OMG, EPIC!
So, as previously hinted at to some of you beautiful people who have reviewed some of my one shots, I am working on a very big story. This is the first part! I hope that you all like it enough to want to see a bit more of it! I also hadn't the least intention of having any romance in there at this point, but somehow it crept in...those wiley characters, always wanting to snog as many people as possible. Also, I am looking for a beta. If, after reading this, you have any suggestions/ are interested, leave me a comment over at my journalimogen_penn! Thanks a bundle!
Title: The Abyss
Chapter One: Mythology
Author: imogen_penn
Rating: PG
Summary: The wizarding world has moved forward since the war, but they haven't moved on. Something is stirring amongst the defeated, and Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy find themselves called upon to prevent disaster.
notes: Firstly, this story happens in the same universe as a little one shot I wrote called Wedding is a Seven Letter Word for Shame. This chapter discusses events in that fic, but if you haven't read it, it wont ruin your life (: Also, the title of the series comes from this quote:
Battle not with monsters
lest ye become a monster
and if you gaze into the abyss
the abyss gazes into you.
- Friedrich Nietzche
On with the show!
**************************************
History is the present. That's why every generation writes it anew. But what most people think of as history is its end product, myth. - E.L. Doctorow
*************************************
These tales of adventure, legends recovered from the mists of time, are valuable threads in the tapestry of our history, of our world. Yet, let us not forget that each magical weapon I have demystified, each fairy tale I have found to be grounded in fact also represents a part of our past that is best left behind us. These weapons come from a world of endemic violence. Each one represents a dangerous escalation, an arms race that led to destruction for countless individuals, even entire nations. We have seen with far too much acuity the danger of great power in the hands of those who would wield it. In our own times we have seen the discovery of the Deathly Hallows and only narrowly escaped the destruction that might have reigned over all the world. That is why, dear reader, I have not included any reference to possible locations of these weapons. That is why I have endeavored to present them as they are: tools only to hasten the downfall of their bearer. Each and every story I have uncovered behind a mythical weapon ends in the untimely death of its wielder. That is why these weapons have fallen out of use and become myth. That is why I uncover only their stories, and leave the weapons themselves to the mythical past where they belong. Harry let out a whistle, clearly impressed. “It’s bloody brilliant Hermione! I couldn’t put it down, and you know how much I love history books.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and snatched the first bound copy of her book from him where he sat beside her on the chesterfield, leafing through it quickly.
“What, looking to see if a dog-eared any pages?” Harry looked amused.
“No, just looking to see if you scribbled about all over it like the rest of your history books.” Hermione grinned, passing the book back to him. “You really like it then?” She asked.
“Hermione,” Harry said, taking her by the shoulders and looking her in the eye, “I really liked it. You are an amazing writer. You made all those piles of research you’ve been doing seem downright fascinating. It makes me think I’d have been better served to read your papers at Hogwarts rather than having you read mine all the time.”
She smiled brilliantly, genuinely pleased to have his good opinion. With Ron off training with some very hush-hush department of the ministry (Harry had broken security only enough to tell her that it had something to do with intelligence), they had been spending far more time together, and he had suffered through the creation of her book along with her. It was his good opinion, more than any editor’s, that she sought. “It would’ve been a bit of a travesty if I hadn’t since you seemed determined to get through without learning basic grammar rules.” Hermione said in a crisp Scottish brogue, arching her brow in a very convincing imitation of Minerva McGonnagal.
“Well we can’t all be insufferable know-it-alls,” said Harry, ruffling her hair good naturedly. “But seriously,” he continued, “I wish you’d put your name on it. It’d be a shame for the whole world not to know how smart, and talented, and wonderful you are.”
“You’re sweet Harry, but you know how much I hated all the attention after the war. I’ve only just become a hermit enough to end any interest on the part of the press. I’d much rather quietly get my checks in the mail and leave all the fame to Ms. Elina Grottersly. You’ll have to settle for having my wonderfulness all to yourself.” She said cheekily.
“Happily,” he said, giving her an affectionate squeeze, “but how on earth did you come up with such an atrocious pen name?”
