• 1-Political Axes
• 2-Ch 1
• 3-ch2
• 4-Ch3
• 5-Ch 4
• 6-5
• 7-6
• 8-7
• 9-8
• 10-9
• 11-10
• 12-11
• 13-12
• 14-13
• 15-14
• 16-15
• 17-16
• 18-17
• 19-18
• 20-19
• 21-20

Warning: pre-het (as in no actual graphic het sex) ahead. It's beautiful though, if I do say so myself. Please review. Thanks, BF

Emma sat tucked sideways in a comfy, over-sized leather chair, her long legs dangling over the armrest, while her head was snuggled into the upper corner of the plushy backrest. It had been a long day, she thought, as she sucked another mouthful of beer from the cold bottleneck, listening as ferocious rain lashed against her windowpanes, nearly drowning out the soft blues music she had playing. As she brought the bottle down to rest against a naked thigh, the chilly condensation dripping onto her brown skin, she lamented the loss of her friend, her comrade—sweet, smart, sensitive Syl. Here, in the privacy of her home, away from immediate duty, she could relax and put her knives away and just be Emma, a talented witch who loved to lounge in Muggle women’s boy-short briefs and soft, cotton t-shirts and— much to her mother’s disapproval—drink beer directly from the bottle. “So common,” her mother would often gripe, chiding Emma to be more refined and drink something more “befitting of a lady.”

“Ha,” Emma snorted softly to herself as she gazed into the fireplace, the flames dancing for her maudlin entertainment. She was just fine the way she was. No matter all the etiquette tutors and ballet classes her mother subjected her to as a youth, she was just a good looking tomboy and more than happy to remain that way. Besides, she found it way too much effort to affect the coquettish demeanor of “a lady”, especially since most of the females she knew she’d rather knife in the back than make friends. She had her friends, and they were the toughest bunch of blokes this side of hell. They treated her as one of the team, unequivocally, which is all she had ever wanted. Except…except him.

A series of demanding pounds on her front door startled her out of her thoughts, forcing her out of her chair. She sat her beer on a nearby end table and began moving towards the door. As she made her way through the front hall towards the door she paused and pulled open a small hidden drawer embedded into the hall paneling, removing a sleek, shiny blade, the length of her palm and placing it tip down against the small of her back, secured by the elastic of her briefs. After what happened to Syl they were all a bit on edge and rightly so.

As she reached the door she shot a spell at it with her wand, making it transparent from her side only. He was there. She narrowed her eyes in thought before flinging open the door to reveal a soggy Charlie Weasley.

“Charles? What brings you around my way tonight?” Emma asked in a bored tone, her eyes fixed on him as though he were something suspect.

“C’mon, Em. Let me in. I’m drowning out here!” Charlie said gruffly, already moving to enter the quaint cottage. Emma stalled him with a small hand pressed firmly against his broad, muscled chest, her almond shaped eyes, the color of weak tea with flecks of gold sparkling, nearly sucking the wind from his lungs. He could fall into those determined, sultry eyes and drown a happy man.

“What is it you want, Charlie?” Emma asked, her voice soft— softer than he could ever recall hearing it— all the while her eyes remained focused on his own like a hawk.

“I want…” he swallowed thickly. “I want to come in, for starters.”

After a slight pause, when her hand failed to move, he added, “Please.”

She stepped aside, allowing him to stride past her and down the hall. She remained behind for a second or two, taking the time to inhale and exhale deeply after closing the door, in an effort to control the desire she always felt when Charlie was near. Despite the fact that it was impossible not to pick up on the sexual energy between the two, none of their team members had mentioned it—except Harry. Only once. Almost two months ago Harry had taken her aside after a meeting and commented blithely, “Charlie’s a good bloke. Very…caring. He’d take care of you. Not that you need it.”

When she had stared back at him slightly stunned and more than a little caught off guard he added, “No one on the team will think any less or more of you. We all know you. We all love you. We’d all die for you. Charlie first.”

With that he had walked away and never spoken to her about it again. He was right though, she was afraid. If what she felt could be called fear. It was more doubt in her mind. She had worked too fucking hard and too fucking long to climb the Auror ranks, working twice as hard and learning twice as much as her male counterparts, to be dismissed because she was fucking a teammate. Plus, work-bred romances were messy and complicated.

Gods, why couldn’t he just want to shag and be done!

She walked down the hall, using her wand to dry the trail of rainwater left by Charlie as she went. She entered her sitting room to find Charlie sitting on the floor by the fire— shoes and socks off, her half drank beer in hand. His hair, once long, had been shorn so that it curled wetly just a bit above the ears and tapered off at his nape, leaving a wide swath of rosy skin visible above his shirt collar. A gold hook earring, from which hung a dragon’s tooth, dangled menacingly from his left ear. He was…nice looking, she thought, tempering her internal thoughts as she took in the casual relaxation he displayed.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Charlie said with a bashful smile, nodding toward the bottle in his hand before he took another swig, the firelight playing off the still damp skin of his throat and red hair on his forearms.

