November 24th, 2005

Draco and Ginny's house

"Tell me again why I let you convince me of this?" Draco Malfoy turns to face Harry.

"Because it's a good plan. And it was Ginny who convinced you, not me."

They're watching from the guest bedroom upstairs while Pureblood families arrive to say their farewells to Lucius Malfoy. It's not a literal funeral, but a way of parting with the deceased through a gathering and reminiscence. When Harry talked with Draco, the man widened his eyes and shook his head. His mother would never allow something like this. But Ginny was the one who convinced them by saying it was an opportunity they couldn't ignore. It surprised Harry how they all trusted his idea and leadership when considering the event. Pettigrew was the only one who refused to help. Apparently he thinks it's a major disrespect to Lucius.

Harry won't attend as a guest. He'll stay inside this very same bedroom, watching them from above and at an advantage point in case he needs to take action. Everyone is going to be there, including the Riddles. When he thinks about it he feels uncomfortable. He's avoiding Hermione, still angry and feeling betrayed by her in a way. It's not rational, but he feels like she should have stayed that night, not left with Pettigrew. Not to mention Pettigrew's suspicions of him and how she said she would keep an eye on Harry.

He wonders if she checked the book and the note these past two days.

Draco sighs. "You know. I never had a nice relationship with my father." Harry raises both eyebrows, totally caught off guard by this sudden revelation. He's not close to Malfoy. Yeah, they act friendly at the Ministry, and sometimes they even share stories and laughs, but that's it. "It was difficult growing up with him. He wanted perfection and I'm afraid I never lived up to his expectations. And… he had interesting ways of showing his affection, if I can even call whatever that was, affection." He scoffs. "He never even treated my wife properly, so, in a way, I can't say I'm that sad he's dead. And I mean… are we obliged to love our family? Even when they're terrible?"

It takes a moment for Harry to see that Draco is waiting for an answer. He clears his throat. "I suppose not. I mean, I'm not that close to my father, but I think his death would bring me sadness." He shrugs, thinking about it, not entirely sure. "He isn't terrible, though."

"That's a pretty good start, then."

They chuckle together. Another silence falls while they watch the arriving families. They did an extensive search on the grounds and double checked the wards. But there's a way of breaching them and it was Harry's idea to leave one easy entrance. He'll be watching that specifically.

"I guess it's a good idea, indeed." Draco says and smiles to Harry, patting his shoulder.

And a heaviness crushes him.

The guilt.

He knows it was a matter of surviving, Lucius was killing him and he knew his true identity, he had no other choice, and if the roles were reversed, the man wouldn't be feeling the tiniest bit of guilt, Harry is sure. But even if Draco says he's okay with his father's death… Harry knows it's not entirely true. And he's responsible for that. Responsible for taking a life, for killing a father and a husband.

Draco keeps talking about how one time Lucius yelled at him for simply saying 'please' to their house elf instead of demanding stuff and Harry decides right then that if comes a time that he finds himself in a position to help Draco, he will. He owes him that.

He keeps nodding, agreeing, but his mind is creating its own narrative while he asks himself how in the world would he feel if he killed, for example, Bellatrix. Or… If he can't be at peace with killing a man that was terrible and was murdering him…

How is he going to kill her? Because that's the plan. That has always been the plan since he was ten. Kill the Riddles.

Pursing his lips, he sends these thoughts away. It's not the time to think about this yet. He still has a great deal of things to do before he even needs to entertain this idea. For instance, he needs to discover where in the world those Aurors got themselves into. When he left Hermione's office, he made an extensive research on those names, and it's as if they never existed. He found a few old articles, nothing that will help him find them now.

It's clear that Riddle got rid of anyone or anything close to the Potters' Persecution-

"Can I have a word with D'Angelo?"

He turns slightly to see Hermione at the door leaning against the threshold with her arms crossed. She's wearing a nice short white dress - which Harry thought odd being a funeral - and her hair is tied up in a nice braid - beautiful. Draco welcomes her with a playful tone and leaves after saying that 'if we die today it's D'Angelo's fault'. She snorts at that and nods.

Then Harry turns his attention back to the arriving people and doesn't move when she stops by his side. There's a heavy silence between them. Hermione is the one who breaks it.

"Did you?"

He was expecting this. In a way he's glad she's asking. She's giving him the benefit of the doubt.

"No." The lie comes easily, which he's thankful for. Even if he trusts Hermione a bit more than before, it would be idiotic to reveal something like this to the fucking Head Auror.

"Look at me."

He rolls his eyes when he turns to face her. She's serious.