“Oh, I thought it was boring enough not to attract too much attention. Sort of conjures up and image of a dried up old spinster, doesn’t it? Hopefully no one will connect such a name with me.”
Harry looked at her appraisingly. No, no one was going to mistake Hermione Granger for a dried up spinster. In the six years since they had graduated from Hogwarts, Harry had watched Hermione grow into a very striking woman. She wasn’t the sort of girl who stopped traffic, but those that knew her well enough to take a second look were never disappointed. Always a rather slight girl, Hermione was still petite, but she no longer had that elfin look that came from too much hair and a boyish figure. She had filled out, Harry thought, rather nicely. She was constantly frowning at herself in the mirror and complaining that she couldn’t wear the fashions like tall, willowy, Ginny Weasley. Although there was no denying that Ginny was drop dead gorgeous (Harry himself had been with her on again/ off again since the end of the war), Harry often found himself thinking how pleasant it would be to hold a girl who was soft and smooth as opposed to all of Ginny’s hard angles. It also didn’t hurt that Hermione’s stable and gentle character was a welcome change from Ginny’s wild moods.
Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably and Harry realized that he had been staring for far too long. “Ah, no.” he finally said, “nothing spinster-ish about you.” He said, with a little more emphasis than he had intended.
“Well,” said Hermione, a blush rising to her cheeks, “now that it has hit the bookshelves, all we can do is hope the literary critics will like it as much as you did.”
“Of course they will! You’re going to be famous! Well…Ms. Elina Grottersly is going to be famous.” Harry exclaimed.
Hermione laughed at his exuberance. “You’re a real brick Harry, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to ‘mione. Now I think it’s very important that we celebrate this momentous occasion by getting ourselves suited and booted, going out to a very posh club, and getting properly pissed!” Harry sprang to his feet, dragging Hermione off the couch. The enthusiasm in his voice was infectious, and since Hermione knew he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, she might as well go along with it.
“That sounds terrific Harry, what time shall I meet you?”
“You think I’m going to let a famous author meet me somewhere like some common skirt? I will pick you up in style at eight o`clock sharp. And you had better be ready to be shown a good time, Ms. Grottersly!” With a wink and a *pop* Harry dissapparated, leaving Hermione to worry over what to wear and whether or not she was about to go on a date with her best friend.
*********************************************************
Ever since Fact or Fiction: The Hammer of Thor and other Mythical Weapons by previously unknown author Ms. Elina Grottersly, had appeared on bookshelves early that week, bookshops everywhere were beginning to see a slow but steady increase in sales. Many smaller shops were having to re-order already as word of mouth passed around about the eminently readable yet well researched book. Of course, the exciting and dangerous nature of the material under investigation didn’t hurt either.
However, one bookkeeper had had a slightly more unusual experience with the publication of the book. His shop, just off the end of Diagon Alley and a little too close to Knockturn Alley for his overall comfort, specialized in rare and unusual books. He had awaited the publication of the new work on mythical weapons ever since his supplier had mentioned that he had a shipment coming in. He was, however, quite surprised when a rather dodgy looking gentleman had come into the shop, asking about the book nearly a week before it arrived.
The man had returned to the shop precisely at opening on the day the book was set to appear on the shelves. He had bought every single copy and paid in cash.
He couldn’t imagine why, and didn’t think much about it for quite some time. It wasn’t until many months later, when the wizarding community at large started to notice some funny goings on, that he thought he ought to tell anyone. And by then, it was far too late to do any good.
********************************************************
“Okay, your turn ‘arry.” Hermione slurred, decidedly drunk after a number of drinks she couldn’t properly count.
Harry had, as promised, picked her up at eight o’clock on the nose. Hermione had agonized to an unusual degree over what to wear. She had, for a moment, considered wearing her bridesmaid dress from Parvati’s wedding. Several men, Harry included, had admired her that night. However, recalling how the evening had ended, she hastily put the dress back into the depth of her wardrobe from whence it came. She had eventually decided upon a simple black wrap dress.
Harry had, quite quietly, told her that she looked beautiful. She supposed it had been the right choice.
