Disclaimer: Same as always! J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter; I just merely get to play in the world

Chapter 43: Uncovered Secrets

Rage. Pure, unadulterated, white hot anger coursed through every single fiber of his being. A thousand curses danced through his mind, wanting to escape from his tongue. He had done everything within his immense power to protect her, experimenting and pushing the boundaries of magical enhancements beyond anything the old fool could have anticipated. She could not be harmed by any spell, artifact, or potion in the wizarding world. Only those things that could destroy a Horcrux could have ended her life.

It had been her that had introduced the world of magic to him, all those years ago at the orphanage. She had fed him whispers, whispers of a hidden world, a world of magic and endless wonders. The old man had not known he knew of its existence, only showing him a tiny hint of the power she had promised he would one day wield. She had followed him all these years, always willing to carry out whatever task he gave her. He had even entrusted part of his precious soul for her to safeguard, confident in her incredible abilities.

And he had felt every agonizing moment of Nagini's demise.

The plan had been simple enough. Eris had promised him that the Ministry would be empty, that the imbecile Fudge would be manipulated to send every employee home. His ally had been true to his word, as Nagini had been able to slip into the heart of the Ministry unnoticed. He had been possessing her, watching through her eyes as she made her way towards the Department of Mysteries. He had expected the old fool to have posted a guard, regardless of the Minister's orders, and he had not been disappointed.

Nagini had caught the man's scent, even if she had not seen him. An Invisibility Cloak had shrouded the man, but it could not save him. He had been dozing; the paperwork he had been working on had spilled off his lap and out from under the edge of the cloak. He ordered Nagini to strike. They could not afford any obstacles. He needed to hear the rest of that prophecy in order to destroy the boy. The man must have been startled by her approach; a wand appeared out of thin air, but he was not fast enough to stop her fangs from sinking into his flesh. At his urging, she had reared back to strike again and then again.

A spell had glossed over her scales, both he and Nagini hardly paying attention to it as she bit his leg for good measure. Blood started to pool on the floor, and he had to order her to ignore their victim and her hunger. There would be time to feed later. He had taken some satisfaction to see the dying man was one of the filthy blood traitors that followed the old man.

He had been the only barrier between Nagini and the door. The answers that lay beyond would finally complete his knowledge on how to end the boy. He had almost tasted the victory, as sweet as the blood Nagini had been savoring. And then…

A stabbing pain. Nagini had turned to see the blood traitor stabbing a fang into her tail. He had recognized the fang immediately, one from a basilisk, and in a strange moment of irony he realized it was from his own great beast. Death came swiftly, the poison contained within the fang coursing through her body. He had screamed as she screamed, but in malice, not in pain. He screamed in hatred for the blood traitor, for the meddling old headmaster, for any who would raise arms against him. He would see his entire line obliterated for the indignity of this attack; every last Weasley would be eradicated, and he would force Potter to watch them as they died one by one in the most horrible fashion his imagination could conjure. As his familiar died, a new pain had struck him, one he had never experienced before.

Nagini had joined him in anger for the attack, and in the agony as her body was dissolved by the basilisk's venom reacting with the Horcrux she held. But in those final few moments, as she writhed and he screamed, he had felt from her a sense of… relief? A flicker of joy? No, he must have imagined it. She had promised to always serve him faithfully. She never would have betrayed him, even for the tiniest of moments.

As she had died, the Dark Lord had retreated to his own mind and body, coming awake with a roar of loathing and agony.

For several long minutes he had lashed out wildly, using his newly awakened powers to wreck the room around him with lances of crackling black magic. Only once the once luxurious space was mostly rubble did he stop and catch his breath. Lord Voldemort paused as he considered something that his fury had blinded him to; another emotion hidden deep under it that was quickly springing forth like tendrils of Devil's Snare around his heart. It was an emotion he had carefully cultivated among his followers and the sheep that made up the wizarding world: the icy tendrils of fear.

No… no…. No one knew his secret. It was inconceivable. And yet, the man had been armed with a basilisk fang, one of the only methods of destroying a Horcrux. A thought floated through his mind, a hope born from a deep denial. The Muggle-lover had worked for the Ministry. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had confiscated the basilisk fang from some black market dealer. He knew such exotic and expensive objects such as a basilisk fang were highly sought after. Yes, that would make more sense to him. The Ministry had been stepping up raids on the criminal underworld, according to his allies. The blood traitor must have been cataloguing the evidence from a raid. He had been doing paperwork, after all That had to be it….

And yet….

He couldn't shake that fear and paranoia threatening to well up within him. This wasn't the first Horcrux that had been destroyed. His diary had been destroyed by the boy also, as Lucius had informed him, with a basilisk fang. That had been a matter of circumstance, however, as its contained soul had set the basilisk on the boy in the first place. Still, he hadn't known it had been destroyed until he questioned Lucius, but he had reasoned that it was only his existence as a mere shade that prevented him from feeling his anchors to immortality.

It was impossible to consider that he, Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard the world had ever seen, would not be able to feel the destruction of any of his precious safeguards against death once he was returned to his body. How could he not feel an attack upon his very being? It was worthy of a dismissive scoff from the Dark Lord, a surge of confidence that it had been a lucky fluke.

And yet….

Dumbledore had possession of the remains of his diary, and that thought gave the Dark Lord further pause. The Horcrux had been destroyed before Dumbledore would have had the chance to examine it, but if there was any wizard that had knowledge that might rival his own, it would be the old headmaster. He may have found a spell to detect what the diary had been… and if he had surmised that….

He needed to check his Horcruxes. The old fool couldn't have discovered the secret; it was ridiculous to even consider. Still, it would be prudent to ascertain the condition of his safeguards. The shack and the lake would be easy to check, but Hogwarts would be impossible and the cup he knew was safely tucked away in Bella's Gringotts vault. He would start with the hovel his mother's family had dwelled in. Of all his protections, it was the most exposed. Dumbledore would have known his familial connections, that Marvolo Gaunt was his grandfather, and if… if the headmaster had miraculously stumbled upon the mystery, he would likely have investigated the Gaunt shack.

One moment he was standing before his throne, and then the next, he was standing on a country lane. The only mark of his apparation was a flash of his black energy, singing the weeds around his feet. Off in the distance, he could just make out the silhouette of the Riddle House. A sneer curled into existence as he regarded the far off home.

"Oi! Where'd you come from?" someone called.

Voldemort regarded an older man hobbling towards him. He had no patience to be dealing with Muggles. He didn't even give the Muggle a response or a chance to speak. He gestured with his hand, a black light racing from his palm to strike the man. The Muggle gave one pathetic scream as he shrank and transformed, becoming nothing more than a snail. The Dark Lord didn't even spare the Muggle a second thought, tramping over the snail and crushing it beneath his feet as he moved towards the shrubbery lining the road. It was overgrown, but the path from the road was still visible.

Gliding along the path, he immediately knew something was not right. He had not detected any of the curses he had placed upon the path, the triggers removed. Where was his curse to cause the vines around the place to come alive as snakes? Where was the Disintegration Ward? His stride filled with a renewed urgency. No, it was impossible. They must have worn away after his spirit was torn from his body, he rationalized, the magic faded.

His rage and worry exploded fully anew as he looked upon the dilapidated shack. Someone had been here. The door had been blasted off its hinges, and as he moved into the space properly, a snarl rose up in his chest. The shack was, for lack of a term, ransacked. Every cupboard and rotting piece of furniture had been ripped open, moldy pots and pans thrown every which way. Even the rafters had been searched, holes that had not previously existed showing evidence of spells blasting through the shingles. The floorboards had been removed haphazardly. All the more enraging was that he knew it could not be Muggles; none of them would have survived stepping over the threshold. No, the shack had been searched magically.

The box that had contained his ring was open, still sitting in the hole in the ground. A gesture left the whole thing was reduced to nothing but burnt ozone and a deeper crater. The Dark Lord continued to unleash his wrath upon the ruins of the hovel, reducing it to nothing but splinters and pebbles. In the center of the destruction, the Dark Lord was breathing heavily, his hands still giving off wisps of his dark power.

How? How?! How long had it been gone? Was it the work of Dumbledore or of some common thief, looking for some trinkets of the ancient Gaunts that may have survived? The ring was gone, and, more importantly, he did not know if it had been destroyed or not. He had no idea who had discovered it. It wasn't Dumbledore, that much he could sense. The insufferable feeling of the headmaster's magic was nowhere to be felt, even under the new stain of his fury. It was possible that the old man sent proxies, but the Dark Lord immediately dismissed such a thought.

Dumbledore would never entrust such a vital mission to just anyone. They were alike in that regard, Voldemort mused. They had different reasons of course, as Dumbledore would never want to endanger his people more than he had to, while the Dark Lord did not trust anyone. The only being he had trusted had been slain that night. But, there had been two magical signatures lingering around the shack. Thieves then, it must have been.

Perhaps it was even for the best if thieves had taken his ring, as the odds of Dumbledore finding the ring, if he ever discovered the Horcruxes, had been significantly hampered. The thieves had likely tried it on and they would have met their ends swiftly in whatever hideout they used. There would be time to track down their tomb soon enough, but for now, he needed to move on. He was particularly proud of the obstacles he had created for anyone who would dare attack Slytherin's locket.

