Be Careful in the Dark

Hermione stared at Bryach Avery, ideas churning in her mind. The man was unconscious and bound with ropes that were magically reinforced. He’d begged her not to torture him… an act which first confused and then horrified her. Magic made torture unnecessary but it would seem that Death Eaters didn’t let that get in the way. Hermione shivered and took a deep breath to calm herself.

He’d had less information than she had hoped. Voldemort didn’t trust him and that meant he was kept mostly out of loop. However, as she had been questioning him an idea had started to form in her mind. It was high time Voldemort got a taste of his own medicine. The Order of the Phoenix was always at a disadvantage because the members cared about the survival of both themselves and others. It was a disadvantage Hermione had though was inescapable until a loophole had occurred to her… one that Voldemort himself had thought up. Here was an opportunity to have a little peek into Voldemort’s world… and Avery, unlike Snape, could be sacrificed.

I wonder if I can get enough polyjuice…

XXXXXXX

Rastilan’s forearm bore down on Hermione’s face and jaw but she kept her chin stubbornly tucked into her chest. The hell he was going to get her into a choke hold so easily.

Today, it was just her and Rastilan in the transfigured training room. Frothy had a family obligation he couldn’t get out of. True to form, Rastilan showed no mercy. They had been wrestling for the past half hour, trying to develop Hermione’s ground fighting techniques. They were only about halfway through their work out and already Hermione’s muscles screamed and every breath was a struggle.

Hermione flicked her eyes around, running through the permutations in her mind. Finally, she surged her hips upwards, forcing him back just enough to give herself the room to force her knee into a new position. Without hesitating, she yanked him forward and shoved the back of her thigh against his knee, forcing his legs out from underneath him. They tumbled for a moment and then she was on top of him.

Again her mind flicked through the possibilities… arm bar, leg lock, triangle choke… what to do… what to do. Rastilan jerked his hips up once and Hermione leaned back a bit to keep her position. He jerked upwards again but this time, as his hips fell, his legs came upwards and over. Suddenly, she had Rastilan’s feet in her face and his legs forcing her back.

She was flexible enough that it didn’t hurt to drop all the way to her back but she couldn’t really do anything pinned to the floor. Her mind froze.

Rastilan released his legs and pushed her off of him. Hermione sat up, stretching out her back and legs as Rastilan crouched across the mat from her.

“Why do you think we do this?” He asked, panting slightly. Strands of his hair were stuck to his forehead and his scar looked particularly jarring against his exercise reddened face.

“We’re practicing.” Hermione replied, frowning. Damn the man and his difficult ways.

“Why?” His dark eyes bore into her and Hermione dropped her gaze.

“Well… because… that’s how you get good at something.” She said, feeling flustered. What is he asking me? What am I supposed to say?

“Do any ground fighting when you killed those men behind Borgin and Burkes?” He asked, baring his teeth in a semblance of a smile.

Hermione stiffened, finding it uncomfortable to be reminded of the incident. “No.” Her voice sounded sullen even to her.

“Then why do we do this?” He asked again.

Hermione frowned. “I… don’t… know.” It actually caused her a small pain in her chest to say the words. She hated those words.

“We drill the baby aurors like this too. They fight with their fists, with their wands, in the dark and in the day until they can’t think straight anymore, until they begin to think instinctively.” Rastilan paused until Hermione looked back up at him. He held her gaze as he continued to speak. “The difference between being skilled and being a master at something is really a question of thinking… not knowledge. You have to train your mind to see the patterns, make broad leaps… to come to the same decision in milliseconds that you would come to if you had hours to consider your options. And, you need to be able to do this while your adrenaline is running high, while you’re panicked and nervous and physically exhausted because that’s how it will feel every time you go into a fight. Every. Single. Time. So… don’t consider this practice Granger. Consider this a fight.” He kept his gaze locked on hers until, once again, she had to look away.

Hermione stared at the wall over Rastilan’s shoulder, her mind churning. How do you practice thinking like you’re in a fight without being in one? Alex and Snape had hammered her so relentlessly that each experience had felt like a fight. Rastilan didn’t like her but he just didn’t have the viciousness of either Snape or Alex. No one hated the world the way Severus Snape did. And Rastilan still had a cause to believe in. Alex had lost that long ago.

