Chapter 8 “ I’m Stronger These Days
”I survived the crash, survived the burn,
Survived the worst, yeah baby, but I learned.
Survived the lies, survived the blues.
Almost killed me, but I survived the truth.”
- “I Survived You” by Clay Akin
----
“Seven, right?”
Harry turned and smiled, reaching down to kiss his fiancé quickly on the tip of her nose. “Yeah, I’ll be there, alright? I’ve just got a few more files to go through. We’re so close to finding this guy.”
Emily glanced down at the stacks of papers on Harry’s desk smartly. “You sure you don’t want help?”
“Nah, you’re probably sick of this case.” He waved her away. “Besides, you’ve got to get gorgeous for tonight. We’re going somewhere special.”
Emily’s eyes light up beautifully. “Really? Where?”
Harry winked at her. “Surprise.”
She pouted for a second before smiling at him and kissing his cheek. “Alright. But don’t wear yourself out.”
Harry couldn’t help but watch as she walked out of his office.
Turning back to his files, he examined the next suspect. This guy was going to be the death of him. After almost a year in the states trying to track down the group of the cult that was wrecking havoc on both British and American soil, they had finally gotten one fingerprint on one of the members.
But they weren’t matching up to anything.
A half hour later the frustration caused him to throw his head back, blinking out the haze of boredom. He wasn’t getting anywhere here.
He had half the mind to just drop it till Monday, but something about the fingerprints kept nagging in the back of his mind. He grabbed the muggle magnifying glass out of his drawer, once again, inspecting the carefully preserved index finger print.
There was nothing special about it.
He glanced up at the clock and saw that it was already 6:30. Finally giving up for the night he began routinely locking the files up with both a key and his wand (discreetly so the muggles walking by his office couldn’t see).
Exactly a half hour later he was sitting in Emily’s kitchen, waiting patiently as his date used a few more minutes up to get ready. The frustration from work must have shown on his face earlier because as soon as he entered, Emily had brought him into the kitchen and rewarded him with a box of half a dozen powdered doughnuts, an American favorite to Harry that Emily often teased him about. They had both sat down and munched on the doughnuts and some pumpkin juice for a few minutes before Emily left to go finish getting ready.
He drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the table, trying to think of something other than work. He hoped his reservations were still good if they turned up a half hour late. But even if they weren’t, he and Emily didn’t really need anything grand. Heck, he’s be content with a long walk through the park with her, just holding her hand and being near her all night.
He glanced at his watch that now read 7:30 and glanced around for his drink. Seeing it was empty, he reached for Emily’s half full cup of pumpkin juice but stopped short before he picked it up.
Emily’s fingers, coated with powder from the doughnuts, had left several white fingerprints around her cup.
He shook his head. No. That was just stupid. Impossible. He was thinking crazy.
He reached for the cup again and picked it up, bringing it towards his face.
But his eyes couldn’t leave the white marks.
Suddenly he set the cup down on the table in front of him, his face ducking down to look right at one of the fingerprints.
He didn’t even realize as his hand slipped, knocking the glass completely off the table and spilling the juice all down his nice suit.
Emily rushed into the room, her eyes wide. “Are you alright? What happened?” She rushed up to him, concern filling her features as she picked up the cup and began wiping the juice off of him in a motherly way. “I swear, that job is doing something to your head. Thank goodness it’s the weekend.” She finally stopped, looking into his eyes. “It’ll be nice to spend some time together, huh?”
Harry forced himself to blink and smile, adding some sort of emotion into his voice. “Yeah. Yeah, it will be.”
He had been staring at that fingerprint for almost two weeks straight now. He had it memorized completely, every curve, every dip, every…mark. And as Emily took his hand and led him out the door, he couldn’t get the image away of that fingerprint and the one on his fiancé’s cup and how they matched completely.
----
Harry ran a hand through his ever-messy hair, willing the woman behind him to disappear.
Needless to say, she did not.
“What do you want, Emily?” he asked in a tired voice, not turning to look at her. It didn’t matter anyway as she proceeded to walk around the couch, coming into view in front of him and taking the other armchair.
“Did you miss me?” she asked, her voice dripping with poisoned honey and her head cocked slightly to the side as she gazed at him.
