Returning from the owlery after dinner Septimus thought about the letter he had sent off with a school owl to his mother. Carefully treading down the steps for, though it was only half past six already the light was growing dim. He thought about his letter, amiable enough, where he had told her about his excitement and fear, in equal proportions, of playing for Gryffndor in the pre-match game, how he had managed the own-goal and tried his best to help the seeker take the snitch, "…because the game is awfully unfair; it's just about a fight between seekers; it doesn't matter what the beaters and chasers do because you have to score ten goals to equal the catching of the snitch…"
Looking up to the castle he pushed his feet down on the steps, trying to put out of his mind the meeting to which he had been summoned that evening giving his side of the incident that afternoon. Professor McGonagall hadn't seemed that pleased with him when she gave him the message, but it could be because of how he had performed on behalf of Gryffindor. Despite winning, Gryffindor lost to Hufflepuff 220 to 60 in the final of the first-year games giving the badgers their eleventh first-year game victory in a row. Septimus was sure that, had he been allowed to play as he had asked (his request denied by Madam Hooch) they may have had a better chance of winning.
The lights twinkled out through the windows of the castle. Students were celebrating, commiserating, planning, studying…probably the majority were looking forward to the house match that was to be played between Gryffindor and Slytherin the next day. Ravenclaw had gone on to beat Hufflepuff that afternoon and the match between them and the winner of the game the next day would take place in a month's time.
"…and I hope you have a great birthday, mum," he'd written, enclosing a tiny vial of perfume which could be diluted and made to match any perfume the person wanted. He'd managed to sneak off to Boutes when his mum had been distracted in Flourish and Blotts in the summer and, using the little pocket money he had buy the smallest size of "AnySmell" that they had. Even then, it cost him practically everything he had. But it was worth it. Would have been, at any rate. He knew he would have to send it by owl but, following Cecilia's return Septimus hadn't expected that he would be owling it to Durmstrang again. She would be surprised, Septimus knew, but also very pleased that he'd remembered: he remembered so many times when his dad had taken his mother's, "…you don't need to buy me anything…don't worry about a card, save the money…" at face value and indeed had so often given her nothing.
He'd even included a sentence telling his mum how he knew he wouldn't hear the end of the fact he'd managed an own goal and, in the unique words of Rufus Lestrange who he and Julian could not avoid sitting next to that afternoon, been "the best worst chaser" in centuries.
Climbing the stairs that (hopefully) led to the Gryffindor common room (and not the third floor Room of Horrors that he and Julian had encountered in their second week at Hedgewards) Septimus thought about what Darren had done after being led away with Professor Snape and Fraser Blewitt. Why had this boy, who had actively avoided him since they had shared a carriage on the Hedgewards Express, who had never spoken a word to him, both defended him and acknowledged him? What could have made him step in? Was he angry at Blewitt for some reason and used the opportunity to have a go back at the older boy? Surely there were better opportunities than at the quidditch match.
As he rounded the corner, just before he came crashing into Professor McGonagall. He stepped back, blinking a couple of times as he felt his face flush – by rights he should be in the common room and, by the look on the witch's face he knew e was bound to be in trouble. The image that had been appearing in his mind every so often, melted from his mind as he waited to hear what his head of house would say about his misdemeanour and, more importantly, how many points it would cost Gryffindor.
"Master Lupin, there you are!" She tutted as she looked back from where she had come, namely the portrait of the Fat Lady. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"
"I – "
"The headmaster wishes to see you," McGonagall continued, interrupting him as she stepped past him, "and you're late. Well, what are you waiting for?" Septimus blinked – she wasn't about to reprimand him? – before making his tired legs follow her obediently.
"And I must say, Septimus Lupin, while I approve of your sentiment of helping your team-mate, your methods were – " she inhaled sharply through her nose, " – rash."
They continued the rest of the way to the foot of the stairs up which Septimus had climbed before which led to the headmaster's office.
