Chapter 12

XII.

So, how did they take it?

Hermione's lips twisted wryly as she pressed the tablet to her vanity-desk in her room at Grimmauld Place. About as well as I'd hoped. Ron was a bit of a prat after you left, but he accepted it. How did it go on your end of things?

I'm alive, and unharmed. I'm playing up the lost-ring-at-exhibition, seduced-woman-to-save-her-friends-from-the-dragon angle in front of the others, Russel wrote back. He now expects me to insinuate myself into your life, and thereby into the Order. So far, word hasn't leaked back from your side that your friends know about me. We've got to move fast to damage-control that aspect. I'm going to say that I can communicate through the ring. Not that it enforces the truth, but that I can communicate by it. It's a big risk, but I think it will reap bigger benefits.

Why? Hermione returned, wondering what he had in mind.

I'm going to present myself to you as a sympathizer to the Order's cause. That way, if anyone lets slip that they know me, it won't be taken in the correct context.

Hermione shook her head. And if someone lets slip that you're spying for the Order in his encampment? No...skate as closely to the truth as you can.

Ah, but he won't know that the ring enforces the truth. Or if he does, Hermione added carefully, you can always tell him you've cast one of those spells that allows you to lie anyway, despite its restrictions.

The page stayed blank for a moment.

...And you still trust me?

Yes. She did have a smidgen of doubt, but only a smidgen, the same as anyone might have. The rest of her chose to believe in him. The ring would ensure that her response was the truth. Still, she had to add, But if you betray me, Russel, you will wish you'd betrayed the Dark Lord, and were in his clutches instead.

She laughed, caught off guard by that. The same clothes you left me in. I haven't undressed for bed, yet. What are you wearing? Still clad in your kilt?

I miss you, too, Hermione found herself writing. I was in the middle of reading that book when you called, but it's not the same as hearing the naughty captain's perspective via your voice and inflections. When do you think you'll be putting your plan into motion?

Goodnight, husband. A little surprised that he didn't resume enquiring about her attire, or asking for another bout of letter-sex, Hermione watched the page disappear. Then again, it could just be that someone was coming into the room, or his roommate was threatening to wake up...

The ring reheated, and she pressed the smooth surface to the next page on the tablet.

Don't forget to work on that combination of the Protean and Forging Charms! ~RUSSEL

The words faded, leaving her with a reminder of their conversation on that subject. She hadn't done much in the way of research, but with the wand exhibition out of the way, she could focus on handling that aspect, now. Except she didn't know why he wanted an enchantment that could cause several similar objects to burn red-hot within a set radius of himself.

...

"So, let's see what we've got left," Harry stated his two friends as they settled themselves around one of the tables in the Hogwarts library. Hermione had cast a Disillusionment Charm, and Harry a Distraction Charm, to ensure they wouldn't be discovered by Filch or one of the other teachers while on their rounds. They usually took turns doing that, whenever they came into the library, now that school was back in session. "There was the diary, the locket, the ring and the wand, all gone. That leaves us with Nagini, the cup, and the bastard himself. We know where to find the two snakes--though that's an insult to herpetology--and we can't go after either Nagini or Voldie until we've attacked the cup."

"We have to find it, and we have to figure out how to destroy the soul within it," Ron stated. "I'm glad the Ravenclaw wand survived, and I'd like to see the Hufflepuff cup make it, too, if we can. After all, we've got the Slytherin locket and ring. As much as I don't like most Slytherins, or their attitudes, or what their House Founder stood for, they do deserve to have a bit of their House history to cling to, an heirloom to care about, if they have none of their own."

"Yeah; it's a good thing Godric's sword was lost inside the hat, then locked inside Dumbledore's office after I pulled it out," Harry observed, "or we might've had to deal with that as a Horcrux-holder, too."

Hermione knew instinctively that Ron was talking as much about his own lack of an heirloom as anything. He wouldn't get to inherit his mother's clock--most likely Bill, or maybe Ginny, would inherit it--and the Weasleys certainly didn't have any spare betrothal rings lying around. Still, she had to commend him for his open-mindedness. Harry continued, recapturing their attention.

"Now, we don't know what else the Basilisk Snogger did while he was plumbing the depths of Dark Magic, and we really don't have a way of finding out. It takes a lot of time, a lot of legwork, and a lot of contacts that we just don't have to uncover that sort of information. Dumbledore had the contacts, but we don't. We have the legwork, but we don't exactly have scads and loads of time.

"Which brings us to you," he stated, looking at Hermione. "Or rather, it brings us to Russel. Does he know what we're looking for?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm pretty sure that he doesn't. Just that we're looking for objects and places of past significance to the Dark Lord."

"Good. I don't want him to know what we're looking for, but I do want you to get as much information out of him as you safely can." Harry paused, and had the grace to look a little ashamed. "I'm sorry you have to use him like that, but you know what's at stake."

Putting it like that, saying that she was using Russel, did leave her feeling a little uncomfortable, but Hermione knew it was necessary. And nothing less than what he was doing with her, and the rings binding them together. She nodded. "...I think I can do that. He's already under orders from Brian--from Dumbledore--to do exactly that, and he's told me so. So it won't be odd for me to ask him about it. And it won't really be using him."

"Yeah, but you're going to have to use him to find out where Moldie-arse is hiding," Ron pointed out. "The Order hasn't been able to find any particular hideout."

