Department of Agency
May 14, 2018
While the Ministry had come a long way, Hermione was still frustrated by the little slights she still received at work. The occasional, "It must have been hard adjusting to floo powder, eh?" or, "You must have had to work that much harder," just because she had grown up in a non-magical household. What made it all the more uncomfortable was that most of the comments were clearly meant to be flattering. The cleverest witch of her age, and a muggleborn at that.
So when a particularly hefty lavender folder flew into her office on Thursday morning, she was less than thrilled with the memo tacked to it. With a tap of the wand, it read aloud, "Granger, Kingsley wanted to thank you again for your work on the Devin case. We have a new lead on Nott." Knowing there was no way Roger Davis, Kingsley's Senior Undersecretary, would be able to see her doing so, Hermione rolled her eyes. She was supposed to be an Auror on Reserve while she oversaw the restructuring of the Wizengamot, but even now Kingsley didn't seem to trust lower-level aurors with high profile cases.
"Seeing as Potter and Greengrass are tied up in Belarus, and you're months ahead of projections for the Lateral Adjustments in the Wizengamot implementation, Kingsley seems to think you're uniquely qualified to handle this case."
And there it was. Uniquely qualified. Sure enough, as Hermione skimmed the contents of the folder, it became clear that her unique qualification was just having been raised in a muggle household. As if, somehow, this gave her superpowers in the muggle world, or justified the persistent ignorance of colleagues who slept through Muggle Studies back at Hogwarts.
Hermione quickly integrated the folder into her highly organized desk system and slipped on her cloak. Wand in hand, she headed for the phone-booth at the end of the hall, forcing a cheery "'Morning" to Percy as she passed his office. Not his fault she was in a bad mood.
Hermione took muggle transportation from London to Bath, her reversible cloak appearing as a trench-coat to those around her. This gave her time to comb through the finer details of the file, which were sadly lost on the muggle adolescent trying to read over her shoulder on the train. To him, she was holding dense manila folder on the inheritance tax. The deep look of disgust and disapproval she directed at these pages probably baffled the youngster, who eventually turned back to look out the roughly-more-interesting window.
When Hermione reached Queen Square, the park didn't look more sinister than when she'd last been there. The sky was a pleasant grey, not heavy enough to threaten rain, and people jogged by in colourful tracksuits. About half the dark brown benches were occupied, mostly with people reading or taking a late breakfast. Hermione's sight narrowed in on a small cluster of children in the grass, some sitting and some standing, all attentively watching the man in grey.
He was wearing white fingerless gloves, tattered enough that it was clear he wasn't their first owner but clean enough not to make the posh parents nervous. His grey satin vest and slacks looked fresh-pressed, but the shadow on his upper-lip and jawline suggested he wasn't shaving. It didn't suit him. His black-brown hair, which had always appeared intentionally tousled during their Hogwarts years, was now mostly slicked back, with a few strands falling very unintentionally into his eyes. Hermione thought it was a sort of sick irony that Theodore had undeniably kind eyes.
There was no doubt in her mind that Theodore would recognize her immediately. From his file, it was clear that he wasn't the type to try to go up in a blaze of glory. The children watching him were probably safe, but she kept her hand on her wand on her coat pocket as she approached.
Nott saw her coming, flashing her a brief smile before turning back to his young audience. "Ace of Spades?" he asked, smiling at a little girl who was tugging at one of her afro-puffs shyly. She nodded, holding up the Ace of Spades, and the children around her erupted into giggles and applause.
"Me next, me next!" little voices demanded. Hermione hung a few paces behind them. Nott smiled at the children, then looked up at Hermione, eyebrows raised. Hermione returned his gaze, unsmiling.
Nott looked regretfully down at his small following, shuffling the cards in his hands and putting them back into the black top-hat on the grass in front of him. "Sorry, friends, that's all for today! Thank you for stopping by!"
Hermione watched as the kids clapped and pouted, toddling off to find their adults, some of whom murmured thanks to Nott and tossed a pound into the hat. Nott swiftly lifted the hat onto his head; miraculously, none of its contents spilled.
"Theodore Nott," Hermione said, waiting with one hand on her hip as he approached.
"I didn't realize the Head of Magical Law Enforcement concerned herself with run of the mill improper use of magic cases," Nott said, stopping in front of her. He cracked his knuckles and then folded his hands in front of him, a casual gesture to highlight that he was unarmed. "I guess it's a good sign if busking is number one priority, no?"
Hermione sighed impatiently. "I know what you have, Nott," she murmured, drawing a muggle police badge out of her pocket and flashing it at him. "You're under arrest. You will be escorted to a secure location for questioning and receive a fair trial."