After a late dinner that had felt just like any other that she and Harry had shared over the years, Hermione had relaxed. A bottle of wine over dinner in muggle London had turned into beers at a nearby pub, which had in turn morphed into shots at a noisy club up the road. They had also, for some unfathomable reason, decided to play “never have I ever.” The general point of the game, so far as Hermione could divine, was to state something of a rather embarrassing or personal nature that one hadn’t done in the hopes that their opponent had. If said opponent had done said act, they had to drink. Since both knew each other so well, they were very good at producing the desired result. However, after several rounds, they were running out of questions to which they knew the answers.
“Uhhh, never have I ever….” Harry pondered. Suddenly a perfectly devious look came over him. “Never have I ever indulged in sexual acts with a member of Hufflepuff.”
“Harold James Potter!” Hermione cried with mock indignation.
“Don’t hate the player, Hermione, hate the game. You still have to answer.” Harry looked triumphant.
Redfaced, Hermione picked up her drink and took a swallow.
“Ha!” cried Harry, “I knew you pulled Ernie last new years!”
“Fine, fine, my big secret is out!” She covered her embarrassment with bravado. The incident in question had been a terrible drunken mistake.
“Really, though, Hermione, there were several better looking blokes looking for a snog that night.”
Had Hermione been slightly soberer, she might have noticed a certain disappointment in his statement. Instead she responded jovially, “What, like you?” Recalling that Harry himself had snogged Alicia Spinnet on the dance floor that night.
“Maybe,” said Harry, looking at her pointedly. His sincerity penetrated her liquor addled brain, but she was completely unsure of what to do with it. Instead, she changed the subject.
“My turn now Potter, and I wont be pulling any more punches” Harry seemed happy to return to the safe friendly banter.
“Never have I ever…” Hermione was distracted as she caught sight of an unmistakable head of white blond hair entered the club. What on earth was he doing here? It had been more than a year since she’d kissed Draco Malfoy at Parvati’s wedding. She’d seen him around every once in a while, but they hadn’t even so much as nodded in greeting. Now, however, they were going to be trapped in a fairly small room together. He looked over in her direction, catching her eyes on him. They stared at each other for a moment, Hermione wondered if they were both remembering the electricity of their kiss and questioning how much of it had really been the alcohol. With some effort, Hermione turned her attention back to Harry.
“Never have I ever snogged anyone from Slytherin.” Hermione felt a flush rise to her cheeks. That was stupid.
“Swing and a miss Hermione.” said Harry gleefully.
“That’ll be a drink for you, Granger.” drawled a gravelly voice from behind her. Shit. What the hell was he doing?
“In your pervy dreams, Malfoy.” Said Harry. It lacked the venom it might have had in their school days. Still, even though Malfoy was technically reformed, the two were never going to be friends.
Hermione had no idea what possessed her, but she deliberately picked up her drink and took a good long swallow. Maybe she was trying to make Harry jealous; maybe she was unwilling to deny her earlier indiscretion. She really couldn’t tell.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. Harry stared at her in shock.
“Honest to a fault.” sneered Malfoy.
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but he didn’t manage to get anything out as Hermione violently shushed him. She was looking intently at the T.V. at the end of the bar. More reading the subtitles than actually listening, her attention had been grabbed by a story that was about what was being deemed an art heist. An eighth century Anglo-Saxon shield had been stolen from the British Museum. The muggle announcer said that police were confused, as the shield was one of several in a collection and was certainly not the object of greatest worth.
Hermione was not confused in the least. It was the shield of Lancelot, a mythical weapon found in both muggle and wizarding mythology. Supposedly, it cured the bearer of fatigue and gave him the strength of three men. Hermione had devoted a chapter to it in her book, Fact or Fiction: Thor’s Hammer and other Mythical Weapons. She had traced the myth back to an eight century wizarding warrior name Lance the Lazy. He had served the wizard Merlin as his most trusted guard, but had received a very persistent sleeping curse in battle. Merlin’s female companion, often known as the lady of the lake, had crafted the shield for poor Lance so he could continue to be an effective warrior. He had eventually perished of insomnia.
What she hadn’t written in her book, and what the wizarding world at large did not know, was that the shield was held in the permanent collection of the British Museum and had just been stolen. That, however, was not her primary concern. The news was showing photos of the crime scene and Hermione could clearly see, lying on the floor next to the destroyed display case, a copy of her book. It was a wizard who had taken the shield. A wizard who knew what it was. A wizard who had used the information in her book to track it down. Hermione felt a little ill at the implications.