"And once you have spoken to Professor Snape," McGonagall turned as abruptly as she began talking, "you must return to the dormitory with no delay. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Professor," replied Septimus as he looked up the spiral as far as the steps would go as the conversation that would soon take place. Minutes later, standing on the other side of the door, wondering what he would be asked, Septimus thought again about Ariella, falling as she had done from the quidditch stand. As the door opened Septimus was amazed to see the face of her brother, bent into the same frown as he remembered glaring back at him. Septimus looked to one side to see Darren Black standing there and, between then, Professor Snape.
"Y…you wanted to see me?"
"Ah yes. Come in." Tentatively, mainly because of his injuries, Septimus crossed the oak floor, aware that Fraser Blewitt's stare was boring into the side of his skull. "You may go, Mister Blewitt," Snape added. Septimus refused to look at him but he could feel the glare that the other boy was throwing in his direction. A few moments later and he heard the door of the office close behind him and he gave an outward sigh of relief.
"Mister Lupin," began Snape, looking at Septimus carefully. "I was intrigued to see your performance at the match, an interesting technique. I am sure Tom Grant was grateful for your assistance." He smiled, glancing at Darren Black. "And I am sorry to have brought you from resting your head and your legs – your landing was less than comfortable. Perhaps if you had been in a position to participate in the latter game Gryffindor may well have won." He paused, glancing over to Darren again. Septimus looked at him too. "However it is post-match events which I am concerned. Both Mister Black and Mister Blewitt have been in isolation since this afternoon's…conflict of opinion – as you must appreciate I have to take accusations of bigotry and violence with utmost seriousness. So I ask you, please take me through the events that you remember after your fall? Most specifically when you were with your friend Mister Scott?" Septimus looked at Darren again, who was now staring at the floor.
"I know Julian wasn't upset by what Fraser Blewitt said," Septimus began somewhat awkwardly. "Er, I mean, he should have been, but he wasn't. He was making sure I was OK but Blewitt came over and started ranting at me. To be honest, I wasn't sure exactly what he was going on about. First he called Julian a muggle, then Darren – " he stopped as he saw Darren stare at him.
" – he stuck up for me and Julian," he continued, looking back at Darren Black. Had it not been for him he was sure it would have been a lot worse. "He, er, mentioned the possibility that, er, Fraser knew a lot about Conjurists. And I'm glad he did," Septimus added quickly, knowing that what he'd said so far had probably got the boy into trouble, "for I'm sure Fraser was going to curse me. And then, Fraser called Julian m – " Septimus stopped and looked down. It was the rudest, most dishonourable word Septimus knew and he couldn't bring himself to repeat it.
"M – ?"
"He called him misborn." Septimus jerked his head and looked at Darren. The boy was now looking at the headmaster – he was not afraid to say the word.
"Is this true?" Professor Snape looked at Septimus, waiting for his response.
"Yes, headmaster," replied Septimus, relieved.
"Thank you, Mister Black." Professor Snape looked down at the boy. "You may return to your dormitory. I will see you here after breakfast for your continued isolation." Septimus watched Darren turn, nodding once to Septimus as he did, before pacing over the floor to the door. He watched him open the door before descending the steps and out of sight.
"An unfortunate business," concluded Professor Snape once Septimus had looked back to him. "Both students have been punished for their threats made with wand, as well as their slanderous comments. You understand, Septimus, that I needed your testimony before I could be sure of the truth?" Septimus stared back at him, unable to think of anything to say. Was there anything to say? All he'd done was said what had happened.
"You said what had happened," Snape repeated, as if following Septimus's internal commentary. "Both students had admitted the wand-threats but neither could bring themselves to tell me what they had said to one another.
"I'm sure you could have asked any student," replied Septimus. "Plenty were there to hear what Darren and Fraser said.
