It was almost evening by the time they got back home. The floo flared green, and Ginny stepped out, followed by Harry who maintained his casual gait as he followed behind her to where the rest of the family was gathered in the dining room.
"How did it go?" Mrs. Weasley called, rushing forward to envelope them both in hugs. "Not too difficult, I hope?"
"Fine, Mum," Ginny said, returning the embrace. "Just questions about what we saw. Nothing we couldn't handle."
Harry nodded, pulling off his jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. "Crouch was thorough, but it was straightforward enough. We told him what happened, he took notes, asked for clarification on a few points, and that was it."
"Did they say anything about catching the rest of them?"
"They're working on it," Harry replied, but it was clear from his tone that he didn't particularly care either way.
"Good," Mrs. Weasley said firmly, bustling around to check on the roast. "The sooner they're all locked up in Azkaban, the better."
Hermione watched from her seat at the table, her eyes tracking every movement, every glance between Harry and Ginny. The way Ginny's hand brushed Harry's arm as she passed him. The way Harry's fingers lingered on the small of her back as he guided her to the table. The casual intimacy in how they moved around each other, like they were two parts of the same whole. It was subtle, and no one else seemed to notice, but Hermione caught every detail.
"Well, sit down then," Mrs. Weasley bustled, waving her wand to set two more places. "Dinner's getting cold, and I won't have you going hungry after such a long day."
As they settled into their chairs—Harry beside Ron, Ginny beside Hermione—the redhead caught Hermione's intense stare and smiled sweetly.
"Miss us, Hermione?"
"I was just wondering how it went," Hermione said quickly, her cheeks flushing at being caught staring. "The questioning, I mean. Was Crouch difficult?"
"Oh, it went very well," Ginny replied, easily pouncing on Hermione's slight misstep there. "Didn't it, Harry?"
"Mmm," Harry agreed, reaching for the potatoes and ladling a generous portion onto his plate. "Very... productive afternoon."
Ron snorted, helping himself to more gravy. "Productive? It was just questions, wasn't it? How can answering questions be productive?"
"You'd be surprised," Ginny said lightly, cutting into her roast beef, "how much can happen in a few hours when you're really focused on something."
Hermione's grip tightened on her fork. The innocent words felt filled with double meaning, and she found herself analyzing every syllable, every variation in Ginny's voice.
"Speaking of surprising things," Ginny continued, helping herself to some carrots and passing the bowl to Charlie, "we ran into quite the scene outside the Ministry."
"What kind of scene?" Fred asked, perking up with interest. "Anything exciting?"
"The Malfoys," Harry said simply. "Well, what's left of them."
"You saw Draco?" Hermione asked, her voice slightly higher than usual. Despite everything, she felt a pang of something—not quite sympathy, but recognition of loss.
"Oh, we saw him alright," Ginny snorted, sharing a look with Harry. "Along with his mother and Pansy Parkinson."
"Parkinson was there?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "What for? Thought she'd be keeping her head down after everything."
"Apparently," Ginny said, her eyes dancing with mischief as she took a sip of her pumpkin juice, "she had some things to say about the Malfoy family's recent... loss."
"What kind of things?" George leaned forward, intrigued.
"Let's just say," Harry said carefully, "Pansy wasn't very sympathetic about Lucius's death."
"She tore into them," Ginny added with obvious relish, setting down her glass and leaning forward slightly. "Right there in front of everyone. Called Draco a coward, said his father got what he deserved for being stupid enough to get himself killed, blamed him for everything, even called him a Death Eater."
"Blimey," Ron breathed, his eyes wide with surprise. "In public? With people watching?"
"Very public," Harry confirmed, his lips quirking upward in what might have been amusement. "There was quite a crowd. Ministry workers heading home, a few reporters still hanging around from earlier, even Fudge and his people."
Ron let out a bark of laughter, nearly choking on his potatoes. "Serves the git right! Getting dressed down by Parkinson of all people. Must've been absolutely humiliating."
"Oh, it was," Ginny said, her voice filled with satisfaction. "Especially when his mother tried to intervene and put Pansy in her place in her own way."
"Narcissa got involved?" Mrs. Weasley asked, frowning with concern. "That doesn't sound like her. She usually keeps herself above such... public displays."
"She tried to," Harry said, his tone casual but Hermione could see something in his eyes that sent a chill down her spine. "Didn't go well for her either."
"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, looking up from his own plate where he'd been methodically working through his vegetables.