She waved him off before resuming her seat, not at all bothering to don further clothing. She was comfortable in her skin, and from the hungry look Charlie was attempting to hide he appreciated it as well.

“So, what in the name of Hades brought you out in this storm?”

“I was tracking Syl’s movements the day of his attack. Found little to nothing though,” he replied, staring angrily into the fire.

“But a little is still something. What?”

“I was able to track him for about eight blocks, the starting point being his flat. I think…my best guess is that he was taken the day we were all summoned. We have all been assuming the perpetrators got the call signal from Syl. I don’t think that’s right.”

“What do you think, then?”

“I think Syl was called along with the rest of us. You and I both know he wouldn’t have ignored a summons. I think they set off the call spell and grabbed him when he left to head to the Ministry. It’s the only thing that makes sense. To crack his mind and get the call spell would have taken a tremendous amount of power, a power on Harry’s level. And as far as anyone knows, there is no one else with Harry’s level of power. And Snape, rest his soul, was the best Legilimens on this side of the pond. No one but him could have ripped the call spell from Syl and leave his mind in tact. That’s delicate, precision work. You saw him, Em. You heard the healers. Syl’s mind was basically fried. Nothing useful would have come from him.”

Emma was quiet, her brow furrowed as she thought about all Charlie had said.

“Alright. Say you’re right. Why go after only Syl? If we were all summoned, and they would have known this, why not grab each of us. You know, have someone waiting for us all?”

“Well…I’ve thought about that a bit. I haven’t got it all wrapped up, but my guess is that we’re dealing with a much smaller contingent than previously thought. They probably didn’t have the manpower to cover all six of us, never mind that they’d be hard pressed to actually take any of us. My guess is that they targeted Syl specifically. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because he was the youngest. Maybe they figured he’d be the least skilled,” Charlie said with a shrug.

“Have you reported this to Harry yet?” Emma asked, curling back into her chair and tucking her long legs underneath her, unaware of the fact that the muscular shape of her thighs had Charlie’s cock aching and his heart threatening to burst through his chest cavity.

“Um…no, not yet. I…I came here first,” he said quietly, a soft blush coloring his cheeks, dampening the appearance of the few freckles that lived there.

Emma, her own mouth fairly watering at the sight of the muscular ex-dragon tamer, looked away and swallowed with a grimace before asking, “Why?”, hoping against hope that she didn’t sound small and vulnerable.

How could one word be so loaded, Charlie thought, as he searched for the answer that would wash away her doubt, cast him in the best light, make her as open to the idea of them as he was. He licked his full lips, not for the first time missing his goatee. At least if he hadn’t shaved it off he’d have something to do with his hands. His tendency to pluck individual hairs from his chin when he was nervous had caused him to shave it when he joined the Class 5s. Harry had playfully warned him that “tells” like that could get him killed should he ever be captured.

The brawny Auror, deciding that taking the dragon by the tail had always worked for him in the past, rose from the floor and made his way the few feet over to where Emma sat, her entire body rigid and tense, her eyes averted away from him, locked on some point to his right. He felt her tremble just the slightest bit as he reached out and trailed a finger across the fringe of her hair, amazed at how soft and delicate the short hair felt, almost like a baby’s.

He stood before her— the silence between them thick as one of his mother’s stews— simply taking in the sight of her, here in her home, away from their typical professional meetings. He had been watching her for years now, ever since Harry first brought her on as a member of the team. At first they had all been a little shocked. There were female Aurors of course, but none as young as her, or quite as fetching. All of them, with the exception of Harry and Syl, couldn’t help but ogle at her beauty those first weeks. She had come aboard, silent and calm, assured but not cocky. At first she had stayed in the background, watching them all, learning them as much as they were trying to learn her. Then, they had all watched her during her first foray into the field, each of them wondering just why Harry kept her so close, wondering if it was for her protection or if their leader was simply sticking close to her to gather firsthand field observations of her skills. In the end, they had all been wrong, terribly so. Harry had kept her close because he knew what they didn’t. The witch, young though she may be, was elite and damned good at what she did. It was then that she became more than a woman—to them all. Still, she became even more to Charlie. She became an infatuation— then a passion, a necessity.