“Harry, we have to go.” She said firmly.
“Gladly,” said Harry, tossing a rather hefty amount of money on the table and offering her his arm as he sent a menacing glance in Malfoy’s direction.
Malfoy didn’t seem to notice. He was looking between the T.V. and Hermione with curiosity. “Entertaining, as always, Granger.” He nodded to her with a little wink, just to annoy Harry.
Hermione rolled her eyes and left without a word, a bemused Harry Potter following in her wake.
***********************************************************
“What the heck was that all about?” Harry asked as soon as they were outside.
“That shield, Harry, I wrote about it in my book. It’s the shield of Lancelot. There was a copy of my book on the floor. A wizard used my book to steal a mythical weapon!” Hermione was quite agitated.
“Hermione, if I remember correctly, it doesn’t do anything all that dangerous, and really, it’s just an isolated incident, surely they can’t all be so easy to find.” Harry said impatiently.
“No, I suppose not. There’s only two out of all of them that I even know the exact location of.” Hermione calmed down somewhat.
“What I meant” continued Harry, “Was what the heck was that about with Malfoy!”
Typical, thought Hermione, “It’s nothing Harry,” she placed an arm placatingly on his shoulder, “I got really drunk at Parvati’s wedding and we kissed. It didn’t mean anything. He’s just trying to annoy you.”
“You kissed MALFOY and you didn’t TELL ME?” Harry was starting to sound obnoxiously like his teenaged self.
Hermione rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Yes Harry. Sometimes I don’t tell you everything about my life. Frankly, I was a little embarrassed by the whole episode, and I knew you wouldn’t like it so I didn’t tell you. Besides,” Hermione was feeling distinctly annoyed at Harry, and was really enjoying a good chance to rant, “it’s not as if you have any say over who I kiss. I’m a grown woman and I can kiss whoever I want!”
Harry looked angry. “Well SO CAN I!” He grabbed Hermione firmly by the shoulders and kissed her soundly.
Hermione had certainly not been expecting that. It was only a moment before they rocketed apart as if they’d been burnt.
“Oh,” said Hermione, feeling quite foolish.
“Yeah,” said Harry, running a hand through his hair.
She supposed it was inevitable. With Harry currently “off again” with Ginny and Hermione not having been in a relationship since she and Ron broke it off two years ago, and what with them spending so much time together, they were bound to get drunk and have a snog.
“So…” Hermione still couldn’t think of anything coherent to say…but the awkward silence was becoming laughably long.
Harry started to grin. Hermione tried to stifle a snort of laughter, but within seconds they were doubled over, laughing until tears ran down their faces and their sides hurt. After a few moments their laughter subsided to wheezy chuckles and they pulled themselves together.
“We should cab,” said Hermione finally, “since we’d only splinch ourselves if we tried to apparate.”
Harry agreed emphatically, casually tossing an arm over Hermione’s shoulder. “Hermione, I think we are epically drunk.”
“Yep!” Hermione agreed, sticking her arm out and waiving it wildly as a cab slowed for them.
“A very successful celebration, I should think.” He said.
“You said it.”
*********************************************************
“Simpkins, you insufferable MORON” the deep voice bellowed from the shadows across the dimply lit hall.
“I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again!” The smaller man cringed.
“Of course it won’t! Do you think I’d honestly send you on an errand any more important than fetching my lunch after you left a book at the SODDING BRITISH MUSEUM?”
Simpkins cowered.
“Get out of my sight!” the man ordered. Simpkins scurried to obey.
“For Merlin’s sake’ the man muttered, “It’s so hard to find good henchman these days. The man to his right smirked. “Indeed. But with new recruits joining all the time, we will have a higher caliber to choose from for future missions.”
“Hmmm,” the first man agreed thoughtfully, “And they will only get harder. The shield was child’s play compared to the others. Are we close to anything else?”
“We’ve got a lead on one of the swords,” the man to his right said, “but it will be a while before we can move on it.”
