Chapter 2 - Hermione's Visit
The rainiest day of summer had arrived. The skies above London had opened up, unleashing a torrential downpour over Islington Borough, and it couldn't have come at a worse time.
Hermione Granger hurried down the street, battling against the wind and rain. Her umbrella was barely holding up, her coat was soaked through, and her bushy hair was plastered to her head. The rain was falling in heavy sheets, drenching everything in sight, and turning the streets of Islington into a wet mess. Shivering, she adjusted her coat and looked up and down the street. The London Borough of Islington had never been a cheery place, but now it appeared even more unwelcoming; some of the houses had broken windows, paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.
A fierce gust of wind got the best of her umbrella, turning it inside out with a violent snap. Hermione muttered a quick spell to right it, but the relentless gusts made her efforts almost futile. Clutching the handle tighter, she pressed on, her other arm wrapped around her soaked coat, trying in vain to shield herself from the chill.
Despite the weather's hostility, her mind was set on one thing: finding Harry, who had been unexpectedly withdrawn all summer. Hermione had been busy all summer with Death Eater trials and the efforts to repair Hogwarts for the new school year. But it wasn't the state of the magical community that brought her here today. It was Harry. Harry, who'd missed three Death Eater trials in a row. Harry, who hadn't responded to her owls in weeks. Harry, who seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.
She hadn't realized just how long it had been since she'd last spoken to her friend until Headmistress McGonagall told her that Harry had sent an owl declining her invitation for him to return to Hogwarts for an 8th Year.
It wasn't like Harry to just disappear. He was the kind to face problems head-on, not hide from them. What was going on with him? She quickened her pace, something was off, and she was determined to figure it out.
Hermione paused, squinting through the curtain of rain at the row of houses before her. She could hear the muffled pounding of a stereo coming from the upper window in 11 Grimmauld Place, and smell the pungent stench of rotting rubbish coming from the pile of bulging bin bags just inside the broken gate that looked like they hadn't been moved since the last time she was here.
She had assumed Harry would be here and she had been right. Hermione was standing outside 11 Grimmauld Place; she looked to the left and saw 10 Grimmauld Place; to the right, however, was 13 Grimmauld Place. Between them, where 12 Grimmauld Place should have been, there was only a gap, unremarkable to the muggle eye.
There was no reason for number 12 to be hidden if Harry wasn't here.
Hermione pulled a folded piece of parchment from her pocket. An owl had delivered to Hogwarts last week. It said:
The home of Harry Potter may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.
Hermione thought about what she just read, and no sooner had she reached the part about 12 Grimmauld Place, than a freshly painted door emerged out of nowhere between 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place, followed swiftly by a neatly kept front garden, pristine walls, and sparkling windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way.
Hermione blinked, certain she must be seeing things. But no—this was unmistakably 12 twelve, Grimmauld Place.
Swallowing hard, she approached the front door. Her wand slipped into her hand, a comforting weight of vine wood and dragon heartstring. She walked up the clean stone steps, staring at the newly materialized door. Its black paint was fresh and glossy, not shabby and scratched like when the Order had been staying here. The silver door knocker was different too. Where it used to be a twisted serpent, a stag's head was now hanging. There was still no keyhole or letterbox.
Hermione tapped the door with her wand. She heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain.
The door swung inward silently, without the creaks she had grown used to during her summer here.
Waiting for her just inside the walkway was Kreacher. "Miss Granger," the House Elf croaked, bowing slightly. "Please come in."
Hermione was taken aback by Kreacher's appearance. While Kreacher still looked unhappy, she could see a marked improvement in his health. The teeth that Dobby had knocked out were back, and his skin, though still wrinkled, was no longer grimy. The filthy brown sack he used to wear had been replaced by a clean black t-shirt.
She stepped over the threshold into a brightly lit hallway and was immediately struck by how different it was from her last visit. Gone was the smell of damp and dust, replaced by the fresh scent of pumpkin juice and treacle tarts.
"Kreacher," Hermione greeted, still trying to process the changes around her. "You look...well."
The House Elf practically preened, drawing himself up to his full height—which, admittedly, barely reached Hermione's waist. As he led her through the house, Hermione marveled at the transformation. The once dark and gloomy hallway was now bright and welcoming. The walls that had been covered in peeling wallpaper the last time she was here now boasted a warm, cream color that made the space feel open and inviting. She heard the soft hum of modern lighting fixtures, a far cry from the old gas lamps, and where the cobwebby chandelier once hung, there was now a sleek, modern light fixture.
"Kreacher, the house looks amazing," Hermione said, genuinely impressed.
They walked past where the moth-eaten curtains used to be, noticing that the wall behind them had been opened up to create an archway into a bright, airy living room. The troll-leg umbrella stand was gone, replaced by a stylish coat rack.
"You've done a wonderful job."