Her body boggled his mind. He marveled at her athletic build, wondering just how someone so fit could have a ass like hers, full and plump, with just a hint of jiggle, but still proportioned to her frame. She might be a tomboy, but she had curves in all the right places to make her unmistakably female. A small waist bracketed on the lower sides by a perfect pair of hips, just wide enough to make every man, married or single, want to fuck her. Her skin glowed like bronze silk, wrapped around lean muscle that gave her the appearance of a Muggle sprinter. He liked her boyish mannerisms, reminding him fondly of Ginny in her youth, all rough and tumble with killer looks to boot. Emma was every wet dream of his come to life and he would do anything…anything at all for even a small taste of those full lips, to know what flavors the inside of that sensuous, wide mouth tasted of, to bury his cock therein. He wanted to lick her shoulders, nip at her thighs, make her angry with his teasing, until all the spitfire he had come to adore was unleashed upon him and she rode him to her pleasure.

“I came here because I wanted to see you. Talk to you,” Charlie whispered, lowering himself to his knees in front of her chair, giving her ample time to stop him. “It’s no longer enough for me to watch you. To smell you as you walk by. To only talk to you of cases and spells. It’s not nearly enough,” he said, his voice lowering in pitch as his eyes clouded over with want.

As if drawn by an invisible hand, Emma leaned forward slightly until her face was only inches from Charlie’s. She looked into those crisp blue eyes, asking a thousand unspoken questions, begging him to be a liar.

“I want you, Emma, and I mean to have you,” he breathed as his lips neared hers, neither of them closing their eyes as the kiss became imminent, both too strong willed to break eye contact.

Just as their lips met, Emma whispered, “You bastard.”

Their mouths connected warm and soft, as their lips slid back and forth gently against the other’s, testing the connection, ensuring the tingle of their far away seduction transferred to the meeting of their flesh. No sooner than they had tasted each other in a chaste series of kisses, Emma let out a frustrated moan and leapt onto Charlie, sending them both crashing down onto the floor, her body straddling and pinning his to the carpet.

Her chest heaved, as did his, as he ran his hands along the contours of her toned thighs, relishing the warm, firm, silky feel of her flesh beneath his calloused hands. She ground down into him, her pulse racing as she felt a rock hard bulge press up into her crotch. Her breath hitched and she swore as she felt her briefs begin to soak with the first fluids of her arousal.

Charlie, for his part shucked his jumper and t-shirt, revealing a wonderfully sculpted upper body, decorated with a few old burns and scars, which only enhanced his rugged attractiveness. His chest was lightly furred with reddish hair that lay flat and straight against his chest, tapering off into a delicate line heading south before disappearing into his trousers.

He wrapped his hands around her waist, his hands coming in contact with something hard. He pulled up her shirt as they resumed their kissing, removing the object and hissing as it sliced into his palm.

“Shit. What the hell?” Charlie said through heavy breaths, pulling the object and his hand back.

Emma smirked.

“Don’t tell me the dragon tamer can’t handle a little nick?” she teased, her tone sultry and playful.

He eyed her as though she had lost all good sense, wondering just how in the hell the sizeable cut on his hand could be termed a nick. Then he saw it, the challenge that hid beneath the smirk. He smiled a crafty smile back at her, before handing her the knife, fully aware that she could slice his throat quicker than he could prevent it. He had challenged her back.

Emma took the knife into her hands and without even breaking eye contact, threw it into the wood paneling of the far wall, where it stuck as though in a cutting board. Then she dug into his pant pocket and yanked out his wand, to which he only cocked an eyebrow, watching as she healed his hand.

As she cast the wand aside rather carelessly, she ground down into him once more, impressed that the cut had not diminished the hard on she felt earlier.

She leaned down, sucking his neck and grinding on top of him in a tightly controlled series of gyrations, each swirl of her hips eliciting a needy moan from the burly Auror.

“Charles,” she whispered wantonly into his ear.

He loved to hear her say Charles. The only person in his family who called him that was his great aunt Tessie, but when she said it, it sounded like a bark. When Emma said it, it sounded cultured and refined, slipping from between her lips like warm maple syrup. When she said it he was reduced to denying her nothing and wishing she’d ask him for the moon, just so he could go get it for her.

“Charles,” there it was again. “I am going to work you hard tonight. We’re going to do things that your mother and mine, I am certain, would not approve. Then, we are going to sleep before doing them all over again, in a number of combinations. And if you breathe a word of it to Rocco or Ron, I swear I’ll carve out one of your eyes.”

With the threat in his mind and her ass in his hands, Charlie rolled them over so that he was on top and proceeded to undress her and live out his most desperate fantasies.