“Very well,” the first man stood, “keep me posted. I’ve got to go home for supper.” He grimaced.
The second man chuckled, “You’re a braver man than I.”
“It will all be worth it when the world is set to rights again.” The man pulled his dark hood up, obscuring his face, and dissapparated with a pop.
Title: The Abyss
Chapter One: Mythology
Author: imogen_penn
Rating: PG
Summary: The wizarding world has moved forward since the war, but they haven't moved on. Something is stirring amongst the defeated, and Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy find themselves called upon to prevent disaster.
notes: Firstly, this story happens in the same universe as a little one shot I wrote called Wedding is a Seven Letter Word for Shame. This chapter discusses events in that fic, but if you haven't read it, it wont ruin your life (: Also, the title of the series comes from this quote:
Battle not with monsters
lest ye become a monster
and if you gaze into the abyss
the abyss gazes into you.
- Friedrich Nietzche
On with the show!
**************************************
History is the present. That's why every generation writes it anew. But what most people think of as history is its end product, myth. - E.L. Doctorow
*************************************
These tales of adventure, legends recovered from the mists of time, are valuable threads in the tapestry of our history, of our world. Yet, let us not forget that each magical weapon I have demystified, each fairy tale I have found to be grounded in fact also represents a part of our past that is best left behind us. These weapons come from a world of endemic violence. Each one represents a dangerous escalation, an arms race that led to destruction for countless individuals, even entire nations. We have seen with far too much acuity the danger of great power in the hands of those who would wield it. In our own times we have seen the discovery of the Deathly Hallows and only narrowly escaped the destruction that might have reigned over all the world. That is why, dear reader, I have not included any reference to possible locations of these weapons. That is why I have endeavored to present them as they are: tools only to hasten the downfall of their bearer. Each and every story I have uncovered behind a mythical weapon ends in the untimely death of its wielder. That is why these weapons have fallen out of use and become myth. That is why I uncover only their stories, and leave the weapons themselves to the mythical past where they belong. Harry let out a whistle, clearly impressed. “It’s bloody brilliant Hermione! I couldn’t put it down, and you know how much I love history books.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and snatched the first bound copy of her book from him where he sat beside her on the chesterfield, leafing through it quickly.
“What, looking to see if a dog-eared any pages?” Harry looked amused.
“No, just looking to see if you scribbled about all over it like the rest of your history books.” Hermione grinned, passing the book back to him. “You really like it then?” She asked.
“Hermione,” Harry said, taking her by the shoulders and looking her in the eye, “I really liked it. You are an amazing writer. You made all those piles of research you’ve been doing seem downright fascinating. It makes me think I’d have been better served to read your papers at Hogwarts rather than having you read mine all the time.”
She smiled brilliantly, genuinely pleased to have his good opinion. With Ron off training with some very hush-hush department of the ministry (Harry had broken security only enough to tell her that it had something to do with intelligence), they had been spending far more time together, and he had suffered through the creation of her book along with her. It was his good opinion, more than any editor’s, that she sought. “It would’ve been a bit of a travesty if I hadn’t since you seemed determined to get through without learning basic grammar rules.” Hermione said in a crisp Scottish brogue, arching her brow in a very convincing imitation of Minerva McGonnagal.
“Well we can’t all be insufferable know-it-alls,” said Harry, ruffling her hair good naturedly. “But seriously,” he continued, “I wish you’d put your name on it. It’d be a shame for the whole world not to know how smart, and talented, and wonderful you are.”
“You’re sweet Harry, but you know how much I hated all the attention after the war. I’ve only just become a hermit enough to end any interest on the part of the press. I’d much rather quietly get my checks in the mail and leave all the fame to Ms. Elina Grottersly. You’ll have to settle for having my wonderfulness all to yourself.” She said cheekily.
“Happily,” he said, giving her an affectionate squeeze, “but how on earth did you come up with such an atrocious pen name?”
“Oh, I thought it was boring enough not to attract too much attention. Sort of conjures up and image of a dried up old spinster, doesn’t it? Hopefully no one will connect such a name with me.”
