Another post ... And I have to share something. I was reading a random article I came across regarding JK Rowling, Hermione, and Ron. She stated she regretted pairing Hermione with Ron, saying that in reality Ron would never be able to make Hermione happy. In the article, Rowling said she wished she had paired Hermione with Harry instead. For some strange reason, it really made me happy to read. There was always a part of me that felt kind of bad writing a story that changed a relationship that JK Rowling had created. But knowing she regretted it makes it easier. Especially, since her reason for regret is the exact reason I wrote an alternate pairing; Ron would never have been able to make Hermione happy. I personally do not believe Harry would have made her happy either ... But that's just me.

Alas, I digress ...Moving on. I hope you enjoy!

- Chapter Eight -

Tearing the Veil

For the second time that day, Hermione found herself amidst a swarm of Ministry officials as they sealed off the area surrounding Winston's office. The medical examiner had pronounced the elderly sorcerer dead after a brief, but thorough, inspection of the body that now still lay on the cold tiles of his cluttered office floor. While a sheet now covered his features, Hermione could still see the look in his face, the panic and terror coursing through him before the final peace of his soul's release. It was a vision she was certain would haunt for the rest of her life.

After giving her report of what had occurred, as best as she could given the fact she had absolutely no idea what had actually occurred, Hermione stood in the hall outside Winston's office looking on as those inside prepared to move the body.

"Hermione!" came Harry's voice as he pushed through the of staff and officials clogging the area.

Harry threw his arms around Hermione and held her close. All at once, this simple act of comfort and concern broke Hermione completely. The attempts at being stoic and proper in the face of adversity vanished as she wept openly in Harry's arms, her head in his shoulder as she clung to him for every ounce of safety she could siphon away.

"I'm so sorry," Harry said, stroking her back and gently rocking back and forth. "I would have been here sooner, but they blocked off the entire area. What happened?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered. "We were just talking. And then … I just … I don't know."

"It's all right," Harry assured as he continued to comfort his lifelong friend as only he could do.

"Sorry," Hermione said, sniffing and pulling back as she tried to subdue her emotions.

"Hermione, it's all right," Harry assured again, still holding her firm as she now rested her head on his shoulder, grateful for his embrace.

"It's just … I've seen death before," Hermione began. "I've watched people die right before my eyes. People murdered … Friends. But not like this. The look on his face, Harry … It was …" Another wave rolled over Hermione and stole her voice.

"Take a breath," Harry offered.

Harry's words awoke another ghost from Hermione's past. Like back then, she took the advice, savoring the cool air as it entered her lungs and exhaling the negative thoughts and emotions, allowing them to evaporate into the ether.

"Better?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered with a sigh. She straightened up and wiped her eyes. "Much better, thank you."

"So, what happened?" Harry asked.

Hermione glanced at the doorway as two large men barged in white attire carried Winston's body out on a stretcher. She closed her eyes, attempting in vain to banish the vision of his last moments from her consciousness.

"Hermione?" Harry pressed on, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized. "Just um … I … I don't know what happened. We were talking one moment, and in the next moment he was clutching at his chest and gasping."

"What were you talking about?" Harry continued.

"I honestly don't know," Hermione admitted. "Before he … Well … You know …He was babbling on nonsensically."

"Nonsensically?" Harry asked, cocking his head and adjusting his glasses.

"Harry, Winston intercepted Tiberius' request," Hermione explained. Harry's blank expression, however, clearly indicated to Hermione that she needed to be a little less vague. "His request to interview Killian. The one meant to send me away," she clarified.

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, now more perplexed than before. "Why?"

"I have no idea," Hermione answered. "He didn't say. He just—"

"Excuse me," came the soft, proper, whisper of a voice.

Hermione and Harry turned to see the medical examiner. He was a tiny little man, almost dwarfish but not quite, his wrinkled forehead even more evident due to his smooth scalp with wild weeds of grey hairs spurting from the sides and back of his head. He carried his bowler cap in one hand and a small rectangular box in the other, displaying the latter to Hermione.

"I believe you might find this to be of interest," he explained. "You had mentioned Mr. Wilford had ingested something just prior to expiring, did you not?"

The terminology, however accurate, turned Hermione's stomach. It seemed so impersonal, almost insulting. Particularly as Winston's body was currently being moved by stretcher only a few feet away.

"What is it?" Harry asked as Hermione took the small container made of worn cardboard.

"This is the package I saw Luciu—" Hermione caught herself before saying too much, forgetting that trust was not a commodity currently in ample supply with the Ministry. "I saw Winston holding," she quickly covered.