Without even focusing on his magic, never mind that insufferable advice that was drilled into every sixth year's head by the Ministry on Apparation, he started striding forward. For a step, he was gliding over the remains of his mother's childhood home, and the next, his feet were marching across seawater covered rocks. He had discovered, thanks to the immense increase to his power, that he no longer was constrained by such paltry limitations. Wands were such archaic devices, a chain that bound every wizard and witch but he.

The entrance cave appeared undisturbed. The Dark Lord could not sense any magic that was not his here, the door still sealed and demanding its price from all but its master. Striding forward, the rocky wall flaked away into the shape of an arch, a harsh silvery light outlining its edges. A calming sight fell within his gaze, the apprehensions easing slightly. The dark waters were still, and from across its eerie depths, a green light beckoned to the Dark Lord. A quick investigation confirmed the charmed boat he created remained on this shore.

Not bothering to raise it from its watery resting place, the Dark Lord merely stepped from the shore onto the water. As he slowly walked towards the locket's final protections, he could spy a hand floating there, a foot there, a face or strands of hair only a few inches beneath his feet. But the Inferi that inhabited the lake recognized their creator and did not stir, yet another reassurance to the Dark Lord that his safeguards for the locket remained unchallenged. The greenish light grew harsher with each step the Dark Lord took, the island of black stone a solid encouragement to him.

With gliding paces, he set foot on the island for the first time in fifteen years. He had not thought to check the locket since he borrowed that house elf to test the strength of his defenses. There had been no need then, and the light emanating from the stone basin on its plinth alleviated any remaining doubts he had harbored. A touch of his finger on the edge of the basin banished the potion, revealing…

…something that was not Slytherin's locket.

Fury once again reared high into his throat as his spider-like fingers grasped the imposter locket. With hands shaking, he pried the locket open and retrieved the folded parchment within. The locket was flung away into the Inferi-infested lake, the Dark Lord focusing on the note that had been left for him.

To the Dark Lord

I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I wanted you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

Lowering the note, the edges turning to ash from the waves of power radiating from his grasp, the Dark Lord shook with rage. With a scream, his power was unleashed. The rock beneath him disintegrated, the basin and its plinth bursting into shards to be flung far across the lake. Even the water was being thrown back, bursting into clouds of steam, the Inferi contained within reduced to ash. Twisted slag, glowing with unnatural light from his magic and the forming cracks, was all that remained of the island, the Dark Lord hovering above a void the dissipated lake was trickling down to fill. The cave walls had shattered, fissures revealing crystals and releasing minute amounts of water.

Treachery! Duplicity! The Dark Lord fumed with wrath, his body still emitting palpable waves of magic. The initials, once his mind processed what he read, could only stand for one being. Regulus Black. Another cry of utter fury escaped his throat, his red eyes flashing. A loyal Death Eater, one devoted to his service for eternity, had dared to defy him? To attack his very essence? How had he discovered the secret? Had the house elf survived?

Impossible! The Dark Lord had watched the filthy creature cowering on the island he had just leveled with his might, Inferi grasping for its pitiful form. No one but he could Apparate from this cave, he had ensured the wards were stronger than even those around the Ministry of Magic. Some sort of connection between master and elf? No, he had never heard of such a thing. Then how?! How?!

Had Regulus even been his? Had he taken his mark, pledged himself to Lord Voldemort's service, merely to be a plant from the Order of the Phoenix? A saboteur or spy within his ranks? No, he had watched the Black family closely. They had professed their loyalty to his cause, all excluding Sirius Black. They had thrown the elder son out; Walburga had disowned him. Regulus had been eager to join, to prove himself in the eyes of his Dark Lord. He had been… a rather weak servant, admittedly, but the Dark Lord had sent him on missions with Barty and Bellatrix. He had had offered the house elf when the Dark Lord asked, but now… he had to wonder. A concealed Portkey? No, one could not Portkey out of the cave. The only way he could have known what the Dark Lord had used the elf for was if the elf survived.

Perhaps the Black family had a secret means of transport, one concealed within the mysteries of their fabled hoard of knowledge? Shaking his head, hand twitching as he itched to unleash more of his power, his mind turned to the next question.

If Regulus had been a spy or a traitor, he would have reached out to one man with whatever he discovered: his brother Sirius. He would have told Sirius everything he discovered, possibly even handing the locket over to his Auror brother. And if Sirius had known about the Horcrux, he would have immediately informed the Order and Dumbledore. Which meant…

The blood traitor that killed Nagini this night had known his secret. He had been armed to destroy his tether to immortality. Perhaps he hadn't known Nagini would be there that night, but he had been prepared either way. Sheer and utter panic gripped the Dark Lord's heart as he considered just how long the Order would have had to find his Horcruxes. The ring and locket had to be gone, destroyed by the Order- he immediately rejected the notion that thieves had broken into the Gaunt Shack now. He knew he should have personally overseen the destruction of the Black family. Traitors, the lot of them. Orion had been easy to kill, a poison to induce a heart attack slipped into his drink when he frequented an establishment in Knockturn Alley. Regulus had been dispatched on a mission, and he had presumed he perished when he and the other Death Eaters did not return. He had left Walburga alone; the deaths in her family had unhinged her mind.

Matters were far more dire than he could have ever known. The diary, gone. The ring, gone. The locket, gone. Nagini… a reflex from his hand at the fresh thought of his familiar's death unleashed another pulsing beam of black light that blew another hole through the cave wall in the distance. He only held onto immortality by two threads, one which he was almost sure had been destroyed. The diadem had been secreted away at Hogwarts, and knowing now that Dumbledore knew his secret, he refused to believe that in fifteen years that the headmaster had not found its hiding place. That left only the cup, ensconced away in Bellatrix's vault.

He would need to accelerate his plans rapidly. Bellatrix and his most loyal supporters needed to be freed from their imprisonment, if only so the Dark Lord could have Bellatrix check for the cup's security. The goblins would never have allowed a break-in, but Sirius Black was the Head of House Black, and Bellatrix had been a Black before her marriage. Could Sirius Black have the authority to search her vault if she was imprisoned in Azkaban? The Dark Lord already knew the answer.

Freeing Bellatrix and checking her vault was imperative now, even beyond retrieving the prophecy. He still wanted that accursed orb, but he needed to deal with this threat to his eternal life immediately. He no longer cared about remaining hidden from the Ministry, although he was sure Eris and Rixlis, those mysterious yet powerful brothers, would be able to keep Fudge blind to it all. He would demand from Mallory that Sirius Black be delivered to him from whatever hole the Squib was holding him in. He would pry the truth from Black's skull, strip him of his mind. He would use whatever empty husk was left as bait to draw Potter out of Hogwarts to retrieve the prophecy, and then he would kill them both.

He needed to utterly annihilate his enemies as quickly as possible, to obliterate every trace of opposition to or questioning of his power. His followers would be the first to feel this new impetus, for he would galvanize them to greater action, even if it cost them their lives. This affront had to be met, and when the Dark Lord was done, he would drown Dumbledore and Potter in the blood of every single person they held close or respected. With one last look at the crumbling remains of the cave, the Dark Lord transported himself away.

Stirring from a rather restless sleep, made worse by her decision to forego her evening meditation, Hermione blearily took in the sleeping forms of her dorm mates. Conspicuous as it had been since Halloween, Abygail's bed remained untouched, her sheets and pillow freshly laundered and her bed made as neatly as the it had been on the first of September. Lavender's mane of curls was thrown about on her pillow, muffled snores occasionally reaching Hermione's ears. Parvati was obscured by the hangings of her four poster bed, while Fay Dunbar's bed was already empty. While she hardly spoke with Fay, Hermione knew the girl desired to become an Auror and was doing a morning run around the Black Lake as she did every Friday morn. Her last dorm mate, Alice Tolipan, had tossed and turned through the night if the state of her drapes and covers were any indication.

Shaking the last vestiges of sleep away from her awareness, she couldn't help the scowl that formed as she took in the bowl of murtlap essence on her bedside table. It had been stained red from her cuts, a reminder of the torment the Pink Nightmare had placed her through the evening before. Her hand had not scarred, as Harry's had, but Hermione was certain that upon their return to Hogwarts, her hand would be adorned with the spiteful epitaph the High Inquisitor was forcing her to write. The murtlap also served to sour her mood further as it brought her thoughts to her expressive tirade towards Harry and Ron's quiet but forceful actions.

A clock, hidden behind a portrait on Fay's bedside table, chimed out seven times. Stretching, Hermione forced herself out of bed and prepared herself for the day. While everyone else would be taking the train back to London, Hermione would not be joining the general congregation of students. Her parents had informed her their flight to Zurich had been rescheduled to an earlier hour, and they would be unable to pick Hermione up from King's Cross. Hermione had inquired to Professor McGonagall about a solution, and she had been granted special deposition for a personal escort home by Professor Babbling. She had to ponder, as she dressed, how Professors Babbling and McGonagall managed such a feat considering Umbridge had to approve all travel arrangements for students. Bitterly, Hermione had half expected Umbridge to deny the request outright and force her to remain at the castle alone, just as a way to punish the Mudblood further. Regardless of reasoning, her early escort provided a secondary justification that she did not have to interact with anyone else, especially her friends.