"What do you want me to say, Hermione?"

"You said someone tried choking you." She states. "Maybe you thought it was someone else, not Lucius, and I have no idea why he would do that to you, but if you killed him in an attempt to-"

"I didn't. And I would very much appreciate if you stopped accusing me like this." He says harshly. Angry. "I understand that you want to consider your boyfriend's side," He snorts, "and please, feel free to keep your eye on me, but I won't just stand here in silence hearing this."

She purses her lips. She doesn't apologize and he feels suffocated by her stare. As if she knows he's lying. He holds her gaze, stubbornly.

"I don't get what the big deal is, D'Angelo. Since the first time you stepped inside my office I said I would keep my eye on you. Nothing changed after that." He scoffs. "In fact, maybe I have even more reasons to really keep my eye on you."

"You can't be serious."

"I am. Very much." She takes a tiny step to him, moving closer, her chin up.

"I can't believe you." He says, feeling like there's a claw ripping his chest open. Then he snorts. "I guess I have only myself to blame for thinking that you would be different. Do you also think I set someone up to shoot you? So I could be the hero?"

She clicks her tongue. "Things aren't that black and white, Harry."

He shakes his head. Angry and… hurt. Harry decides he has nothing else to say to her and stands there in silence.

"Is everything ready?" She asks after a long while.

"Yes." He holds his tongue.

"Good. I hope it works. Remember this is in your hands, D'Angelo."

And only when she's gone he understands that she gave him this mission for a reason.

She wants to see if he'll fail. If there'll be an attack. And how it's going to unfold.

He can't lie, it makes him nervous. But now there's nothing else he can do.

He can only wait.

The 'funeral' started an hour ago and so far it's all going pretty well. Harry is taking the moment to observe everyone at the yard. A spell is concealing him behind the window, and few people know this is mostly staged. As he leans on the glass, he chews the insides of his cheeks. It's the first time he's having a chance of watching them without restraints.

The place is filled with Pureblood families and Harry's almost sure all of them already talked with the Minister and his family.

Riddle is always welcoming, but he never smiles and rarely talks, the most he does is nod. Bellatrix on the other hand seems to be the exact opposite, the one who talks warmly and listens with attention to what is being said. Hermione is a mixture of both, something Harry had already noticed. She's cold when she needs to and warm when she feels comfortable. And so far the only warmness he saw from her was directed to the Weasleys, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Which intrigued him immensely. Even after their little conversation - that he's sure was a way of her saying that she knows he's the one who killed Lucius - she treated Peter Pettigrew awfully.

It's a fact that she's been holding hands with Asmodeus the whole time and unfortunately Harry even saw they exchange a few soft kisses. But it's clear that Hermione hates Papa Pettigrew. She stood stiffly when he approached them to talk. Father and son did most of the talking while she quietly sipped on her drink. And that was enough for them to argue. When Peter left, Asmodeus turned to her and said something, leaning, probably whispering. Hermione made a face and shook her head, walking away from him and joining her mother while the man walked over to where Draco and Narcissa where talking with some people.

Since that Hermione has been walking and talking with everyone alone. It's been some good twenty minutes.

It's ridiculous that he can't take his eyes off her. Her words keep echoing in his mind. The way she said she had many reasons to keep an eye on him makes his stomach churn. And inevitably he thinks about the note he found in her office. What are her reasons to investigate the Potters' Persecution? Which answers is she looking for? It all makes him restless.

He crosses his arms and lets his eyes follow her, again noticing how beautiful she looks. He realizes there's not a scenario where he might find her unattractive and it sucks a bit. How much he wants her.

As if guessing or sensing his thoughts, Hermione raises her head from down bellow and looks directly at the point where she thinks he's standing. It takes her a few moments to look away and he lets out his breath slowly.

Then he freezes.

Harry can feel someone inside the room with him. Whoever it is, is tauting him. Waiting for him to be surprised when he turns. Moving a bit, but still looking down, he discreetly reaches for his wand tucked inside his jeans at the front.

Then it happens pretty fast. When he's turning, he hears the Stupefy and immediately uses a Protego, and not even knowing where his opponent is, he yells an Expelliarmus while jumping to hide behind a big armchair at the corner. It surprises him that a wand comes flying to his hand. But he has little time to analyze it since whoever is there kicks the armchair back, squeezing him to the wall. Harry grunts and uses a spell to send it away, standing promptly.

A fist meets his jaw and he stumbles back, grunting. Then he finally raises his eyes and sees a masked man, dressed exactly like the ones who invaded Riddle Manor at the Ball. He's ready to use a binding spell when the man swiftly kicks his hand and both wands fly under the bed. And another punch finds his stomach. Harry grits his teeth, annoyed.