"That's because they're using..." But she couldn't say 'Riddle Manor'. Hermione changed her sentence after only a moment's struggle. "They're, um, using the Fidelius Charm, themselves."

Ron's and Harry's brows both used. "Really?" Ron asked. "When did you find that out?"

"Some time ago," she confessed. "But since it's the Fidelius Charm, I didn't think much of it, since we wouldn't be able to get inside without being informed by the Secret Keeper."

"Hermione," Harry asked, studying Hermione with a touch of grim sobriety, "do you know who their Secret Keeper is?"

"Yes...but you're not going to like it," she prefaced. "In fact, I think you'd rather kill this particular person on sight than interrogate him about the Dark Lord's headquarters."

"...Snape," Harry growled. If he'd had a pencil in his hands at that moment, Hermione suspected he would've broken it. Or badly mangled a quill. Thankfully, his hands were empty.

"Russel said that Snape is now second only to Voldemort himself," Hermione added, hoping Harry wasn't so mad he wasn't paying attention to her words. "In fact, since he's wanted by everyone for Dumbledore's death, I'd be surprised if he was ever let out of that place. The last thing the Dark Lord would want would be his top lieutenant and Secret Keeper falling into enemy hands. Like it or not, we're rather dependent on whatever information Russel can get to us."

"I'll bet he has to be very discreet about it, too," Ron muttered, surprising Hermione by his thoughtfulness. Especially given the topic. "If he is playing straight with us, he'll have to play it very conservatively. Even if he's not, he'll still have to tread carefully. Somehow, since he hasn't told his followers what he's done, I don't think Voldie is interested in anyone on any side of this war finding out how he's managed to make himself near-immortal."

"Anyway, as much as we'll have to rely upon him," Harry continued, explaining his idea to Hermione, "we cannot afford to rely solely upon him. Now, I was thinking, if a Protean Charm like the ones on the DA coins could link similar objects, why can't we use a Protean Charm, modified, to find similar objects? Like sets of search parameters on a computer--that's a Muggle thingy," he added to Ron. "We set the Charm to search for artifacts that used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff, and maybe enchant a couple compasses to point the direction in which they lie, and then triangulate upon their position! We'd have to enchant the compasses to point to the same object at the same time, of course..."

Hermione, astounded that his proposed line of research slotted neatly beside the work Russel had asked of her, grabbed quill and paper and began sketching out notes. With their help, she might even be able to do her side of the research all the faster. But she wouldn't tell them that Russel needed his own spell. Not until she knew why he needed it. Having researched some similar topics in the past, Hermione knew where to start looking, at least. "Ron, take down these book titles. We're going to need The Missing Link: Bridging Charms Together, Spell-Bound, Finding the Lost..."

...

The text in the book she was reading swirled into a tangle at the edges of the page she was holding down, startling Hermione. It took her a second to realize what was happening. Snatching a blank sheet from the stack between her and Harry, she smacked her hand down on it as the words reformed themselves in The Missing Link. Her ring clunked onto the surface of the table, making the other two glance up at her.

Ink spilled across the parchment, as she had thought it might.

Where are you, right now? Headquarters, or the school?

Dipping her quill into her ink jar, Hermione scrawled back, School. Why do you ask?

I tried to Port to you half an hour ago, but the ring couldn't do it. When will you be out of there?

Another hour or two, Hermione wrote back, as Harry peered over her arm. She fought the urge to hide the ring-exchanged words from him. This was an innocuous conversation, after all. And we'll be going by Floo back to Headquarters.

Not that I'm aware of, she returned, listening to Harry murmuring to Ron, telling him what she was writing. Hang on, I'll ask the others.

Harry and Ron. Hermione looked up at her two friends. "So...if I'm to start pumping the well of Russel's information, I'm going to need to be out in the open so he can snatch me, again."

"I'd rather he didn't," Ron muttered. He held up a hand as Hermione drew in a breath to scold him. "I'm not talking about that. I'm thinking it would be better if he started hanging around, so we could interrogate him. Not about our quest, but about his intentions and stuff. We need to have him seen with us, if he's to appear believable in worming his way into your life, Hermione."

That was the chess-master in him speaking, Hermione realized with a touch of awe. Somehow, Ron had managed to set his feelings on the matter aside. For the moment, at least; she knew the stubbornness of a Weasley, and knew he would take a little longer in getting his feelings about this whole situation out of his system. But for now, Ron was thinking with the right brain, instead of the wrong one.

"Have him join us at Fortescue's in Diagon Alley." Ron flashed the other member at the table a sly grin. "Harry can treat us to a couple hot fudge sundaes. And this Russel fellow can explain why he did what he did...under the guise of having dropped his ring, realized the dragon would attack, and finalized the betrothal, and all. In a public setting," he added under his breath, losing the smile. "Where I cannot hex him half to death for stealing my girlfriend..."

Afraid he was more than half serious, Hermione eyed Harry, who shrugged at her. "It sounds like a plan to me."

"It sounds like layers upon layers of deception, to me," she retorted. A sigh, and she started writing. "We're turning ourselves into ruddy Slytherins, at this rate...though I suppose it would take one to catch one." ...Meet us at Florean Fortescue's in Diagon Alley, tomorrow. Um...one o'clock. We'll all sit down and have a nice bit of ice cream while Harry and Ron interrogate you. We'll stick to the whole 'oops I dropped my ring; let me take care of that nasty dragon problem for you while snogging you silly' scenario.