"I could," replied Snape, folding his arms and leaning back on his desk in a more casual manner, "but then I would not have had the pleasure of congratulating you on your daring feat in your first quidditch match. I'm sure your father would have been proud. He was a pretty good player himself, him and Sirius Black. I know that Darren feels terrible about what happened to his uncle," he added. Septimus blinked as events slowly pieced themselves together, like a jigsaw puzzle. Darren felt bad about Sirius being attacked, and he and his father had been attacked at a suspected conjurist house by illegal half-breeds that shouldn't have been there. He'd heard what Fraser Blewitt had said to him about his father…so that's why he stepped in. Of course! It made perfect sense. Septimus made a mental note to thank Darren when he got back to the common room.
"I will have to speak to your friend, Mister Scott, to see if he wishes to press charges against Mister Blewitt. As a term of discriminatory abuse against non-wizards is, of course, against the law. As for Mister Black, he has been warned to keep accusations of Conjurism out of conversation, inflammatory that it is."
"Why?" Septimus heard himself saying. "Er, I mean, begging your pardon, some wizards think that being Conjurists is a good thing." He watched as Snape unfolded his arms before refolding them and looking keenly at Septimus.
"Yes, they do indeed," replied Snape. "And it is such an attitude, pride in division, that is so detrimental, at least to the wellbeing of the students in my care."
"But not everyone thinks that," Septimus pressed. "So what Darren said probably wasn't bad, he might just have been trying to describe Fraser Blewitt, and Fraser might have taken it as a compliment." His sudden outburst amazed even himself and Septimus was even more awaed when Snape began to laugh.
"Oh! Your attempt to allay the punishment of Mister Black is admirable, Mister Lupin. He is still in trouble, I'm afraid." He smiled at Septimus. "How like your mother you are. She could never bear an injustice. Well, I'm sure you'll have plenty to say to Mister Black once you return to your common room, but I say again I will not tolerate the use of such a term in this school. Hedgewards is inclusive now, we do not select on the basis of magical ability, nor have we ever. Should I ever wish to turn us into the British equivalent of Durmstrang I would certainly do just that. Conjurists say different," Snape added. "They say perhaps we should train only the best, like academically only the best non-wizard minds become doctors. Would you wish for someone less talented or committed to train in the field, just to say you've given them the opportunity, someone who was not as quick in diagnosis or the correct course of action? Sometimes there is only room for the best," Snape added. Septimus paused. So there was a need to separate wizards from non-wizards. Is this what the headmaster was telling him?
"Sir, do you think that that is what Hedgewards should be like?"
His question hung in the air for a moment and Septimus looked down, shuffling his feet, instantly regretting the question. Snape exhaled heavily and glared at Septimus who would have been quite happy at that moment for the ground beneath his feet to have swallowed him up whole and for it to have closed above his head. As it had done neither he was left to face down the heavy, icy stare of his headmaster.
"It is irrelevant what I think," Snape said at length, "nor you, or any of my staff or students. We are meant to be inclusive and that's what we are. Which is why I have punished both students for their actions and their words. But the question remains that there is something to be said for exclusivity. One must never consider that there is only one right path. The manner in which some wizards decide to portray this notion, and by what means they are influenced is something which I know is of great concern, especially to you uncle. Indeed, I do hope that there will be a time that your Uncle Kay does not regret the nationalising of all schools. Now," he said, Professor Snape's face brightening. "I understand that Professor McGonagall wishes you to return immediately to the Gryffindor common room without delay."
Once Septimus Lupin had left Severus Snape folded his arms before striding over to the hearth beneath the pictures of the headmasters. Most were slumbering in their frames, or sharing with one another playing games of Wizard Chess, or the like. One however, namely Aberforth Dumbledore, watched his successor with interest as he cast his hand in the direction of the hearth, making the embers dance with green flame.
"Snape, you wanted to see me?" In the flames the head of Aberforth's other successor. Caelius Lupin, his face impassive as he waited for Severus Snape to continue.
"You got my owl, I assume? I sent it as "urgent"."