Understanding this will not be a duel, he blocks the next punch and moves to deliver his own. One at the face, another at the side, then the stomach. It amazes him how the mask stays glued to the face. Now, blocking two punches, one from each side and holding the man's arms, he cracks his skull against the man's and hears a yell when he falls back, hitting the floor. Harry blinks.

But he doesn't let the man stand back up and sits on his chest, punching his face. "Who are you?" He asks. One more punch. "What do you want?" Another punch. The man is groaning something. "What? Say it louder!"

"We want justice!" He yells, spitting blood.

Harry punches him again. "Justice for whom?"

"For Muggleborns! For Lily and James!"

Harry stops at the words, he imagined this, but it's chilling to hear it from the man. And with his guard down, he sees stars from the punch the man delivers. Harry falls back, disorientated. It takes him a moment to understand that now he's the one being punched.

"You're in our way! Stay out of this!" The man says. Harry is bleeding on the floor, his nose broken, his head hurting. The man retrieves his wand and before Harry can even try a reaction, he utters a Sectumsempra. "You should have stayed in Italy!" The man shakes his head. "How long do you think until someone comes to check on you?" He laughs wickedly. "You really thought we wouldn't see through this little trap? Serves you well."

Then he leaves.

Harry looks around. He's bleeding to death. He tries finding his wand, but his vision is already blurry and it's getting harder and harder to breathe. So much blood. He's laying on his own blood, tainting the floor and leaving this world.

"Please, please." A sob, then a low whine. Someone is crying. "Come back. Please." The voice is soft and warm, pleading. "Please, Harry. Don't do this. Stay. Please."

It's like coming out of a sea of mud. Difficult, wet, slimy, dirty. Things come back slowly to him, her voice, then her touch, her smell. He takes a big gulp, as if resurfacing from the deepest ocean, desperately needing air. And when the air reaches his lungs, he coughs. And it hurts. Every inch of his body hurts. He opens his eyes and flinches, it's like seeing for the first time.

Hermione cries more, but this time it's different. She's relieved. He hears a chuckle from her and turns to his left where she's kneeling on the floor. He sits up, a bit dizzy.

"Hermione." He manages to say.

Their eyes meet and she takes his face in her hands, shaking her head. Then she moves closer, his arms move on their own when they bring her to him. She's practically sitting on his lap now. He's drugged by her proximity and still feeling a bit disorientated. She embraces him tightly, as if their lives depended on it. Harry breathes her in and she does the same, both having a natural need to reassure the other that they're still there, alive.

He pulls back. Hermione blinks a few times and looks down, clearing her throat. Almost as if she regrets her impulsiveness. But she doesn't move away from his arms. And he finally sees that her white dress is practically red from his blood. He makes a face.

"Does it still hurt?" She asks, her hands moving to his neck, then his chest. "I- I did my best to heal you, I think the counter spell worked, but-"

"I'm fine." He says even feeling all the cuts on his body like fire. "You saved me."

She doesn't answer, her hand resting above his heart. "What happened?"

"I guess it was a poor plan, after all. One of them attacked me, said I should stay out of the way." He shrugs and, inevitably, his hands and arms squeeze her gently, bringing her a tad closer. She lets him, and to his surprise she moves to rest her forehead against his.

"I felt it. I can't explain what or how, but it was a sudden urge to come to you." She closes her eyes, some tears falling. "I came immediately."

Harry has no idea what to say to this. He's still there because of her. He feels something stabbing at his chest. He brushes some of her tears, his fingers gentle on her cheek.

"I'm sorry about the way I talked to you earlier." He says. "I was a bit-"

"Doesn't matter." She leans to him, kissing his cheek. "I'm just fucking glad you're alive."

Harry purses his lips and cups her cheek, bringing her to him again. They share another brief but meaningful hug. She sighs when they separate.

"Did it take me too long to come back?"

"No, I think I was here moments after the attacker was gone. At most five minutes since it happened." She moves a thumb to caress his cheek. "I warned you about the risk."

"I know. I should have listened."

She smiles. "I hope you don't forget these words next time. You need to go to St. Mungo's." Harry is already shaking his head, but she presses a finger to his lips to stop his words. "This is an order." He snorts a laugh and kisses her finger.

But before he can do or say anything else, Hermione raises fast from his lap and puts a fair distance between them. And after brushing away her tears and taking a deep breath, she sends out a Patronus.