"What was in it?" Harry asked on, taking the box and shaking it.

The medical examiner turned the box over in Harry's hand, displaying a word delicately penned into its label. "A bezoar," he said simply before continuing on with his assistants as they carried Winston's body away.

"A bezoar?" Harry asked quizzically, staring at the box as Hermione dragged him to an area less crowded and with far fewer ears.

"Harry, where's Draco?" she asked quietly.

"Still in the office," Harry answered. "Speaking with Lucius."

"Lucius is still here?" Hermione asked on as the muscles in her jaw tensed and her eyes narrowed.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "What's wrong?"

Hermione snatched the empty box from Harry's hand. "Lucius gave this to Winston," she explained. Seeing little reaction from Harry, once again she realized she would have to push a bit further. "Harry, he poisoned him!"

"No," Harry said in disbelief, albeit it was not a contradiction as much as it was a question in and of itself. "Why would he do something like that?"

"I don't know," Hermione said. "But I promise you I am going to find out."

Heading off towards Harry and Draco's office with purpose in her strides, strides that forced Harry to partake in and odd walking jog to just to keep up, Hermione's emotions had reached a boiling point. She had no idea what was going to happen once she reached her destination, what she was going to say, nor how it was going to be received. Her only hope was that she could control her rising passions long enough to obtain the answers she sought before she tore Lucius' head from his very body.

"What have you done!" she shouted as she crossed the threshold.

Lucius and Draco, both of whom were standing near his desk, froze before turning their heads towards Hermione and Harry. Draco seemed completely taken aback. Lucius, however, did not appear the same, wearing an arrogantly smug grin and an ominous gleam in his eye.

"Just snagged a cuff," he answered, displaying a small tear in the end of his shirtsleeve. "Right there on the door frame," he added with a gesture to the side of Hermione. "As I was just telling Draco, the Ministry has fallen in quite a state of disrepair. Certainly there must be available funds to—"

"I don't give a damn about your sleeve!" Hermione continued, violently throwing the empty box at Lucius. Or as violently as one could throw an empty cardboard container.

"What in the bloody hell is going on here?" Draco intervened, stepping between Hermione and his father.

"Your father poisoned Winston," Harry explained before Hermione could expel another elevated decibel.

"He what?" Draco scoffed. "You can't be serious?"

"He gave him a poisoned bezoar," Hermione said accusingly. "And do not bother lying," she went on immediately before Lucius could utter I sound in retort. "I saw you myself."

"A poisoned bezoar?" Draco scoffed further. "You're going to poison something meant counter to poison? Is that even possible? Look, I'm sure whatever you think you saw—"

"I'm afraid she is correct?" Lucius interjected, much to Draco's shock.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked with a look of stunned dejection.

"As are you, Draco," Lucius continued. "Poisoning one with an bezoar would not be a very effective means of assassination, now would it? Now, as an antidote, however … Well, that's entirely different."

"So …" Harry began to reason. "… You gave the bezoar to Winston as an antidote?"

"Happily," Lucius answered. "As any upstanding citizen in such a circumstance would have done."

"An antidote for what?" Hermione snapped, having a difficult time believing a word of what Lucius' convenient and seemingly oversimplified explanation. "If he was already poisoned, then by whom?"

"The whom in question would be you, my dear," Lucius answered with another smug and arrogant grin.

"How dare you!" Hermione argued, the insolent insinuation nearly breaking her resolve completely. "You're accusing me of—"

"I make no accusations," Lucius clarified. "A practice, I might add, of which you do not seem to be particularly familiar," he added coyly. "I do, however, have a striking gift for pointing out the painfully obvious to those who do not have the ability to recognize it for themselves."

"Meaning?" Hermione pressed.

"Did you find your conversation with Winston at all enlightening?" Lucius asked with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you know of it?" Hermione asked in return.

"What in the bloody hell is going on here?" Draco spoke up in frustration.

But Hermione's patience was at an end, turning her anger towards the pallid Slytherin. "Do not play stupid with me," she warned. "Winston mentioned you specifically."

"Draco?" Harry asked of Hermione, as if he had not heard properly.

"Me?" Draco asked as well, seemingly as equally as surprised as Harry. "What about me?"

Hermione went to answer, but caught herself, realizing she did not actually have an answer to give. "Nothing of consequence," she finally admitted. "Just your name. As he was choking on his own breath."

"My name? That's it?" Draco asked, glancing between Hermione and Harry. If his unknowing behavior was an act, he was certainly playing it to perfection. "He just spat out my name and popped off?"

"No," Hermione clarified through narrowing eyes.