"You assume correctly. And I am concerned, Snape, that you could not handle the misdemeanours of your students as you promised you would." Severus paused, trying not to let his irritation at the criticism of his leadership by one of the most outwardly self-assured wizards show. Instead he took a step back and folded his arms.
"Indeed, I am dealing with their misdemeanours in line with school policy. However it is not the behaviour policy of the school with which I furnished you. It is the nature of the incident that I intended to convey – perhaps my letter was not succinct enough?"
"You spoke about Fraser Blewitt and Darren Black."
"I have yet to ask Julian Scott, to whom Blewitt addressed as a muggle and misborn. Black was merely in the wrong place and alluded to the possibility that Blewitt has connections with conjurists. It was your nephew, Septimus, who confirmed the details."
"Septimus?" Caelius's tone changed ever so slightly. "How is he involved?"
"He crashed during the second tournament of the year, the first-year house game while trying to save the life of a fellow student. It was to whom Blewitt chose to abuse at first." This time the pause came from Caelius's end and, not for the first time Aberforth Dumbledore wondered, from his beframed position above them, whether he should have split the Head of the Reciprocator role between them.
"Has Septimus been fighting? What caused the confrontation?" Concern. This time Snape felt he had the upper hand, though did not take any pleasure in it, unlike Caelius, he was certain, when the tables were turned.
"Septimus was in the match, a chaser for Gryffindor. I believe your brother would be proud. He decided to, shall we say, use his initiative to bring the first years to victory however his selflessness in attempting to assist a fellow student, namely Fraser Blewitt's sister, caused the conflict. Blewitt then turned on Julian Scott, with Darren Black intervening. I am certain that I outlined this in my owl?"
"Yes, yes," nodded Caelius dismissively and Severus thought he could see a glimpse of parchment in the foreground of the floo connection, as if his opposite number was just now furnishing himself with the details of the owl. "Of course." He looked back at Severus Snape. "If you decide that the boy's actions constitute a breach of law, and the wounded party wishes to press charges then do indeed contact me in the morning and I will organise for an Auror to collect him. Now, if you excuse me, I have important work with the Reciprocators tonight. They have a difficult night ahead of them."
"Indeed."
"As every night." A pause, silence hung between them for a moment and, for a moment, only the silent flickering of the green flames from the floo connection moved. When neither of them spoke Caelius added, "there is nothing else that Septimus has done? No punishment?"
"No, indeed, for he has done nothing wrong, only played the game of quidditch in a unique but successful manner." The flames died as Caelius's face faded. Severus Snape rose and made his way towards his desk. Who did he think he was? Didn't the wizard know that he, Snape, knew full well what the Reciprocators were up against, hence his prompt reporting of the actions of Fraser Blewitt who, as a sixth year, really should have known better. He knew they were at least two wizards down, even though one was now conscious, thanks to him. What did he know of Hedgewards life, the day-to-day operation of the school, not least encumbered with the changes foisted upon them by Lupin Senior himself? Because, once the students were in bed and the staff on shift had been briefed he would himself be tirelessly working on a potion destined, in theory, for his brother.
He walked to the picture of Aberforth. Not that there was much hope. The ingredients were scarce, no-one had ever postulated let alone explored an antidote to the vampire's bite so where to start, or at least continue, was merely informed guesswork.
"You never had this trouble, I'm guessing." Severus nodded to his predecessor as he made his way up the stairs to his book- and vial-lined chamber, the large cauldron in the middle of the circular table gleaming in the candle-light. Aberforth watched him go.
"Don't you believe it."
88888888
In the living room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place James Potter returned carrying a chipped teapot out of which he had scoured the nargles and cleaned it in the kitchen with five spells. Perhaps he should have used another since the look that Sturgis Podmore was giving the teapot made him wonder why he'd bothered.
"I only found two – look, it's as clean as I've ever seen it, and I've been on the receiving end of tea from it being the last Reciprocator back." He grasped the lid and removed it before pushing it in Sturgis's direction. "Look!"
