Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Hermione's Furry Little Problem	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 242818 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 20
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its associated properties. They belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from the production of this work.

Chapter List
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Kingsley Shacklebolt groaned when he received the reply from one of his cousins in France advising that the safety of his family could no longer be guaranteed there. Apparently things were descending into chaos in the muggle world and emboldening the Blood Purists in the French wizard world.
Kingsley flung the parchment and muggle newspaper clippings which his cousin had sent him onto his desk in frustration.
Things were worse than he had thought. The world appeared to be on the brink of war yet again, and the most reactionary elements of many nations were forging alliances and staging terror attacks under assumed identities to stoke the flames of hatred and fear in order to ease their return to power.
It was only a matter of time before the blood purists in the wizard world threw their support behind those muggles who shared their own outlook. Such muggles were generally all too willing to accept the Rule of Wizards to maintain their own ideals of “purity” and regain the political ground lost to the more egalitarian members of their societies.
There was nothing else for it. Kingsley’s family would have to remain in Britain while the war to prevent the blood purists from restoring themselves here was waged. He was just glad that ties were being reforged across the channel to fight their rise. All thanks to Harry Potter and his wife’s friendship with the Delacour girl. Establishing Potter and his wife's safety was paramount.
Shacklebolt’s rumination was interrupted by the sudden appearance of an etheric silvery fox. An echoey voice emanated from Auror Reynard Mulligan’s patronus, urgently beckoning Kingsley to an abandoned estate on the outskirts of a village in the North East of England known as Little Hangleton.
When Kingsley arrived at the scene, he discovered Auror Mulligan patting the back of Auror Abigail Brixton who was vomiting loudly into the mildewy broken toilet in the bathroom nearest to the landing at the top of the staircase.
“There, there... it’s alright Abby. We’ll find out who...” Mulligan started at Kingsley’s approach, not having heard his creaking footsteps on the stairs, “Oh! Kingsley, thank goodness you’re here...”
“What’s this all about Mulligan? What’s going on? I am needed in London...”
“S... Sir,” Abigail began shakily, still looking a bit pallid, “You said to notify you first if... if we found any evidence of You-Know-Who...”
Kingsley stiffened, his jaw tightening, grateful for the loyalty of his agents. Mulligan rolled his eyes.
“Abby, we have no evidence of anything except a horrible murder...” Mulligan admonished the female Auror before turning back to his Superior Officer, “Still--Kingsley, I thought it best for you to make that determination for yourself.”
Abigail narrowed her eyes.
“I haven’t seen a Blood Rite like this since You Know Who was still kicking about. Look in the room just through that door Kingsley. You’ll see what I mean. It’s revolting!”
Auror Abby Brixton was correct. The mutilated corpse of a red haired nine year old boy with his heart carved out from his chest lay on an oak coffee-table which had been turned into a makeshift altar. A septagram had been painted around the table in the boy’s own blood, and Kingsley felt the bile rising in his throat.
“How did you discover this?” Kingsley inquired evenly.
“Mafalda Hopkirk,” Brixton replied, “She got a hit on a Trace monitor from last night at midnight for little Bobby Prewett here. He went missing yesterday afternoon apparently...”
“Right then. Who else knows about this?”
“Only you Sir. So far...” Mulligan responded. Kingsley nodded.
“Good! Let's keep it that way for now. Until I have Dumbledore examine the scene, do not inform anyone else except for Madam Bones. The Minister cannot know of this until we have completed our own initial investigation.”
The two Aurors nodded their understanding. Both of them were also part of the investigation into the Minister’s activities and could be trusted to keep this to themselves for the time-being.

~o0o~

Albus Dumbledore was still puzzling over the mild Castle Quake and the brief interruption of power during dinner the previous evening. Thankfully the candles had all flickered back on after nearly a minute had gone by. It wasn’t entirely unheard of for a magical power surge to overload the castle. It had happened on occasion over the centuries.
But usually the explanation was readily apparent; some sort of classwork or homework assignment gone awry. And none of the professors were reportedly running any experiments at the time of the occurrence. The Headmaster pondered the idea of accidental magic--teenage wizards could sometimes still lose control.
But not on that scale. It was impossible. Nobody had that sort of power. Not even Dumbledore or Voldemort could have accomplished it.
And in any case, the Headmaster had numerous devices to monitor and locate the source of magic of any sort--accidental or not--within the boundaries of the Hogwarts grounds and the castle itself. While the magic detectors had indeed been triggered, they hadn’t been able to pinpoint any source for the magical power surge; which made the unlikelihood of a student’s accidental magical outburst even more unlikely.
Albus shook his head and when his Handmirror activated, he decided that for the moment it would have to remain a mystery.