Harry's been reading some of this over my shoulder, she wrote quickly, even though her blood-bound brother technically wasn't at that moment.

I'll be the soul of discretion, he promised her. But understand that I will be stealing you away after our 'interview'. And don't bother telling them to wait for us. You'll come home again when we're good and ready.

She shivered at the promise in those dictated words. The page flared under her hand, vanishing. Nodding, she looked at the others. "Fortescue's, one o'clock tomorrow."

They nodded, and bent their heads back over their research. Hermione carefully didn't tell them about Russel's parting comment. Even if Ron was coming to grips with her married status, there would be no point rubbing the proverbial salt of it into his wound.

...

Despite the threats to the wizarding world, or perhaps because of them, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour was rather crowded, the next day. Florean had been rescued by the Aurors some months before, and had spent some time in St. Mungo's, recovering from his injuries and neglect, but his passion was crafting ice cream and other sweet confections, and the best therapy for him had been returning to work. Because of his capture and subsequent rescuing, his shop was more popular than ever, and today was no exception.

Of course, the rain soaking the street outside probably had something to do with that, but rain usually chased people away from ice cream. Given that it was a quarter to one, the lunchtime crowd was only just beginning to thin. Using the advantage of his height, Ron spotted an empty table. Providentially, it was in front of one of the large, square-paned windows. Meaning that if any Death Eaters lurked outside under the eaves of a shop across the street, they'd be seen meeting and chatting with Russel. Hopefully Ron's jealousy would interject some realistic moments of visual 'doubt' into such a scene. They couldn't let him be accepted too easily, too quickly.

"Oy, I'll save us that table, by that window," Ron told Harry and Hermione, pointing its way. "You go get the sundaes."

"Okay," Harry agreed. "What will you want?"

"I'll have an Apple Pie in the Sky."

"Got it." Harry and Hermione waded through the crowd to the queue in front of the counter. For all it was crowded, the wait wasn't too long, and they passed it studying the slateboard lists of ice cream combinations and other sweet treats that were being touted for that day. Harry smiled at Hermione. "Remember my third year, when I ran away from home and came here?"

Hermione nodded, debating between a Fudge Frolic and a Dark Chocolate Delight. Both sounded scrumptious from their descriptions on the boards. "I was rather worried about you, that summer. Any summer that you went home to your so-called family, really."

"When I stayed at the Leaky Cauldron, I'd come here every afternoon to read my schoolbooks and work on my summer assignments, and Mr. Fortescue would give me free sundaes and tell me what he remembered from his own History classes. I always wondered why he did it. If it was the scar, or whatever."

That made her smile at him. "He probably did it because you were a sweet boy who needed a kindly uncle-figure to look after him on a summer's afternoon. Not everyone's interested in your fame, Harry. That might've made him notice you all the sooner, but it's your own personality that made him give you free sundaes day after day. If it had been Malfoy, you can bet there would've only been one ice cream on the house. After that, Draco's personality would've probably soured the deal."

"Spoilt child, spoilt ice cream," Harry muttered. The last customer cleared the queue and he stepped up to the counter with her. Florean himself was the clerk to take their order, as his two assistants worked with other customers.

"Harry! Has it been so long already, that you're now out of school? I could've sworn you had another year left to go! How did those history papers turn out?" the shopkeeper asked him.

Harry blushed. "They, er, did well enough, when I turned them in to Professor Binns."

"Well, I'll bet you're not here to learn about Infamous Iphiginia and her Iguana Incident," Mr. Fortescue chuckled. "What'll you have, young man?"

"Ron wants an Apple Pie in the Sky, and I'll have a Banana Fountain. What do you want, Hermione?" Harry asked her, turning to glance at her.

"--We'll both have a Dark as Mid-Nut," a baritone voice interjected as Harry stiffened. A tanned arm in a royal blue jumper held out a handful of sickles. "My treat, for all of us," Russel added as his other arm slipped around Hermione's waist. His breath warmed her ear through her curls. "I do know how much you love dark chocolate and nuts, Jane. At least, how much you love my dark chocolate...and my nuts."

The innuendo made Hermione blush. She wasn't so ignorant of North American slang that she didn't know what he meant by that. It was worsened by the fact that he'd murmured those words in front of Harry, and held her so intimately close. At least it wasn't in front of Ron.

Harry's mouth tightened into a grim line. "You've got a lot of nerve, waltzing in here and saying you'll pay for our ice cream."

"Yes, well, I've come to apologize," Russel offered, his Canadian accent sounding stranger than usual, surrounded as they were by the babble of English voices. "And to offer my explanations. Consider the ice cream a peace offering...and perhaps a thank you for your efforts during the exhibition, this last weekend."

Harry said nothing, but didn't proffer his own money as Mr. Fortescue handed Russel his change and began crafting the four orders. Hermione couldn't say anything. Not when most of her attention was taken up by the need to not melt into the man behind her. He smelled somewhat spicy today, contrasting with the stronger, sweeter scents of Fortescue's shop. Spicy, and masculine.

The treats were handed over the counter, requiring Russel to release her so that he could accept the two dark chocolate ones. Harry, giving the older wizard a mistrustful glance, took his and Ron's orders. One had sauces oozing from the trio of bananas upended in the ice cream scoops, sort of a wizarding version of a banana split, while the other actually hovered over its dish by two inches, dotted with chunks of apple, pie-crust, and walnuts, and drizzled in caramel. Harry nodded at the dark-chocolate mounds in the bowls Russel accepted. "If that's not what you want, Hermione, I'll buy you something else."