"Really, I don't want a tea," said Sturgis, taking up the papers again which detailed which parts of the country were being covered by which Reciprocator-Auror groups that night. It wasn't as if those people left behind at Grimmauld Place had their feet up, however: their presence was a lifeline for any wizard in difficulty – those who remained had the vital role of deciding what assistance they may need: back-up from a different team; strategic withdrawal or reinforcement in numbers by the spare Reciprocator left behind, in this case an exceedingly miffed James Potter who was scrutinising the inside of the teapot wondering why Sturgis would still refuse tea from it.
"I wish Molly were here," muttered James, putting down the pot on the table before glancing over the duties list for that evening.
"Where is she?" Sturgis asked conversationally. Though not on shift that evening it was rare to find Mr and Mrs Potter out of each others' company.
"She's gone to St. Mungo's to visit Sirius. To be honest, she's not been herself recently." James shook her head. "Harry and Hermione, now that's a bit unsettling, I know."
"Unsettling?" Sturgis Podmore looked up from the duty rota he was attempting to compile for two evenings' time and frowned. "Hermione Granger is a lovely girl."
"Yes," agreed James. "But them getting married, it all seems so sudden. I mean, we did it quite quickly, and we knew each other from school…we got married much younger than they are now…I pointed all this out to her…and then there's Henrietta. That came as a big shock to us all – " Sturgis nodded, still looking at his papers, " – and what with Hermione being called to give evidence in Strasbourg…" James put down the teapot. "Hen…she's…she was…one of us…I dunno. I just wish it'd go back to how things were, when the Conjurist threat just wasn't there. It's caused no end of problems and concerns, it really has. Sirius knows…he seems pretty gutted to be honest. I think that's why Molly visits him, they reminisce…he's awake, but Remus is still in a sorry state."
"There's been no change in him?"
"None that we know. Severus is on the case though, and we couldn't ask for a better mind."
"How's Sam doing?" asked Sturgis, leaning back in the armchair before taking up the teapot that James claimed to have cleaned. "He wants to join the Ministry?"
"That's his plan, yes. And to be a Reciprocator too. So much ambition, much more than Harry. I think he must get that from Lily. She's so pleased, and yet…" Waving his hand across the pot. Steam effused from its spout and the gap between the lid. "Tea?" A quick look to one side from Sturgis then a nod. James waved his hand again, this time over the low table near the settee. A pair of mugs appeared which had been in Grimmauld Place's kitchen cupboards. He poured the tea before conjuring a small milk jug and sugar bowl.
"It'll be good to see Sirius soon," James continued conversationally as Sturgis leaned back in his chair having now put down the Reciprocator schedule. "It's been nearly three months since he and Remus went out that day."
"We've survived, though," said Sturgis. "I won't say, "thanks to Caelius", but he has organised us. It's been quiet without Sirius," he added, taking a sip of tea. "I should take the trouble to see them."
"With any luck, he may be able to come home. You'll see him enough then, and you know what he's like: he won't take "no" for an answer when it comes to being involved in Reciprocator duties, mark my words. No matter what my dear wife has to say." He glanced at the rota. It wouldn't be long until Kingsley got back now…he was paired with Mick Mullen…he wondered what it was like out there tonight. Things were slowly getting more difficult for the groups that went out now. Even the laid-back Sirius would find it difficult to laugh off the attacks that were now taking place in the manner that he had tried to shake off his injuries and chronic disease with which he was now inflicted.
And the situation was concerning, even to him. Just before the summer holidays he was all for Sam wanting to take a job in the ministry. He had the skill, he had the intellect and people-skills, it was true. But the attacks by Conjurists were growing in number and ferocity…some nights they would come back, exhausted, having been kept on their toes by attacks on non-wizard and ministerial buildings co-ordinated by their use of pensieves. One minute there would be no-one in the town's streets at two o'clock in the morning and then suddenly you and the two aurors with you would be surrounded by a dozen or more Conjurists bent on vandalism, graffiti, arson…
At least Caelius was pleased. The haul of information he was getting from the use of pensieves had made for more arrests after the event. Their data was not regulated by law and as such Caelius had made provision to access information that came up with key phrases and words, especially if the messages had originated in towns where recent violence and vandalism had taken place.
