He wets his lips and looks around, raising a finger and motioning through her office. He mouths the words "Is it secure to talk here?"
She narrows her eyes, putting the paper down. With a flick of her wrist, Hermione locks the door. "It is. What do you wanna talk about? Lucinda Summers?"
"Yeah, I mean…" He moves, uncomfortable.
He trusted Hermione blindly. And now he sees what an idiot he was. They never talked about hiding what they did that night. Harry presumed Hermione would never mention that to anyone because she was there, she helped, but he can't really know. And the fact that she might… accuse him of something to save her own ass makes his heart drum inside his chest. It would be only logical, wouldn't it? He gulps.
Hermione snorts a nasty laugh. "You're afraid I might turn you in." She states.
"You can't blame me." He says, defensively. "We didn't actually talk about-"
"Doesn't matter." She says harshly. "I was there, D'Angelo. I helped you. What do you take me for?" She stands from the couch. "A back-stabbing bitch?" She asks bluntly, angry. He opens and closes his mouth. She scoffs. Two fingers against her temple. She sits again. "Fuck it. Whatever. You don't have to worry about it." Her voice is lower now.
"Hermione-"
"Was that all?" She raises her eyes back to him and there's only coldness there. Detachment. "I have a lot to do. So, if you could just leave, that would be great." And not even waiting for an answer, she moves her wrist again and the door opens violently, waiting for Harry to leave.
He pockets his hands, his eyes on her while she goes back to whatever she was reading.
Maybe he should close the door and sit by her side. Tell her it was a misunderstanding. He doesn't actually think she would turn him in, he never did. Maybe he should take her face into his hands and kiss her. Travel his hands through her body and smile against her mouth. Hug her tightly while making her squirm from pleasure.
Harry blinks.
Without another word he walks out.
November 22th, 2005
Ministry of Magic
It's been a whole week since the meeting and the disastrous talk he had with Hermione… but apart from that, things have been calm. Harry has done nothing more than paper work and dealing with their customary problems. Not to mention the endless conversations with Ron, Ginny and even Malfoy in their attempt to understand how the intruders got inside the mansion and who might be the traitor. Considering everything they discussed at the meeting, their investigation is going… terribly.
Along with that, many questions about the Fair haven't been answered yet. They're not closer to finding out a thing about the man Lucinda Summers mentioned; The other cursed woman indeed disappeared, probably left England, taking with her any other lead; The group of Aurors designated to study and comprehend the spells around the muggle bullets is also getting nowhere.
Harry sighs, a hand on his face, massaging his forehead. He's alone at the Auror floor, it's way past working hours and he should head to his flat for a well deserved night of sleep, but his mind is working too fast, his thoughts scattered while he tries to wrap his mind around everything. His revenge, the attack at the Fair, the Ball, the intruders, him killing Lucius Malfoy.
And of course… Hermione.
They barely talked the whole week and he can't help wondering if he fucked everything up. He tried telling her a few things, but she always found an excuse not to be alone with him. It also didn't go unnoticed how she's been with Pettigrew all the fucking time now, as if they're attached to the hip. It annoys Harry. And consciously he doesn't let this bother him, but when his guard is a bit down… yeah, it bloody annoys him. Mostly because his traitorous mind is unable to forget what they shared.
Sometimes it takes over him like a powerful wave, ready to drown him.
Her smell, taste, how her skin felt against his, how impossibly right they fitted. Only thinking about it sends a shiver down his spine. He struggles to admit that he yearns to be with her like that again.
Maybe I should spend some more time with Sally.
He hadn't seen or talked with Sally since the Ball. Sirius on the other hand is now a constant at the Ministry. He's always there talking with Tom Riddle. The same for all the other counselors. It's obvious they spend their days discussing who might be the traitor.
Sighing, Harry turns off his desk lamp. It's total darkness, except…
He stands from his chair. Inevitably his heart starts to beat like crazy inside his chest. There's some light coming under the Head's door. He was so absorbed with his own work that he didn't notice she hadn't left yet. He lowers his head and pockets his hand. She's definitely alone.
And as he takes a few steps to the elevator, he stops. Chewing the insides of his cheeks, he curses himself when he turns around, his feet leading him to her office.
He knocks, gently. There's a soft 'come in' from inside and he runs a hand through his already messy hair before entering.
Hermione is at her desk, scribbling furiously, piles of papers in front of her, books laying about inside the office, at least two trays of tea at one corner. He raises an eyebrow. Has she been working nonstop? It almost looks like she barely left the office.