Harry looked at her appraisingly. No, no one was going to mistake Hermione Granger for a dried up spinster. In the six years since they had graduated from Hogwarts, Harry had watched Hermione grow into a very striking woman. She wasn’t the sort of girl who stopped traffic, but those that knew her well enough to take a second look were never disappointed. Always a rather slight girl, Hermione was still petite, but she no longer had that elfin look that came from too much hair and a boyish figure. She had filled out, Harry thought, rather nicely. She was constantly frowning at herself in the mirror and complaining that she couldn’t wear the fashions like tall, willowy, Ginny Weasley. Although there was no denying that Ginny was drop dead gorgeous (Harry himself had been with her on again/ off again since the end of the war), Harry often found himself thinking how pleasant it would be to hold a girl who was soft and smooth as opposed to all of Ginny’s hard angles. It also didn’t hurt that Hermione’s stable and gentle character was a welcome change from Ginny’s wild moods.
Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably and Harry realized that he had been staring for far too long. “Ah, no.” he finally said, “nothing spinster-ish about you.” He said, with a little more emphasis than he had intended.
“Well,” said Hermione, a blush rising to her cheeks, “now that it has hit the bookshelves, all we can do is hope the literary critics will like it as much as you did.”
“Of course they will! You’re going to be famous! Well…Ms. Elina Grottersly is going to be famous.” Harry exclaimed.
Hermione laughed at his exuberance. “You’re a real brick Harry, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to ‘mione. Now I think it’s very important that we celebrate this momentous occasion by getting ourselves suited and booted, going out to a very posh club, and getting properly pissed!” Harry sprang to his feet, dragging Hermione off the couch. The enthusiasm in his voice was infectious, and since Hermione knew he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, she might as well go along with it.
“That sounds terrific Harry, what time shall I meet you?”
“You think I’m going to let a famous author meet me somewhere like some common skirt? I will pick you up in style at eight o`clock sharp. And you had better be ready to be shown a good time, Ms. Grottersly!” With a wink and a *pop* Harry dissapparated, leaving Hermione to worry over what to wear and whether or not she was about to go on a date with her best friend.
*********************************************************
Ever since Fact or Fiction: The Hammer of Thor and other Mythical Weapons by previously unknown author Ms. Elina Grottersly, had appeared on bookshelves early that week, bookshops everywhere were beginning to see a slow but steady increase in sales. Many smaller shops were having to re-order already as word of mouth passed around about the eminently readable yet well researched book. Of course, the exciting and dangerous nature of the material under investigation didn’t hurt either.
However, one bookkeeper had had a slightly more unusual experience with the publication of the book. His shop, just off the end of Diagon Alley and a little too close to Knockturn Alley for his overall comfort, specialized in rare and unusual books. He had awaited the publication of the new work on mythical weapons ever since his supplier had mentioned that he had a shipment coming in. He was, however, quite surprised when a rather dodgy looking gentleman had come into the shop, asking about the book nearly a week before it arrived.
The man had returned to the shop precisely at opening on the day the book was set to appear on the shelves. He had bought every single copy and paid in cash.
He couldn’t imagine why, and didn’t think much about it for quite some time. It wasn’t until many months later, when the wizarding community at large started to notice some funny goings on, that he thought he ought to tell anyone. And by then, it was far too late to do any good.
********************************************************
“Okay, your turn ‘arry.” Hermione slurred, decidedly drunk after a number of drinks she couldn’t properly count.
Harry had, as promised, picked her up at eight o’clock on the nose. Hermione had agonized to an unusual degree over what to wear. She had, for a moment, considered wearing her bridesmaid dress from Parvati’s wedding. Several men, Harry included, had admired her that night. However, recalling how the evening had ended, she hastily put the dress back into the depth of her wardrobe from whence it came. She had eventually decided upon a simple black wrap dress.
Harry had, quite quietly, told her that she looked beautiful. She supposed it had been the right choice.
After a late dinner that had felt just like any other that she and Harry had shared over the years, Hermione had relaxed. A bottle of wine over dinner in muggle London had turned into beers at a nearby pub, which had in turn morphed into shots at a noisy club up the road. They had also, for some unfathomable reason, decided to play “never have I ever.” The general point of the game, so far as Hermione could divine, was to state something of a rather embarrassing or personal nature that one hadn’t done in the hopes that their opponent had. If said opponent had done said act, they had to drink. Since both knew each other so well, they were very good at producing the desired result. However, after several rounds, they were running out of questions to which they knew the answers.