"What do you think about pensieves, Sturgis? You like technology." Sturgus looked at James over his teacup.
"Never really got into them. I have one, I've got music on it which I listen to. It has potential to communicate with a lot of people at once."
"This is what they're doing," replied James. "But at least it's pleasing Caelius that he can trawl through this information. Just a pity he can't do it before we go out there. Arthur Weasley came back with his arm in such a state last time."
"I don't think it'll be long before Caelius has them banned," commented Sturgis, putting down his cup again and staring at it. It had a slight nargle-y taste. "They're causing more harm than good and we can't be maverick about it, you know Caelius."
"Indeed. Has to do it by the book," he added, putting down his cup and glancing at the clock. Nearly three. It wouldn't be long until some of the Reciprocators returned. In the absence of Lily or Molly, or any potential skill in the kitchen by Sturgis James supposed that he should attempt some sandwiches.
"It's been awfully quiet tonight," commented Sturgis as he watched James rise. James nodded, trying to quell the stillness that usually accompanied terrible news out of his mind.
88888888
"How do I look?" Hermione turned to Harry as she arrived at the steps of the European Wizengamot. She smoothed down her pencil skirt before tapping at her hair.
"Fine," said Harry, looking round. The antechamber was getting full. European ministers, workers and lawyers were gathering together in small bunches, giving one another scrolls and parchments, exchanging short dialogues before moving onto other small groups. Hermione looked at him, annoyed.
"You always say that. Come on, really, how do I look?"
"Really fine," said Harry, feeling at a loss as to what to say. "What time did you say you had to go in?"
"Ten," said Hermione, as Harry looked around again, seemingly oblivious to her exasperated roll of the eyes and tutting. She looked down at the letter again, written on dragonskin parchment with the crest of the European Parliament at the top and signed by Draco Malfoy himself. The Right Honourable Draco Malfoy, President of the European Parliament. Hermione knew that though she would defer to Draco's position she would find it difficult to get the image of his soaking wet head out of her mind, caused by two young wizards from Slytherin House on their first day at Hedgewards. "I don't know what I'm going to say though, only that, when I was here for that short time she came to my office, talked about work and the prospect of promotion before leaving again."
"Well, you should be out by ten past ten," said Harry, smiling at Hermione. She didn't smile and Harry instantly felt awkward. He knew how important this was to Hermione, to Hermione's reputation as much as anything else. Whatever she said he knew that she coveted promotion in her career and she was concerned that her summoning to an enquiry into Henrietta Edwards's death would be to her disadvantage.
"All you can say is what happened, it doesn't mean anything. Someone had to have been the last to see her, and it happened to be you."
"I know all that!" snapped Hermione. "It's just – " She stopped as more ministers appeared, this time approaching them, before walking past and into the wizengamot chamber. They were clad in dark blue, rhombus-shaped hats on their heads and, as they walked they neither looked at nor acknowledged anyone that they passed.
It wasn't long until they were called in, half an hour after ten and the nervous (if somewhat annoyed Hermione, " – can';t someone get us in on time? I hardly call this professional – "
She gave her statement, from the chair in the centre of the wizengamot, which resembled the one in the British Ministry for Magic, though larger to accommodate the large Wizengamot witches and wizards who represented not only the European Magical Law Enforcement Departments but also, by extension, a member of each country's Law Enforcement department from their ministry. Britain was, ironically, the only exception. It was part of the Magical Treaty Organisation but as far as government was concerned, operated independently, as a sovereign state.