He takes a moment to look at her. Her eyes still on whatever she's writing, she still has no idea Harry is the one standing there and for a second he fears she might send him away when she does look up. Her hair is up in a bun and her cheeks are a bit red, as if from exertion. There's a hint of bags under her eyes. Maybe nightmares are keeping her up at night.
He steps further inside and she finally raises her eyes.
There's a beat of silence. Of them looking at each other.
"D'Angelo." He watches his name coming out of her full lips. She frowns. "What are you doing here?" He purses his lips at her bluntness.
"I was just leaving and saw your light on, so…"
She glances at the clock on the wall and he sees her eyes widening, as if she had no idea what time it was. Hermione sighs and puts down her quill. Harry can see some ink tainting her fingers and palm. To his utter disbelief he finds it adoring and sexy. Gulping he takes another step towards her desk.
Leaning back on her chair, she observes him. "So, working extra hours, I see." Her tone is not the friendliest, but she's not sending him away either, so, that's a start.
He nods. "I expect to be paid properly." She opens a small smile at his playful tone.
"You will." There's no hint of playfulness in her tone, though. Things are strange between them. Definitely. And it's dramatically laughable how eager he is to set things back to how they were before-
"We barely had the chance to talk this whole week." His words are ridiculous even to himself.
"We've been insanely busy." She's kind enough not to mention the way he accused her a week ago.
He nods. "I know. Of course. But there are a few things I wanted to discuss with you. Is now a bad time?"
"Weren't you leaving?"
He grits his teeth.
"I can stay a little longer for this." He tries not showing bitterness and he has no idea if he succeeds or not. Hermione drums her fingers on the desk. Pondering. "Unless you want me to go." Please, don't.
She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "What do you want to talk about?"
It disturbs him how she clearly wants him to stay away. Of course she does. "Well, I've been thinking a lot about the bullets fired at the Fair." She keeps looking at him, the question in her eyes, so he goes on, "If the team can't understand the spells used, maybe we should…" He trails. He knows his idea is not exactly what she wants to hear, and she'll probably refuse-
"What?"
"We should try tracing it back to the muggle gun it belonged." She makes a face at him. "We can take the bullet and discover which gun fired it, then we can go after this gun in Muggle London, talk to some people, find out if someone bought these guns recently, or even discover if someone made a huge order on the bullets."
He can see her tightening her jaw. She hated the idea.
"So, let me see if I get what you're saying… you want us to investigate in Muggle London the origin of these bullets and their probable guns, so that way we might get a name."
"Yes. That's pretty much it."
She looks down and he can tell how hard she's considering his idea.
"Look," She says, her tone a bit gentler than before, "It's not a bad idea." Excitement rushes through his body, "But to do something like this we need the Minister's permission." She cocks her head. "He won't give it to us."
"Why not?"
"Because there's not a reality in Tom Riddle's world where Muggles can have the answers we can't find with magic."
He snorts. "I think he's not considering his enemy, then."
"What do you mean?"
"There's no way of winning this if not bending a few rules or beliefs, Hermione. If the Minister wants to have a chance at finding the ones responsible for this, he needs to understand that these people think and act like Muggles. We'll never catch them if we don't do the same."
She gives him a pointed look. Her fingers drumming the desk. Until, "Fine. I'll set up a meeting with him to talk about this. You'll come with me." Harry nods, surprisingly glad. "What's the other thing you wanted to talk about?"
He ignores how she wants to end their conversation as soon as possible. "Lucius Malfoy." It's strange to say his name out loud. The man I killed.
"What about him?"
"Draco was talking about not having a ceremony for his father." Harry narrows his eyes.
"Yeah, so? From what I gather they preferred this way so it wouldn't stir the media or the wizard community… considering everything that's been happening."
"Exactly." He raises a hand. "Hear me out." She sighs but he can see some curiosity playing in her eyes. "These attacks happened at big events. The Fair. The Ball. What if… we actually make a big deal out of Malfoy's death? But this time we'll be prepared, if they strike again, in any way, we'll be ready to take them down."
She snorts and he widens his eyes. "You want to use Malfoy's funeral as bait?"
"Hey! It's a good idea." He points out.
"It's a dumb idea."
"No, it isn't."
"Really? How so?"
"If we put the Minister and his family in a certain place that we know will be packed with Pureblood families…" He moves his hands in front of him, "It's pretty much what they want."
She narrows her eyes and massages her temple. "You're not considering the huge risk." He opens his mouth but she raises a hand, "You know what? Talk to Draco. If he agrees, you'll lead the operation."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
He crosses his arms. Leaning closer to her desk.