"What happened?" Hermione found herself asking, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know. There was something in Harry's expression that made her pulse race.
Harry's lips curved into the faintest smile, and for a moment his mask of casual indifference slipped, revealing something predatory underneath. "Sometimes people need to be reminded of their place in the world."
The cryptic answer made everyone stare at him, and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine at zhis voice. It wasn't boastful or cruel—it was matter-of-fact, like he was stating an obvious truth.
"Good," Mrs. Weasley said firmly, though she looked a bit uncomfortable with the conversation's direction. "The Malfoys have caused enough trouble for one lifetime. About time someone stood up to them."
"Indeed they have," Harry agreed, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "But I don't think they'll be causing much more trouble going forward."
"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, clearing her throat and obviously wanting to move away from talk of the Malfoys, "let's talk about something more pleasant."
The conversation shifted to Charlie's dragon work, but Hermione found herself unable to focus on his tales of fireproof gloves and territorial disputes. Every laugh Ginny shared with Harry, every casual touch, every meaningful glance felt magnified. She barely touched her food, too distracted by their dynamic that went unnoticed by every single person apart from her.
"The thing about Horntails," Charlie was saying, "is that they're incredibly intelligent. More so than most people realize. They remember faces, hold grudges, even develop preferences for certain handlers."
"Sounds familiar," Ginny murmured, just loud enough for Hermione to hear, though her comment seemed to be directed at her plate.
"You alright, Hermione?" Ron asked, noticing her untouched roast and barely-touched vegetables. "You've barely eaten anything. Are you feeling sick?"
"I'm fine," she said quickly, forcing herself to take a bite. "Just thinking about... things."
"What kind of things?" Ginny asked innocently, though her eyes held a knowing glint that made Hermione's skin prickle.
"Just... the Ministry visit," Hermione managed, her voice steadier than she felt. "It must have been intense, being questioned about everything you witnessed."
"Oh, it was," Ginny agreed, her voice dropping slightly. "Very intense. Wasn't it, Harry?"
"Definitely memorable," Harry replied, his gaze lingering on Hermione's flushed face for just a moment too long.
Fred, oblivious to the tension crackling between the three of them, launched into a story about a prank gone wrong involving Whizzing Worms and an unfortunate hairpiece. George picked up the thread, and soon the twins were regaling the table with their comedic mishaps, drawing laughter from everyone except Hermione, who remained distracted.
As dinner wound down and people began clearing away their plates, Ginny stretched languidly in her chair, her back arching in a way that drew Harry's eyes to her curves. Hermione eyed him with a small frown, not that he paid her any heed.
"I think I'll get some rest for a few minutes before that Quidditch game," she announced. "All that excitement at the Ministry wore me out."
"You kids and Quidditch," Mrs. Weasley said, waving her wand to send dishes floating toward the sink in a graceful parade. "Do what you will. But remember you've had a long day, both you and Harry. You need your rest."
"Coming, Hermione?" Ginny asked sweetly, standing and pushing in her chair. "We should probably discuss those defense books you wanted to show me."
Hermione's pulse spiked, her fork clattering slightly against her plate. "Defense books?"
"The ones Harry mentioned this morning," Ginny reminded her with a patient smile, as if speaking to someone who'd forgotten something obvious. "You said you had some interesting new material about advanced protective charms."
"Oh. Right. Yes, of course." Hermione's voice sounded distant to her own ears.
Harry watched the exchange with obvious amusement, his eyes moving between the two girls like he was watching a particularly engaging play. "Have a good evening, ladies."
"Oh, we will," Ginny said, her voice carrying that same loaded tone that made Hermione's skin prickle with awareness. "Won't we, Hermione?"
Hermione said nothing.
XXXXX
Hermione sat on the edge of Ginny's bed, her mind churning with the events of the day. The casual way Harry and Ginny interacted, the loaded glances, the subtle touches—it all felt like it set her nerves on fire. She had no idea why though, or maybe she did, and that's what terrified her.
She replayed the morning's scene under the breakfast table, the memory making her face burn with shame and a particular feeling she didn't want to acknowledge. The way Ginny had looked at her, that challenging stare, the whispered words that seemed to echo in her mind: "I know you want it."
The casual boldness of it, the complete lack of shame or hesitation, was so foreign to Hermione's carefully controlled world. She'd spent her entire life being the responsible one, the one who thought things through, who weighed consequences and made rational decisions. But watching Ginny act with such brazen confidence made her question whether all that careful control was worth it.