She looked at Rastilan. Really looked at him, evaluated him, saw him as an enemy. A white static void opened up briefly inside her mind. That was where her mind went when she was in a fight. That was how it had felt to kill Draco and Lucius Malfoy. It was gone again as she exhaled.

She met Rastilan’s eye and nodded. Without hesitation he leapt across the mat at her and Hermione threw herself headlong into the fight.

XXXXX

“I won’t! This entire scheme is ridiculous. Why did I ever think this could work?” Pansy paced back and forth, her small, pink mouth twisted into a sneer.

Hermione took a deep breath and bit back a nasty comment. She had forced herself to remain sitting although she wanted to get up and shake Pansy until her teeth rattled.
They were sitting in small, picture-less room off Dumbledore’s main office. Dumbledore was smiling, hands folded in his lap, as they spoke. He had finished his assessment of Pansy and agreed to help her.

Hermione had been trying to explain Pansy’s new identity but the blond girl kept interrupting her. As far as Hermione could tell, Pansy thought every single plan was “ridiculous”. She’d refused to go to America. Thus far, the Death Eaters had not spread to the United States and it seemed like the safest place for someone to go who wanted nothing to do with Death Eaters. Pansy had refused. She hadn’t argued or pleaded or cried. She just said no. In fact, the blond had refused to leave England. Hermione gritted her teeth.

“Pansy, do you know the meaning of the verb “to hide”? It means to “prevent from being seen or discovered.” That means, you don’t get to be a pureblood and that means you don’t get to be a blond. In fact, that bloody well means we should paint you green and ship you off to the jungle!” As she spoke, Hermione stood and by the end she was shouting.

Pansy folded her arms and glared at Hermione though she did stop muttering under her breath the words ‘useless,’ ‘idiots,’ and ‘ridiculous.’ It was progress in the right direction.

“Ms. Parkinson, this is voluntary.” Dumbledore said, smiling gently. He stood, pressing one hand on Hermione’s shoulder until she reluctantly sat down. “However vehement, the… heart… of Ms. Granger’s observations is correct. We must disguise you as something other than what you are. A muggleborn American is as good as it gets. We’ll change your appearance and your voice. You’ll have to change the way you speak and hold yourself.”

Pansy continued to glare.

“Oh, and one other thing, Ms. Parkinson,” Dumbledore gathered his robed under him and sat down on the plush, plaid armchair. “I’ve arranged for ‘Rachel Anderson’ to intern at St. Mungo’s. Should reports on her performance be outstanding, she will have secured a spot at The Bonham Medi-Witch School in the upcoming fall.” Dumbledore smiled and somehow managed to convey a smug kindness.

Pansy stared at Dumbledore as if trying to peel open his brain and see inside. Her distrust was palpable but Hermione had caught the flicker of hope in her eyes. Pansy schooled her face to stillness.

“It’s your choice, Pansy.” Hermione said, her temper back under her control.

XXXXXXX

The pounding on the front door roused Hermione from sleep. She glanced blearily at the clock… 2am. Great. She’d been asleep for a whole hour. Shrugging on a robe, she stumbled to the door. Hermione tapped her wand against the door, making it transparent. Since the unexpected arrival of Pansy Parkinson, Hermione had upgraded some of her security measures.

An enraged Harry stood outside her door. At least, she thought he was enraged… that or deranged. His hair stuck up in all directions, it looked like he’d been dragged through dirt on his right side, and his facial expression was pinched and tight with the exception of his eyes. She could see the whites all around his irises. She opened the door and Harry barged in.

“Harry?!” Hermione exclaimed. The smell of scorched magic followed him. “What happened?”

He pulled at his auror robe and shrugged the filthy garment onto the floor. Underneath he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans which also looked worse for the wear.

“Pentetrante hostes” Harry growled, pointing his wand aggressively forward. The air in front of Harry began to ripple, spreading out through her apartment. Her belongings shuddered and groaned.

Hermione frowned. She wasn’t familiar with the spell but she recognized a search when she saw one. Worry wiggled its way through her.

“Harry, is everyone okay?” She kept her voice even though she wanted to let it tremble.