"Well, that was easier than I thought." He says.
"Yeah, well," She shrugs, "was that all, D'Angelo?"
She's already leaning over her desk, back to her papers, to her research… as if he's not even there anymore. And he totally hates it. And as his head forms the words 'yes, that was all' he stops.
"Hermione." She mumbles in answer. "I'm sorry about doubting you." There. He said it. "I guess the meeting messed with my mind and I wasn't thinking clearly. I always knew you wouldn't turn me in or anything like that."
She looks back at him. The corner of her mouth going slightly up. "It's okay, Harry." She says softly and he feels a ton being lifted from his chest. "We…" She clears her throat, "don't know each other that well, so, in a way it was the right thing, asking me." She shrugs.
"Yeah, yes." He agrees, extremely relieved. "But again, I'm sorry. Even not knowing you for long, I-" He stops his words. "Well, I just hope we can leave that behind us."
"Of course." She opens a small smile. Then, sighing, she goes back to her papers. "Was that all?"
Again this fucking question. He could just leave. But the last time they were like this, he regretted immensely not going to her, not touching her… not leaving things on a higher note. And he decides it won't happen again tonight. He walks around her table and stops besides her chair.
She scowls at him when he partially sits himself on the desk, forcing her to look up. "What?" She asks, clearly annoyed now.
"You need to rest. You've been working nonstop."
"I'm a big girl, D'Angelo. I can take care of myself." She says through gritted teeth. "You can leave now."
Risking being slapped by her, he takes her hand in his, forcing her to release the quill. He sees the anger flashing through her eyes. "I know you're a big girl." His voice is low, and he leans closer to her, her perfume invading his senses. "Let someone take care of you for a change." He can feel her hand loosening on his grip, her eyes roaming over his face.
"And are you taking care of me?"
"If you let me."
They're very close now.
He could kiss her. He doesn't.
Still looking into her eyes, he stands and pulls her to her feet by the hand. She shows no resistance and something flutters inside his stomach. When she's up in front of him, he holds her by the waist, their faces an inch from each other's. She's wearing heels, so his lips are leveled with her forehead. He can't resist planting a small kiss there. He tightens his grip on her waist and swiftly pulls her up, sitting her on the desk and positioning himself between her legs. Her black dress is silky and soft, in a way that enables him to handle it however he wants.
Studying her reaction, he begins to ride her dress up, his hands on her bare thighs. He squeezes them gently, marveling at how athletic she is, how smooth.
"Will you?" He asks, his voice hoarse.
"What?" Hers is barely there now, all the rudeness and coldness gone.
"Let me?"
He sees her chest moving up and down. "Yes." It's a simple word. Short. Powerful. And it's everything he wanted to hear.
Hermione presses a button under her desk that he has no idea what it's for, but he doesn't ask. It's the last thing on his mind now.
His hands move up, slowly, teasing. He can already see she's impatient. He opens a side smile and when he can't keep riding her dress up, because she's sitting on it, he raises an eyebrow. His hands slide beneath it, though, finding her lace panties. He bites his lower lip, his fingers reaching her sex above it. Hermione closes her eyes. Her head slightly hanging back. She hasn't touched him yet. He rubs her clit with one hand, his other arm going around her waist, bringing her closer to him.
She finally puts her arms around his neck, burying her face into him while he keeps rubbing her clit, a bit more roughly now. He wants to feel her wetness, her warmth. With the arm around her he hoists her up and she moans softly when he pulls her panties down her legs, settling her back on the desk. He takes a step back to pull her underwear all the way down her heels and off. Hermione is watching him closely, opening her legs to him and eagerly welcoming him back to her personal space.
He wants to kiss her. Ravish her on this very desk-
"Shit, the papers!" She says, widening her eyes and he… laughs out loud.
"Fuck, Hermione." He says breathlessly.
She laughs with him, the sound giving him a new wave of desire. She stands from the desk and he watches in awe while she organizes the papers into another pile and sets it aside, giving them some space. She turns back to him, smiling. "Sorry, those are very important."
He can't help crossing his arms, faking irritation. She laughs louder and sits back on the desk, this time lifting her dress all the way up to her belly button, totally opening herself to him. Harry bites hard on his lower lip, his erection straining against his boxers.
She's glorious.