“Uhhh, never have I ever….” Harry pondered. Suddenly a perfectly devious look came over him. “Never have I ever indulged in sexual acts with a member of Hufflepuff.”
“Harold James Potter!” Hermione cried with mock indignation.
“Don’t hate the player, Hermione, hate the game. You still have to answer.” Harry looked triumphant.
Redfaced, Hermione picked up her drink and took a swallow.
“Ha!” cried Harry, “I knew you pulled Ernie last new years!”
“Fine, fine, my big secret is out!” She covered her embarrassment with bravado. The incident in question had been a terrible drunken mistake.
“Really, though, Hermione, there were several better looking blokes looking for a snog that night.”
Had Hermione been slightly soberer, she might have noticed a certain disappointment in his statement. Instead she responded jovially, “What, like you?” Recalling that Harry himself had snogged Alicia Spinnet on the dance floor that night.
“Maybe,” said Harry, looking at her pointedly. His sincerity penetrated her liquor addled brain, but she was completely unsure of what to do with it. Instead, she changed the subject.
“My turn now Potter, and I wont be pulling any more punches” Harry seemed happy to return to the safe friendly banter.
“Never have I ever…” Hermione was distracted as she caught sight of an unmistakable head of white blond hair entered the club. What on earth was he doing here? It had been more than a year since she’d kissed Draco Malfoy at Parvati’s wedding. She’d seen him around every once in a while, but they hadn’t even so much as nodded in greeting. Now, however, they were going to be trapped in a fairly small room together. He looked over in her direction, catching her eyes on him. They stared at each other for a moment, Hermione wondered if they were both remembering the electricity of their kiss and questioning how much of it had really been the alcohol. With some effort, Hermione turned her attention back to Harry.
“Never have I ever snogged anyone from Slytherin.” Hermione felt a flush rise to her cheeks. That was stupid.
“Swing and a miss Hermione.” said Harry gleefully.
“That’ll be a drink for you, Granger.” drawled a gravelly voice from behind her. Shit. What the hell was he doing?
“In your pervy dreams, Malfoy.” Said Harry. It lacked the venom it might have had in their school days. Still, even though Malfoy was technically reformed, the two were never going to be friends.
Hermione had no idea what possessed her, but she deliberately picked up her drink and took a good long swallow. Maybe she was trying to make Harry jealous; maybe she was unwilling to deny her earlier indiscretion. She really couldn’t tell.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. Harry stared at her in shock.
“Honest to a fault.” sneered Malfoy.
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but he didn’t manage to get anything out as Hermione violently shushed him. She was looking intently at the T.V. at the end of the bar. More reading the subtitles than actually listening, her attention had been grabbed by a story that was about what was being deemed an art heist. An eighth century Anglo-Saxon shield had been stolen from the British Museum. The muggle announcer said that police were confused, as the shield was one of several in a collection and was certainly not the object of greatest worth.
Hermione was not confused in the least. It was the shield of Lancelot, a mythical weapon found in both muggle and wizarding mythology. Supposedly, it cured the bearer of fatigue and gave him the strength of three men. Hermione had devoted a chapter to it in her book, Fact or Fiction: Thor’s Hammer and other Mythical Weapons. She had traced the myth back to an eight century wizarding warrior name Lance the Lazy. He had served the wizard Merlin as his most trusted guard, but had received a very persistent sleeping curse in battle. Merlin’s female companion, often known as the lady of the lake, had crafted the shield for poor Lance so he could continue to be an effective warrior. He had eventually perished of insomnia.
What she hadn’t written in her book, and what the wizarding world at large did not know, was that the shield was held in the permanent collection of the British Museum and had just been stolen. That, however, was not her primary concern. The news was showing photos of the crime scene and Hermione could clearly see, lying on the floor next to the destroyed display case, a copy of her book. It was a wizard who had taken the shield. A wizard who knew what it was. A wizard who had used the information in her book to track it down. Hermione felt a little ill at the implications.
“Harry, we have to go.” She said firmly.