“Everyone is fine.” His voice sounded empty and he turned to look at her. His eyes were empty too. Then, she watched his emotions break open inside of him and spill out. The terror was raw and naked on his face.

She knew what he was going to do and she didn’t say or do anything to stop him. She let him push her up against the door, let his hands push her robes out of the way so that he could reach under her pajama top, opened her mouth to his needy kiss. The taste of him flooded through her and desire followed, sharp and tight between her legs.

The smell of magic gone badly filled her nostrils. It was an acrid, biting smell. Harry wasted no time tugging her robe from her body. Their kiss broke as he removed her tank top and Hermione didn’t even get a chance to catch her breath before he was back. His fingertips traced lightly down her arms, up her belly, over the peaks of her breasts over and over. Hermione could barely think.

“Harry. Bed.” She managed.

He didn’t respond just pushed her against the door. His hands slid under her bum and then he lifted her legs, wrapping them firmly around his waist. Hermione squeaked in surprise. Without breaking contact with her lips, he carried her back into her bedroom.

They collapsed onto the bed, Harry’s weight a long line of desperate heat against her body. He pulled back for a moment to pull off his t-shirt. In the cool darkness, she could only see the outline of his body and hints of his face.

“Harry…” she moaned, trying to communicate to him with her body that she wanted him inside her. It was as if his desperation had infected her and it was she who needed to be brought back with the taste and touch of another human being.

And as his desperation flowed into her, Harry slowed down. Each movement was deliberate, almost brutal in its gentle precision. He tugged her pajama bottoms off and kissed her inner thighs. His mouth and hands moved, touching her lightly up her body until he pulled the rigid tip of one breast into his mouth, sucking fiercely. Hermione moaned, writhing under his ministrations.

Her hands found his belt buckle only to have him stop her. She didn’t understand why until his mouth dropped between her legs. Hermione swallowed in surprise. This was new. The warm, wet heat of his mouth against her clit… she wasn’t sure if she… his tongue began to move rhythmically against her and her body shuddered. She felt a wave of heat roll through her.

“Oh.” She thought dizzily. “I can work with this.” It was her last coherent thought for some time.

Harry’s hand gripped her hips, the pain of his fingertips digging into her was a throbbing counterpoint to the waves of pleasures. She couldn’t move. His mouth worked over her, increasingly demanding until the orgasm rippled through her, a wave of heat, rolling back and forth from her core and back.

And then he didn’t stop.

His tongue continued working her throbbing body as he pressed his fingers inside her. The muscles in her legs and belly trembled continuously and she couldn’t contain her panting moans. His fingers pressed insistently and Hermione’s fingertips dug into the sheets. Harry picked up the pace and Hermione bucked. Just before the wave of heat inside her crested, he stopped. Hermione growled in frustration.

His clothing rustled and then Harry pressed inside her, needy and insistent. Hermione moaned. Hermione shattered and whole body clenched in her release. Heat and pleasure roared through her until she was limp with satiation and exhaustion. Harry didn’t stop pounding into her relentlessly. One hand was tucked under her neck, the fingers gripping her shoulder. The other hand gripped her comforter so hard it squeaked. He had tucked his forehead into her collarbone and, somehow, he managed to thrust himself deeper. Each breath was torn out of him, a vulnerable rasp.

When Hermione came back to herself, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and crooned softly as he sought his release. With a cry that sounded like a sob, his whole body shuddered and Hermione felt his cock pulse inside her. She stroked one hand down his back as his breathing and heartbeat slowed.

“Come on, Harry.” She tugged him up, pulling the covers down. Harry curled into a ball and Hermione spooned up behind him, tucking her legs against his and her face into the hollow between his shoulder blades. She was asleep within moments.

XXXXXXX

Hermione woke to the sound of rustling clothing. She rolled over to see Harry trying to surreptitiously get his pants on in the early morning light.

“You weren’t planning on sneaking off on me, were you Harry?” Hermione asked lazily.

Harry looked up nervously and Hermione smirked. Harry was inscrutable in many ways but this time his concerns were written clearly across his face. Hermione slid out of bed and strutted across the room naked. Opening a closet door, she pulled out her robe.