In a blink, Ron, Draco and Gin are there, Asmodeus is the last one to arrive.

"Bloody Hell! What happened?" Ron's eyes are wide. "Are you okay, mate?" Harry nods.

"He was attacked." Hermione begins. Asmodeus narrows his eyes. "D'Angelo got lucky I was heading to the bathroom and saw him bleeding on the floor. Now, call in for a team to take him to St. Mungo's. I want you all to search the house. D'Angelo said it was only one man, but we can't take any risks. Understood?"

Harry observes while they move fast out of the room to obey her orders. Only Pettigrew stays. He gives Harry an odd look and walks to Hermione. As Harry stands on his own, one hand on his stomach, a huge and blinding pain taking over him, he listens to their exchange:

"You're all covered in blood." Pettigrew says.

"Yeah, well, that usually happens when people bleed."

"Come, let me take care of you-"

"I'll stay until the healers arrive, I don't think D'Angelo is capable of-"

"You already saved him, you don't need to babysit him as well."

Harry actually snorts at that while he makes a huge effort to sit on the bed. His clothes are soaked in blood, the floor is nasty with it and he knows he's tainting everything he touches.

They don't pay him much attention, but Harry stares at them shamelessly. She looks bored. Pettigrew on the other hand is clenching his jaw.

"I'll stay. You go downstairs and tell my father what happened. Make people leave."

"Draco can do that." He shakes his head and moves to Hermione, taking her hand. "I'll wait with you, then."

She opens and closes her mouth but nods with a tight smile. Harry watches with disbelieving eyes while Pettigrew puts an arm around her shoulders and kisses her head. It makes him blatantly uncomfortable. And maybe Pettigrew is doing it on purpose. Stop it. He's her boyfriend.

"I guess you two are even now, right, D'Angelo?" Pettigrew asks and Harry looks at him, annoyed, the pain blinding him a bit. "You saved her once and she saved you now, so you can stop acting like she owes you something."

Hermione closes her eyes. Harry snorts. "Fuck off, Pettigrew." He's so fucking pissed.

Pettigrew is about to say something else but two healers arrive just in time. As they begin to ask Harry some questions, his eyes travel to Hermione. She's being dragged out of the room by Pettigrew and they share one last look before he's taken to St. Mungo's.

November 25th, 2005

Harry's flat

- Greyback

- Lestrange

- Dolohov

- Crouch

- Goyle

- Karkaroff

His eyes are fixed on the wall. He wonders how it's possible that he hasn't bumped into any of them until now. And this is eating him from the inside out. Even if Riddle wanted to keep their identities a secret, it's not reasonable or believable that they're not part of the Minister's inner circle. They all represent Pureblood families, but it's almost like they vanished.

Harry scrunches his nose, a hand on his stomach. He still is in a lot of pain. He had deep cuts all over his torso and the healers wanted him to spend the night at the Hospital, but Harry refused vehemently and they let him go with a thousand recommendations. Apparently the counter spell Hermione used for the Sectumsempra wasn't the best one and Harry began to bleed again after a while. It took the healers a lot to stop the bleeding, which gave him new big and shiny scars that are too sensitive for his liking. He can feel them burning. It's annoyingly painful. The only positive side of this is that he has a few days off work again.

He grits his teeth, making a face.

How am I going to find them? He could ask Ron or Ginny. He knows any of them might be open to talk about these Aurors, but deep down he fears his questions might stir suspicions about him.

He sighs.

Hermione said she still has her eyes on him. Just because they're fucking it doesn't change who he is and her duty as Head Auror. And even if it pissed him off, she's right. It's annoying how she's right almost 100% of the times.

With a hand covering his eyes, he lets his mind wander to what happened yesterday. The man and his words about doing that for James and Lily still sound strange in Harry's mind. The way he said it, how he used their names… Harry presses a finger against his temple. There's something there he's not seeing, something he's missing-

He opens both eyes.

"It felt personal." He says to himself.

It was like the man knew James and Lily, like it was… a personal vendetta. Harry sits straight up. Could it be that these attacks, these rebels, aren't just using the Potters' Persecution as a flag for their cause, but are indeed being orchestrated by people who actually knew them? Who miss them? Who want to end Tom Riddle for this single purpose?

He runs both hands through his hair.

But who could they be?

He knows little about the life his parents led before they exiled themselves in a Muggle village. The memories he's seen, the ones where he's a little baby which his grandfather retrieved when he found Harry crying, don't show much. Harry narrows his eyes. He avoids these memories a bit, so much he only brought two from Italy with him because of both emotional and safety reasons. If someone finds out who he is, he'll be ready to destroy these two memories while the others are safely tucked away in Rome, at the Villa.