Hermione's brain felt like it had dribbled out of the ear that Russel had breathed upon. Shaking her head, she gathered her scattered wits. "It's alright. I was actually going to order that, myself."

Turning away from the counter, they wove through the tables, Russel following Hermione, who followed Harry. Ron, spotting their approach, stood up. Hermione fancied he didn't want to face his rival--a successful rival, since Russel had won Hermione, not him--while sitting down. Of course, the moment his gaze slid down Russel's frame and spotted the navy blue utili-kilt the other man was wearing, contempt pinched the freckled wizard's brow.

The moment was tense with simmering hostility; no one moved, until Russel set down the sundae treats on one side of the short, rectangular table, faced Ron, and stated bluntly, "I owe you an apology. For stealing away your right to court her. I am sorry...but I had no other choice, given the circumstances. For what it's worth," Russel added with a smile-like twist to his lips as Ron stared stonily at him and Hermione and Harry glanced worriedly between the two, "I'm glad the dragon didn't eat you, Ron. Not when she speaks so highly of you."

Ron gave him a disgusted look. "You are an absolute suck-up."

Russel's face hardened slightly, mostly around the eyes. Around the mouth he was still smiling politely, but not in the tension of his grey eyes. Harry flicked out his wand at the edge of Hermione's vision, but he didn't point it at anyone standing around the table. From the silent mouthing of his lips, she guessed he was casting a distraction spell, so that their conversation couldn't be overheard in the crowded shop.

"You are my wife's best friend," Russel stated calmly. "I wouldn't get very far if I tried to forbid her to see you, or interfered in your long-standing friendship. In fact, it would cause me a great deal of trouble if I ever tried. Thus the logical thing to do is to suck it up, and deal with it." His hand came up to Hermione's shoulders in a light but pointed touch. "Conversely, she is now my wife, and that is not something you will ever be able to derail.

"So I suggest you set your own animosity aside, and deal with it. Privately," he added as Hermione tensed. "If we forget ourselves and bicker in public, or even just in front of her, it will only put her in the middle of our arguments, and tear her to pieces. I don't care if you don't have any respect for me or my feelings in this matter. You will have respect for her and hers, and not force her to choose sides. This situation is not some childhood game, and she is not a prize to squabble over."

Silence followed his words, not counting the bustle of the shop around them. Finally, Harry cleared his throat. "The ice cream's melting."

Ron gripped the back of his chair, then sighed and sat down. Russel released Hermione's shoulder with a subtle caress and pulled out a chair for her, across from Ron. Harry took the chair that faced the window, leaving Russel to sit next to Hermione, across from Ron. Russel spoke quietly as he sat down, his dark blond hair swinging forward far enough to half-conceal his face. "Mind what you say. We are in public, after all. It wouldn't do to provide the wrong sort of people with the wrong sort of gossip."

"I've cast a distraction charm," Harry reassured him.

Picking up her spoon, Hermione focused on her ice cream, glad he'd warned Ron against putting her in the middle of their upset feelings and male posturings. The frozen confection before her was a hand-mixed treat of rich chocolate ice cream, walnuts, almonds, hazelnuts, cashews and peanuts, with little dark chocolate chunks scattered throughout. On her third bite, she felt a hand settling on her denim-clad thigh. Russel's of course; he was seated to her right. The heel of his palm rested on her leg at about the midpoint, and the fingers traced little circles over the fabric. Gradually, they worked their way toward the inside of her thigh.

"So, what do we call you?" Harry asked between bites of his own treat.

"Rorik. We are in public, after all."

"When do you go back to Canada, 'Rorik'?" Ron asked him pointedly. Hermione gave him a dirty look for his veiled rudeness.

"I'm staying for a while, actually," Russel replied, trailing the tip of his spoon through his sundae. "I must say, things are certainly more exciting here than back home. That was a rather interesting scuffle, at the exhibition. I've never seen a giant go down quite like that, before."

Harry grinned as he scooped up a bit of banana and pineapple. "Yeah. It was definitely not a move found in the usual sort of chess rulebook."

"It was a good move, on Yorsen's part," Ron agreed. "Nothing else was taking him down, that was for certain."

"How come you didn't attack?" Harry enquired, glancing at Russel. He tensed. So did Hermione and Ron, waiting for his answer. It sounded like Harry was asking why Russel hadn't attacked the giant, but all four of them knew he meant, why hadn't Russel attacked the innocents in the room.

"I was too busy dodging curses and trying to figure out what you were doing, at first. Then I realized Jane was in danger. Since she dances so divinely, I thought it would be a pity to let her soul be sucked from her body," Russel replied calmly, sliding a spoonful of nut-filled ice cream into his mouth.

Ron frowned, glancing between him and Hermione. "Wait a minute--when did you dance with him, Hermione?"

"It was during your second chess game," she answered. As Ron started to scowl, she added honestly, "He got fresh with me by the end of it, and that's when I told him I was your girlfriend, not his."

"--She did do that," Russel agreed, nodding. The hand on Hermione's thigh shifted subtly closer to her pelvis, then slid further down the inside of her thigh, playing with the ridge of her inseam. The caress sent prickles of awareness through her body. Hermione carefully continued to eat her ice cream as if nothing was amiss.

Ron subsided, but not without shooting the pair of them a suspicious look over his partially eaten, still-hovering desert. Harry filled the silence, speaking between bites. "So...what do we do with you now?"