"Interesting," Lucius mused aloud. "And might I inquire as what else was said?"

Hermione could feel her heart pounding though her chest, its bass resonating in her ears. Was he really asking a question or was it merely a game? A man was dead. A good man, by all rights. And the individual Hermione believed to be responsible for the act now stood on a few feet away, toying with the moment as if a life was little more than a possession to be owned and tossed aside when its usefulness had reached its end.

Even so, a knot of doubt arose in the pit of Hermione's stomach. A sensation that somehow countered her every instinct, yet breached the surface of not only possibility, but inevitability. What if Lucius was telling the truth?

"Tear the veil," she answered slowly and deliberately, having absolutely no way of predicting what was to come of the cryptic revelation nor how it was about to turn her entire reality on its head.

For a moment, it seemed as though the world around Hermione had gone silent and still. The stunned reflection in Draco's eyes and the subtle fusion of shock, panic, fear, and disbelief in his expression that came and went in the fraction of a second between the time it took for the words to hit his ears and those same words to process through his consciousness confirmed Hermione's doubt and challenged her sense of reason. Draco was unknowing, Lucius was innocent … Both being realizations that gave way to an abyss of unsettling questions.

"He said that?" Draco asked. "He said tear the veil?"

"Tear the veil," Hermione echoed.

"What does that even mean?" Harry asked.

"Did he say anything else?" Draco asked on, ignoring Harry's inquiry.

"He asked me …" Hermione began but stopped short, collecting her herself once again as the vision of Winston's last breath floated through her mind's eye. "He asked me if I believe in fairy tales?"

Draco's mouth dropped open. But outside of a few unintelligible sounds, no words came of it as he ran his fingers through his hair, turning to his father and shaking his head.

"You have got to be bloody kidding me," he said. "What did … Why did he …" This continued on through several more starts and stops as Draco began to pace before slamming his fist into a pile of parchments on his desk, sending them flying off to catch the air in varying angles of descent. "What the bloody hell have you done?" he shouted at his father.

"What have I done?" Lucius asked with a feigned innocence that would not have fooled a child. "I have done nothing."

"You put him up to it, didn't you?" Draco went on.

"I assure you, Winston came to me," Lucius explained calmly. "I merely offered both my support and a means towards the accomplishment of his wish."

"His wish?" Draco asked indignantly. "If it was his wish, then why didn't he just say it himself? Why take the bezoar just to spout out riddles?"

Harry spoke up in an attempt to interject, but said attempt went either unheard or ignored. Hermione found her own voice suddenly silenced as well, as if she and Harry were merely spectators in a theatre audience as a performance played out before them.

"He made a vow," Lucius explained, a detail Winston himself had offered to Hermione before he fell into a violent fit. "In truth, I am both surprised and unequivocally impressed he went as far as he did."

"And I made a promise!" Draco pointed out. "Does that mean nothing?"

"I'm afraid that is a question you will have to ask yourself," Lucius concluded.

Draco then fired off at another innocent stack of parchments, closing his eyes, and alternating between balling his fists and flexing his fingers. Seizing the moment before another outburst, Hermione went to speak before Lucius' next words cut her short.

"It appears my work here is done," he proclaimed, casually reaching for his coat and draping it over his arm as he began for the door.

The comment was met with a mumbled scoff from Draco, who now leaned over his desk with his palms pressed to the hard surface as he stared at his reflection in the pitted glossy oak.

"You're not going anywhere," Hermione said.

"Let him go," Draco countered, his head still down and eyes pressed closed.

"Not a chance," Hermione protested. "Not until he's answered my—"

"If you want answers," Draco pressed, "you'll let him go."

After a tense standoff, one made all the more infuriating by Lucius' aristocratic grin, Hermione reluctantly obliged. Harry stood aside as well, giving Lucius just enough space to not quite comfortably squeeze by and exit the room. The door had no sooner closed before Hermione crossed the floor towards Draco with fire in her stride. Before she could utter a word, however, he raised a hand to silence her, a hand that seemed to tremble under its own weight as he continued to stare down at his desk.

"Draco?" Harry asked with a sudden and oddly placed tone of concern. "Are you all right?"

Without an answer, he grabbed a feather pen and began scribing upon a blank piece of parchment.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked. "What is that?"

Still remaining silent, Draco folded the parchment in three. Then, after a deep breath and a vicarious glance towards nothing in particular, he finally addressed Hermione and Harry.

"Come with me," he said as he began for the door.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked.

"If I don't answer," Draco replied without pause, "will that stop you?"