~o0o~

Hermione’s bushy tail flicked warily when Professor Snape approached Harry at the end of Potions. Something was wrong. Usually she couldn’t get a read from the potions professor at all unless he was angry at someone in class. Though ever since she and Harry had begun advanced potions with him, every so often Snape had let his guard down and she had sensed a deep sadness.
Today, though it wasn’t apparent from his outward demeanor, she could feel an urgent alarm and overwhelming sorrow, with a slight hint of rage which Snape still seemed to be maintaining some control over. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as Snape drew closer. It was clear that the rage wasn’t directed at Harry, thankfully.
“Potter...” Snape swallowed and softened his tone, “Harry, please meet me after classes today in my office--with your wife of course.” Snape’s eyes flicked to Hermione's own. “I... I cannot say more here.”

~o0o~

The Headmaster sighed as he concluded his conversations with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Severus. Harry and his wife were likely to be in Transfigurations at this time of day, and the Headmaster never looked forward to interrupting Professor McGonagall’s classes. But if what he suspected were true, it was possible he might have need of Mrs Potter’s talents, and he had promised Harry to notify him of anything which concerned him.
After annoying Minerva briefly, the Headmaster tapped his mirror again and informed Alastor that he would also be requiring his services. With another sigh, Albus decided that perhaps it might be worth bringing the Sword of Gryffindor--just in case.

~o0o~

“What on Earth...?” McGonagall faltered when she bustled Harry and Hermione into Dumbledore’s office and spotted him with the Sword of Gryffindor firmly in hand, and Moody glowering by his side.
“I’m sorry Minerva, no time for explanations. This is urgent and cannot wait. Harry, Mrs Potter, if you would please follow Moody into the Floo, I shall be right behind you.”

~o0o~

Slivers of light pierced the whorls of dust and ash, striking Harry’s eyes and temporarily blinding him as he staggered out of the fireplace, coughing.
“Ow!” Harry yelped when Hermione stumbled out of the hearth and fell into him.
“Sorry Harry, we should get out of the way. Dumbledore is right behind me.”
Harry took his wife’s hand and stepped aside to wait for Dumbledore. He blinked and finally spied Mad Eye conversing quietly with Shacklebolt.
Sunlight streamed through cracks in the boarded up windows into the dusty sitting room with peeling wallpaper. At one time the room might have been opulent, but the threadbare armchairs and old furniture riddled with woodworm indicated that it was now passing into decay. A bloody sheet covered something lumpy on the coffee table.
Hermione’s breath caught in alarm and her nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell of death. She gripped Harry’s arm tightly and pulled closer to him, wrapping her bushy tail around his waist. Harry’s stomach clenched when the scent hit his own nostrils, but he was distracted when the green flames flared once more and Dumbledore emerged.
Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes quickly took in his surroundings.
“So, this is Riddle Manor...” he murmured quietly.
Harry and Hermione both gasped in shock. Shacklebolt nodded solemnly.
“There’s a small cemetery at the bottom of the hill wherein lies the grave of his father--a muggle,” the Auror replied.
Everyone looked surprised--even Dumbledore. He knew that Tom Riddle had been left at a muggle orphanage, but he had never known why--Tom had never spoken of his past, and Dumbledore had never been able to determine his parentage. The magic which informed his register at Hogwarts that a wizard had reached the age of 11 only revealed the whereabouts of said wizard in Britain when they reached said age, and nothing more--unless their parents had registered them at birth.
Very curious indeed. Albus decided that when he had the time, he would have to delve into it deeper.
“Brixton and Mulligan have canvassed the village and surrounds.” Kingsley continued, We think we’ve found something else you need to see nearby...”
Harry and Hermione blinked in the bright sunlight when they followed Kingsley, Moody, and Dumbledore outside. They weren’t certain where they were in England, but it was a bit warmer than Scotland and there was no snow left on the ground. It felt closer to Spring wherever they were.
The traipse around the wooded hillside and the hedgerows which skirted the village took the three adult wizards and the two Hogwarts students a good twenty minutes. Finally, in the shaded midst of a copse of gnarled old oak-trees, they discerned a small cottage in worse condition than the Shrieking Shack. Ivy and moss crawled up the rotting walls; the door was nearly falling off the hinges and nothing was left in the windows but shards.
“The Gaunt house...” Shacklebolt said quietly. “Brixton is still gathering what information we can from a very old Auror--Bob Ogden--as we speak, to try and find out more about it. It’s a bit touch and go at the moment though, because Ogden is dying.”
“Apparently, from what we could glean from some of the older residents of Little Hangleton, putting it together with what we have from Ogden thus far--a witch, Merope Gaunt--was at one time married Tom Riddle Senior.”
“I’d like to see Ogden’s memories,” Dumbledore responded, “Please inform Brixton to collect them for me.”
Shacklebolt nodded and took a moment to send a patronus with the message to Brixton before the wizards continued down the lane towards the decrepit hovel. As the wizards left the road and strode up the weedy overgrown path towards the house, Hermione’s furry tail bristled and her stomach knotted. An invisible cloud of evil hovered thick in the air surrounding the shack.
Hermione shivered and halted, eyes wide; her breathing quickened by fear as they approached the broken door.
“There’s something here,” Hermione gulped in trepidation, “It’s another Horcrux...” she gasped.
The three adult wizards and Harry went rigid.
“I suspected we might find something,” Albus sighed. “I had hoped not though... How many of those damned things did Riddle make?” Dumbledore asked nobody in particular.
“Hermione,” Harry asked hoarsely, his heart pounding, “can you find it for us please?”
Hermione nodded, her furry ears flattening. She was frightened of the house, but she was with her husband, the Headmaster, and two Aurors, and she knew that she would come to no harm. Steeling herself, Hermione reached out her shaking hand and pushed the creaking door open.
“Th... there,” she pointed, “it’s under that floorboard.”
Moody pried loose the cracked floorboard and found a small pouch. He brought it out into the sunlight and knelt down. Everyone knelt down beside him as he opened the pouch and shook it over a cobblestone in the path. A gold ring inset with an engraved black gemstone tumbled out and clattered onto the rocky slab.
“Morgana’s Sagging Tits,” sputtered Mad Eye, “Albus, you don’t suppose...?”
Dumbledore nodded, his eyes narrowing. Kingsley looked bewildered.
“Peverell’s ring,” croaked the Headmaster. “That engraving is indeed the Peverell ‘coat of arms;’ the ‘Deathly Hallows.’ It is quite probable that Voldemort is a descendent of Cadmus Peverell. Which would mean that Harry here is very likely distantly related, as he is a descendent of Ignotus Peverell.”
To say that Harry was shocked at discovering himself to be a distant relative of Voldemort in this manner was an understatement. The blood drained from his face and he gulped. He opened his mouth, but found he couldn’t speak. Harry glanced at Hermione, who was already afraid to begin with. Harry gave Hermione a comforting squeeze as she trembled beside him, sensing the Evil pulsing in the Ring like a heartbeat.
Kingsley was just confused. He had heard of the Peverells, but unlike Alastor and Dumbledore, he had no idea what the Deathly Hallows were. Very few wizards did.
Albus seemed entranced--lost in his own little world. His hand reached out to pick the ring up. Mad Eye sharply swatted the Headmaster’s hand away.
“Are you Bloody Mad?” Moody snapped, “That thing is probably Cursed Albus. Use the Sword on it and be done with it.”
The Headmaster’s eyes cleared. He was appalled at what he had almost done. There was no question that Alastor was correct. Albus motioned everyone to stand back. He lifted the sword and swung it, striking the ring.
The ring violently shuddered and a screech rent the air, whipping the wizards' robes and the weeds surrounding them in a tempestuous gale. The gemstone cracked and black death venomously oozed onto the cobblestone.
Everyone let out a huge sigh of relief when it was finished. Moody grimaced at the Headmaster.
“It’s all yours now Albus. Do with it what you will.”
Harry embraced Hermione and kissed her forehead. Voldemort was one less Horcrux closer to permanent death.
“Thanks Hermione,” he said softly as he blinked back tears, knowing how terrified his wife had been. He hated to see her so frightened. Harry caressed her cheek and turned her face towards him. “I love you Hermione.”
Harry kissed Hermione again, this time on the lips, as a tear broke free and trickled down one of his cheeks.
Moody, Dumbledore, and Kingsley all turned away to give them a bit of privacy.