She picked at the bedspread, her fingers tracing the worn pattern while her thoughts spun in circles. What did it say about her that she'd been unable to look away? That even now, hours later, she could still feel the heat of that moment?
The door slammed shut with a bang that made Hermione jump, her heart leaping into her throat. She whirled around to find Ginny standing by the door, her hand still on the handle, wearing an utterly unapologetic grin.
"Oops," Ginny said, not sounding sorry at all. In fact, she sounded delighted. "Did I startle you?"
Hermione's hand flew to her chest, feeling her racing heartbeat through her shirt. "Ginny! You scared me to death."
"Did I?" Ginny asked innocently, pushing off from the door and walking toward the bed with the predatory grace of a cat stalking prey. "Sorry about that."
But she didn't look sorry. She looked absolutely delighted, her eyes bright with mischief as she took in Hermione's flustered state with obvious satisfaction.
"You seem jumpy," Ginny observed, settling onto the bed beside Hermione with a faint thump. Close enough that their knees almost touched, close enough that Hermione could smell her floral shampoo. "Everything alright?"
"I'm fine," Hermione said quickly, scooting slightly away but finding herself trapped between Ginny and the headboard. "Just tired. It's been a long day."
"Hmm," Ginny hummed, tilting her head and studying Hermione's face as if examining an interesting specimen. "You know, I promised I'd tell you everything about what happened at the Ministry today."
Hermione's mouth went dry, her tongue feeling thick and clumsy. "You don't have to—"
"Oh, but I do," Ginny interrupted, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone that seemed to wrap around Hermione like silk. "I always keep my promises, Hermione. You should know that about me by now."
The redhead leaned back on her hands, the position making her seem more relaxed while somehow also more dangerous. Like a lioness pretending to lounge while actually preparing to pounce.
"Harry wanted to be here for this conversation too, actually," Ginny said casually, as if commenting on the weather.
Hermione's eyes went wide, her breath catching audibly. "What?"
"Mmm," Ginny nodded, clearly enjoying the shock painted across Hermione's features. "He was quite insistent about it, actually. Said he thought you might have questions for him too, about what happened. About what he did."
"I don't—why would he—" Hermione stammered, her thoughts scattering like leaves in a hurricane. The idea of Harry being here, in this room, talking about whatever had happened at the Ministry, made her pulse race for reasons she didn't want to examine.
"But I told him no," Ginny continued, her tone almost conversational, as if they were discussing homework rather than whatever game she was playing. "I said it might be too much for you. That you might not be able to handle both of us at the same time."
There was something mocking in Ginny's voice, a subtle condescension that made Hermione's spine stiffen with indignation. The implication was clear—that she was some fragile flower who couldn't handle adult conversations or adult situations.
"I can handle perfectly well—" Hermione began hotly, her cheeks flushing with irritation.
"Can you?" Ginny asked with raised eyebrows, her expression one of polite skepticism. "Because you looked ready to faint this morning when I was just having a bit of fun under the table."
Hermione's face flamed at the reminder, but underneath the embarrassment was a growing anger. "That wasn't—you were—"
"I was what?" Ginny prompted, her eyes dancing with amusement as she watched Hermione struggle for words. "Having a good time with Harry? Enjoying myself? Living my life instead of just thinking about it?"
The casual way she said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made Hermione feel foolish and prudish. She was a grown woman, for crying out loud. She'd read about sex, thought about it, even had her own private moments of exploration. She had desires too, thoughts and wants that she kept carefully locked away in the deepest corners of her mind. Being spoken to like some blushing virgin was insulting.
"I'm not some sheltered child, Ginny," Hermione said, her voice sharper than she intended, her chin lifting with stubborn pride. "I understand perfectly well what you were doing."
"Do you?" Ginny asked, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Because you looked absolutely fascinated. Like you'd never seen anything like it before. Like you wanted to crawl under there with us."
The mocking tone was unmistakable now, and it stung worse than a slap. Hermione felt her temper flare, bright and hot in her chest. "I'm not naive."
"I never said you were," Ginny replied smoothly, her voice taking on a soothing quality that somehow managed to be even more condescending. "But you are curious, aren't you? About what it's like to stop thinking so much and just... feel. To stop analyzing everything to death and actually experience something."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, to deny the accusation, but something in Ginny's knowing stare made the words die in her throat.
"Anyway," Ginny said, settling more comfortably on the bed and crossing her legs, "let me tell you about what happened with the Malfoys. Since you're so eager to hear about it."