A twinge of guilt shot through her stomach as she considered how she had left things with Harry last night. She had not meant to be so combative, but between Umbridge's words still hovering in her mind and the pain in her hand, she had admittedly lost control of herself. Harry had just been trying to help, but her wounded pride had demanded she erupt into a harangue about the insecurities she felt. The confused and hurt expression on her best friend's face fluttered from its place within her organized mind palace, and she inwardly cringed. She would need to apologize to Harry when she saw him next.

Ron had taken a completely different approach from what she had come to expect, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it yet. He hadn't said a word, hadn't risen to the bait of an argument, just retrieved the murtlap essence and plunged her hand in it. The look they had shared… it had been an intense connection, and she had demurely not fought against it until Ron left. She would analyze that look and the emotions it evoked in her later. Right now, she needed to get her trunk and head for Professor Babbling's office.

Levitating her trunk down the dorm staircase, Hermione quietly left Gryffindor Tower, cancelling her levitation spell once she was in the corridors. She was not going to risk any more detentions being added onto what she would endure once term resumed. She hoped her friends would not be too out of sorts when they awoke later to find her already gone. McGonagall had assured her that they would be informed of her departure.

Hogwarts was forlornly silent. The Toad had done her best to quash any sort of spirit within the castle, and the lack of Christmas decorations was unnerving as she compared the image in her head of what Hogwarts should be to what it was now. She encountered not a soul in her descent to the fifth floor, giving her the chance to reflect and internalize her thoughts for later analysis.

Knocking politely on her favorite professor's office, she did not have long to wait before the door opened of its own accord and she stepped through the warded entrance, making sure her trunk did not scrap against the threshold.

"I'll be right with you, Hermione," Professor Babbling said from her position leaning over her desk. A quick glance of the Runes professor's posture, the slight fidgeting of her right hand from excitement, the absorbed expression on her face as she traced a map, told Hermione the professor was keen to commence her holiday. Curiosity getting the better of her, she quietly walked over to observe the chart Professor Babbling was studying. The professor seemed to be marking seemingly random spots on the map with her stele, drawing thin lines between different points. Hermione immediately recognized Stonehenge as one point, prompting a conclusion that Professor Babbling was mapping a hypothetical network of the mana fountains.

"This point would be here, professor," she said, unable to stop herself from chiming in as she pointed at one marking in France and then to where she suspected was the actual location. "The direction of the flow from the Stonehenge chamber would suggest there is a similar nexus point at Mont-Saint-Michel and then a line running towards Carnac. Hypothetically."

Professor Babbling blinked in surprise before giving Hermione a small smile that was filled with pride for her pupil. After last night, it was a welcome sight for the Gryffindor.

"Thank you, Hermione," Babbling said, correcting the map. "I think it's coming along nicely, but my memory is clearly not as good as yours. Hopefully, a few more expeditions and we can create a full map of these chambers and their connections. I find the placement curious, and its immensely aggravating that I can't see the pattern of why these locations yet."

"I meant to ask, professor, but how did you and Professor McGonagall convince Umbridge?" Hermione asked as Babbling rolled up her chart carefully. She also did not award the honorific of 'professor' to the High Inquisitor, as the portly woman had no such claim to that title in Hermione's opinion.

"She was going to deny Minerva outright, even before she got her question out," Babbling answered. "I stepped in and said we wanted permission to escort an unruly student home, that she might be a disruptive element on the Hogwarts Express. Well, you can imagine what Dolores thought."

Yes, Hermione could mentally picture the horrid woman rubbing her hands in glee, her wide evil grin forming on her paunchy face.

"She agreed in writing even before we told her who the student was," Babbling continued, taking the rolled-up map and placing it within her desk. "Once we told her it was you, well, she wasn't thrilled."

Hermione's mental projection of Umbridge suddenly wilted in anger, throwing a tantrum that she had just given a special permission to one of the thorns in her side. She couldn't help the small grin that formed at the image.

"She refused to allow a Floo connection to your home, so we will have to go to the Leaky Cauldron first and then to your house, which I… still don't know the address for," Babbling finished saying, giving her pupil an embarrassed look at her lack of information. Hermione was curious about that. Hogwarts would have her home address, but perhaps Umbridge was blocking access to those records to spite them?

"That's fine, professor," Hermione replied brightly. "Shall we go? My parents will be expecting us soon."

"Yes, of course," Babbling said. "I've been looking forward to meeting the parents of my assistant, and there was something I was hoping to ask them." Hermione tilted her head in curiosity, but Professor Babbling waved off her unasked question. "When we get to your home, dear."

Following her professor into her private quarters, an opportunity that Hermione had not previously been afforded, she was surprised by the minimalist aesthetic. The professor had opted for few personal effects besides a few trinkets she had picked up from her travels. Above the fireplace, where a fire was dancing merrily, there were two photos that showed Babbling posing with Blakely and her team, but nothing to indicate closeness with her family or even evidence of said familial connections. A door off to the side had to be her private lavatory. If it wasn't for the bed and the opened wardrobe filled with clothes, she would almost think no one lived in here. Hermione had expected… well she expected her favorite professor's quarters to be much like her office; filled to the brim with books and artifacts she had acquired.

"I'm constantly on the move from one expedition to another so I don't keep much here," Babbling said, shocking Hermione out of her observation with a knowing look. "My poor flat on the other hand…"

Hermione chuckled at the sheepish expression on Babbling's face. Taking a pinch of powder from the pot on the mantelpiece, she threw it into the fire and called out her destination. Professor Babbling took her trunk and Hermione stepped into the whirling maelstrom of green flames. Counting silently, her eyes closed against the jumble of flames and fireplaces, she threw her hands out just as she reached the count of twenty-three.

She luckily did not suffer as Harry usually did when he used the Floo Network, emerging on her feet and relatively on balance. A quick shake of her clothes removed the soot and she quickly stepped aside as Babbling appeared from the fireplace, Hermione's trunk not visible for a moment until the professor removed a matchbox from her pocket and canceled the Shrinking Charm. The Leaky Cauldron was mostly empty, with only Tom and one patron at the bar.

"Morning Bathsheda!" the innkeeper called out.

"Good morning Tom," she replied, ushering Hermione along. "Would love to stay and chat, but on official business." The barkeep nodded and went back to talking with the man at the bar. Tawny hair, weepy blue eyes, tobacco stained fingers, creases in robes that hadn't been laundered in two days. A slight twitch to grip a slightly discolored band of skin on his ring finger. She could conclude the man had been living at the Leaky Cauldron for at least forty-eight hours, likely kicked out of his home for an indiscretion. Whether he had left his wedding band behind or removed it upon his arrival she couldn't quite tell. Exiting the inn onto Charing Cross Road, Babbling looked back at Hermione.

"So, where are we going, Hermione?" the professor asked.

At the moment of revealing her address, Hermione flushed a little. She hadn't really told anyone where she lived because she didn't want to be judged for… being of a certain class. Her parents were very successful dentists after all.

"Hampstead, on the corner of Heathgate and Meadway," Hermione answered bashfully.

Babbling blinked several times rapidly, surprise forming on her face.

"Hampstead, as in one-of-the-most-affluent-neighborhoods-in-all-of-London Hampstead," Babbling said, receiving a nod from her student. Hermione had never told her friends where she lived exactly because she didn't want people to know about how well off her family was. She had seen how students would try to befriend the purebloods just so they could be close to such wealth, and Hermione had never wanted that. Offering her arm, Hermione cringing at the thought of Apparation, the professor added, "You're just full of surprises, Hermione."

A moment of feeling like a tube of toothpaste later, Hermione and Babbling appeared on the street corner in front of her house. Much like the other houses on the street, the Granger household was an older style two-story brick house. Snow had fallen last night apparently, giving the house a light frosting on the windows and roof and making it appear like a gingerbread house. Down the road, St. Judes Church was prevalent, a landmark for the community.

Hermione took the lead, lifting the latch to the garden path gate and pushing it open for her and the professor. Excitedly, she dragged her trunk up neat little path that was her father's project every summer. One of her parents must have seen them coming up the walk as the door was opened just as Hermione was going to ring the bell, her father sweeping her into a hug.

"Dad!" she exclaimed, returning the hug. Rory Granger was a tall and thin man with reddish brown hair that was thinning slightly in the front. His brown eyes sparkled as he set his daughter down.

"Your father has missed you terribly," her mother said, coming to the door. Hermione rushed over and gave her a hug as well. Her mother was also on the thinner side, slightly shorter than her father, but her hair was a much darker brown that had evened out Hermione's own bushy mane from being her father's lighter color. Amanda Jane Granger's green eyes shifted to look at the Hogwarts professor that was standing behind her daughter, a look that Hermione did not miss.