Several days had passed with no change in Syl’s condition, not that anyone had really expected it. Harry knew it was only a matter of time before the healers realized the young man was truly gone and sought permission to euthanize him. Unlike the Muggle world, the wizarding world had long ago adapted policies that ended the needless suffering and warehousing of those beyond saving. Perhaps it was because life beyond the veil had long since been proven, and no one would deny a loved one the grace of a dignified end if they could help it. It went without saying that the body could scarcely live without the mind, and from what Harry could gather Syl’s mind was good and gone. Which made his summons to the Janus Thickey ward all the more peculiar. Kingsley had been very tight lipped about the reason when he Fire-called this morning, rousing him from much needed deep sleep—with a little help from Draco, who slept light as an owl.

He and Emma walked into the ward expecting to see Syl ensconced in a bed, still as the living dead. Instead they found an empty bed and only Kingsley and the healer talking quietly near the doors.

Before Harry could say anything Kingsley walked over and asked them to follow he and the healer to a private office. Without delay the four made their way inside a small, cluttered office. Before anyone spoke Harry held up a hand indicating the need for silence and nodded to Emma, who began sweeping for listening devices and charms before erecting sound and secrecy barriers around the office.

“Well?” Harry asked rather harshly once Emma was finished, his face a hardened mask as he looked between Kingsley and the healer for an explanation.

“Harry, Healer Hopkins believes that Syl’s brain injury occurred in a much different way than previously thought,” Kingsley informed him, settling his tall frame into a conjured barker lounger.

“What do you mean?” Harry barked. He was tired, stressed, and angry. None of which made him particularly forbearing with his temper at the moment.

Healer Hopkins, looked to Kingsley for reassurance before stammering out his explanations, “Well… you see…that’s… just it…Mr. er, Auror Potter, sir. We don’t precisely know what caused the brain injury, as we have not ever seen anything remotely like it.”

“For fuck’s sake man, spit it out and make it plain!” Harry shouted irritably, making Kingsley wince a bit and Emma brace herself.

The Healer cleared his throat loudly and took a deep breath.

“The young man’s brain was hemorrhaged in several places—actively leaking blood even as we scanned him days after the event. The swelling was absolutely astounding. My specialty is traumatic brain injury, and I can tell you without boast that I am one of the best in my field. Neither myself, nor any of my colleagues that I consulted around the world, could begin to determine what could cause such massive, continual, multi-bleeds. They were unlike strokes, as they did not respond to any clotting potions. Furthermore, the brain itself was…oh, how do I say this? Well, I suppose I’d just better. The brain matter of that young Auror had been hardened.”

“Hardened?” Emma asked, confused for the first time.

“Yes, like…well, like wood if you will. Brittle too. We took a biopsy after the Minister here assured us that it was ok to begin termination of life processes. We understand the young fellow has no living immediate next of kin?”

Harry nodded distractedly, his mind already putting pieces together—unconscionable pieces.

“Healer, were there any…other… oddities about Syl’s brain?” Harry asked, careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible even as his heart threatened to leap up into his throat and choke him.

The healer thought for a moment and then cracked the file in his hands open for confirmation. He hummed a few times before answering.

“There was another strange effect, but it wasn’t on the brain. It was the young man’s ears. His eardrums had been virtually blown to bits. We didn’t discover it until we began the autopsy scan, which was only just conducted this morning. Does that mean anything to you?”

Harry didn’t respond. He just looked at Kingsley and said, “Please take charge of the body and have him laid to rest in Godric’s Hollow. We will also have a tree planted for him in Israel. He wasn’t at all religious, but he’d appreciate that. The team and I will have a quiet service for him when all this mess has been cleared up. Until then, just…just see that he’s laid to rest.”

Without even waiting for a nod of agreement from Kingsley, Harry flung open the office door with Emma following closely.

As they strode down the hall with determined strides Harry spoke lowly, “Emma, we are going to see Maximillian Dodd. You remember him, yes?”

Emma nodded.

“He has offices in a professional building in Muggle London, so keep that in mind until we are inside. Transfigure your Auror robes into something to blend in with the population.”

“Do you think Max was involved?”

Harry shook his head, deep in thought.

“No, but someone close to him was and I intend to find out who. I know that spell…I think. And it was not released to anyone in the Auror Corps for a reason. I can’t tell you everything just yet until I know for sure, but within an hour you’ll know as much as I do.”

“Fair enough,” she said as they entered the lift, already beginning to transfigure her attire into a women’s business suit. When she finished she was dressed in a tar-black fitted pantsuit with matching red suede, six-inch, eye-gouging stilettos on her feet.

Harry took one look at her and smirked, even as his own finely tailored, khaki business suit finished weaving around his frame. He knew she hated playing the femme fatale, but damned did she ever look good doing it.

“Kill orders aren’t sanctioned in Muggle areas, so if we encounter hostiles do me a favor, fuck up your aim. I don’t need the extra paperwork.”

“And if these potential hostiles should be a bit thick?”

“Slice and dice, love. Slice and dice.”