"You get to know me," Russel informed him. "However little I'll be able to impart. We'll meet and have a few more conversations, I'll offer to help out the good guys against You-Know-Who, you'll debate the point and mutter amongst yourselves while you're out in public, doubting whether or not you can trust me, and then eventually I'll show up at some location where the bad guys are attacking, and with a bit of wand-work, help the good guys save the day, thereby proving my worth and my loyalty publicly."

"--But in the meantime," Ron interjected, clearing his mouth quickly, "you'll probable have pre-coordinated the attack with your fellow Death Eaters, including who you'll hit and with what. They'll escape, of course, and while the casualties will have been minimized, it will actually be a lesser victory, because we'll have only postponed our next encounter with them, rather than stopping some of them from being able to come back."

Hermione glanced at Russel to gauge his reaction. He was looking at Ron thoughtfully. "The bastard traitor called you thick-headed, slow-witted, and an utter waste of Pureblooded genetics--multiplied just because you were a Weasley blood-traitor, according to him. I'm very pleased to say he was utterly wrong," the tanned wizard continued as the freckled one across from him tensed. "But I won't tell him that. The more the other side underestimates you, the better-off you'll be when you need a decisive victory."

"Will you be helping us, on the day of that decisive victory?" Harry asked him.

"In my own way. But not until the last confrontation," Russel pointed out. His hand slid further up the inside of Hermione's thigh, pressing lightly into her denim-covered mound under the shelter of the table. "And even then, it might be more advantageous for me to stay in the background."

"Don't want to give up your position?" Ron asked pointedly. "Enjoying lurking in the darkness of the other side, too much?"

"Ron!" Hermione protested.

Russel leveled an impatient look at the wizard across from him. "If we cannot catch his followers--and do not say the Dark Lord's name in my presence, if you please--then someone will still need to be on the inside, so that their post-war hiding places can be more easily found. I'd think that a chess-player like you would know that you always plan for several moves past your point of victory, even if that victory seems assured at the time. No victory is ever that assured. Lay your strategies for the long-term, and save your tactics for the short-term. It's no use running around putting out one fire after the next, unless you're also trying to figure out how those fires are getting started, and how to prevent them from happening again."

"I didn't come here to be lectured at by some foreigner," Ron disparaged.

"Then consider it friendly advice. You've got a brain. Use it, and think things through. Not just to their end, but to the what-happens-now, after you've won or lost, in any endeavor. For that matter, hide what you're thinking," Russel added, looking at Harry. "The bastard traitor's gloated to me a couple of times about your shoddy Occlumency. If you ever want to get one up on him, you're going to have to work on keeping your spells silent, and your mind closed to all onlookers. If you can't hold your own against a fighter like Snape, you won't stand a chance against your real enemy."

Harry bristled at the name of their former teacher. "Snape. I'll kill him, for what he did!"

"Control your temper, Harry," Russel warned him coolly. "You cannot get to him. He's hidden at their Headquarters, which are obscured exactly like yours are, behind the Fidelius Charm. Do you really think his master is going to let him out where our side could get at him? You're not the only wizard in Britain who wants to kill him for what he's done. Focus on what you're supposed to be doing: fighting the Dark Lord. You don't kill the snake by stepping on its tail. You kill it by pinning it down by the head and crushing its skull.

"Which brings me to some information I have for you," Russel continued, pausing long enough to scoop some ice cream into his mouth. His other hand had wormed itself tighter against the groin of the witch on his left.

"What information?" Ron asked. Hermione was trying not to twitch under the rubbing stimulation Russel was applying to her flesh. It was just easier to let the boys do all the talking.

"...Brian asked me to keep an eye and an ear open for any unusual interests, requests, obsessions, objects, or information about his past, or items Marvolo may have stolen, or people he may have murdered. Shortly before I came here, he sent two of his agents--one of them that slimy rat--on a quest to some cave. Possibly on the coast, since I overheard them talking about how to use a boat. And something about a necklace. Unfortunately, I didn't get to hear the location, nor what the importance of the necklace was, just that they were to ensure that it was still there."

The trio exchanged quick glances. Harry's hand had crept halfway to his chest, before detouring abruptly. He picked up his spoon instead, clearing his throat. "That's definitely something different. You'll need to get back there as soon as possible, to hear what'll happen upon their return."

"It sounded like they were going someplace else, first, and that they would wait to enter the cave tonight, under cover of darkness. I have a little time, I think. And I can't return too early, myself."

"Why not?" Ron asked.

"Because I'm supposed to be infiltrating your good graces, among other things." Russel's left hand was now pressing rhythmically into Hermione's mound, while his right hand scooped up more of his dessert. The movement of his left arm was subtle, just a flexing of his fingers and forearm, both concealed below the edge of the age-worn, polished oak of the table.

"Considering you're being rather straightforward with us, that isn't taking very long," Harry pointed out. "What are the other things you have to do?"

"The none-of-your-business sort of things," Russel retorted as soon as his mouth was clear. Hermione put her own spoon into her dish, done with her dessert. Wiping her mouth on a paper napkin, she dropped her hands to her lap, covertly covering the Canadian wizard's hand. Not to stop him, though she didn't exactly encourage him. It was nerve-wracking, being physical seduced like this in front of her two best friends, one of them her old boyfriend, the other her newly made brother. Nerve-wracking, but titillating, too.