The fact that Henrietta was missing for such a long time before she was discovered, dead at the bottom of the Rosstrappe, in the Harz Mountains, Germany, was of great concern to the Wizengamot. Character descriptions from those who had been working with her in Strasbourg told that she was a highly capable, determined and forthright witch who would not be coerced, as was being suggested by the prosecution, into being a Conjurist. Harry was shocked. He had no idea that such an accusation had ever been levelled at the late Henrietta Edwards and made a mental note to tell his mum and dad, but then instantly dismissed it – all that had been said today would be reported in the European Prophet and his parents would find out soon enough. Once they emerged from the Wizengamot chamber Hermione hugged Harry hard.
"That was horrible," she said, wiping away a tear as the Wizengamot witches and wizards filed out followed by Draco Malfoy. In contrast to the Wizengamot Draco nodded towards Harry and Hermione and Hermione smiled back, before she bent her head and buried it onto Harry's shoulder.
"That was terrible," she continued. "How can such a witch as Henrietta end up getting killed? It's murder, it has to be. She was at the wrong place at the wrong time, she had to be! She was probably spying on a Conjurist meeting!"
"Come on," said Harry, thinking about the apartment where they would be staying that night. Though the trial in terms of Hermione's role was at an end she had decided, Hermione being Hermione, that she should follow up the leads and contacts she had made on her last trip with the hope of gaining further insight into the workings of the European Parliament. Harry had agreed and already he'd invited Ron over to watch the Holland – Ukraine quidditch match.
"But I'm not sure I should go out tonight," Hermione sniffed into Harry's shoulder as the illusion of a laid-back wizards' night in evaporated from his minds' eye.
In the end though, Hermione did go out for dinner with a witch and a wizard whom she had met in July. Harry, after an afternoon of consoling had gone to the local shop to buy a few cans of butterbeer for the evening and, almost as soon as he had got back Ron had the two of them were taking it easy in front of the 3-D wide-screen television that the room had in it. Once the game had ended (Holland beating Ukraine 230 to 20) Harry and Ron chatted for a while. He told Ron about what had happened that aftetnoon.
"I think there's a connection, something that the Conjurists in Europe and those in Britain have in common. It's those pensieves. From what I can tell attacks keep happening at the same time all over the place. It's really stretching the Reciprocators and the Aurors. I wonder if it's happening in Europe too. I wonder…" Harry nodded decisively, "you know, I reckon Henrietta knew it too and she investigated."
"What makes you say that?" asked Ron, between sips from his butterbeer bottle, right leg folded on the knee of his left. "She could have been involved." Harry shook his head.
"She was one of mum and dad's best friends. She was a Reciprocator. She was dead against Conjurism."
"Ah, you say that, but she was also ambitious. Do you think she might be involved if it meant some personal leg-up?" Harry looked at Ron. He had a point. Henrietta's weakness was her narcissistic interest in her career. No-one, not even Sirius, whom she had put way down the list of priorities when it came to it, stood a chance. He changed the subject.
"Hermione's out tonight, she thinks she might be able to get some sort of promotion herself before the year's out. I do hope she's right, I could see myself living here, rent free. Hermione would be able to have the wedding she wanted 'cos we could save our rent money. We could still get married on 1st May, as she wants."
"Well," said Ron, looking round at the apartment, "there's nothing like an unbiased opinion when it comes to those things. He got to his feet.
"Where're you going?" asked Harry, confused. "There's "Match of the Day" on in a minute, and at least another beer with your name on it.
"Sorry, mate. Hermione'll be back soon, and I reckon she'll need you. From what you said she sounded a bit emotional after today."
"But that doesn't stop you staying," said Harry, confused. But Ron tapped the side of his nose.
"Other pots on the stove, Harry. You've got your woman, you can't expect others to wait around." And before Harry could say anything his friend, with his mysterious "other things to do" disapparated.
It wasn't long before Harry, having settled down to watch the match highlights between Holland and Ukraine, was joined by Hermione who, uncharacteristically, opened the bottle of butterbeer that Ron had turned down. She waited until the programme had ended, ducking as the quaffle from the game exploded from the TV screen in 3-D, only to be knocked back into play by a beater from the Ukrainian team. Once the credits were on Harry turned off the television.