"Mum, Dad," Hermione said, breaking the embrace, "this is Professor Babbling. Professor Babbling, this my mum and dad, Amanda Jane and Rory Granger."

"It's a pleasure to meet the parents of such a gifted young woman," Professor Babbling said, shaking their hands. "You must be very proud of her."

"Immensely, but come in, come in," Mr. Granger said, gesturing for Professor Babbling to follow his family inside. "Cold out here, weatherman said snow was on the way again." The Grangers led Professor Babbling into the sitting room, Mr. Granger dragging Hermione's trunk behind him. Hermione observed as her professor took in the rather ordinary, yet well-adorned home, from the lightly painted walls to the modern style furniture, to the pictures of Hermione and her parents on the mantle and walls. The sitting room window had the curtains pulled back, allowing the rising winter sunlight to stream through into the house.

"Hermione, go up and pack your bags," Mrs. Granger said. "We've only got a short time before we need to leave for the airport."

"Right," Hermione said, glancing at the Runes Professor as she studied some of the dentistry books on her parents' bookshelf, an expression of intense curiosity on her face. Heading towards the staircase, she clearly heard her mother say, "Would you care for some tea, Professor?"

Her room was much as she had left it before traveling to Grimmauld Place the past summer. Neatly organized, it was a reflection of her desire to keep her environment in sync with her mind palace's level of orderliness. The bed was firmly pressed, her curtains drawn back much like the sitting room window to allow sun in. Pictures of her friends were pinned to corkboard mounted on the wall, their smiling faces and waving forms bringing a soft but guilty feeling smile to her face. Books were arranged in proper order, but Hermione didn't even glance at them. She had them all memorized.

It took her mere moments to pack away her skiing gear and clothes for the trip abroad. Her prior arrangement of her possessions made bundling absurdly easy. One suitcase was precisely packed, not an inch of space wasted. Toiletries, check. Clothes and undergarments, check. Goggles and gloves, check. Coat, check. She considered if she would need anything else, but she supposed the hotel would provide anything missing. Extending the handle of her suitcase, she trundled it out into the hallway, but paused before descending as her parents' and Babbling's voices floated up towards her.

"I wanted to discuss something with the two of you," Babbling was saying. "There is a field research expedition I am undertaking and I would absolutely love to have Hermione come along. She has been an absolutely fantastic teaching assistant and it would be a great learning opportunity for her."

"When would this be?" her father's voice asked.

"Well… that is the rub. It would actually be starting today," Babbling replied. "It would be perfectly safe, especially for such a talented witch that is far beyond her peers in her studies."

Hermione's grin grew as her brain pieced together that the Ratatoskr must have found the artifact the Department of Mysteries desired, and Professor Babbling wasn't wasting any time on retrieving it.

"But we've only seen her for a few minutes," her mother's voice said.

She could picture the reluctance of her parents, how their bodies would be set just by their voices. Her father would be shifting uneasily on the couch, running his hand through his hair in a show of unease. Her mother would be harder to read, but not impossible. Amanda Granger's eyes were the easiest way to read her, and they would be narrowed ever so slightly, the skin on the edges pulled taut.

"I know, and I'm sorry for bringing it up so suddenly," Babbling said, her voice laced with an apologetic tone. "But she is truly one of the best assistants I've ever had."

Hermione allowed herself a moment to soak in the praise, internalizing it. At least Professor Babbling wasn't so quiet about expressing her opinions on her pupil, unlike Kemper. It was quite delightful that her professor was sharing those opinions with her parents, but she would need to intervene and cajole them into agreeing to let her travel elsewhere. Carrying her suitcase downstairs, she wheeled it into the sitting room. She hid a smile, not disappointed by the scene in front of her.

Professor Babbling was seated across her parents, a cup of tea in front of her. Her father was fidgeting, a hand coming back down to his lap, and her mother had her arms folded, resistance in her posture, and her eyes were exactly as she expected.

"All packed," she exclaimed.

"Oh, that was rather quick," Mrs. Granger said, surprised. "Hermione, Professor Babbling was just mentioning some of the work you've been helping her with. She actually just asked us if we might let you travel with her to a field site today."

"Really?" Hermione asked, allowing her excitement to blossom. "Where to, professor?"

"Germany, Dresden to be more precise," Babbling replied over her shoulder. "Blakely and the rest of the team left yesterday to get our forward camp ready, make sure supply arrangements are still ironclad."

"Who is funding your expedition, if I might ask?" Mr. Granger asked.

"The Ministry through the Department of Mysteries," she explained. "I occasionally contract out with them to study locations or retrieve artifacts for them to examine."

The answer seemed to placate some of her father's worries, soothed by the idea that the Ministry provided sufficient funding and it wasn't some scrapped together operation. Her mother seemed also mollified to a degree, although Hermione couldn't exactly tell why. Her mother, at Hermione's urging, had taken a subscription with the Daily Prophet,and she would know about the derogatory articles and rampant corruption in the wizarding world's government. Perhaps her mother was more relaxed about the Department's involvement because the Department of Mysteries was never mentioned in support of Fudge.

"I still would rather she come to Switzerland with us," Mr. Granger said, his wife nodding next to him. "We don't see you nearly enough, my Little Melody."

"Dad!" Hermione exclaimed, rolling her eyes and coloring in embarrassment.

"But your voice is like…" he started to say, but Hermione interrupted him.

"Music to your ears, yeah Dad, I know," Hermione sighed. Mrs. Granger was covering a smile, while Professor Babbling looked amused. Wanting to save herself from further embarrassment, and divert the conversation back on course, Hermione cleared her throat.

"Can I suggest a compromise?" Hermione proposed. "I can't imagine the work in Dresden will take more than a few days. Professor Babbling could take me to the resort in Zurich after we finish."

"No more than a day or two and she'll be skiing in the Alps with you," Professor Babbling confirmed.

"Well…" Mrs. Granger started, hesitating, weighing her words carefully if Hermione's observations were correct. There was the obvious conflict between wanting to spend time with her daughter and allowing her to flourish in intellectual pursuits. Her mentor's commendation was weighing heavily into the consideration; her mother was likely immensely pleased at her daughter's progress and success. Hermione could see the conclusion in her mother's eyes long before the words formed, and she had to struggle to keep the grin from forming. "If it won't be more than a day or two, then I don't see why you can't go, dear."

Hermione grinned ecstatically as her father, halfheartedly, nodded in agreement with his wife. The thought of accompanying the Runes professor in retrieving this mysterious artifact for the Department of Mysteries was spine-tinglingly exciting for the bushy haired Gryffindor.

"I suppose we'll just get a refund for your ticket out… but the very least you can do is see us off at the airport," Mr. Granger chimed in, "which we need to be leaving for soon. Heathrow is always hell to find a parking spot. Professor Babbling, as you are taking Hermione with you, you are welcome to come along with us to the airport."

"Really?" Professor Babbling asked, and Hermione had to struggle not to laugh. It would seem her professor was not immune to fascination with the Muggle world that Mr. Weasley embraced so heartily, especially when it came to air travel. "And please, call me Bathsheda."

"Of course, Bathsheda," Mrs. Granger replied.

Professor Babbling, possibly feeling some guilt for stealing Hermione away from her parents for a few days of break, insisted upon helping the Grangers finish up their packing and loading their sedan. The fascinated look never left the professor's face as she helped the Grangers, her inquisitiveness partially slowing the process when Hermione or one of her parents had to explain what something was. It seemed any questions she had put off on their arrival could no longer be contained. With her parents in the front seat and the young Gryffindor squeezing into the back seat with her professor, the four of them drove away from the Granger's house.

"I have to say your car is much nicer than any of the Ministry ones," Babbling commented. The professor kept glancing at the various sights as the car drove through London.

"The Ministry of Magic has cars?" Mr. Granger asked, surprise and amusement in his voice.

"From maybe the turn of the century," Babbling laughed. "I'm sure Hermione has mentioned how slow the wizarding world is in modernizing. The purebloods in power are loathe to relinquish any of their traditions."

"Hence your fascination with everything," Mrs. Granger laughed.

"My mother was Muggle-born, but father was a pureblood and insisted we keep contact with the Muggle world limited," Babbling admitted. "So, even with all my travels, it's always so… so…"

"Overwhelming?" Hermione provided.

"That works," Babbling said, shrugging. Her eyes immediately grew wide as they neared the airport and she spotted a large passenger plane coming in for a landing at a runway. The Grangers couldn't help but laugh as the Runes professor exclaimed, "That thing is bigger than a dragon!" Unloading the car, Mr. Granger handed the keys to the valet, and the small group made their way to the ticket counter and baggage check-in.

Even at the early hour, Heathrow was bustling with people arriving from trips or preparing to depart on their own. There were so many Muggles passing by that any normal bystander might lose focus, but Hermione couldn't help but to take it all in, analyzing every detail and determining where each person was headed. Professor Babbling stood off slightly to give the Grangers some personal space to say goodbye, looking with mild interest at the newsstand.

"Be good, my Little Melody," Rory Granger said, hugging Hermione.

"Dad," she sighed, but returning the hug.