The House Elf's ears twitched at the praise. "Kreacher thanks Miss Granger for her kind words," he said before his face contorted as if he'd eaten something sour. "But...Master Potter helped with much of it, to Kreacher's shame. It is a House Elf's duty to keep the house."
Hermione felt a pang of sadness at Kreacher's mindset, but she was glad to see that Harry wasn't treating him like a servant or slave. As they continued through the house, she noticed more positive changes. The wall of shrunken house-elf heads had been replaced with framed magical photos of her, Harry's parents, Sirius, Lupin, and their friends from Hogwarts. The living room, once dreary and forbidding, was now open and airy.
"You and Harry have really turned this place around," Hermione said, smiling at Kreacher. "It must be much nicer to live here now."
Kreacher nodded reluctantly. "The house is...cleaner," he admitted. "And Master Potter insists on Kreacher taking better care of himself." He tugged at his clean t-shirt, looking both uncomfortable and secretly pleased.
Hermione was glad that both Harry and Kreacher were living in a much-improved environment, and that Harry was clearly making efforts to treat Kreacher with kindness and respect, even if the old House Elf was still adjusting to the changes.
"Where is Harry now, Kreacher?" she asked as they climbed the stairs to the upper floors.
Kreacher paused, his gnarled finger pointing at a door across the landing. "Master Potter is in there, Miss Granger," he said, "but he is very—"
Hermione was already moving, her concern for her friend overriding any sense of propriety. She reached for the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open.
"Harry, I—" The words died on her lips. Her brain short-circuited at what she was seeing.
Harry.
Completely starkers.
Shagging.
The large, well-lit bedroom looked like something out of a posh Mayfair hotel. Clothes were strewn everywhere—bright red thong knickers hanging off the bedpost, a bra tangled with Harry's jeans on the floor. The air was thick with the musky scent of sex, a smell Hermione had never encountered before but instantly recognized.
In the center stood a massive four-poster bed, its curtains drawn back to reveal the Patil twins and Harry.
Parvati clung to Harry, her arms wrapped around his neck as they snogged passionately. Their tongues danced, visible in flashes as their lips parted and reconnected. Padma was on all fours, her face buried in the mattress, knuckles white as she gripped the bed sheets. Her bum was in the air, her back arched at an angle Hermione wouldn't have thought possible. And Harry...oh God, Harry was...
"Harder, Harry!" Padma's cry filled the room. "Fuck me harder!"
Hermione felt her face flush hot with embarrassment. Her heart raced, pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She ought to leave. She absolutely ought to leave. But her feet wouldn't budge.
Merlin, what am I doing? This is wrong. So wrong. I shouldn't be watching this.
Yet she couldn't tear her eyes away.
Harry's eyes were screwed shut, his face contorted in a mix of concentration and pleasure that Hermione had never seen before. It was so different from Ron's expressions—Harry looked... confident. In control. Sweat dripped off his skin as he pounded into Padma, the muscles in his back and arms flexing with each thrust. Good lord, since when did Harry have muscles like that?
Quidditch must be more athletic than I thought, Hermione mused, then immediately felt silly for having such a thought. Ron played Quidditch too, and his body was nothing like Harry's-lanky and pale, with a smattering of freckles across his shoulders.
Her eyes dropped to Padma, watching as the girl's body rocked with each of Harry's thrusts. Her breasts swayed beneath her, and Hermione found herself mesmerized by the movement. Is that what I look like? she wondered, then quickly shook the thought away. Ron had never taken her from behind like that—they'd always been face to face, Ron's weight pressing her into the mattress.
"Oh -ah!- yes!..."
Padma suddenly arched her back even further, a filthy, sex-filled moan escaping her lips. Her hips started bucking, grinding her bum against Harry as her legs shook.
Oh. Oh! She's climaxing! Hermione realized. She'd never... well, Ron had always finished before she got anywhere close, but she'd read about orgasms in a few saucy novels in the Muggle world. But seeing it...that was something else…raw, almost violent in its intensity.
"Not inside her!" Parvati's hand shot down, grabbing Harry's cock. She pulled him out of her twin with a wet sound that made Hermione's face burn even hotter.
Parvati started wanking him, and Hermione found herself making involuntary comparisons. Harry was... larger than she'd expected. And so... hard.
When Ron had nervously told her he was considered "a little above average," she'd believed him. After all, she had nothing to compare it to. But now...
Hermione watched, transfixed, as Parvati's hand moved up and down Harry's length. Her thumb occasionally swiped over the tip, eliciting sharp gasps from Harry each time. Ron had never lasted this long under her own inexperienced touches.
Harry's breath came in ragged pants, his chest heaving. "Parvati," he groaned, "I'm close... I'm going to..."