It was a point well taken. After a befuddled exchange of glances, Hermione and Harry followed Draco as he led them down through the dark empty halls of the Ministry. Most of the offices were empty, most employees having called it a day hours ago. The few who remained had all gathered together near Winston's office, idly standing by and chatting about what had occurred. As such, the facility was eerily quiet, with the echoes their rebounding footsteps being the only force against the enveloping silence.

After passing through a series of halls and descending several stairways, they entered an area within the Department of Mysteries that was all too familiar. Although Hermione had not seen the room in over fifteen years, the large, cold, dimly lit chamber remained exactly as she had remembered. Benches ran all along its rectangular perimeter descending like steps towards a sunken pit. Within the pit sat a raised stone dais upon which stood a tall stone archway, its tattered black curtain gently swaying in the unseen breeze.

"You both know where we are," Draco said as they approached the stone dais in the center of the room. "You, in particular," he added with a glance towards Harry.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

"His parents' aren't the only graves he visits," Draco clarified.

Hermione had never thought of it in that way. To her, the room represented a terrible moment in their childhood. It was the site upon which Harry lost his godfather, a moment that scars him to this day. But she had never thought of it as a grave. Although, given there was no body to bury, there truly was no more appropriate place for Harry to grieve over his loss.

Harry approached the dais, staring blankly at the that curtain hung within. Draco soon joined him, holding out the piece of parchment he had scribed upon back in their office. In a pattern of twists and turns the parchment transformed into a small thin winged bird that fluttered about before darting into and straight through the dark curtain, causing a whirl of motion before the material returned to its gentle sway.

"What did you just do?" Harry asked.

Draco did not answer, instead turning to Harry and extending his hand. Looking at it quizzically for a moment, Harry cautiously grasped Draco's in return and shook it firmly. When he attempted to withdraw, however, Draco held on tight.

"Draw your wand, Hermione," he instructed.

"What are you doing?" Hermione protested.

"I'm doing nothing," Draco answered. "Harry, on the other hand, is about to make a vow to me."

"Absolutely not," Hermione protested further. "I will not allow—"

"What sort of vow?" Harry asked, albeit Hermione had little doubt he knew exactly the sort of vow he was being asked to make.

"An Unbreakable Vow," Draco answered anyway.

"Harry, no!" Hermione shouted.

"That's all well and good for me," Draco said. "In case neither of you have been paying attention, I'm not exactly thrilled to be here. We can all just go on home and call it a night if you like."

"I'll do it," Harry said.

"Harry!" Hermione continued on.

"Do you see any other options?" Harry asked of Hermione, seeming entirely too calm about the situation given what was at stake.

"You don't even know what you will be vowing to do," Hermione pointed out.

"He will be vowing to do nothing," Draco explained. "As will you."

"To do nothing?" Harry asked.

"To be more specific," Draco clarified, "you will vow to share nothing of what you are about to see, what you are about to hear, feel, taste, sense, or remember with anyone outside the circle of those who have already experienced the same."

Harry seemed to ponder this for a moment before turning to Hermione with a shrug. "I don't see the harm in it," he said simply.

Although still reluctant, Hermione could not disagree. It was essentially a vow of secrecy. And such a practice, especially when working within the Ministry, did not seem terribly out of place. Aside from that, keeping secrets was something in which Hermione was both well learned and well practiced.

After overseeing Harry's vow, she and Harry exchanged places and she made a vow of her own. Once finished, Draco glanced upon the archway, turned his back to it, paced away, then returned while massaging his fingers through his hair.

"All right, Draco," Hermione said with growing impatience. "We've played along, we've followed you down here, we've sworn ourselves to secrecy, we're completely alone. It's time for you to start talking."

"Talking?" Draco said with an uncomfortable laugh. "You think we came all the way down her to talk?"

"I don't understand," Hermione said. "Then what are we doing here?"

Taking several deep breaths, Draco looked on towards the stone archway upon the dais.

"Take hold of my arm," he said to Harry. "Whatever you do, do not let go until we've passed completely through to the other side."

"The other side?" Harry asked, for the first time showing signs of hesitation.

"Have you gone mad?" Hermione asked in exasperation. "You are not going through there! Do you have any idea what that is?"

"Obviously yes," Draco answered with a roll of his eyes. "But again, if you would like to simply forget the entirety of it all, I promise you I will not argue."

"No," Harry assured. "I'll do it. I'll go."

"Harry, you can't!" Hermione argued.

"It will be all right, Hermione," Harry said with an assuring smile.

"You don't know that," Hermione argued further. "Bleeding Christ, you have a family! A wife! Children!"