"We'll see you in a few days then," Amanda added, taking her daughter in her arms next. "Bathsheda." Professor Babbling turned away from the article she had been reading. "Take care of her."

"Of course, Amanda," Professor Babbling replied. "I would never let anything befall my prize pupil."

"Then she's all yours," she said with a kind smile. Hermione waved as her parents passed through the security checkpoint, leaving herself and the Runes professor in the busy main thoroughfare.

"We should be off ourselves," Professor Babbling said. "We need to head to the Ministry to arrange an international Portkey." Hermione groaned, knowing that meant more Apparation, and earned an apologetic look from her mentor. "I know it's unpleasant, but I… don't have any pounds and can't arrange a taxi ride."

"We could always take the Knight Bus," Hermione suggested.

"I suppose we could, but I'm not particularly a fan of that accursed thing," Professor Babbling grumbled. "Never breathe a word of this to anyone, but when I was a little girl, my parents took me on a day trip to Hogsmeade via the Knight Bus. I was thoroughly enjoying all the bangs and hairpin turns until we stopped at… oh where was it again… um, Abergavenny. Some witch was getting off there, and I assume she had motion sickness. She vomited. Well the conductor didn't clean up all that well, so when the bus took off, I flipped out of my chair and landed right in the… sick."

Hermione made a face at the thought. She could of course sympathize with Professor Babbling's aversion to the careening wizarding bus if she had an experience such as that.

"Ever since, I avoid that thing like it's Dragon Pox," Babbling concluded. "Apparation might have its drawbacks, but it's quick, and as you get used to it, the chance of nausea lessens."

"Very well," Hermione said, taking her professor's arm as they navigated through the airport to a quiet corner. Hermione's eyes darted around as she led the way, taking in everything and trying to locate a cadence to the flow of the crowd to determine somewhere they could disappear unseen. Professor Babbling seemed eager to leave. She wasn't stopping to be fascinated by some sight or other the way she had on the way in. Instead she seemed strictly focused on their objective. Locating a washroom, the two ducked inside. They busied themselves at the sinks while waiting for the room to clear. A particularly rotund woman with a jowly face and hints of a mustache was grumbling to herself about suing the airport for not allowing her dogs inside as she furiously dried her hands and stomped out.

"I am almost certain that was Harry's Aunt Marge," Hermione muttered once the unpleasant woman left. "She looked and acted very much like his uncle."

"Holiday travel plans, perhaps," Professor Babbling said, holding her hands under an automated fan. The sound kicked in, and Hermione realized her professor was using the loud whirring of the motor as a cover for…. With a crack, the two of them Apparated away.

One feeling of being squeezed out of a tube of glue later, and a passing moment to catch her breath and keep her stomach settled, and Hermione and Babbling stood before the designated spot Ministry employees used to arrive outside the public entrance to their place of employment.

"Ever been to the Ministry, Hermione?" Babbling asked.

"No, never," she answered.

"Well you won't be able to say that after today," Babbling replied, handing Hermione a golden token with the crest of the Ministry of Magic engraved upon it. She curiously turned it over in her hands as they exited the Apparation point and turned down an alleyway she recognized as being in Whitehall. The token was weighted near to a Sickle, but besides that, she could not detect anything outstanding about it. Did one need the token to enter the Ministry? If so, she found that rather odd. Then again, perhaps that was why the visitor's entrance existed.

Bathsheda opened a non-descript door in the next building and beckoned her student inside.

"A toilet?" she asked, raising a brow at what seemed to be a completely ordinary public toilet. There was a tarnished mirror, a paneled ceiling with one light flickering, worn stalls with grungy brass handles, even a rubbish bin.

"Inconspicuous, and if a Muggle finds it, they won't think twice about it," Professor Babbling laughed. "Just head towards one of the stalls, insert the token, step into the toilet, and flush. I'll see you in the Atrium."

Babbling was still chuckling silently as she entered a separate stall, judging by the way her shoulders were rising and falling, as Hermione stared after her mentor, flabbergasted, brows raised and lips parted slightly in a stifled protest. Well, she was certain the Runes teacher wouldn't lead her astray for a joke. She hoped. Tentatively, she inserted the coin into the door of the nearest stall. The door clicked open and Hermione stepped inside. The sound of flushing from another stall prompted her to, with a barely concealed disgust, step into the toilet bowl and pull the chain.

After zooming down a short chute, Hermione stumbled out of a fireplace in the Ministry's Atrium. Even in these few initial seconds, her gaze captured every detail. It was mostly black marble that was recently cleaned, but a spot had been missed. The fireplace she emerged from had a few chips in the right corner, and a skid mark that indicated someone exited forcefully. The details of the Atrium didn't interest her however. She was more interested in logging away the people within her mind palace, as few as they may be. The Daily Prophet merchant pocketing two coins he had just been paid, the coworkers who walked a touch closer together than was required in a professional relationship, the way eyes squinted or subtle steps were taken to avoid someone that was disliked. Snatches of conversation entered her ears; her mental self jotted everything down to analyze later.

Her eyes narrowed as they looked upon the fountain that espoused nothing but hypocrisy. Magical creatures all possessed different abilities, but they were not subservient to wizards as the golden figures gazing up adoringly at the humans might suggest. Centaurs were far more attuned to the workings of time and fate, reading the past and the future better than any wizard or witch. Goblins dealt with the earth; they understood the workings of stone and metal, and they were fine craftsmen. They had magic of their own, though they manipulated it in such ways that even she would never understand. Then there was a house elf, there at the bottom of the fountain. House elves were powerful creatures, loyal, dependable, and capable of wandless and often wordless magic that it took wizards years to master. She wondered, for a moment, if one day the Empowered, like her, would be sculpted as such, working as servants to their "normal" overlords.

Beyond the fountain, however, was an even more eye-catching display of arrogance. Banners hanging at intervals along the black marble walls reminded her of the posters of Viktor from the Quidditch World Cup. The image of Fudge, looming large on his drapery, almost made her laugh at such an obvious attempt to appear more powerful and in control than he was. Forget about the earlier years of Fudge's term in office, this had been thrown up within the last six months, if not less. Such a display of ego only suggested compensation for a problem, an insecurity that required a front of verboseness, or an arrogance implying that he was better than those that walked the Atrium underneath.

"Done yet?" Babbling's voice called. Hermione gave a sheepish grin at her professor, not at all surprised that her mentor, and fellow specially endowed person, caught her studying the Ministry and its employees.

"I had thought there would be more people here," Hermione said.

"Normally there is at this time, but the Ministry is closing for the holidays," Babbling explained as the two of them went to the security desk. "We're looking at the unfortunate souls that got called in to be the skeleton crew to keep the place running for the day."

Hermione tilted her head as three Aurors trooped their way past, quickly entering a lift beyond the security desk. The lift was cordoned off with blue lines of energy, clearly some sort of spell not unlike the Muggle police's caution tape. Had something happened wherever that lift led? She noted Professor Babbling was glancing that way too, a frown appearing on the edges of her mouth.

"Where does that go?" Hermione asked.

"That's the primary lift to the courtrooms and the Department of Mysteries," Babbling answered, even as she presented her wand to the security wizard. Hermione followed suit, receiving a gruff appraisal from the security wizard before her wand was shoved back into her hands. She wanted to comment on the rudeness, but Babbling simply shrugged and led the way to one of the lifts.

"We want Level Six for the Department of Magical Transportation," Babbling said, allowing Hermione to press the appropriate button. Even in this elevator, the button for floor level 9 was crossed out with a blue energy X. With a clanging sound and janky motion, the lift began to move.

"Why did they have the Department of Mysteries cordoned off, professor?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not sure," Babbling answered. "The Order had people on guard last night. Maybe the Death Eaters tried to break in and there was a fight? Or it could even be something got loose from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes; that happens more often than not. Who can say?"

Hermione retreated into her mind palace, not speaking as she processed the available information and produced several theories for herself on what the mystery could be. There were too many gaps in her information to form a hypothesis, to her irritation. Professor Babbling looked thoughtful and didn't question her silence, perhaps analyzing the enigma herself.

"Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparation Testing Centre," a cool female voice announced as the lift stopped and the grate opened. Hermione followed along as Professor Babbling led the way into the Portkey Office.

The office was mostly deserted, the cubicles silent even as paper airplanes flew from above to land on desks. There was a desk, unmanned at the moment, that Hermione supposed was where one logged in for a Portkey within Britain. Professor Babbling gestured for Hermione to follow her down a hallway to a door labeled International Portkey Registration Office.

Hermione had been unsure what to expect from the Ministry sub-agency in charge of organizing Portkeys to international locations, but she had not anticipated it appearing much like the Muggle airport they had departed earlier. A long line of counters ran along the wall to the right like a check-in counter, a flag for each destination country hanging behind it, although Hermione noticed that some major cities, such as New York, Paris, and Tokyo, also had their own stations. The area to their left was open, but she noted the large red circles that had to be arrival zones for those arriving from abroad or departing.