"That's it, Harry," Parvati encouraged, her hand speeding up. "Let go. Cum for me."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She knew what was coming, but she couldn't look away. Part of her mind was still trying to analyze the situation clinically, noting the way Harry's muscles tensed, the way his toes curled into the bedsheets. But another part, a part she wasn't quite ready to acknowledge, was... envious.
Harry tensed. Every muscle in his body going rigid. He grunted, deep and primal, a sound Hermione had never imagined could come from her best friend's throat. So different from Ron's strangled choking.
Then... Harry came. Hard. Hot cum erupted from his…his cock, splattering across Parvati's face, painting the Indian witch's brown skin white. Hermione could only watch, wide-eyed in stunned disbelief, her mouth hanging open in shock as Harry just kept cumming, far more than Ron had ever produced.
Harry sagged, looking utterly spent. His softening cock hung between his legs, still impressive even in its relaxed state. Parvati released him and leaned back with a satisfied smile, her face glazed like a chelsea bun.
Hermione felt a confusing mix of emotions swirling inside her at the sight. Shock, embarrassment, and something else—a feeling she wasn't ready to examine too closely.
Her brain finally kicked into gear. She needed to leave. Now. Before they noticed her. Before she had to face Harry and try to explain why she'd been standing there, gawking like some kind of pervert.
Suddenly, Parvati's eyes met hers. "Oh!" the other witch gasped, quickly alerting the others to Hermione's presence.
"HERMIONE!" Padma shouted when she saw her standing at the doorway.
Hermione flinched at the volume of her voice. Startled by the sudden outburst, she stumbled backward, her heel catching on Harry's trousers. Her hands flailed for balance, finding the doorknob behind her. The door, which had silently swung shut trapping her in the sex-filled room.
Padma quickly gathered the sheets around her, her face flushing with embarrassment. Parvati attempted an apologetic smile, undercut by the layer of Harry's cum on her face.
Harry turned his head, his expression surprisingly calm. "Hermione," he said. "What brings you here?"
Embarrassed and overwhelmed, Hermione's fingers fumbled with the doorknob. "I'm so sorry!" she stammered before finally wrenching the door open. "I didn't mean to—I'll just—I'm sorry!"
She practically fell into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind her. Her mind was reeling, trying to process what she had just witnessed. Harry. In bed. With the Patil twins. It was like trying to solve an arithmancy problem where none of the numbers added up.
Unbidden, thoughts of Ron flashed through her mind. Their relationship, tentative and awkward, seemed a world away from what she'd just seen. She and Ron had shared a few awkward tumbles in the sheets, but nothing more. Was this what other people their age were doing? Had she and Ron fallen behind somehow?
"Stop it," Hermione muttered to herself, shaking her head. "This isn't the time for... that."
"—can't believe she saw!" a hushed whisper came from the other side of the door. Then the muffled sound of movement as Harry and the twins likely scrambled to get dressed.
Right. She should say something.
"I didn't mean to..." Hermione said through the door, then stopped. What could she possibly say to make this less awkward? "I'll just... kitchen. I'll be in the kitchen. When you're... when you're decent."
As she walked away on unsteady legs she didn't even see Kreacher who was standing at the top of the stairs.
"Kreacher did warn Miss Granger," the House Elf muttered.
In the kitchen, she saw that like the rest of 12 Grimmauld Place, it had undergone a complete transformation. Gone were the ancient stoves and grimy worktops. In their place stood gleaming modern appliances and smooth marble countertops. A large wooden table dominated the center of the room, its surface adorned with an elegant centerpiece of magical flowers that changed color every few seconds.
Hermione was only distracted by the sight for a moment before her thoughts inevitably were pulled back to what she had just seen.
"Oh my god," she whispered, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Oh my god."
The image of Harry and the Patil twins was seared into her brain. She couldn't believe it. Harry? Her Harry? The boy who'd always been so awkward around girls, who'd fumbled through his relationship with Cho?
When had this happened? How long had it been going on? And why the Patil twins? She knew Parvati and Padma had always found Harry attractive—what witch didn't?—but this was something else entirely.
She thought back to the Yule Ball in their fourth year, remembering how disastrous Harry's date with Parvati had been. He'd barely spoken to her, let alone danced. And now...this?
Her mind drifted to the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts. She'd seen the way witches looked at Harry in the days and weeks that followed. The Boy Who Lived had become the Man Who Conquered, and his already considerable fame had skyrocketed. Every time they were out in public, Harry had been swarmed by adoring fans, many of them young witches batting their eyelashes and giggling at his every word.
But Harry had seemed so uncomfortable with the attention. He'd shied away from it, preferring to spend time with his close friends or alone. When had that changed? When had he started...entertaining witches like this?
Hermione felt a pang of hurt. Why hadn't he told her? They were supposed to be best friends. They'd been through so much together. She'd stood by him through everything—the Triwizard Tournament, the fight against Umbridge, the hunt for Horcruxes. How could he keep something like this from her?