But now he questions himself.

Should he search them for clues or something that might give him a better idea of who his parents really were before he was born? He never studied the memories. Not truly. Even his grandfather never encouraged this. The memories always symbolized a purpose. His revenge. His ultimate goal. The destruction of the Riddles. The downfall of Blood Supremacy. But mostly a way for Harry to know and remember his parents. Nothing more.

He chews the insides of his cheeks. His eyes falling on two other names:

- Dumbledore

- Snape

Dumbledore knows who I am. The old man came to him at the Ball and explicitly said it. Could the answers he's looking for be with these two? Snape, just like the others, is someone that disappeared from the map. And differently from the others, he wasn't in the same high circle of Riddle and his counselors. Harry is intrigued by this.

Letting out a long sigh, he tumbles his head back on the couch, looking at the ceiling and concealing the wall. He feels trapped. He came to London to find answers, to take action and seize his birth name back after finally avenging his parents. But now he has more questions than before and it seems impossible to take action since he's behaving like an idiot focusing on things he shouldn't be… like Hermione.

He groans.

Harry hates how much she takes over his time. It's like she lives rent free in his mind. Which is a big inconvenience in his case. And he wished he could say things got better after they fucked, but of course they didn't. Now he knows how it feels to have her in his arms, to be able to touch her like that and kiss her. And he hates himself for this. Hates himself for letting her in and having to keep forcing her out. It's a constant struggle that fogs his mind and confuses him.

He was incredibly angry after witnessing her conversation with Pettigrew at her office, but then she just saved his life yesterday and they shared those hugs that he wants to convince himself meant nothing. But deep down he knows they felt different…

Raising a hand, he performs an accio. Harry looks at the book he ordered two days ago. The Wizarding Elite: Traditions. It's a shitty name. For a book. But it holds one answer he's not sure he wants to read. However, he can't keep ignoring this. Since the Ball, since he danced with Hermione, since he saw the look in her eyes while people clapped… then Pettigrew brought it up, said it meant something. Not to mention that Sally has been avoiding Harry since the Ball. She only talked to him while she was high, completely drugged, and then went radio silent.

Moving the book from one hand to another, he ponders. "Fuck it." He mumbles while he opens the book and searches for what he's looking for at the index, his finger going over the chapters. It stops just above, The Traditional Dance — p.76. He taps his finger, pursing his lips. Then he turns to page 76:

"Its origin is a mystery until the modern days, but many say the Traditional Dance exists since magic first manifested itself. Having its roots in secluded villages and communities, the Dance's importance grew alongside the society. Its particular trait of mixing body and soul is what makes the Traditional Dance special. Many claim that the Patronus Incantation actually comes from the Dance, its purpose was only attached to the existence of Dementors later on.

The Patronus is the purest manifestation of the soul and while performed at the Dance, it holds a whole new meaning. Mixing wizards and the manifestations of their souls was the perfect way of finding the most harmonious partners and making perfect matches. It's known that while the couple dances, their minds and desires are set free and out of their control, manifesting themselves into their Patronus. The Harmony, as it's called the perfect Dance between the partners and the animals, is not that common. It receives this name because of the natural meeting of actions, interests, feelings and ideas between the dancing couple. Like two halves becoming a whole.

Harry stops. His mouth is dry. What is this book saying? That he's like… the perfect match for Hermione? Saying that they would be incredibly happy together? He grits his teeth and taking a deep breath, returns to the book:

- kindred souls that wandered far from each other but were able to find their way back. This meeting of souls is also the encounter of magic in its wholesome form. This clash is so powerful that those watching are bewitched by the couple and their Patronus, the claps which follow the rhythm of the Dance are involuntary and compulsory. The few and fortunate couples that show perfect Harmony are advised to unite and perpetuate their bloodline-"

Harry shuts the book. His heart is beating fast and he feels dizzy, his cuts hurting. He throws the book under the couch, as if hiding it may help him forget what he just read.

His mind is rushing, he can't stop thinking about the dance, about everyone clapping, their Patronus on the floor.

And the way she looked at him.

She knew.

She knew what it meant for them. And she said nothing.

But Harry remembers the glint in her eyes, the way she flinched when he said it was just a dance. And then she was all over him, saying she was going to probably marry Asmo and that they should live their lust, get it out of their systems. Knowing what he knows now, he would have stopped her. If he knew what that dance meant, he's sure he wouldn't have taken that step with her…

Because it complicates things even more.