Harry blinked once. “You’re not serious, are you?”
She said nothing but continued to smile. Harry heaved a large sigh, standing up and starting to pace slowly around the room, not wanting to just sit there and watch her watch him. It was times like this he wished he smoked or drank or something. The silence was too unnerving and he wanted to do something with his hands.
He settled for leaning against the mantle over the fireplace, looking at the pictures he had displayed of friends and family.
He turned as he heard her start to chuckle behind him.
“Oh, my dear Harry,” she said suddenly. “Can you think of no reason I would want to come see you?”
He heard a distinct *click* in his head and he worked hard to his the surprise from his face.
“You’ve come to sell me Ron Weasley’s letter.”
It wasn’t a question. There was no plausible reason that she would be there otherwise. Though he didn’t have the foggiest idea what she wanted in return.
She seemed pleased with his answer and stood up quickly, walking a few steps forward to be in front of him. “On condition of course. However did you guess?”
“What’s your price?” He turned away from her, leaning an elbow on the mantle and holding his head in his hand. Whatever she was going to say, it was probably going to give him a headache.
He heard her walk up to his side, no doubt looking at the pictures on the mantle, probably basking in the silence that was torturing him. Finally, she spoke.
“I’ve arrived at a romantic stage,” she confessed. He turned his head so he could see as she slid a hand along the picture of Ron and Hermione on their wedding day. “Tragic that it should capture us all, but there you have it.” She smiled and looked over to him. “So, on the day that you marry me, I will give you Ron Weasley’s letter.”
Harry had to blink three times and then remind himself to breath before he had time to process exactly what she had just said.
“Are you quite serious?” His voice was softer than he had wanted it to be, possibly because he was afraid that Emily needed to be carted off to the spell damage section of St. Mungo’s.
Her expression seemed…nostalgic. “When I saw you that night at the Weasley’s party,” she began walking back to her chair, strutting slowly in a way that brought Harry’s eyes down to her hips involuntarily, “I knew you were the only man I had ever loved.” She turned back to him, her expression brightening as she saw where he had been looking. “That is, if I ever loved anyone at all.”
“You question the fact?” he asked smartly, leaning up off of the mantle and crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Don’t you?”
“Touché, madam,” Harry topped off his remark with a small salute and then went back to sit in his seat, realizing that this entire conversation was becoming ridiculous. “I’m afraid I would make you a very bad husband, Emily.”
“I don’t really mind bad husbands,” she waxed lazily, walking closer to him, “I’ve had one already.”
As she spoke, she had reached him, leaning down and practically sitting in the chair with him. She was wearing her old perfume that always seemed to intoxicate him. Memories flashed through his mind of the good times they had together.
“Besides…” she leaned down, whispering huskily in his ear. “I can make it very…” she lightly kissed his ear, “…worth…” she kissed his neck, “…your while…”
Before he could clear out the perfume and the hormones that were screaming around the room, she caught up his lips in a searing kiss, momentarily blinding him of whatever else was going on in the world.
He managed to pull away slightly, but the adrenaline was running high and she continued to lightly kiss his mouth and he couldn’t find the strength to protest. The need for intimacy was so strong that even her pull, the pull of the woman who he swore to loath for eternity, enticed him to keep his hands on her waist, keeping her close.
“Harry,” she sighed as he kissed her neck, “you loved me once…”
The fog was lifting, but he continued to lightly kiss her, his mind now running wildly as he thought of what exactly he was doing.
“You asked me to be your wife…do it again…” her voice was barely more than a whisper and he saw that she was undoubtedly caught up in the fog that had obscured his senses only moments ago.
He brought his mouth to hers and kissed her firmly.
“Emmy,” he whispered her name as they broke apart, putting a bit of distance between them. “I have to give you some advice.”
She looked quite twitter-pated and chuckled, her arms somehow wrapped around his neck now. “Harry, never give a girl something she can’t wear in the evening.”
He sighed, his hands loosening from around her waist. Dear Merlin, what was he doing?
“You can’t do this, Emily,” he said softly, looking her right in the eye. “You can’t buy love…and I don’t think it’s in the power of either of us to give it right now.”