“I don’t think I’m your girlfriend, Harry. So do us both a favor and take a shower. You smell. I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Relief washed over Harry’s face and then he smirked. “I know I can smell.”

“Haha and you still stink. Shower!” Hermione pointed imperiously in the direction of her shower. Harry stuck out his tongue but pulled his leg out of his trousers and headed to the bathroom.

By the time Harry came out of the bathroom a much cleaner man, Hermione had bacon sizzling and coffee brewed. Harry poured himself a cup and sat down at her tiny table.

“What happened last night?” Hermione asked.

“Uh, well, didn’t your mum explain these things to you?” Harry asked, blushing.

“Merlin’s Balls, Harry. I meant before we fucked each other silly.” Hermione clucked her tongue in irritation.

“Oh. I was on an auror raid last night and it went ass end up. We made it out of there by the skin of our teeth and didn’t obtain our objective. And the whole thing was so unnecessary!” Harry snarled that last sentence.

“Why?” Hermione asked, pouring the eggs onto the skillet.

“I always figured it’d be me and Ron in the field, you know? I guess that was stupid. It’s just, he and I work so well together. I’m partnered up with an older Auror. He’s experienced and wise and all that but… he treats me like I’m an infant. Like I really am a baby auror who has never seen any real action. And I’m…” Harry trailed off.

“The Boy-Who-Lived?” Hermione asked. She set two plates of steaming food on the table and poured herself a cup of coffee as well.

“Yeah.” Harry looked down into his coffee, mouth twisted in a self-deprecating sneer. “Is that too arrogant?”

“You have face Voldemort again and again. You are going to be the one who kills him. As long as you don’t assume that you know everything, it isn’t bad to be honest with yourself about your skills and your value. And if you do… well, there is always Snape to put a needle in that ego of yours.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah. Well, I’ll go talk to my Captain. There has to be some way we can work this out so that I can actually be of use.”

“So, the next time a raid goes wrong…” Hermione smirked as Harry’s eyes pinned her. She ignored the interested fluttering in her tummy. “… will Ron be getting a visit like the one I did?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and then he threw back his head and howled in laughter. Hermione joined him. When their laughter wheezed to an end, Harry spoke.

“Gods no. Ron is so straight it hurts. I remember one time…” Harry started to snicker again, “… Neville was changing for bed and he accidentally ate a jumping jelly bean. Before we knew it…” Harry was laughing now and Hermione was grinning, “… he was jumping butt-naked all over Ron who screamed like somebody threw hot water on him.”

They laughed again though it was quite as intense as it had been before. The awkwardness and tension between them from last night’s activities were fading and Hermione was glad to see them go.

A tapping at the window stopped the rest of Harry’s story. Hermione stood and opened it, silently issuing a magical command that broke her security long enough to allow an elegant, golden owl to swoop in. She unbuckled the parchment on the owl’s leg as it hooted happily and crunched on the treat she had given it.

She unrolled the parchment, reading it quickly. Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“It’s an acceptance letter from the Bibliotéque Nationale. They’ve granted me a week long pass in early March. I guess it pays to be friends with Harry Potter.” She grinned, her whole body tingling at the thrilling idea of having access to the books of one of the largest libraries in the world.

“Come on, that can’t be why they granted access. I’m sure you wrote a brilliant application.” Harry stood and set his plate in the sink.

“Oh yeah?” Hermione pursed her lips and lifted her eyebrows. “Allow me to read you a selection: ‘…we are delighted to be of assistance to the dear friend of Harry Potter…’ Shall I continue or is that enough?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “People are crazy.”

“We have what we want. That’s enough for me. You’d better go or you’ll be late.” Hermione smiled, already lost in thought about the things she needed to do with her day.

“Thanks, Hermione… for everything.” Harry dropped a kiss on her cheek before he headed out the door.

XXXXXXX

Later in the afternoon, as Hermione sat at her kitchen table making plans for her trip to Paris, a small ball of air in front of her burst into flames and a small piece of paper floated gently down, coming to rest on top of the sheet of paper she was writing on.

Changed my mind, kid. Meet me at the café across the street from our place. Tuesday, 8pm. ~Aidan

“Bugger.” Hermione said.