Everyone was there. They all saw it. Tom and Bellatrix. Pettigrew. The Blacks. It's no wonder Sally is avoiding him. And how is he supposed to deal with this now?

"I just need to stay away from her." He whispers, something tugging at his chest.

A knock on his door takes him out of his thoughts. He's not expecting a visit. He looks at the clock, most people he knows are supposed to be at the Ministry now…

Grunting in pain he walks to the door, double checking if his wall is concealed.

And for the second time since he moved to London, Hermione is standing on the other side.

Harry swallows a lump on his throat. She doesn't move and they study each other. His mind bringing back all the information he just read. He can't help wondering how it's been for her since she knew what the dance meant. She had to convince Pettigrew it was nothing. Probably convince her parents also. And her friends.

"Hey." She says faintly.

Hermione has her hair in a nice braid again and she's wearing casual clothes. A pair of jeans and a white tank top with nice boots and a light jacket.

"Hey." He blinks, still holding the door open for her. "I-" He clears his throat and her eyes roam over his frame. "What are you doing here?"

She sighs. "Wanted to talk to you."

"You could have sent me a Patronus. Or a letter." He squints.

"Can I come in?"

He tightens his grip on the knob. "I don't think it's the best idea."

She presses her lips together. "Why?"

"I think you know why."

"To be honest, I don't." She shrugs.

Harry sets his jaw. Then he sighs and moves to let her in.

Hermione walks slowly past him, her eyes fixed on his. He closes the door and takes a deep breath. I can do this. When he turns around, she's sitting on the couch, cross legged and with a serious expression on her face. Harry moves and sits in front of her on a chair.

The silence stretches.

"So?" He asks sharply and she raises an eyebrow.

"Are you still angry with me?"

He shakes his head. "I honestly don't know. I could be insanely angry with you, or not. It's unclear."

"Why?"

"Because… everything concerning you is unclear to me, Hermione."

She barely reacts and he's surprised by his sincerity. "I could say the same to you, Harry."

He looks down, making a face at the pain. "What do you want to talk about?" He wants her gone from his flat as soon as possible. He's already intoxicated by her natural scent and it's annoying. Being this… vulnerable around her.

"How are you feeling?" She finally looks at him. Worried.

"I'm- it hurts." He makes a face again. "A lot. I mean, it's like each cut is on fire. Not nice."

"What the healers said?"

"I'll be fine in a day or two, just need to take the potion correctly-" He widens his eyes. "Oh, shit!" He moves to stand, but she's faster, her hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stay on the chair.

"Where is it?" She asks, already knowing he forgot to take the potion.

He shakes his head. "At the nightstand, top drawer."

She moves to his room and Harry chews the insides of his cheeks. Hermione comes back in seconds with the vial and he thanks her. It tastes awfully, but he immediately feels better, the pain subsiding considerably.

"I've been thinking about what happened." Hermione says after a while and he gives her all his attention. "You're highly trained, Harry. Powerful." He tilts his head. "I just don't understand how one man did this to you. You almost died." Her words come out shaky and she presses her hands together on her lap.

He understands what she means. He had the guy until he heard his parents' names. But he obviously can't tell her that. "It was a second of distraction. He came at me pretty fast. I'd already lost my wand and…" He shrugs, trailing.

She nods. "Well, apparently he was the only one there. Nothing else happened." There's a wrinkle between her brows.

"What is it?"

"How did they know it was a trap? Very few people knew about this."

Harry runs a hand through his hair. "I think it's obvious there's a traitor among us."

She squints. "That's what bothers me."

"What? The fact that there's a traitor?"

"No." She shakes her head. "The fact that it's too obvious that there's a traitor." She moves a bit forward on the couch. "Traitors are smart, Harry. They have to be. It's not easy being a double agent. And this doesn't make any sense, why act like they want to be caught?"

He moves back at that. "You're right. They're not trying to hide their steps."

"This person wants these investigations and interrogations to happen."

"As a distraction?"

"Maybe."

"But from what?"

She scrunches her nose at that. "That's what I want to find out… not to mention that someone clearly wants me dead or out of the picture in a way."

He crosses his arms at that. "It seems so." He searches her eyes. "You could have waited to talk with me at the Ministry. What are you really doing here?" He asks in a low voice.

She looks down. Then back at him, vulnerable. "I- I wanted to see you."

His breathe hitches. He wanted to see her too. "I'm okay." He reassures her. "Thank you. For saving me."

"You would have done the same."

