A Different Kind of Magic--UNDERGOING EDIT

Chapter 41- Not His Father’s Son

Rabastan took her against the frigid stone wall of the dungeon that was once Professor Snape’s private quarters. He didn’t bother with a cushioning charm, forcing Hermione’s breasts to scrape roughly over the ancient rock. One impressive hand swallowed both of hers in a tight noose high above her head. The other one allowed her to shamelessly rub herself over his thick fingers, his titanic erection elevating them both to an uncontrolled culmination of incoherent bewilderment.

His lion’s roar of finish bruised her backside with a powerful snap that sent her writhing from agony in protest. All at once, he was gentle and subservient, cradling her in his arms and depositing her on the silk folds of his House green satin sheets. A murmured incantation, oiled massage and one implied apology later, his lips bade her goodbye with an unspoken plea to return upon them.

Guilt momentarily forgotten in the afterglow and brassiere hanging out of her jeans pocket, she hummed to herself as she Floo’ed back to the Weasley’s library. She hurriedly crammed it deeper into her pocket just as Harry turned to greet her.

“I’ve been waiting for you for over an hour! Did you forget about me?” he teased.

“Sorry Harry, I lost track of time.”

“Are you alright, Hermione? It’s not like you to lose track of time. In fact, you’ve never been late to anything that I can remember.” Harry’s look of concern grew as he took in the disheveled look of her clothing, tousled hair and flushed countenance. His concern turned back into a grin.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“What?” Harry had startled her. Do I look that bad?

“Come off it, Hermione, it’s not the first time I’ve seen a girl right after she, well, you know,” he trailed off. Harry toyed with the end of his wand, trying not to look sheepish.

Hermione did her best to look indignant. “That’s none of your business, Harry Potter!”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Hermione. I’m just glad you’ve moved on from the greasy git.”

“Don’t call him that!” Renewed shame and anger flushed through her body at the mere thought of anyone thinking such a thing, nevermind her own betrayal.

“Okay okay!” Harry waited for a minute. “Is… this new guy treating you okay?”

“Yes,” she replied quietly. “Yes, he is. It’s nothing serious, just a distraction, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that.” He nodded in understanding. “It takes the stress off. I’ve had a couple of one niter’s myself.”

“You?” Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You’re the golden boy!”

“Even the golden boy needs a release once in awhile from the stress, Hermione, like you have room to talk!”

The pair fell into an easy chat about work and progress on the scroll. After some tea and McVitie’s, he pulled out a carefully folded parchment.

“Someone slipped me this today just as I was stepping into the Floo at the Ministry’s headquarters.” Placing the parchment on the table between them, he smoothed out the wrinkles and removed a minor ward to unscramble the letters.
Hermione scooted closer to read the note.


Potter-

On the third Sunday of this month, on the third hour of the day, Mrs. Dee’s laundry will be on its way. On the third street, third alley on the left from the house with three stars, be waiting to receive them in the boot of your cars. I do not intend to overextend, the favor for those whom we did apprehend.


There was no signature. Hermione frowned with intense concentration. “Do you think it’s a sick joke or some weird set-up?”

“At first I thought so, but then I took a closer look at the parchment. It’s the same kind of paper we use for official documents at the Ministry. Whoever wrote this has access to some pretty high up officials. They don’t just give this stuff out to anyone.”

“Look at this writing!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Professor Dumbledore used this very same ink at Hogwarts!”

“How do you know?” asked Harry, amazed at his friend’s ability to point out the minutest details.

“Simple. Neville’s grandmother donated a whole bunch of it to the school after his parents were committed. They were packrats and Neville said they accidentally ordered a truck full of ink pots instead of one package off the Internet. It was their first and last excursion with the Internet.” They both laughed at this. Harry had forgotten all about it.

“None of the teachers liked the ink because it kept disappearing and re-appearing when they tried to use it for grading. Dumbledore charmed the ink to only appear for the person the parchment was intended for. It’s sensitive to the intent of the reader, so it cannot be intercepted by one’s enemies.”

“That’s bloody brilliant! How do you know all this?”

Hermione shrugged. “I was looking into helping him and Professor Flitwick with a charm to track its location, but we never got that far. What is strange is that someone got their hands on it in the first place. The spell was very specific and I don’t think Dumbledore wrote it down anywhere. I think he meant to patent it and donate the proceeds but never got around to it,” she finished sadly.

“So we can conclude that whoever wrote this note has ties to the Ministry and access to Hogwarts at some point.”

“Yes, and I think it is probably best to fill in the rest of the Order to try and determine the location the note is referring to so we can be ready in case it’s not a hoax. I wish I knew what the riddle was referring to. Did you say someone gave this to you at the Ministry?”

He nodded.

“Do you think it could have anything to do with Professor Snape and Teddy?”

Harry’s green eyes clouded over. “That’s a long shot, Hermione; I wouldn’t get your hopes up. It would be nice to have something go right for a change. Poor Teddy, I can only imagine what he is going through right now.”

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” she glowered.

“Well, I meant Snape too, but he’s pretty tough, Hermione. I’m sure Snape can take care of himself.”

“I hope so, for both their sakes.”

“The date on the note is three days from now. You go talk to Rabastan and the other professors, I’ll round up whoever I can and we can meet here tomorrow night. Make sure Arthur and Molly are expecting a crowd; I expect Molly is going to need help with the meal prep. There’s a lot of planning we have to cover.”

The two friends hugged, doggedly pursuing their assigned tasks. Hope lingered in the air, a palpable tang that permeated the atmosphere of the house.


----


In a black hole an eternity away from the Burrow, a little boy held on to his tiny bit of sunshine and thought of his father. He concentrated on his sunshine with all his might. I want to go home to my Daddy. I want to go home to my Daddy. I want to go home to my Daddy.

In a locked walk-in closet three floors above the boy, a blonde young wizard cast a silencing and locking ward on the tiny space. Draco punched some numbers into a Muggle mobile phone.

“Mrs. Dee’s Laundry service, Xue Dee speaking.”

“Mrs. Dee, this is your contact. Yes, from the Ministry. I’d like to arrange a pickup and delivery. This Sunday night, 230am. Yes. Cash. Understood. Password is Mudblood. Don’t be late.”

The younger Malfoy punched ‘end’ on the Muggle phone. I will never end up like my father, ever, he swore, disintegrating the device with his wand. He calmly unwarded the closet and strolled down to dinner with the professional mask of an indifferent Death Eater’s son firmly anchored in place.