"Oy, if you expect us to trust you, you can't just say it's none of our business!" Ron protested as he scooped the last bit of his apple-and-caramel ice cream out of the air above its dish. "What do you have to do?"

Russel licked chocolate ice cream from his spoon, smiling. "...You don't want to know what I have to do, trust me. You won't like hearing it."

"Yes, I do," Ron repeated stubbornly. "Tell us!"

"As you wish... After I'm done ingratiating myself into your little circle, I am supposed to abscond with my wife and continue with my seduction of her. And don't say I didn't warn you," Russel grinned mockingly as Ron's jaw tightened with a wince. "I told you that you wouldn't like hearing it. Perhaps you should try trusting me just a little bit more."

Hermione trapped his hand against her mound. "Stop it, both of you! I'm not something to be fought over, like a bone tossed in front of two dogs! ...And I'll hear no more of that particular topic out of either of you, especially in a public setting," she warned both men. "It's not appropriate for the two of you to be bickering over my love-life, when I have not given either of you permission to do so!"

Harry looked like he was biting back the urge to cheer her on. Ron looked embarrassed at being chastised, but somewhat sullen as well. Russel merely studied her a long moment, then spoke softly. "I apologize. That was inconsiderate of me, and inappropriate."

His promptness and quiet sincerity mollified her. Releasing his hand, she rested her forearms on the table. "You're forgiven." A glance at Ron and she prompted, "...Well?"

"Well, what?" he asked defensively.

Hermione almost demanded that he apologize, too, but Russel's fingers shifted and tightened on her thigh. It was a warning to not press the younger wizard, for pressing him would only make him dig in his heels stubbornly, defensively. Letting out a sigh, she shook her head. If Ron couldn't think for himself that an apology was necessary, then her telling him to do so wasn't going to help the matter; he had to figure out for himself that it was the mature thing to do, as Russel had shown. "...Never mind, Ron."

There were some situations where a more mature man was preferable.

"Are you finished, Jane?" Russel asked her lightly. When she nodded, he stood and helped shift her seat back. Nodding to the others, he tucked Hermione's hand around his elbow. "Then we'll go. Don't bother waiting for us, gentlemen. She'll return home when we're through."

Ron's face twisted with disgust, and even Harry winced.

"--Get that perving thought out of your heads, you hosers!" Russel chided them, wrinkling his nose. "We have an unfinished game of Factoid Folly waiting for us. Not all seduction attempts involve a bed, you know... See you later."

"Have a good day," Hermione added over her shoulder as he guided her out of Fortescue's shop.

Russel didn't wait to step from under the eaves into the rain. He Disapparated both of them as soon as they were clear of the door. Squeezing free of the awful sensation of traveling that way, they Apparated into the same hotel room as before. Nothing had changed, other than a bit of tidying. Even the same books and games were still stacked on a corner of the dining table.

"Did you re-rent this place?" Hermione asked, curious.

"No. It's being considered 'under renovation' at the moment, as a part of the deal I worked out with the hotel manager. It's my refuge to come back to, whenever I want. No one but the two of us know exactly where it is."

"...Except that I don't actually know where we are," Hermione pointed out pragmatically, "other than in some Muggle hotel."

"And you're wisest to continue not knowing, for as long as possible." Crossing to the nightstand, Russel turned on the alarm clock, which was also a radio. A bit of fiddling with the tuning knob, and he had it set on a station playing slow, sultry music. Returning to her, he held out his hands. "Shall we dance?"

"I thought we had a game of Factoid Folly to continue," she countered, stepping into his arms.

"I'd rather dance, right now. I have an urge to hold you in my arms," Russel murmured, tucking her against him as he moved them gently into a two-step. "I never get the chance to dance, really. When you're in Slytherin House, everyone learns how to dance, but I was always a bit of a bookworm, and of course I was the ugliest troll to tromp through the halls. Not even the homeliest of the girls wanted to be asked out by me. Nor would they have asked me, even if it were Sadie Hawkins Day."

"So you never got to dance while you were in school?" Hermione asked him, curious.

"Only with an assigned partner during lessons, for most of my time there. Naturally I grew tired of my inept reputation with the opposite sex. In my sixth year, I saved all of the pin-money my mother had given me for snacks, and in the summer before my seventh year, visited...well, a certain establishment in Knockturn Alley that provides lessons in how to treat a woman, for a price. When I came back to school, I was a lot more confident, and from the gossip churning in the rumor-mill, a lot more competent than my contemporaries...but it still took quite a lot of finagling to get a girl into my arms.

"...You don't mind me telling you about this?" Russel added, leaning back to look down at her. "Any twinges of discomfort? I can't exactly expect twinges of jealousy, I know, but I thought you'd appreciate learning something about me."

"I don't mind. I'm feeling a few tiny twinges, but it's not a big deal," Hermione admitted, shrugging as he gathered her close again. They were swaying more than two-stepping, but she didn't really care. His arms were warm, his scent wonderfully male, and he was telling her something about his past. "Besides, how can I object, when it's clear to me you learnt your lessons well?"

He chuckled, at that. "I didn't even hope you'd look at it that way, but it's true. And the money I spent was well-invested, I'd say, if you're enjoying my expertise."

"Maybe I should get some lessons, too," Hermione joked--and found the urge to laugh squeezed out of her as he stopped swaying in favour of holding her breathlessly tight.