"I would." He whispers the incriminating words. Simple words that fuck up his entire revenge. Hermione wets her lips, her eyes falling to his mouth. "You should have told me." He says suddenly. She narrows her eyes. "What the Dance really meant. The clapping. The fact that-"

"Stop." She says in a low but menacing tone. "It doesn't change a thing between us, D'Angelo. And to be honest I think it's all a bunch of rubbish." She snorts and stands from the couch. "We barely know each other and you think a dance can decide for us that we're what? Soulmates? Please, I already have enough people in my life trying to dictate how I should live it."

He stands fast and stops in front of her before she can reach the door. She's angry. "If I knew what it meant I would never have crossed the line between us!" He says through gritted teeth.

"Oh, is that what you're worried about? Don't be a hypocrite, D'Angelo. You wanted to fuck me. Badly. Since the day we met."

He bites his lower lip and brings her to him by the waist. "And you didn't?" He bumps his nose into hers, feeling all her stiffness leaving her body. "Tell me you didn't." He kisses her cheek, then her jaw, biting her neck. "Tell me." One of his hands squeezes her waist, the other on her neck.

Both her hands move to his hair and their lips find each other's.

Harry moans.

Her lips are so soft, her tongue sinful. Harry lets himself enjoy the moment. And it's overwhelming how well they fit, how the kiss feels organic, almost like second nature, like something they've been doing for years. His heart is beating like crazy inside his chest and nothing else exists around them. He sucks on her bottom lip hard and immediately seeks her mouth again, drowning in her.

Hermione makes soft noises that drive him crazy. Her hands are fisting his hair, sometimes more fiercely and others more gently depending on how they're kissing.

It takes them endless minutes to separate.

Harry can't help considering it their first real kiss. It's totally different from what they shared when they fucked at the Ball. This carries… feelings, emotions.

Questions.

They share a look. Her lips are red, just like his, he's sure, and there's a small smile on the corner of her mouth. He slides a thumb across it, fascinated.

"I did." She says, answering his question.

He kisses her again, feeling insane, as if he was born to do this: kiss her. She bites his lower lip and he groans, earning a chuckle from her. Harry starts walking back to the couch and Hermione goes with him. They share a single laugh when their legs tangle together.

Harry pulls back, smiling. His cuts are hurting like crazy again since Hermione is touching him everywhere, but he doesn't care. However, when she moves both hands to pull his t-shirt up and off, discarding it at the floor, he flinches and she stops.

"Oh, shit, Harry, I'm sorry!"

He tries moving his head to dismiss her words but he makes a face of pain and sits down on the couch, panting. "Fuck, it hurts." He closes his eyes, but his hand seeks hers and Harry brings her down to sit by his side. Hermione does and he feels her lips on his neck, gentle. She's apologizing again. "It's okay." She pulls back and he opens his eyes to see her taking off her jacket and throwing it at the floor.

Then her eyes fall to his bare chest. He still hasn't concealed his new scars because they're too red and sensitive. Hermione is observing them and Harry is observing her. "You're beautiful." He says, not resisting the words bursting out from his mouth.

She opens a bright smile and moves even closer to him on the couch, her hands touching his face. "And you're fucking hot." She says seductively and Harry laughs.

"Yeah?" He asks cockily.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah." And to prove her point, she moves her hands down to his chest, trying her best to be gentle with his new scars.

"Even with all these scars?"

"If anything they make you look even hotter."

And she lowers her head, kissing one of his new scars. Harry closes his eyes. This is so unexpected and gentle, loving. He gulps. Hermione kisses other scars, her hands moving down his body. Harry doesn't stop her, it hurts a bit, but the gesture is so full of good intentions that he doesn't care about the pain. His hands rest on his sides, and hers reach the waistband of his sweatpants. Harry looks down at her and she looks up at him. He bites his lips.

"Let me take care of you this time."

And still looking at him she kisses his stomach, his abs, her tongue sticking out, her hands slowly pulling on his sweatpants. Before she even asks him to, Harry raises his hips and helps her get rid of the sweatpants. He's not wearing any underwear.

Just like he did at her office, Hermione stops a moment to observe him. Harry realizes it's the first time he's totally naked in front of her. He tilts his head. She's taking her time and he moves a hand to stroke his hardening cock. She opens that devious smile. And they lock their eyes while he moves his hand up and down his length. Hermione moves back to him, slowly, and kneels on the floor, opening his legs, positioning herself between them.

Harry is already having a hard time breathing, his heart trashing inside him. Her hands squeeze his thighs, her lips finding his hand and stopping his movements. Hermione takes his hand and sucks on his middle finger, provocatively. Harry opens his mouth. He wants her so damn much.