"I do," Harry agreed. "So does he," he added with a gesture to Draco. "A family I'm pretty sure he'd like to see again."

There was conviction in Harry's tone and a truth to his words, neither of which could be ignored. Even so, Hermione struggled. Emotions and faith versus logic and reasoning. Such processes rarely ran parallel. Even less often would they intersect.

Still, Winston's life had been extinguished. Now free of his mortal coil, he had used his final moments to set Hermione along a path. And her instincts, however sound, would have to be challenged if she were to continue on towards its end. A part of Hermione had already known this. Even so, Harry's conviction had become the catalyst Hermione needed to follow through.

"Do you promise that—" she began.

"I promise nothing," Draco quickly asserted.

Hermione's eyes danced between Harry, Draco, and the ominous stone structure that lay before them. "All right," she finally agreed. "So now what?"

"Stay close," Draco said with a sigh.

"Do I need to grab hold of you as well?" Hermione asked, noticing Harry's secure grip upon Draco's arm.

"No," Draco answered. "I don't need to take you through."

Without another word, Draco led Hermione and Harry up to the archway. With each step, it seemed as though the air grew increasingly colder. The infinite sounds of nothingness surrounding them blurred together into a seamless hum of a thousand voices whispering one on top of the other all at once as Hermione's heart thumped like a canon blast in her chest, her breath shortening, the hairs on her neck now standing on end.

With one final step, they crossed the threshold, passing beyond the curtain, and the world went dark.

Had they died.

Was it really over?

It had happened so fast, the moment so brief. Yet that fraction of the hourglass seemed suspended in time, stretching on into eternity until Hermione was suddenly struck with a familiar sensation so buried within her memories had almost forgotten it completely. A slight tug followed by a suffocating pressure all about her body, enveloping her every curve and feature … Like being pressed through water.

A second later, Hermione and Draco, with Harry still firmly on his arm, stepped into a large rectangular dimly lit room. Along the walls were benches descending towards them like stairs. Looking around, Hermione saw they were standing on a stone dais with a tall stone archway to their backs, its tattered black curtain still swaying back and forth from their entrance only moments before.

"We're still here," Harry said, squinting his eyes as he peered around the cavernous chamber.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, a part of her almost disappointed that nothing had occurred.

"Come on," Draco said dismissively as ascended the stairs towards the door in the far corner of the room.

Hermione and Harry followed close behind, neither saying a word as Draco's pace continued on in long, swift, and even steps. As they crossed through the areas they had come through on the way down to the Department of Mysteries, Hermione began to notice that things did not seem to appear quite the same as they had before.

While the lower levels of the Ministry were old, almost ancient in structure and design, with massive stone blocks and areas carved straight from the bedrock itself, the further up within the structure one ascended the more modern it became. The most recent updates and additions now seemed absent, however, with a continuation of classic architecture intermingled with any number of details that did not seem quite right.

Draco?" Hermione whispered, but he either did not hear or was purposefully ignoring her as they reached a massive set of iron doors lavishly decorated with strange symbols and intricate details that must have taken years to fashion.

With a flick of his wand, the doors flew open to expose an enormous room filled with stacks of wooden crates, rows of tables littered with wires and conduits, and displays of various instruments, contraptions, and other odd sights Hermione could barely process before another flick of Draco's wand drew back a row of long vibrant curtains that ran the length of the stone floor to the vaulted ceiling, basking the entire area in the crimson light of the setting sun.

Stunned beyond reason, Hermione's legs felt weak as she slowly approached the massive open windows, taking in the all encompassing sight. Below them she saw pitched tiled rooftops stretching off towards the boundary of a large city of stone and steel. Surrounding the city was a crescent shaped ridge from which the shoulders and head of a woman wearing an ivy crown had been carved into its face. Through the ridge, a river fell; a waterfall that diverged into a separate stream that ran through the center of the city while its initial course continued down through the ground unabated.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry beside her, his mouth agape as he, too, absorbed his surroundings with wide-eyed wonderment.

"Where are we?" he asked in astonishment.

"Welcome to Voldavia," Draco answered as he joined his former classmates in their gaze.

"What did you say?" Hermione asked, certain she could not have heard correctly.

But what followed was not Draco's voice. No, it was an impossible voice, a voice Hermione could not be hearing, a voice no living person could be hearing, a voice no one could ever hear again.

"Harry?"

Hermione's blood turned to ice as she and Harry spun around to find themselves standing across the room from an individual grasping Draco's scribed parchment in his hand.

Impossible, Hermione thought. Absolutely impossible.

Harry's voice quivered as he desperately struggled to utter a sound.

"Sirius?"