Most of the counters were empty, but behind the one for Germany, a wizard that looked half asleep was leaning on the counter. Hermione blinked, examining the man. Droopy mustache that was slightly disheveled, bloodshot eyes, slight twitch in left hand. Robes creased and frumpy, indicative of at least two days, perhaps three days, wearing. Thin layer of dust caked under fingernails, color suggesting a floor in… southeastern England. Poor man had been sleeping rough. Though, why he would when he had a decent position in the ministry was questionable at best.

"Bathsheda Babbling and a student for the Portkey to Berlin," the Runes professor announced. "The Department of Mysteries should have forwarded the request." The Portkey wizard took three seconds longer to respond than he should have, if Hermione's calculations and observations were correct.

"Finally! Yer the only scheduled departure," the man slurred. "Hold on." He started rummaging under the desk, grumbling about having to come into work when it should have been his day off. Hermione was near certain the man's idea of relaxing on his day off was getting completely inebriated. She had to conceal a grin at Professor Babbling's obvious distaste as the man pulled a plate out.

"Take this to the departure circle and it will activate five seconds later," the wizard instructed. "Now maybe I can go home."

"Well have a good day," Babbling replied stiffly, taking the plate. Hermione dutifully stepped into the circle with her teacher, taking a hold of the Portkey. She felt the familiar hook behind her navel as the spell activated and they were whisked away. Hermione had anticipated the tornado of sound, wind, and colors to be intensified because of the international travel. However, the transit was less tempestuous than a normal Portkey. The winds were a gentle breeze, the whirling landscape calm. With a gentle bump, her feet landed within the confines of a blue circle.

"Why wasn't that as chaotic as a normal Portkey?" Hermione asked.

"International Portkeys have an enhanced version of the spell placed on them," Professor Babbling explained, taking the used up plate to the arrival counter. Unlike the British Ministry, the German International Portkey Registration Office was as busy as any Muggle airport, wizards and witches coming and going from the transit circles. She could hardly make out their arrival point through the crowds, now that they were in the flow headed outward. There was a different feel to the travelers here as well. A sense of greater ease and holiday spirit seemed to linger here, unlike any wizarding gathering in Britain. Or perhaps that was simply Hermione's knowledge of the coming war talking.

"I believe it has something to do with the departure circles, some sort of stabilizing effect," Babbling continued, not picking up on the fact Hermione had been observing their surroundings. Unlike the British Ministry that favored dark marble, the walls of even this part of the German Ministry were a smooth white-grey stone. The German wizards and witches behind the destination desks were garbed in uniformed robes of red and goldenrod, a pin on their lapels denoting their department Hermione assumed.

"Hermione," Babbling called, and with a sheepish grin, she looked back at the archeologist.

"Sorry, professor," she said.

"Quite alright, it's always a different experience traveling to a new Ministry," Babbling said, guiding Hermione through the crowd. As they navigated through the Portkey Office, she started a small lecture on the German Ministry. "We are actually in the lower levels of the Charlottenburg Palace, built at the end of the 17th century, although this actually is the second home for the German Ministry. The original was a nondescript castle just south of the city, but after World War II, they needed more space."

"Don't Muggles tour the palace though?" Hermione asked.

"On occasion, although the Ministry workers are usually given fair warning when a tour is coming," Babbling stated. "If I remember correctly, their counterpart to the Department of Mysteries figured out how to have the rooms exist in two different points in space-time. Muggles don't even realize that when they step inside, they are basically walking around a copy of the palace. It's very impressive magic. Only someone who does so regularly would notice the change when their watches and other timepieces gradually fall further and further out of sync with local clocks."

Hermione had to agree, impressed and intrigued by the sort of spells and enchantments that could accomplish such an effect. As she contemplated, forming her theory on a foundation of her current knowledge of magic and extrapolating, she accidentally bumped into a young woman.

"Sorry!" Hermione exclaimed. The body she collided with seemed familiar, and she paused to get a better look. "Morgan?"

The former German Tournament of Merlin champion was wearing casual traveling robes of a dark blue bordered with icy white cloth that shimmered under the bright ministry lights. A dark cloak draped around her shoulders for warmth in the German winter, but it was pushed back now that she was inside. A crossbody muggle backpack was looped around one shoulder while a wizarding bag that seemed to be made of all pockets draped off the other, crisscrossing her body with straps. Over both she wore a sling that tucked a bundle close to her chest. Her left hand, clutching her wand, had come up to cradle the bundle when they bumped into each other. The other clutched at the bag-of-many-pockets.

Hermione was somewhat startled when Morgan turned to meet her gaze. The once rich, hazel eyes of the German witch had turned a chilling blue-white. She was immediately reminded of the blank stares of the blind, except that her pupils stood out in sharp contrast to the brightness, very much aware and alert. They were, perhaps, more akin to polar ice caps. Additionally, the young woman's beautiful curls, much like Hermione's own, seemed to have darkened to a dull brown- though again, perhaps not. Her roots, likely unnoticed to anyone without the Gryffindor's special abilities, were growing in white, and a stray hair here and there seemed to have been missed with the dark dye.

"Hermione," the German witch replied, her tone clipped and short. She shifted sideways as though considering running off. If Hermione didn't know any better, she looked… flustered. Hunted. Those unsettling blue-white eyes were darting around at every face that passed them.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked. A small hand appeared from the sling, revealing what Morgan was keeping close. It also clued her in to what might be in the muggle bag- it was a diaper bag. "And with a baby?"

"Traveling, and babysitting meine sister," Morgan answered evasively, still looking around. "Just for now." Her eyes alighted on the figure of Professor Babbling coming over to them, narrowing with suspicion. Hermione assumed her mentor hadn't even realized she stopped following as she had been in full history lecture mode about the Ministry. "Why are you here?"

"I'm helping Professor Babbling with a project," Hermione answered. "You remember her right? Hogwarts Ancient Runes Professor?"

"Ich kenne," Morgan answered succinctly. "Professor."

"Frauline Bradt," Professor Babbling greeted, smiling at the German witch. "It's a pleasure to see you again. Is your mother around?"

"Somewhere," Morgan said.

"Who's your mother?" Hermione asked.

"She's the Professor of Mysticism at Heidelberg," Babbling explained. "Ceilia Stürmer. We worked together the last time I was in Germany."

"Mysticism?" She glanced between the two women.

"You call it Charms," Morgan answered. Her blue-white eyes drifted towards the clock above the departure desks. "I must be going. We are visiting relatives in Irland und ich… we cannot miss our Portschlüssel. Auf Wiedersehen." And without a look back, the German witch disappeared into the crowd.

"Abrupt as always," Hermione sighed, looking up at her professor. Babbling had a thoughtful gaze as she continued staring off to where Morgan had headed. "Professor?"

"I'm curious as to why her mother wasn't with her, but it's not our place to pry," Babbling shrugged. "I would hardly expect Frau Stürmer to leave her child of less than a year with her sister in a place like this. Still, we have our own business to attend to. Come along, Hermione."

The pair exited the German Portkey office, weaving their way through the Ministry until they were out in the gardens that surrounded the palace. Hermione noted runes etched into the doorway, almost invisible to the naked, untrained eye, that likely fueled whatever enchantments her professor had mentioned. As if to prove how it worked, two Muggle tourists wandered past them and through the door, but there were no sounds of surprise at seeing a busy government at work. She wondered if the Ministry maintained the grounds. Everything was completely immaculate, with a couple of spots that were obscured from sight she postulated could be used as Apparation points.

Once they were behind some trees and bushes, and hidden from prying Muggle eyes, Professor Babbling took her hand with an apologetic look. Hermione braced herself for what was coming, her nose crinkling as they Apparated. The compression sensation lasted longer than before, and Hermione was almost starting to panic that maybe they had splinched or been trapped mid-Apparation, but eventually the feeling relaxed and they reappeared in the living room of a rather spacious apartment.

"Welcome to our base camp," Professor Babbling announced, once Hermione took a moment to collect herself. "We had to spring for a magical apartment because the team was going to mutiny if they had to camp in tents again without proper beds." The sound of their reappearance must have alerted the rest of Babbling's team as three doors opened and several witches and wizards she remembered from the Stonehenge dig emerged. They greeted their boss respectfully but still with wide smiles, offering a cheerful "hello" to the young witch.

"Back with us again I see, Miss Granger," Daniel Fawley said, coming over to shake Hermione's hand. He hadn't changed much from Stonehenge, although Hermione detected a bit more strength behind his handshake.

"Well of course I could hardly refuse such a splendid offer from the professor," Hermione laughed. "Best way to start winter break."

"Let's get you settled in," Babbling said, cutting in. "You can socialize in a little bit." Daniel grinned and wandered off while his superior turned her about by the shoulder and sent her off down the hall. Hermione followed Babbling to one of the rooms that had been converted into a small dorm setting, complete with rows of bunks for the women and a small bathroom off to one side of the magically expanded space. Curiously, her mentor led her to a bed that already had a bag sitting on it.

"Professor Babbling, someone's satchel is already claiming this spot," Hermione said.

"You sure?" Babbling replied slyly. "Why don't you take a look at the bag?"