“Gladly,” said Harry, tossing a rather hefty amount of money on the table and offering her his arm as he sent a menacing glance in Malfoy’s direction.
Malfoy didn’t seem to notice. He was looking between the T.V. and Hermione with curiosity. “Entertaining, as always, Granger.” He nodded to her with a little wink, just to annoy Harry.
Hermione rolled her eyes and left without a word, a bemused Harry Potter following in her wake.
***********************************************************
“What the heck was that all about?” Harry asked as soon as they were outside.
“That shield, Harry, I wrote about it in my book. It’s the shield of Lancelot. There was a copy of my book on the floor. A wizard used my book to steal a mythical weapon!” Hermione was quite agitated.
“Hermione, if I remember correctly, it doesn’t do anything all that dangerous, and really, it’s just an isolated incident, surely they can’t all be so easy to find.” Harry said impatiently.
“No, I suppose not. There’s only two out of all of them that I even know the exact location of.” Hermione calmed down somewhat.
“What I meant” continued Harry, “Was what the heck was that about with Malfoy!”
Typical, thought Hermione, “It’s nothing Harry,” she placed an arm placatingly on his shoulder, “I got really drunk at Parvati’s wedding and we kissed. It didn’t mean anything. He’s just trying to annoy you.”
“You kissed MALFOY and you didn’t TELL ME?” Harry was starting to sound obnoxiously like his teenaged self.
Hermione rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Yes Harry. Sometimes I don’t tell you everything about my life. Frankly, I was a little embarrassed by the whole episode, and I knew you wouldn’t like it so I didn’t tell you. Besides,” Hermione was feeling distinctly annoyed at Harry, and was really enjoying a good chance to rant, “it’s not as if you have any say over who I kiss. I’m a grown woman and I can kiss whoever I want!”
Harry looked angry. “Well SO CAN I!” He grabbed Hermione firmly by the shoulders and kissed her soundly.
Hermione had certainly not been expecting that. It was only a moment before they rocketed apart as if they’d been burnt.
“Oh,” said Hermione, feeling quite foolish.
“Yeah,” said Harry, running a hand through his hair.
She supposed it was inevitable. With Harry currently “off again” with Ginny and Hermione not having been in a relationship since she and Ron broke it off two years ago, and what with them spending so much time together, they were bound to get drunk and have a snog.
“So…” Hermione still couldn’t think of anything coherent to say…but the awkward silence was becoming laughably long.
Harry started to grin. Hermione tried to stifle a snort of laughter, but within seconds they were doubled over, laughing until tears ran down their faces and their sides hurt. After a few moments their laughter subsided to wheezy chuckles and they pulled themselves together.
“We should cab,” said Hermione finally, “since we’d only splinch ourselves if we tried to apparate.”
Harry agreed emphatically, casually tossing an arm over Hermione’s shoulder. “Hermione, I think we are epically drunk.”
“Yep!” Hermione agreed, sticking her arm out and waiving it wildly as a cab slowed for them.
“A very successful celebration, I should think.” He said.
“You said it.”
*********************************************************
“Simpkins, you insufferable MORON” the deep voice bellowed from the shadows across the dimply lit hall.
“I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again!” The smaller man cringed.
“Of course it won’t! Do you think I’d honestly send you on an errand any more important than fetching my lunch after you left a book at the SODDING BRITISH MUSEUM?”
Simpkins cowered.
“Get out of my sight!” the man ordered. Simpkins scurried to obey.
“For Merlin’s sake’ the man muttered, “It’s so hard to find good henchman these days. The man to his right smirked. “Indeed. But with new recruits joining all the time, we will have a higher caliber to choose from for future missions.”
“Hmmm,” the first man agreed thoughtfully, “And they will only get harder. The shield was child’s play compared to the others. Are we close to anything else?”
“We’ve got a lead on one of the swords,” the man to his right said, “but it will be a while before we can move on it.”
“Very well,” the first man stood, “keep me posted. I’ve got to go home for supper.” He grimaced.
The second man chuckled, “You’re a braver man than I.”
“It will all be worth it when the world is set to rights again.” The man pulled his dark hood up, obscuring his face, and dissapparated with a pop.