“You underestimate yourself, Mr. Potter.” Her voice was low and husky. Apparently his sudden reluctance had no affect on her at all. “Me as well.” She leaned in as if to kiss him again, but he spoke before she could.
“Giving with no thought of reward? Isn’t that what love is?” he leaned forward so their lips were centimeters apart, his hands now sliding into her cloak. “Does either of us really know how to love?”
He kissed her gently, pulling back ever so slightly.
Her breath cascaded across his face and he could feel her head beating loudly.
“I did love you…” she whispered.
He kept perfect eye contact with her as his hand found the pocket inside her robes and just as he was about to reach in, she jerked out of his grasp.
“Not that much,” she said quickly, still sitting in his lap, but turning away from him and reaching into her pocket to bring out the note that he was trying to grab.
Blimey, he had been so close…
But it wasn’t just the regret of not being able to get Ron’s letter.
He leaned back, sighing wearily. “I must admit, I never thought you did.” She had never really loved him, then. It was both a relief and a shame. “But, I thought it worth a try at least.”
She seemed a little ruffled at his attempt to seduce her (not a very good attempt, but an attempt nonetheless), and kept her back to him, sliding off his lap onto the couch right next to him. “I respect you all the more for the attempt,” she admitted, her voice strangely high pitched. “I take it you reject my offer?”
Harry stretched out and crossed his legs in front of him. “I’m afraid I must. Even as tempting as it seems, it’s really little more than blackmail.”
She turned her head slightly so he could see her profile. She smiled a tad. “True.”
----
It wasn’t the first time that Ginny Weasley was annoyed with Harry Potter, though it was definitely the first time she was both annoyed, embarrassed, worried and ashamed all at the same time.
She tried to walk as she heard the knock on the front door, but she ended up sprinting and all the euphoria leaving her as she saw her sister-in-law standing there, practically in tears but doing a very good job of hiding it.
“Ginny,” Hermione gave her a small smile. “Er…Harry isn’t here, is he?”
The annoyance crept back in and Ginny heaved a sigh. “No.”
“Oh dear…” Hermione wrapped both her hands around her enlarged stomach, her eyes tearing over. Ginny immediately reached out, wrapping and arm around Hermione’s shoulders and pulling her into the house.
“Hermione? Gracious, what’s wrong? Where’s Ron?”
At those words Hermione positively burst out into tears, sobbing onto Ginny’s shoulder as Ginny held her, confusion and empathy joining the tumult of emotions that swam through her mind as she led her distraught sister-in-law into her sitting room.
----
“Well I guess I’ll look for you at Saturday’s game then,” Emily said as she gathered up her cloak and prepared to leave. She smiled up at Harry. “At least I’ll have the opportunity to see your friend submit to my desires.”
Harry’s hands were now in his pocket, a curious eyebrow raised towards his ex-fiancé. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
She straightened up, instantly curious and getting another devious gleam in her eye. “We both know how much Ron values his team. Surely you don’t expect him to give it up?”
“I look forward to him proving you wrong,” Harry stated truthfully. “In fact, I’d stake my shirt on it.”
The gleam was becoming bigger. Dear God, what did he just get himself into?
“Your shirt?”
Harry realized that this was Ron they were discussing, but the idea of one-upping Emily was so thrilling that he ran with it. “Of course. In fact, I’d probably be wiling to stake my entire wardrobe on my friend’s honor.”
Emily paused, scrutinizing him. “Would you stake your liberty?”
Pause. “Excuse me?”
“Another little gorgeous idea has just popped into my head,” she started to pace slightly as she spoke. “And as I think more about it, it is becoming quite a big idea.”
Harry hesitated momentarily. “Go on…”
“If, in fact, Mr. Weasley holds true to your word and does not allow the Cannon’s to loose on Saturday, I will give you the letter to dispose of as you please. But,” her eyes flashed at him, “if he does submit to my desires and backs down from the win…”
“Then will I give you my hand in marriage?” Harry caught on. “To dispose of as you please?”
“Exactly!” She was happy again. A giddy happy like an evil tyrant is over his latest kill. “As a betting man, you must see it has a certain…thrill to it?”
“A betting man?”