And he stops a moment to simply… take her in. Hermione doesn't show the slightest hint of shyness with his heavy eyes on her, on the contrary, she moves one hand to pinch one of her nipples through the fabric of her dress and Harry feels his cock twitching. She opens a devious smile. One he already saw once. One he hopes to see many times.
Instead of going back to position himself between her legs, Harry wheels her chair to him, sitting down. She raises an eyebrow. He smiles and moves forward. The height is perfect for what he wants. Hermione narrows her eyes, understanding. He puts his hands on the desk, on both her sides and pulls himself forward…
He kisses her inner thighs as slowly as he can. Hot, messy and wet kisses, his teeth scrapping her skin while he breathes her in. Hermione moves, her legs resting on his shoulders, caging him. He doesn't mind, he feels drugged, already high from sheer anticipation. His fingers hold her ass tightly, maybe almost painfully. He wants this so damn much.
In a fatal error, he looks up at her face. The look in her eyes is lustful, certain and powerful while she watches him. Shit. He averts his eyes fast, his focus back on what he's doing.
Under his touch, he feels her shivering when he licks her hot entrance. Hermione leans back, breathing heavily and he licks her again, lost in her taste. She moans softly when he kisses her clit, his tongue swirling. Instinctively one of his hands goes underneath her dress, seeking her breast. It's the first time he touches her like this and it's unbelievably hot. Her breast fits perfectly in his palm and he gives it a squeeze while he sucks hard on her clit. She moans a bit louder this time, her own hand coming down to his hair, her fingers going into his locks.
Harry keeps sucking, licking, devouring her. It's hard for him to grasp how perfect she feels, is. He finds a pattern that makes her squirm and moan softly, and he keeps repeating it-
Suddenly he wonders if he's pleasing her, if…
"Good?" He never asks. He's cocky enough to know that he's pretty good at this, but-
"Yes! Don't stop!" She's breathless and she lets out a moan when he moves his other hand and his finger finds a sweet spot inside her. Hermione arches her back, and he does it again. And again. "Fuck!" She's shaking, her whole body jerking.
Her legs are squeezing him extremely hard, but he doesn't mind, if anything it makes him want her more. He can tell she's close. The way she breathes, how tight her muscles are. But again he doesn't dare looking at her face, he can't see her reaching her orgasm. Harry inserts another finger and she pulls his hair, hurting him a bit. But he doesn't stop. And when he knows it's the right moment, he pinches her nipple, hard.
Hermione comes with a scream leaving her mouth, she shakes and trembles under him, her legs finally loosening on his shoulders while he licks her orgasm, his cock rock hard and begging for some attention. She's panting on the desk and he goes back to kissing her inner thigh, his hand going to his cock, stroking it while he keeps massaging her nipple.
Hermione laughs. A laugh of pure satisfaction. He still doesn't look up at her.
"That was…" She raises herself on both elbows to look at him. And he finally glances at her because she stopped talking. She looks… naughty. "Oh, my." She says, sitting, one of her hands going to his nape, pulling him to her. "We have to take care of this." He grunts when her mouth finds the pulse on his neck and her hand slides down to his cock. She bites him softly while they fumble with his belt-
An alert goes off inside the office. Harry stands, on high alert. "What the fuck?" He asks.
Hermione groans loudly. "I can't believe this." She comes down from the table, her hair a mess, her dress all crumpled up. "You need to hide."
"What?" He's not thinking clearly. His cock is throbbing inside his pants and he wants to end this, he wants to bury himself inside her-
"Someone is coming!" She says fast, shoving at his chest. "I set up an alarm to warn us. It's too late for you to leave through the door." She's talking and performing a few spells to put herself - and the office - back together while she pushes Harry inside what he can only call a hidden passage. "Stay inside. Whoever it is won't be able to see you, but don't move, don't make a sound!"
"Can't we just say I was talking tactics with you?" He says harshly.
"Fuck, Harry, it's probably Asmo. He'll make a big deal out of this. It's better if you just hide."
The truth of her words cuts the air. They share an angry look. And the realization that he's just a hook up hits him hard. Of course I am. She's marrying Pettigrew. Clicking his tongue, he nods and enters the passage. Hermione half closes the door. It's like a tiny cabinet and he feels a bit trapped inside. But he can still see her desk and the middle of the room through a slit.
The door opens ten seconds after he settles inside and she returns to her chair.
"Hermione." It's indeed Pettigrew. Harry hates him. "Love, I can't believe you're still here."