Humoring the professor, Hermione glanced at the name embroidered on the strap. Even with her enhanced senses and abilities of deduction, Hermione's brain took a moment to process that it was her own name spelled out in shimmering thread. As the sensation quickly passed, she raced over and opened the flap to find a full archaeological kit of the highest quality.

"Do you like it?" Babbling asked quietly.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, torn between wanting to stay professional and giving the Runes teacher a hug. "But how did you know I was going to want to come?"

"Because I know you," Babbling laughed. "Consider it an early Christmas present to my favorite pupil."

Hermione nodded, once more examining the bag and the equipment within. Strange runes she didn't recognize, possibly from the Old Religion, decorated the inside of her satchel. The equipment was similarly marked. Everything had been etched with the greatest attention to detail.

"Bathsheda," Blakely called from the doorway, leaning in from the hall. "There's a floo call for you. Someone named Mary Macdonald."

"Alright," Babbling said. "Why don't you mingle a bit, Hermione? Chat with some of our friends, catch up on our progress. I'll find you in a moment." She left the room, following the portly museum man down the hall and out of sight.

Hermione's curiosity immediately latched on to the latest interruption, but she held back from following her mentor and instead set about storing her belongings under the bed. Her mind teased at the mystery. Whatever Mary needed to share must hold some significance; international floo calls were quite difficult to arrange, since most countries operated on different networks. Mary was both a member of the Order and an employee at the ministry. Could her urgency be in regard to what they saw at the Ministry earlier this morning? Or was it about the search for Sirius? Her connection to Harry was a possibility as well, yet Hermione thought that would be unlikely. She had left early that morning, and surely her classmates were still on the Hogwarts Express.

Lost in thought, she wandered to the living room where the team was gathered. Daniel Fawley waved her over to sit next to him and two other witches. Everyone was idly chatting, some excitedly postulating about what they might recover from the mission, some swapping past excavation stories.

"Is it like this before every retrieval?" Hermione asked.

"Only when we get sent out by the Department," Daniel replied. "Every time they contract out the team and the professor, we always come across some very choice artifacts for study. And, usually, they aren't too dangerous. Well, besides some traps."

"It's when Bathsheda hears a rumor about an artifact of interest that we start to worry," one of the witches, who had been introduced to her as Ashley, laughed. "She always seems to draw us into some perilous adventure when we go treasure hunting."

"At least all the work over the past year and a half has actually been archaeological," the other witch nearby, Dalia, said. "I'm still not over getting that Aztec bloodstone out of Mexico."

"Don't forget all the trouble we went through to retrieve that Eye of the Phoenix bracelet," Daniel added. "Only time I've regretted us taking a retrieval contract with the Department."

Hermione was about to ask what sort of trouble they encountered, and just as importantly, what an Eye of the Phoenix was, when Professor Babbling returned. She immediately knew something was not right with the professor. Expression- melancholic, bordering on morbid, with a grim tightness to her lips and in the muscles of her neck. Her hair flared into a halo of fly-aways from the rush of the floo, but she hadn't noticed. Her right hand would inch up as though to cover her mouth and would be forced back down. Her eyes were glistening with restrained tears.

Whatever Mary had called about… it wasn't good.

"Hermione, can you come here?" she called. Her voice was strained, another symptom of holding back tears. Hermione rushed over to the professor, and the two were given a wide berth by the rest of the team.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"I… I don't even know how to begin this…" Babbling struggled to say. "Last night… Arthur Weasley was on guard duty outside the Department of Mysteries… and he was attacked by Voldemort's snake."

Hermione immediately felt the tight grasp of fear in her throat. A gasp escaped her, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Did he… I mean, is he okay?"

The ancient runes professor looked her in the eye for a moment, but couldn't hold it. Her weary glance dropped toward the floor. "He killed the snake, but… I'm so sorry Hermione. He passed away early this morning…." With the words spoken aloud, restrained tears started to slip from her eyes.

Hermione didn't even realize that she had moved until she found herself sobbing into her professor's shoulder, hugging the other woman close. Arthur Weasley didn't deserve to die- shouldn't have died. She had never been as close with the Weasley patriarch as even Harry had been, but he was one of the kindest men she had ever known and was father to some of her closest friends. A maelstrom of emotions assaulted her. Shock, horror, despair, emptiness… so many, and all of them negative. Arthur Weasley didn't deserve to die. Her mind palace presented her with images- The Weasleys together in Egypt, smiling out of a newspaper clipping; Mr. Weasley kissing his wife after a long day at work; his ministry work robes; the atrium at the Ministry with its golden lift gates; blue energy over the button for the ninth floor. She thought of her sneaky departure from Gryffindor tower just a few hours prior. There was no need for secrecy. If Mary had already known… the boys and Ginny had likely already been at St. Mungo's.

Her sobs quieted and she brushed at her tearstained cheeks, taking solace in the parade of simple facts. Mr. Arthur Weasley, leader of the red-headed clan and man of the house at the Burrow, her friend, was gone. As she pieced together the story in her mind, a level of calm fell over Hermione. She could cry all she wanted, she realized, but it wouldn't change what had happened. She had never argued with the facts before, so why start now?

"I would completely understand if you wanted to return to Britain to be with your friends," Professor Babbling said once Hermione was calm, pulling away from the embrace. "There will always be other opportunities to work on a retrieval. Smaller ones, and not sponsored by the Department, but we always have one field project going or another. That's not even including our secret work."

Hermione wanted to say yes, to be whisked immediately back to London, to inform her parents that she wouldn't be joining them in Switzerland. She could even imagine all of the Order and her friends gathered at Grimmauld Place, mourning the death of a good man, husband, and father. What was left of the emotional maelstrom was urging her to go, to share and help with the grief. Buried beneath that anguish was a quiet kindling of anger that Voldemort had destroyed the lives of so many people with one simple act.

She would have to do something about him, her logic reasoned. Emotion was all well and fine, but it wouldn't solve the problem.

"Professor… I…" she started say, trying to form words and to get her body caught up with her brain.

"No need to say anymore," Professor Babbling muttered. "I'll let your parents know and make all the arrangements. Your unique gifts would be invaluable, especially if there are traps waiting for us, and there's always strength in numbers for these sorts of retrievals, but I'll make sure you're back in England by lunchtime."

"No." Hermione interjected, shaking her head. "Professor, I… I can't go back now."

"What?" Professor Babbling gripped her shoulders and searched her expression, confused.

"Part of me… wants to leave," Hermione admitted, "but… there's nothing I can logically do. I will miss Mr. Weasley, terribly and for a long time, but going back to Grimmauld Place and moping will do nothing to stop this happening again. Helping you and the Department of Mysteries could have a tangible, objective influence on the balance of the war against Voldemort. It may not seem direct, but what we are studying may reveal secrets of magic that he has no knowledge of or access to. If we succeed, it might end all the sooner and no more families would be torn apart."

"Are you sure?" Babbling asked. "No one would blame you for wanting to be with your friends."

"I'm sure, professor," Hermione confirmed. She didn't mention it aloud, but helping with the retrieval would also give her something to do, something to keep pushing that sorrow deep down until she could analyze and accept it on her own terms.

"Well… let me know if you change your mind, dear," her mentor said, patting Hermione's shoulder comfortingly. She had to wonder if the archeologist was continuing the mission herself to also deal with her sadness at Arthur Weasley's passing, regardless of the pay from the Department of Mysteries. The few tears Bathsheda had shed were either dried or wiped away, and she put on a determined, focused, and calm demeanor as she turned back to the rest of the room.

Shakily, still wrestling her emotions into a mental vault to be locked away for now, Hermione followed the professor back to the rest of her team and settled herself back into her seat. Murmurs of condolences came from some members as she passed, and Daniel actually gave her a quick hug before turning his attention back to Babbling and Blakely.

Once all the members of the team had gathered, perched on various pieces of furniture around the large sitting room, Blakely called them to order. "Alright, so here is what we know," Professor Babbling said, launching into her briefing for the mission. She paused to clear the last tightness from her throat and shook her head, resetting into research mode. "After about a month or so of searching -and yes, Dalia I owe you lunch for how long he took- Ratatoskr located a magical signature matching our target artifact in a cemetery on the outskirts of Dresden. He wasn't able to pinpoint the actual resting place, however. Too many distractions."

"Well what do you expect from a squirrel, even a magically summoned one?" one team member asked to light laughter. Babbling broke into a little amused smile, but pressed on.

"Helena has requested we recover that artifact and any other finds we discover in this cache, and has agreed that we will have first opportunity to study them." Several of the veteran members muttered at this. Hermione read a bit of pleased surprised in their tones. "Blakely was kind enough to do some light reconnaissance before we all gathered here as well." Babbling gestured to her second-in-command.

"Ahem yes, well," the portly wizard said, covering a small cough. "During my strolls here, I cast a few detection charms and discovered a system of catacombs under the nearby cemetery that I doubt the Muggles even know exist. More likely, the cemetery was erected over a wizarding burial site, or even a treasure vault, and the entrance concealed in one of the tombs."