“You’ve gambled your life on several occasions, Harry.” She gave him a calculating look. “What’s one more time to save the honor of your best friend?”
The words startled him momentarily as she compared marriage to herself like death at that hands of Voldemort. Though, he had to admit, at the moment he couldn’t seem much different between them either.
“Perhaps,” she said over his silence, “you are now less confident of your friend?”
“No,” he said suddenly. “I accept.”
“You do?” She sounded surprised at his quick tone.
“I do.”
She burst out into short, girlish giggles. “Oh, Harry. Isn’t it strange how two such little words can quicken the heart?”
He did not reply, merely brushed past her and exited the room, instructing Dobby to show her out and quickly rushed up to his room, locking his door and collapsing on his bed as the reality of what he had just agreed to sunk in.
----
He had made himself put on an act, a display. If there was the slightest chance that she had anything to do with the cult…
Harry shook his head, shaking the thoughts away. He found himself once again sitting in his office. It was only eight on a Saturday, the Saturday after the most uncomfortable date in his life, but he could not stay around Emily any longer.
It physically started hurting. Burning.
She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t.
But then…how long had he known this girl? A year? Was that enough to truly know someone? The Marauders had known Peter for years and none of them had suspected his betrayal.
“Boss? Boss!”
His head snapped up. It was Arlene, his secretary.
“Emily’s on the phone,” she said, sounding a little scared. “She sounds mad.”
Not saying anything to Arlene, Harry picked up his phone. He didn’t have to speak.
“Did I do something wrong?” Emily’s voice definitely sounded mad, but it also sounded like she had been crying.
“Emmy…”
“We were supposed to spend today together, Harry! You were going to help me paint my room and teach me how to do a Wronski Feint…”
“Emmy…”
“And all I get when I wake up this morning is a note that says ‘Sorry, had to go to work. “Harry’.”
She finally stopped, but Harry couldn’t find words to say.
She sniffed and it sounded like she had started crying again. “You didn’t even write ‘Love, Harry’…Just ‘Harry’.”
He winced at that remark. “Emmy, I think you’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“Am I?” She challenged. “Your work is becoming more important to you than me, Harry.”
“That’s not true!” He found himself arguing.
But the line was dead.
Fifteen minutes later he raced up the stairs of Emily’s apartment building, not quite knowing why he was going to such lengths to do this for someone who might turn out to be a traitor, but he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. He needed to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Letting himself into her apartment, he searched the whole place but was unable to find her.
A frustrated groan emitted from his mouth before he decided to use this as an educational opportunity and pulled out his wand, muttering a tracking spell.
There were evidences of Emily all over her apartment, but he finally found the spot where she had apparated out and followed her trail.
He was surprised to not only appear right in front of Emily, but right in front of the man who was currently in lip lock with his fiancé; both of them pressed into a corner of an office on the same floor that Harry himself worked on.
The lovers tore apart and Emily looked shell-shocked to see him. The man (a guy Harry recognized as Michael, a muggle who worked in Emily’s department) started shouting obscenities at Harry about appearing in mid air and seemed to think he was going crazy.
Harry paid the terrified muggle no mind. His gaze cut through Emily for several seconds, but she didn’t move. Without a word to her, he apparated back to his own small apartment, his breath coming in shallow gasps as too many realities crashed down on him.
One: his fiancé was cheating on him with a muggle. Two: she lied about that, which meant she probably lied about more. Three: that meant his suspicions about her were most likely true.
Without really thinking, he apparated to his own office, but his frantic search was in vain as he could not find the suspect’s fingerprint files anywhere.
After a few hours of talking to various “bosses” with no ability to convince any of them of Emily’s guilt (they blamed it on his recent knowledge of her cheating on him which apparently many people knew about), he packed one suitcase and flew out on the next flight to England.
He never spoke another word to Emily until several years later when they ran into each other at a party in England.
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A/N: A lot of you probably didn't like that chapter (it was a pain to write Harry with Emily), but it was necessary. sowy. Incase you're wondering about what the timeline is now, at this point of the story it's Monday night (the next post will start on Tuesday morning) and Ron's big game is on Saturday so we've still got a few posts till we find out what's going to happen! ah!
Thanks for reading! Please review!