Her calmness and coldness surprise Harry. It's impossible to tell that she was having an orgasm a few minutes ago. The thought reminds him that he still needs some kind of release. Or else is just the worst case of blue balls ever. He grits his teeth. Pettigrew is coming to her desk, walking like Harry did, circling her table and stopping by her side, half sitting on the desk.
"You need to rest." His words are exactly the same Harry said. And he has no idea how to feel about this. Was he acting like a boyfriend with her? He chews the insides of his cheeks. No, of course not. "I miss you at home. The bed is too big without you." Pettigrew smiles and cups her cheek. Hermione returns the smile, one of her hands resting on his thigh.
"I lost track of time." She sighs.
"I know." He's caressing her cheek and Harry wants to vomit. "Things have been crazy. But I think I have a lead." Hermione perks up at that.
"Yeah?"
Pettigrew sighs. "I know we've been arguing a lot recently, but you know I love you, don't you?"
Harry gulps, bile rising on his throat.
"I know." She caresses his thigh, a sincere smile on her face.
"And I don't wanna argue about what I'm gonna say, I just want you to hear me and then come home with me so we can fall asleep holding each other."
Something burns inside Harry's stomach and he sets his jaw.
"What is it, love?" This word from her directed to Pettigrew is wrong. Wrong.
"I had a long conversation with my father." Hermione rolls her eyes and leans back on the chair. "I know you don't trust him or even take his remarks into consideration, but he saw something that day, Hermione." He says a bit more harshly. "He saw D'Angelo killing Lucius."
Harry freezes completely. Cold inside, cold outside. Hermione opens and closes her mouth, a wrinkle between her brows. Pettigrew is waiting for her to say something. Harry too. He barely breathes while he does.
"Love, there's no way he saw that. It was pitch black inside the room."
"Hermione-"
"You weren't there, Asmo. I'm telling you. I could barely see who I was dueling with or what spells were being casted."
Pettigrew moves away from the desk, angry, and gives his back to Hermione. She uses the moment to discreetly look at the passage where Harry is hiding. He lets out a low and deep breath. It's hard to tell if she believes what Pettigrew said or not. Hermione is mysterious and smart. She knows Harry is there, she won't show right away if she thinks he's a murderer.
"It shouldn't surprise me." Pettigrew says in a low voice.
"What?"
"That you keep choosing that stupid Italian over me."
"I'm not choosing him." She stands from the chair and walks to Pettigrew, her arms closing around his middle, her head on his back. The scene makes Harry a thousand times more uncomfortable. It's a demonstration of affection, of intimacy- "I'm just telling you that it was impossible to see a thing, love. Maybe your father is trying to find a culprit because he doesn't know how to deal with his pain. We all know how close he was to Lucius."
Pettigrew lowers his head and puts his hands over hers. Then he turns and holds her close. "Okay, fine. You're right. But I still think we could, better yet, should keep an eye on D'Angelo."
"I agree. We will."
Harry feels the floor disappearing from beneath his feet. Stupid. You're an idiot, Harry. He just apologized for doubting her and then this? He bites his tongue so hard it draws some blood.
"Can you really, Hermione? I'm not a fool. I wonder if something changed after… the traditional."
Harry perks up at that. He still wants answers about what they shared in that dance…
"What are you saying?"
"You know." Pettigrew crosses his arms, angry and… sad. "Everyone clapped. I saw with my own eyes your serpent seducing his lion. Saw the way your Patronus practically merged together. And we all know what that means-"
"It means nothing, Asmo." She says harshly. "We've already discussed this. The traditional is old and ridiculous. And I would love if we never talked about this again. Can we?" He looks down and she cups his cheek. "It meant nothing. I swear. We just danced together because my father made us."
Harry averts his eyes when Hermione kisses Pettigrew. He wished he could apparate from this fucking office that he shouldn't have entered in the first place. I could be sleeping right now.
Their kiss goes on for some time and Harry feels like punching a wall. But it's Hermione who pulls back when Pettigrew tries lifting her dress. "I'm so tired, love." She says softly. "Let's go home."
Pettigrew nods and pockets his hands, waiting for her to fetch her things. Hermione glances one last time at Harry's direction before taking Pettigrew's hand and leaving the office.
Harry is left alone in the dark.
Furious.
He exits the passage and indeed punches a wall. "Cazzo."
Taking deep and long breaths, he tries to come to terms with what just happened. Feelings he much rather wants to ignore are bubbling up to the surface, suffocating him. But Harry closes his eyes and thinks of his training, of all the times his grandfather pushed him to his limits and proceeded to force him to show no emotion whatsoever.