"How was your evening?" he asked, smiling and waiting for Hermione to speak.
"Well, my office received a letter from your brother," she began, showing Harry the address. He peered down at the handwriting. It was indeed from Sam.
"What's he want?"
"Work experience, at the Ministry. But not just in Britain, here in Strasbourg." Her tone was a mixture of amazement and approval. "I know he wants to be an Auror, but…" she looked down at the letter again. "He'll get some good work experience here. Pierre Pfimlin said he'd take him on next summer."
"He was impressed by what you had to say last time," commented Harry. "You obviously made it clear what he needed to do to be successful. He wants to be a Reciprocator too, you know. Merlin knows he's spent enough time at Grimmauld Place to get experience. It's never been something that's appealed to me, it's mum and dad's thing, but – " Harry broke off, realising that Hermione was looking away, tears in her eyes.
"'mione, what's the matter?" She turned to him, wiping the tears away.
"It's just…today," said Hermione, clenching her fists. "I was the last to see Henrietta…and then tonight, Pierre and Petra Pfimlin…they were saying how ambitious I was, they approved of my moving here, and I thought…am I just like her? Am I like Henrietta? Am I going to get myself into some sort of trouble?" She looked down and let out a sob. Harry put his hand on her shoulder.
"I mean, no-one knows what happened to her, but I think she was trying to prove something, to get some information out of the Conjurists or some other shady characters to boost her career. She was always a risk-taker." Harry nodded. "Am I going to end up like her? Dead at the bottom of a mountain gorge somewhere?" She burst into further sobs and Harry pulled her closer, letting her cry. He knew that she hadn't been looking forward to her Wizengamot appearance, and obviously being the last person to see someone before they died must be disturbing. When the sobs ebbed to sniffs, Harry leaned back and looked at her in her now red, blotchy, tear-stained face.
"You won't," he said, "and you know why?" Hermione held his gaze, waiting for the answer to the question. "Because you're having this conversation now. Because Henrietta never thought like this, she never worried. She was never concerned about things, nothing stopped her or got in her way." He pulled Hermione back close to him for another hug. "What else did you talk about tonight?"
"Hedgewards," said Hermione. "Apparently Caelius Lupin's experiment doesn't seem to be getting the support here as it's found in the Ministry at home…not that there's been outright support there either. And the latest news is that Caelius has, with Severus' Snape's approval, decided to limit the use of pensieves at Hedgewards. There's been a big attack tonight and it's been proven that the parents of one student has been sending information to the boy's pensieve about Conjurist activities. So I suppose it's just a matter of time before Caelius instigates a total ban on them. Apparently the boy called a non-wizard misborn."
"No! Really?" Harry looked shocked.
"Severus and Caelius both put it down to the easy and unlimited access to almost anything that anyone puts onto their pensieve. It's like another world is behind the pensieve, storing things up as they're waiting to be accessed. Apparently Sam told Snape about the Conjurist-thing."
"He'd better watch out," said Harry. "He might think he's doing the right thing, but...if Conjurists think nothing of setting fire to non-wizard shops with non-wizard families inside asleep they'll think nothing of attacking him in some way." He shook his head as he recalled the attacks that he and Hermione had witnessed when they had gone out for dinner for her birthday. "And your colleagues still don't mind taking him on?" Hermione smiled.
"There, now," said Harry, hoping not to sound too patronising. "And I hope you got a bit of networking done too?"
"Petra's thinking of going part-time, just temporarily. Their mother is ill and she wants to care for her. I'm thinking of putting a letter together expressing my interest. The promotion would amount to pretty much the salary I have now, but the accommodation is free, so even with your transport to London we'd be saving money." She smiled again, and Harry hugged her. Goodbye leaky pipes and overgrown garden. Goodbye damp in the kitchen and a smell that no-one could identify. Hello modern furniture, cleaning elf and 3-D television.
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