His jaw left her temple, his head sliding down next to hers. When he spoke, Russel's voice was deceptively quiet. Dangerously soft. "You will not seek out another man for such things, Jane. Not unless you wish to see Sigurd eating your would-be paramour. I don't care who he is, friend or foe; I will not be cuckolded. Do I make myself clear?"

Fear shivered down her spine. Up until now, Russel had seemed somewhat harmless. Friendly, for a man who'd joined the Death Eaters. Now Hermione wasn't so sure about him...or her situation. Knowing he was awaiting her reply, she muttered, "Very."

His grip eased slightly. One palm traveled down the tense line of her spine, the other slid up toward her hair. She shivered again, wondering what he was going to do to her, if she would need to go for her wand, or her bracelet.

"I've scared you," Russel murmured into her ear. "I'm sorry if I did...but I have very strong feelings about fidelity. My father cheated on my mother. When she couldn't stop his womanizing, she turned around and cheated on him. They broke my sense of home and family, and shattered my faith and trust. Thus I will not tolerate infidelity between us. I don't care if it's with a female instead of a male; you will not cheat on me."

Hermione shivered again, this time with pity for his childhood, and sympathy for his angst over the matter. The thought of her own parents cheating on each other was almost inconceivable, and she could only imagine how horrid his childhood must have been. His hands shifted to her upper arms, rubbing them slowly, soothingly. Pulling back slightly, he met her gaze, his grey eyes solemn and sincere as he rested his forehead against hers.

"I will be the only lover you will ever need, Jane, and your guide into the art of passion," he promised, looking into her eyes as their noses bumped and slid together. A twist of his head, and his lips pressed briefly to hers. "Whatever you want to try," he breathed between kissing her softly again, and again, "whatever you want to learn...we will learn it together...experiment...passion...playfulness...naughty secretary...disciplinarian boss..."

Hermione flushed with the memory. "Only if I get to be the boss, next time."

His eyes snapped wide, giving her a perfect view of his irises. Unlike most she'd seen, his weren't darker around the outer rims, just a uniform level of pewter grey broken only by natural striations. Mouth curving into a grin, he snatched her off her feet and whirled her around, squeezing the breath out of her a second time as he held her by her ribs and laughed. Setting her down again, Russel slanted his mouth over hers, devouring her startled gasp. His hands roamed all over her body, softly stroking here, clutching impatiently there.

Before she knew it, he'd backed her to the bed, sans blouse. To be fair, he placed her hands on the hem of his blue jumper, encouraging her to pull it over his head. That gave her a view of his tanned chest, with light brown hairs dusted lightly around his nipples and gathered in a faint treasure-line down to the waistband of his pocket-covered utili-kilt. His fingers tickled her spine as he pinched and released the hooks of her bra.

Turning even as he pulled the garment down, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her onto his lap so that she straddled him. From there, it was a delicious rub of her breasts against his sparsely furred chest, a wet, tongue-tangled mating of their mouths, and a surreptitious toeing of his boots from his feet. It wasn't as easy for her to slip her trainers from her feet, but she got them off, and only protested a little when he rolled them onto the bed with a muscular twist.

Of course, the way he rolled them ended up with their stocking-clad feet on the duvet-covered pillows, their heads down by the foot of the bed. That made Hermione laugh when she realized it. Breaking their kiss, Russel lifted himself up enough to frown down at her in puzzlement. She struggled to reply through her giddy sense of humor.

"We're...we're upside down! On the bed!"

Looking down the length of her body, he took in the position of their feet at the head of the mattress. A moment later, he chuckled. "I guess we are 'upside-down', aren't we?"

"Almost--there!" she gasped, grabbing and flipping the hem of his navy utili-kilt, so that it bared his white-cotton covered rump. "Now we're upside-down! Wheeeeee!"

He stiffened over her, his face shuttering. Hermione, not sure why he wasn't laughing anymore, tickled his ribs. Russel spasmed. Sensing a weakness, she attacked him again, tickling her way up to his armpits. Cursing, he rolled off of her, clamping his upper arms to his sides. Hermione followed, determined to vanquish her prey. Grey eyes narrowing as she reared over him, he snapped his hands up and started tickling her back. Squealing, Hermione quickly found herself writhing on her back as he reversed their positions, stimulating her ruthlessly until she couldn't breathe.

His wand appeared in his hand, flicking over her body as she tried to protect herself from his remaining hand. Her jeans unsnapped and unzipped themselves, slithering off of her legs, taking her underthings with them. His kilt and his own undergarments removed themselves at the same time, even their socks joining the pile of clothing skittering to the bench at the foot of the bed. Kneeling beside her, Russel resumed tickling her, brushing aside her hands as she tried to tickle him back.

The need to protect herself had her curling up in a ball on her back--and that was when he attacked. Shuffling to position himself beyond her rump, he leaned over her, tickled her until she tried to push him away with her legs, then grabbed her knees, parted her legs, and slotted himself with breath-stealing accuracy in her core. A withdrawl and a plunge of his erection shattered Hermione. Head arching back, she cried out at the blissful, aching pleasure peaking through her overwrought nerves. He pushed strongly through her climax, pumping steadily into her body, riding through her shockwaves with single-minded concentration.