Nott smiled, seemingly unbothered. "I forgot you have those now," he said lightly. "Frankly I think they make you stand out more than anything."
"I wouldn't be so critical of the department overseeing your parole," Hermione muttered, unable to help herself. "Now, come with me." She grabbed his arm.
The Ministry holding cell in Bath had only been charmed into existence several months before, so the interior still echoed its former life as a veterinarian's office. No one had been assigned to the post yet, so it was just Hermione and Nott in the waiting room.
Expelliarmus had only revealed about a dozen interconnected rings, an endless rainbow-handkerchief, and several live rabbits. No wand.
The informant had said Nott had gotten his hands on an unregulated wand and a suspicious number of the components of time-altering sorcery. And yet-
"No wand," Nott said with a shrug from the 70's orange chair he was charmed to. "I assume that's what you're arresting me for?"
"You're under arrest for violating your parole," Hermione replied curtly. "Wand or no wand, you've been using magic on muggles."
"On cards!" Nott corrected, his expression somber.
Hermione almost spat at him in disgust. "On children," she replied. "There are several reports that children at Royal United Hospital have returned from their outings having been affected by magic."
Nott shook his head. "If that's all you have, you should let me go now. I have nothing to do with that."
"You have everything to do with it, Nott. You and I both know that. It's amazing you were allowed near muggle children after, after-" Hermione feld her knuckles go white as she clenched the strap of her shoulder bag, which held his file inside.
"I was under imperious!" Nott blurted out, abruptly emotional. His slim face went pale. "I would never-I never-not children-"
"Well, you did," Hermione replied shortly. Her voice wasn't loud but it seemed to strangle Nott for a moment as he struggled to reply.
Finally, in a more even voice, he replied, "I know. Don't you think I know? Who they had me kill? How? Under imperious-you still see everything, feel it, remember it. And I remember those feelings as if, as if they were mine. As if I wanted to."
Hermione bit her tongue. Now wasn't the time to get emotional. But it was true, Nott had done terrible things, or rather, terrible things had been done by Nott. And he doesn't have a wand on him now but he must have one, to be performing the complicated magic on the children in that hospital.
If he was so willing to talk, eventually he'd give something away. They generally did. Hermione wanted to believe that this was why she continued digging in, when she could just take a basic statement and pass this on to someone else.
"You joined him," she pointed out, finally. "Even if you hadn't done those things yourself, you supported them. You created the world in which they happened."
"That world was created before either of us were born," Nott replied emphatically, still an unbecoming shade of white. "I never joined anything. I was raised within his circle. You met my father, what, once, twice? I lived with him. You have no idea how many are still buried on the estate."
"Muggles?" Hermione asked, her nose twitching in disgust.
Nott nodded. "House Elves," he added, "witches, wizards. There was a girl I liked in the village. That was the first time he used it on me."
"Imperious?" Hermione clarified, her tone unsympathetic.
Nott continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Diane Amar. We would swing on that swingset, and she would ask me why I wasn't allowed to go to school. That's where my father," his mouth grappled silently for the right words. "That's where we left her," he finished.
"And still you joined him," Hermione replied flatly.
"I was just a boy," Nott said to his hands, folded in his lap. "I hated him. He was like a god to me. I never wanted-I never believed in any of it. I hated him, I hated the dark lord, I hated everything they did, everything they-everything I did."
"And still you did it."
Nott tugged at the edge of one of his gloves, growing uneasy. "His voice in my head… it wasn't even in English. Just hissing, it was like my veins were hissing," he mumbled. He grew quiet and looked up at Hermione, now more composed. In a firmer voice, he said, "I know I can never undo what happened, not all of it. But if I can just, if I can just help some of them, help some of them get a few more years-"
Hermione cut him off, wanting a clear confession. "So, you've been using a wand to cure their maladies?"
"Wizards have helped muggles from the beginning of time," Nott replied, becoming more self-assured the less he talked about his own past. "This is no different. As wizards, we have a moral imperative to help muggles with curable ailments."
"You're a murderer, Nott. More than 40 children during the war. You're not qualified to weigh in on the moral implications of the Statute of Secrecy-much less to be holding a wand anywhere near a child," Hermione snarled, unable to bite back her disgust. "You will never redeem yourself, you selfish waste."
"I was under imperious," Nott replied weakly.
Hermione sighed inwardly and grimaced. "Your trial will occur within sixty-three hours of this moment, until then you will remain in holding under Ministry watch."
May 14, 2018
Random TVTrope Prompt
Trops used: Reformed but Rejected, Retrospective Determinism, Street Performer