Instinctively, his hand goes to her neck, then her braid. And even knowing what's about to happen, it feels surreal. Before her mouth even touches his cock, he wonders if it won't be too much, if he'll be able to recover from this. And when her tongue licks his length, he's sure he won't. Recover. Ever.

Harry closes his eyes. Again, he won't look at her. She's so much she should be forbidden. He groans at the back of his throat. Guttural sounds. Sheer pleasure.

One of her hands is holding him at the base of his cock while the other moves to his abs, then his thigh, squeezing again. All his pain vanishing in a second.

She moves up and down slowly, sucking just right, giving him exactly what he wants, what he needs. She swirls her tongue at the head, and Harry groans a bit more evidently. She does it again, licking. He moves her head the way he wants while also moving his hips a bit and she obliges. He bites hard his lower lip. He's fucking her mouth and it's so damn good.

It becomes frenetic, he's almost reaching his sweet release, but she moves away, stopping. He hisses and shudders, his cock pulsating.

"Look at me." She says, bossily. "I want to see your eyes. I want to see how much you want this. How good I'm making you feel."

He might come just with these words.

Harry opens his eyes and meets hers. Her face flushed, her lips swollen, red. The same desire he feels stamped on her face. Fuck. Never breaking eye contact she moves to take his cock in her mouth again. She takes him all, one, two, three times.

Fast. Then slow and maddening.

And inevitably he comes, his muscles tightening, his whole body existing just for this moment, just for her. Harry purses his lips together to stop his loud moan. They keep looking at each other while she swallows his every drop.

They're both breathing hard.

And as she stands from the floor, he pulls her to him, his hand on her nape, his lips seeking hers. A bit reluctantly, because of his cuts, she straddles him and he holds her tightly. Their kiss is hot, seductive, lazy. Harry is numb from the earth shattering orgasm he just had, but after a few minutes, the pain comes back. He doesn't want to let her go, though, and they keep kissing, but inevitably he stops, closing his eyes and scrunching his whole face.

"I'm hurting you." She says and moves. But he holds her there.

"No." He finds her lips again, acting like an addicted.

"Harry." She puts a hand on his chest and he grunts from the pain. Hermione moves from his lap and sits by his side. Harry sighs and not thinking about it, he holds her hand in his. Hermione intertwines their fingers. And they stay that way, slouched, both their thumbs caressing the other's hand. After a while, the only movement he makes is to put back his sweatpants, and then their hands clasp together again. "Honestly," She finally says, "How much do you workout?"

He laughs. "Am I this hot?" He winks.

"You are." She says with a smile. "I mean… these abs, your thighs, your arms. These hands." She brings his hand to her lips, kissing it gently.

"Everyday." He says, "I run whenever I feel like it and I train combat almost every night."

She tilts her head. "Do you wanna… I don't know, run or train together?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I… would love to." He says in a low voice and she raises her eyes to him. He leans to her, for a kiss, but she moves away a bit, clearing her throat. He stops, frowning.

"Okay. Good." He feels her pulling her hand and he lets her go. Hermione raises from the couch and fetches her jacket. "I should head back to the Ministry." He nods. "Look, Harry," She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry about not telling you what happened between us at the traditional." He narrows his eyes. "But I really don't think twice about these things, this whole world of conjectures, destiny, fate and such is just plain boring to me. But I know most people care about it and I think you should seek Sally out, explain to her it meant nothing or else she won't come after you."

He opens and closes his mouth. Sally is the last thing on his mind.

"I-" He begins.

"I mean," She moves in front of him, "I don't want our dance to be the reason why you two can't be together. Asmo understood the situation-"

"I'll talk to her." He says fast to stop her words, which he can barely believe.

"You must." She says, her eyes set on him. "Because, this," She moves her hand between them, "is just sex, it means nothing, right?"

He sets his jaw and stands from the couch. "Just sex, Hermione. Nothing more." He says firmly, his heart squeezing inside his chest.

She nods, her eyes and expression cold, firm. "I'll set up a meeting with my father to talk about investigating in Muggle London."

He agrees curtly, amazed by how easily she changed subjects. Hermione doesn't walk to the door. She apparates in a swift motion and Harry stays there, frozen in the middle of his living room thinking about what just happened. He clicks his tongue.

A Patronus invades his flat.

"And take your potion correctly, D'Angelo. See you at the Ministry." It's Hermione.

He frowns and then chuckles.

Shaking his head and sitting back on the couch, he dismisses the sensation that lingers… that he wanted to hold her hand a little while longer.