Despite her irritation, despite the way Ginny was speaking to her like a child being told a bedtime story, Hermione found herself leaning forward slightly, drawn in despite herself.
"It was quite the show," Ginny began, having already decided to be less than truthful about it. A bit of embellishment was no harm in her opinion. "Pansy was already laying into Draco when we arrived at the Ministry steps. Going on about how his father was a coward who got himself killed over his own stupidity."
Hermione winced involuntarily. Whatever she thought of the Malfoys, the idea of speaking so callously about someone's dead father seemed harsh. "That's cruel, even for her."
"Oh, it got much worse," Ginny continued with obvious relish, her eyes lighting up at the memory. "She called him weak, said he was just like his father—all talk and no backbone when it really mattered. That he'd probably end up the same way, dead in a ditch somewhere because he was too stupid to know when to keep his mouth shut."
"In front of people?" Hermione asked, imagining the scene with growing horror and fascination.
"Oh yes, there was quite an audience," Ginny confirmed. "Ministry workers heading home, a few journalists who'd been hanging around hoping for a story. Perfect timing, really. That's when Narcissa stepped in."
"What did she do?"
"Tried to put Pansy in her place," Ginny said, her eyes glittering with the memory. "Started going on about blood purity and knowing one's betters. You know, the usual Malfoy superiority complex. All that pure-blood nonsense about breeding and proper society."
Hermione could picture it clearly—Narcissa Malfoy's cold arrogance, her imperious tone, and the way she'd look down her nose at someone she considered beneath her station.
"She told Pansy that she was clearly overwrought with grief and not thinking clearly," Ginny continued, "and that she should apologize immediately for speaking about her betters with such disrespect."
"And then?"
"And then," Ginny said, and suddenly her voice changed into one of admiration and reverence, "Harry got involved."
Hermione felt her pulse quicken, anticipating what was coming but not knowing exactly what to expect.
"What did he do?" she asked, though she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know. There was something in Ginny's expression, a hungry satisfaction, that made her stomach flutter with nervous anticipation.
Ginny's smile turned predatory, and she cackled evilly in her mind. Time for the hook.
"He walked right up to Narcissa, bold as you please. No hesitation, no deference to her age or status. Just walked right into the middle of their little scene like he owned the place."
Hermione felt her breath catch, imagining Harry striding into a confrontation with that casual confidence she'd been noticing more and more lately.
"She tried to dismiss him," Ginny continued, her voice growing more animated as she relived the memory. "Told him to mind his own business, that this was a private family matter and he had no right to interfere."
"What did he say?"
"He just looked at her," Ginny said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper, as if sharing a sacred secret. "You know that look he gets sometimes? When he's completely in control and knows it? When he's not asking for anything because he doesn't need to?"
Hermione nodded despite herself. She'd seen that look, though she'd never been able to put it into words before.
"He told her she was mistaken if she thought her family name still meant anything," Ginny said, her voice filled with pride and admiration. "That the only reason anyone had ever tolerated the Malfoys was fear of Lucius and his connections, and now that he was dead..."
"He said that? In public?" Hermione's voice was barely a whisper.
"Oh, that was just the beginning," Ginny said, her eyes bright with hunger and excitement. "Narcissa got all huffy, started sputtering about respect and proper behavior and knowing one's place. So Harry stepped closer."
Ginny paused, clearly savoring the memory, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
"He invaded her personal space completely," she continued, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. "Close enough that anyone watching could see she was uncomfortable. Close enough that their bodies were almost touching. Close enough that she had to crane her neck back to look at him. And then he said, very quietly but just loud enough for the crowd to hear, that perhaps she should learn some humility."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "What happened then?"
"She tried to back away," Ginny said, her voice growing more excited, "but Harry followed. Every step she took backward, he took one forward. He kept talking, explaining exactly how precarious her position was now. How her husband's crimes had left her with nothing but enemies."
"In front of everyone?"
"In front of everyone," Ginny confirmed, her voice filled with savage satisfaction. "He systematically dismantled her entire sense of superiority. Made her realize that without Lucius's protection, without his fear tactics and political connections, she was nothing. Less than nothing."
Hermione found herself hanging on every word, her pulse racing as she imagined the scene. Harry's quiet authority, Narcissa's growing panic, and the crowd watching everything unfold.
"He explained," Ginny continued, "how her husband had died because he was too arrogant to see that times had changed. How she could easily end up in trouble if she didn't learn to adapt to her new circumstances."
"He threatened her?"