~o0o~

Karkaroff was scared witless. The Mark on his arm had burned since midnight and he didn’t know what to do. Finally he decided he had to get out of Britain before it was too late. He ran down to the Hogwarts gates so he could get outside the wards and apparate to an International Floo-Port. The castle’s Floo system was locked, and Dumbledore was nowhere to be found.
Severus blocked his path, his eyebrows raised.
“Going somewhere Igor? I think not.”
“You don’t understand... He’ll kill me!” Igor gasped, “I betrayed him and the rest of them. You of all people should be able to grasp that. Are you not Dumbledore’s man now?”
Severus penetrated Karkaroff’s eyes with his own, and he saw that indeed, the man just wanted to get away--he had no intentions of rejoining Voldemort. A vein throbbed in Severus’s forehead. It would be so easy to just let Voldemort kill him. But too much was at stake. What if the Minister found him instead? It wouldn't do for her to blackmail him into joining her efforts.
Severus shook his head and sighed.
“Igor... I guarantee, you are much safer here at Hogwarts than anywhere else at the moment. Dumbledore will protect you. Please... I beg you, come back to the castle. I cannot let you leave, and I’d rather that you not make me hex you.”

AN: Yes, I know the trace doesn't apply legally to those under the age of 11.
However, it seemed likely to me that the trace is active in pre-Hogwarts aged wizards to alert the Ministry to the presence of accidental magic outside of wizard homes.
Likewise, it seems plausible to me that the trace is only placed on wizards when they are identified by the Ministry, therefore not necessarily applicable to Muggleborns of pre-Hogwarts age, or unregistered Wizard births--and it is very likely that Voldemort's birth was unregistered.
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Hermione's Furry Little Problem