With a hand on the wall, he calms himself, his heart slowing down, his whole body cooling down, the only reminder of what happened a discomfort between his legs that he chooses to ignore.
After minutes, when he opens his eyes, he has only one thing in mind.
He's all alone inside the Head Auror's office.
He knows it's a golden opportunity, one he can't let go. Murmuring a Lumos he begins to search her desk. Papers, files, notes. He wants something about the Potters' Persecution. Anything.
But mainly what he finds are observations regarding the last events, her remarks on possible plans of action and missions she imagines might give them answers. Right now Harry doesn't give a damn about all of this. His focus is solemnly on his parents, on his revenge, on how he's going to make them pay. He bangs a hand against the desk. Frustrated.
Then he starts opening the drawers. Most of what he finds are more notes, books, blank parchments, ink, quills… until. His hand stops mid motion. Harry frowns, not fully understanding what he's seeing. With trembling hands he takes the box out of the drawer. There's a bullet inside. One bullet exactly like the ones shot at the Fair. Dry blood coats it. And, a tag.
#150 - Harry D'Angelo.
He opens his mouth.
It's the bullet he took for her.
Tightening his jaw he puts it back in the box and inside the drawer. He has no idea why she kept this and he doesn't care. Slamming the drawer shut, he walks to the huge shelf.
Books and more books. About anything and nothing at all. Running both hands through his hair he decides a summoning spell might be his best chance. With the word 'Potter' in mind, he tries an accio.
He feels a rush through his body when a book comes flying to his hand. It's Hogwarts, a History. He purses his lips and walks slowly to the couch, settling himself, his wand on the desk illuminating the space around him.
With the book closed between his hands he squashes down his hopes. Maybe there's nothing inside. Maybe his spell messed up. With trembling fingers he opens it. The front page is the repetition of the title, a dedicatory beneath it:
May all the answers we seek find us.
Good luck.
With love.
It isn't signed. There's no date. Nothing else. What answers are you looking for, Miss Riddle?
Harry turns the page. His eyes fall on the written words. It's indeed the history of Hogwarts. His finger goes through the lines, fast. Nothing. He turns another page, and another, another.
He holds the book by its cover and back, flipping its pages in the air, waiting for a note to drop from between them or anything.
And it does.
A paper comes soaring slowly, moving from one side to the other in the air, provoking Harry. He lets it fall to his feet. Closing the book, he leans down, his hand grabbing the paper, a sensation so strong taking over him that he feels dizzy.
But when the paper is right in front of his eyes, he reads it eagerly:
EvansPotter. When they met? Where?
Weasley, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew, Malfoy. Dumbledore.
Persecution?
Goyle, Karkaroff, Dolohov, Crouch, Greyback, Lestrange.
Location?
Snape.
Harry lets out a long breath. He might faint. He falls back on the couch, the paper slipping from his grasp. All those names. He's sure these are the Aurors he was looking for, the ones who murdered his parents. He finally found it, he finally knows. "I found them, nonnino."
He chokes a bit, a few tears falling from his eyes. It's too much. This has been classified information since the day the Persecution started and as if guessing a possible backlash on this, Riddle kept their identities hidden and protected. But now I know. Harry sits on this information for a long time. The names repeating themselves inside his head. He has new informations to add to his wall.
He laughs.
Maybe fucking Hermione was my best decision.
He shakes his head and takes the paper again. This time he focus on everything else and chews the insides of his cheeks. The names 'Snape' and 'Dumbledore' are written in a way as if she pressed her quill against them many times, repeating the letters. Highlighting. Harry met Dumbledore at the Ball… he has no idea who Snape is, though.
He looks at the book. Who gave it to her? 'With love.' Someone close to her heart, probably. He makes a face. A whole new layer of Hermione is shedding before his eyes. Like a serpent. Like the Riddle she is. But he won't think about this now.
With a spell he replicates the paper. A clear copy of her words and handwriting that he tucks inside his inner pocket. Then he just needs to put the paper back-
"Shit." He says.
He has no idea where the paper was inside the book. Harry grits his teeth. Hermione is way too attentive and organized to not notice this. She won't know for sure it was Harry who read the paper, but she'll know someone did. Having no other choice than just going with it, he randomly puts the paper back inside the book and returns it to the shelf.
He averts his eyes from her desk before leaving the office, trying his best to ignore how he wished he could be the one taking her home.
But as he crosses the Atrium, other things take over his mind. Like his plan to use Malfoy's funeral as bait and how he'll discover everything concerning the Aurors he's sure murdered his parents.