And what about Ginny? Hermione had always thought Harry and Ginny would end up together. They'd seemed so perfect for each other. Had something happened between them that she didn't know about?
She took another deep breath, trying to calm herself. It's not my place to judge, she reminded herself. Harry is an adult.
But what about Ron? Sweet, bumbling Ron. He had to know what Harry looked like. They had shared a dorm for six years. Hermione couldn't count the number of times she'd seen the other girls naked. How would he react if he knew about this? Would he be as shocked as she was? Or would he be jealous? The thought made her stomach churn uneasily.
Hermione ran a shaky hand through her bushy hair. "I need tea," she muttered to herself. "I need a nice, strong cup of tea."
Busying herself with the familiar ritual, she moved around the kitchen in a daze, opening cupboards at random trying to find Harry's kettle and tea. While she looked, she noticed the sleek silver case sitting open on the counter next to the stove.
Under the case, a partially concealed letter caught her eye. The silver case obscured most of it, but she could just make out the name "Dursley" peeking out from beneath. Her heart skipped a beat. Dursley? Had Harry's awful relatives sent him some sort of nasty message?
She hesitated, knowing it was impolite to read someone else's mail. But again, concern for her friend overrode her usual sense of propriety. If the Dursleys were harassing Harry, she needed to know.
With a quick glance towards the door, she gently tugged the letter free. As she read the contents, Hermione's expression shifted from worry to surprise.
"Dear Harry," the letter began. It was from Dudley, Harry's cousin. But instead of the expected vitriol, the words that followed were filled with remorse and unexpected warmth.
Dudley started by acknowledging the strained relationship between them, expressing regret for years of mistreatment. But what truly caught Hermione off guard was his reminiscence about their shared childhood experiences—specifically, playing a card game called Duel Monsters.
"Remember when we used to play with those cards?" Dudley wrote. "Dad refused to buy more, so I made you draw copies. They were rubbish, but we had fun, didn't we?"
Hermione's brow furrowed. She'd never heard Harry mention this game before.
Dudley went on to reveal that he'd continued playing Duel Monsters, becoming quite good at it. He'd even won a local tournament where Harry and the Order had sent them into hiding, earning an invitation to a prestigious tournament. However, Dudley explained that he couldn't attend because his father insisted he start working at Grunnings.
The letter took on a more somber tone as Dudley gave a heartfelt apology. "I was wrong, Harry. The way I treated you... I'm truly sorry. I know it doesn't make up for everything, but I want you to know that I regret it."
Then came an unexpected offer. Dudley was gifting Harry his prized Hero deck, along with the invitation, glove, and star chips necessary for the tournament.
Hermione set the letter down and reached for the case, taking it over to the table. The case opened with a soft click, revealing a soft red velvet lining and several strange objects inside. The glove caught her attention first—not a normal glove, but one with ten star-shaped holes around the wrist. Next to it lay two small, golden star-shaped chips that seemed to fit perfectly into the glove's holes.
But it was the set of cards beneath these items that truly captured Hermione's attention. Five cards, each with a different vivid illustration. They weren't like any magical cards she had encountered before—not Chocolate Frog cards or even Tarot cards.
She read through the five cards, each explaining different aspects of what appeared to be some sort of tournament.
The first card detailed the basics: There was an exclusive competition being hosted by Maximillion Pegasus, the creator of a game called Duel Monsters. Only the world's top duelists were invited to participate.
The second card explained the rules: Participants would be ferried to Pegasus's private island, where they would duel each other using their Duel Monsters decks. The star chips served as a form of currency—win a duel, gain star chips. Lose all your chips, and you're out of the tournament.
The third card described the tournament structure: Duelists would need to collect ten star chips to gain entry into Pegasus's castle for the finals. The last duelist standing would be crowned the King of Games.
The fourth card, however, surprised Hermione. It detailed the grand prize: The winner would receive three million pounds and the opportunity to duel Pegasus himself. If they could defeat the creator of Duel Monsters, they would earn the right to ask him to grant any wish within his considerable power.
A wish? Any wish? The implications were staggering. If this Pegasus truly had the power to grant wishes, it could be incredibly dangerous. But surely it couldn't be real. It had to be some sort of Muggle game or scam, right?
But then, why would Harry have this? Hermione wondered. He'd grown up in the Muggle world, yes, but he'd been part of the Wizarding world for so long now. Why would he be interested in a Muggle card game tournament?
Unless...unless it wasn't just a game. What if this tournament was something more? What if Pegasus was a wizard, using it as a cover for something magical?
It would explain Harry's interest. And possibly even his recent behavior. Was this why he'd been so withdrawn? Was he preparing for this tournament?
Hermione picked up the last card, examining it closely. The image depicted a grand ship sailing towards a mysterious island.
Beneath the picture, ornate text read: Duelist Kingdom.