Drifting down from her bliss, Hermione was aware that he hadn't traveled up there with her. With his weight braced on his arms and his knees, however, he was vulnerable to her own attack. So, wits re-gathering, she slid her fingertips up his arms to his biceps--and stole in to his ribs, tickling them and his armpits. He bucked into her; a harsh breath escaped him, a hissing, choking, ambushed laugh as his body thrust with involuntary strength. Biting back a moan, Hermione tickled him again, avoiding the way his arms tried to clamp her fingers in place by tormenting his nipples, next.

His head lowered with a growl--and she grabbed him by the back of the neck, lifting her mouth to his ear. An obscenity escaped him as his concentration broke. She had just enough strength to hold his head in place so she could suck on his earlobe; the rest of him bucked like a bull-ride. It was rough, it was wild, and it was accompanied by the sexiest growls she'd ever heard. Earlobe-sucking apparently drove him wild, and a Russel who had been driven wild drove her wild, for he grabbed her hands--freeing his head--and pinned her to the mattress.

It was his turn to suckle her earlobe, his breath puffing hot and harsh against the side of her head. Dragging her wrists together, he gripped them together with those long, strong fingers, and used the other hand to grip her hair, dragging her head back with scalp-prickling but not quite painful force. Still driving into her with implacable force, he bit and sucked her throat, not quite drawing blood, but definitely drawing moans from her vocal chords. There was no denying that she wanted this; not with her legs wrapped around her waist, her hips flexing to meet his own, nor when she spasmed from the grinding of the base of his prick against her clitoris as he bottomed out on each stroke.

This wasn't tender lovemaking; this was fucking, and it was glorious. Hands squirming free, Hermione dragged her arms down, raking her nails over his shoulders as she shuddered in his arms a second time. Growling her name, he pressed himself as deeply as he could, shuddering with the force of his ejaculation. Rather than collapsing onto her as the last of his orgasm was dragged from his flesh, he sagged slowly, veering slightly to the side so that he ended up covering only part of her body with his limp, sated weight.

Sated and limp, but not still. One hand stroked her sweat-dampened skin. Fingers moulding to her curves, he caressed her in a gentle, tender contrast to the roughness of before. Her own hands moving with equal lassitude, Hermione returned the touches with gentle strokes of her own. Neither of them said anything, just listened to the calming of their hearts, and the soft music playing on the clock-radio, and the whispering of palms against cooling skin.

It took a little while, but their caresses turned more purposeful than soothing. It was a gradual thing, until it felt natural to be exchanging soft kisses as well as soft touches. And not too long after that, his hands urged her into place over him, positioning his re-aroused flesh so that she could sink onto him. This time, their coupling wasn't nearly as heated, but it wasn't tepid, either. This time, she came by the circling of her hips as she rode him, and the gentle touch of his fingers on either side of her swollen, sensitive clitoris.

He hadn't climaxed yet. Climbing off of him, Hermione did something very daring. Pushing him back down when he started to rise and roll over her, she kissed her way down his chest to his turgid flesh. It was slick with their combined essences, and fragrant with the scents of their lusts. Swirling her tongue over his flesh, Hermione licked Russel's erection. Taking it into her mouth after a few moments, she started stroking with one hand in counterpoint to the bobbing and sucking of her lips.

It wasn't easy, trying not to scrape him with her teeth, but she managed for the most part. And it didn't take long to taste her reward, as he grunted and spurted his salty-musky jism into her mouth. As soon as she had licked the last seeping trickles from his flesh, Hermione crawled back up the length of his body. His fingers speared into her curls, pulling her mouth to his.

Again, his tongue swept past her lips, seeking to share the flavour of his own essence on her lips. Distractedly, Hermione made a mental note to suckle but not swallow, the next time. As it was, their passionate play had sapped much of the energy from her body. Draping herself along his side, she sagged into him when the kiss ended, content to rest her head on his shoulder, since the pillows were still at the wrong of the bed from them.

A stretch, and he grabbed the wand that had ended up on the bench beyond their heads, along with their clothes. A flick, and their bodies floated up, rotating slowly around as the bedcovers slithered this way and that. As soon as they were oriented correctly, they settled onto the sheets, and the blankets drew themselves up over their bodies. Russel stretched again and placed his wand on the nearer of the two nightstands, then stroked her hair. "Rest, wife. We have a few more hours, before either of us has to leave..."

His words reminded her of what was due to happen tonight, when Dolohov and Pettigrew reached the cave that Harry and Dumbledore had visited, that fateful, dreadful night. Hermione knew Harry and Ron weren't going to admit to Russel that they had the locket, and that it had been destroyed. She wanted to confess to him, to confide in him...but she really didn't know if he'd be able to keep this information secret from the Dark Lord. Protestations of Occlumency aside, she just couldn't take that risk.

It felt wrong to keep this secret from him. Guilt-inducing, and uncomfortable. They were married, however strangely it had come about; Hermione had always believed husbands and wives strengthened a marriage by sharing things, and weakened it by holding back secrets. But the war was forcing this upon her, and even their marriage had been forced into existence by circumstances. He hadn't been forced to give her the ring, but he had done so anyway; it was his means of communicating with someone in the Order, and he'd sent it to her. She might've been able to save herself without donning the ring, but it would've been very difficult, so she had taken the easier path.

They'd made their bed, and now they had to lie in it, wrinkles, mismatched sheets, and all. At least the sex was good. Breathtakingly good. The cuddling was nice, too, she decided, enjoying the reflexive tightening of his arm as she snuggled closer under the covers. No, the information about the locket, which would lead to the whole mess with Voldemort's Horcruxes, she'd be wiser to keep to herself right now.