When the weather was good, and sometimes, even when the weather was bad, Hermione loved to get out from under the ground and take the short walk to Liverpool Street Station for lunch. There was nothing more she loved than being lost in a crowd so fully alive, and she also loved being in the midst of muggle activity—in a way, it kept her rooted, and in another way, it served to remind her that the two worlds she lived in shared the same spaces.
On this day, she brought along the Moroccan lamb salad with char-grilled vegetables and couscous Ron prepared for her, slyly heated up with a charm just before she left the halls of the Ministry. With her other hand she held a cup of coffee from her favourite coffee shop in the world, one owned by a rather famous muggle author.
Wedged somewhat unglamorously under her armpits was a stack of letters she intended to go through during lunch. She had reached out to several sources for some information that was incredibly difficult to put together, and inside those envelopes contained her surest leads.
With great satisfaction, she found an empty spot by a bench and thought of how perfect this moment was—delectable lamb couscous prepared lovingly by her cookery-obsessed husband, the best coffee this side of London, and, in the letters, answers to questions she had been looking for.
...
Hermione passed a sheet of paper to Dolohov. On it was a printout from a community newspaper from Canada, of an article about a couple who died in a traffic collision.
"I believe these are your parents?" Hermione prompted him.
Dolohov stared at the article, which was printed on white muggle office paper. Steve and Anna Dolman, a well-respected elderly couple active in the community, often working with refugees and homeless shelters, were killed almost instantly on impact when their car was hit by a drunk driver who had dashed past the red lights at an intersection.
Hermione handed him several other sheets of paper to support her claim. Some photos, their obituaries, brief biographies taken from the organisations they volunteered at.
Dolohov said nothing. He was obstinate in his refusal to cooperate with Ms Granger's investigation.
"That's not all," Hermione continued. "I found out about your sister too. She's still alive."
At this, Dolohov looked up with a small measure of shock. "How is she? What is she doing?"
Hermione surmised that he cared more for his sister than he did for his parents. She took out a small rectangle of thick card and slipped it across the table to Dolohov.
"She works in what the muggles call 'investment banking'," Hermione began. "This is her business card."
Ron Weasley suddenly spoke up: "The muggles say it's an evil job."
Hermione shushed Ron, explaining that she didn't want to get into the nuances of evil.
Dolohov had been studying the business card. The logo was a square of blue, and on it was written words such as "Katherine Cohen" and "Fixed Income". The office address was in New York.
"She's a squib," Hermione said plainly, all while her eyes were fixed on him to gauge his reaction. "She was adopted by muggles who brought her up as their own."
Dolohov's face remained unchanged. He said nothing.
"We'll make a deal," Hermione continued. "We will arrange for her to visit you in a neutral setting, closely supervised by trained aurors, without letting her know of your criminal record. In return, we want you to tell us everything you know about Fabian Prewett."
"Everything is a tall order," Dolohov replied.
"Your relationship with Fabian Prewett," Hermione clarified. "We want to know how and why you met, what you did together, and how it ultimately lead to his death, if it is in any way a consequence of the two of you being involved."
Dolohov could feel three pairs of eyes boring into him. There was a long silence, as if he were making it clear that the information they wanted from him would not be easy to obtain.
"I want to see my sister," he finally said.