"Oh no," Ginny said with a wicked grin, "nothing so crude. He just made it very clear what reality looked like now. How the balance of power had shifted. How someone in her position might want to consider being more... accommodating to those she'd previously looked down upon."
Hermione swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The way Ginny described it, the casual way she talked about Harry dominating another person, made her feel things she didn't want to think about.
"By the end of it," Ginny continued, "she was practically trembling. This woman who'd looked down on everyone her entire life, who'd raised her son to believe he was inherently superior to people like us, reduced to stammering apologies and backing away like a scolded child."
"And Draco?"
"Draco?" Ginny laughed, the sound sharp and delighted. "Draco just stood there with his mouth open, watching his mother get put in her place by the famous Harry Potter. I don't think he said a single word the entire time. Just watched his whole world get turned upside down."
Hermione felt a rush of something—shock, arousal, admiration—all tangled together in a way that made her head spin and her skin flush.
"Harry was magnificent," Ginny said softly, her voice filled with pride and hunger. "The way he commanded the situation, the way everyone hung on his every word. Even Pansy shut up and watched. Even the Ministry workers stopped what they were doing to see what would happen next."
The admiration in Ginny's voice was unmistakable, and it sent another jolt through Hermione. The way she spoke about Harry's dominance, his control, made Hermione's skin prickle.
"He didn't raise his voice once," Ginny continued, her eyes distant with memory. "Didn't need to. He just... owned the moment. Owned her. Made it clear that the natural order had changed, and she was on the bottom now."
Hermione's hands clenched in her lap, her knuckles white with tension. The way Ginny described it, the casual way she talked about Harry dominating another person, made her feel things she didn't want to admit even to herself.
"You should have seen the crowd," Ginny added with a satisfied smile. "Everyone watching, seeing the great Narcissa Malfoy reduced to nothing by a teenager still of school. They all were just staring, trying to process what they were seeing."
"How did it end?" Hermione managed to ask, her voice hoarse.
"She left," Ginny said with obvious relish. "Which was the best she could do after everything."
Hermione felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the vivid picture Ginny had painted and her own unexpected reactions to it.
Ginny stretched languidly, clearly pleased with the effect her little exaggerated story was having on Hermione, whose flushed face and rapid breathing hadn't gone unnoticed.
"Well," she said, standing up from the bed, "that's what you missed. Quite the educational experience, really. Harry said it was important to establish new... expectations early, before anyone got confused about how things work now."
She moved toward the door, pausing with her hand on the handle to look back at Hermione, who sat frozen on the bed.
"See you downstairs in a bit, Hermione," she said with a knowing smirk that seemed to see right through her. "Try not to think too hard about everything I've told you. I'm speaking from personal experience that it's better to just feel instead of analyze."
And with that, she was gone, leaving Hermione alone with her churning thoughts and racing pulse.
For a long moment, Hermione sat frozen on the bed, her mind reeling from Ginny's words. The vivid picture Ginny had painted—Harry's control, Narcissa's humiliation, the crowd's fascination—played over and over in her head like a film she couldn't stop watching.
She tried to tell herself she was appalled by Harry's behavior, that reducing someone to public humiliation was wrong regardless of who they were or what they'd done. But the rational part of her mind was being drowned out by something more primal, more honest.
The image of Harry standing over Narcissa, completely in command, completely certain of his power, wouldn't leave her mind. It made her pulse race and her skin flush in ways that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with want and desire.
Finally, with a frustrated groan that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, she threw herself face-first onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow that smelled faintly of Ginny's floral shampoo. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess of conflicting emotions—shock at Harry's behavior, arousal at the display of dominance, confusion about her own reactions, and underneath it all, a growing hunger she didn't know how to name.
The pillow muffled her groan of frustration as she tried to make sense of what she was feeling. This wasn't like her. She was rational, logical, and controlled. She didn't get swept away by stories of public confrontations and power plays.
But the image of Harry's quiet authority, of his complete confidence in his own power, wouldn't leave her mind. And worse, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to be the focus of that intensity, that control.
Not for the first time since she'd arrived here, Hermione felt she was way out of her depth.
Outside the door, Ginny leaned against the wall, her smirk widening as she heard Hermione's muffled groan of frustration. The sound sent a thrill of satisfaction through her, confirming what she'd suspected—Hermione was breaking down, her careful control cracking under the weight of desires she'd never allowed herself to acknowledge.
It was only a matter of time before she cracked.
To be continued…
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