"We don't know where the entrance is or what to expect down there, so everyone is going to be working in pairs," Babbling said. "When you or your partner find the entrance to the catacombs, alert the rest of the team. Yelling, or Patronus if we are too spread out, is preferred as I don't want Muggles wondering why fireworks are flying up over a graveyard… and do please remember that this time Ronan."

A wizard with windswept black hair and a lean build flushed as the rest of the team chuckled. The wizard next to him clamped him on the back.

"Hermione," the professor continued, "I want you to be working with Daniel. While we're working the cemetery, I have special dispensation from the Department that allows you to use magic without reprisal."

"Of course, professor, thank you," Hermione replied. Daniel beamed at her, and she felt a flutter of pride lift up in her chest, restoring her excitement for this project.

"I expect there will be some identifying mark for wizards and witches to know where the entrance is, so keep your eyes peeled. Please make sure all your equipment is in your bags, stock up if you're missing anything. We'll head out once everyone is ready."

The briefing broke up and Hermione excitedly grabbed her archaeology bag from the makeshift dorm and was the first one ready to leave. The older wizards and witches lumbered around, at least to her heightened senses, taking their time to pack up. Unconsciously, her foot started tapping and she had to keep her mind from drifting to thoughts and memories of Mr. Weasley. Regrettably, she couldn't afford to be distracted. Entering her mind palace, she closed the door that represented the wing of her library devoted to memories of the Weasleys. She would reopen it when they had the artifact in hand and she had time to grieve.

It took ten excruciating minutes of waiting on her part before the rest of the team was all prepared for their transit. Daniel lightly took her arm, and, with a concealed sigh from Hermione, Side-Along Apparated them to the designated graveyard. Appearing with small pops behind some hedges to cloak their arrivals, the team trickled in by pairs. Professor Babbling and Blakely were the last to arrive, the older wizard taking a moment to curse under his breath, hopping on one foot.

"I told you not to go gambling and drinking last night with your old friends," Babbling scolded him good-naturedly. "What splinched?"

"Back heel of the left foot," he grumbled, tapping his wand to his boot. Hermione observed the left heel was missing, a few beads of blood clinging to the edges. With a muttered spell, the damage was repaired and the wizard gingerly put his foot back down. "Worse than pins and needles."

"Remember, keep your eyes and senses wide open," Babbling instructed the group. "We've got a lot of ground to cover."

The team began splitting up to cover every corner of the cemetery. Hermione and Daniel picked a path that none of the other team members had chosen and began wandering, examining every headstone and mausoleum. She was excited to use her new equipment, her dust brush in one hand as she squinted at a symbol she thought she recognized. Brushing away some of the dirt on the tombstone, she sighed in disappointment. Daniel wasn't faring any better. Her partner was wearing a pair of glasses that reminded her of Professor Trelawney's, magnifying his eyes to three times their normal size. He was focused on one of the statues along the path, his wand out as he mumbled under his breath.

"Anything?" she asked.

"Nothing," he grumbled, stowing his wand and glasses away.

The next hour was one of hopeful excitement and irritating disappointment as they first thought they discovered a clue before it then turned out to be scratches, natural wear, or a name of a Muggle family that had faded from lack of maintenance. Hermione paused between two mausoleums as she pondered. Her structured mind always had a reason for the wording choices she used, whether that was convenience, accuracy, or complexity. Why was "maintenance" the first one to come to mind? Why not "care" or "groundskeeping"? Why wasn't this graveyard being maintained? She knew caretakers were supposed to patrol the yard and repair such damages for the families of the deceased. Perhaps… Taking out the stele that Professor Babbling had gifted to her, Hermione started drawing some runes in the air.

"Hermione?" Daniel queried, peering back at her over one shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"I think there's an enchantment over the graveyard, designed to confound anyone searching for the catacombs," Hermione said, double checking her handiwork before activating the runic spell. The runes flashed as she added her magic to them, and the effect was instantaneous. A very faint mist was illuminated by the magic of her spell, dissipating in the wake of the magic.

"How did you know?" Daniel asked in awe. "I didn't even realize we were under an enchantment."

"The gravestones haven't been touched," she explained. "A cemetery like this would have a groundskeeper to repair and maintain them, but if the groundskeeper was suffering from an enchantment meant to disorient, he wouldn't be able to keep up with his duties."

With the mist gone, Hermione was able to take in fresh details of the cemetery. Her eyes flickered around, taking in everything. Crumbling stone, names, dates, the grass, vines, scratches, etchings, 1956, 1743, Geboren… Gestorben, Tatiana, Frederich, Porter, Meiser, Für das Allgemeinwohl…. She paused. That phrase elicited a book from her mental shelves to fly to the forefront of her mind. Though she didn't understand the words as they were, a piecemeal translation revealed itself. "For the" followed by "all," presumably meaning exactly what it said, "gemein," meaning "common," and "wohl," which meant "well." For the All Common Well. For the All Common Well…ness. For the Wellness of All. For the Good of All….

For the Greater Good.

She knew that phrase. She blinked, zeroing in on that specific carving… and the symbol above the words.

"Send a Patronus to Professor Babbling," Hermione giddily. "I think I found it." She raced off as Daniel sent the message, winding her way between two small mausoleums to a larger one. Yes, she had not been mistaken. Above the phrase was the symbol which Viktor had explained was that of Gellert Grindelwald, a triangle with a circle contained within it with a line through the middle.

"Well done, Hermione!" Professor Babbling said, appearing from around the corner with Blakely huffing and puffing behind her. The rest of the team started to appear from the various areas of the graveyard, all of them showing newfound respect for the Gryffindor.

"Professor, the entrance to the catacombs is in here, but…" Hermione said, glancing up at the symbol again.

"Grindelwald's symbol," someone muttered darkly.

"The lost treasure vault," Blakely said, struggling for breath. His eyes crinkled into the heft of his round face, and his hands starting twitching excitedly. "Bathsheda, if we have actually found it… the artifacts we could find inside…"

"And the traps," she responded. The brunette witch eyed the building with grim determination. "Grindelwald or likely one of his followers already placed one enchantment on this place; there are likely more within and other obstacles besides. Dalia, Therin, Michael, stay up here. Everyone else, let's go." Hefting her own archeology pack, she stepped forward and ran a light touch over the door. A tap of her wand later and the doors creaked open, revealing a staircase that descended down into the earth.

"Who wants to go down the creepy dark tunnel inside the tomb first?" someone quipped quietly. Hermione couldn't see Professor Babbling's reaction from her position behind her, but she could imagine her mentor rolling her eyes. Lighting the tip of her wand with a quiet Lumos, their leader began a cautious descent down the stairs, prompting the rest of the team to follow suit.

The stairs were narrow stone ledges in questionable condition. They led deeper and deeper into the earth, following the stone brick tunnel that sloped around them. Dust muffled their footsteps, and long cobwebs hung in every corner. The crackle and flicker of firelit torches would hardly be out of place in an exploration such as this, Hermione thought passingly, and the bright, steady light of a lit wand actually seemed jarring. The darkness seemed to close in around them with every step. A horrible stench rose up as they continued walking, eventually discovering the source at the bottom of the stairs.

"Poor unfortunate souls that found the entrance?" a wizard asked, eying what appeared to be heavily decomposed remains, yet ones which could hardly have been decaying for any longer than a year or two.

"No," Babbling said, running her wand along one corpse. "Inferi, likely created by Grindelwald himself. When he died, the magic animating them died out too so they've resumed decomposing."

The staircase opened up in a decently sized room once they passed its morbid guards. They were standing in a small antechamber, a sealed door on the other side blocking further descent or access to the vault beyond. Aside from the rotting former Inferi, there was nothing in the room to suggest how to open the door. Blank stone walls surrounded them, with not even torches or magical lights to illuminate the place beyond their own spells. Professor Babbling walked over to the door, revealing a few lines of writing on it.

"Only those of superior mind, soul, and magic may pass beyond," she read aloud. "Those who attempt to force their way forward will meet their doom."

"Well that's not melodramatic or anything," Daniel muttered. Hermione elbowed him.

"Quite," Babbling said, glancing around at the walls and frowning. "It would seem we need to pass Grindelwald's tests to proceed." Hermione followed her gaze, noting the ever so slight yet regular scrapings at the corners and at the edge of the ceiling. She was eighty percent sure of the hypothesis that, if they forced the door, the ceiling would come down on them.

"Where are these tests then?" Blakely asked. As though his words carried magic of their own, two sections of the wall folded in on themselves like the entrance to Diagon Alley, revealing separate passageways. Hermione recognized the rune for "mind" above the left door, and the right passageway was marked with "soul."

"We split the work," Babbling decided. "Blakely, you're in charge of the completing the mind test. I'll take care of the soul test. We should split into two teams to increase our chances."

Hermione instantly gravitated towards her mentor, Daniel following along behind her. While she suspected the mind test would be fairly simple for her to solve, she was more intrigued by what might test one's soul. The rest of the team followed their respective test leaders down their chosen passages. Hermione frowned as she noticed some of the stones along the floor. Certain panels were ever so slightly different from their fellows. She couldn't pin point a reason for it; they weren't raised or marked in any way. Daniel was about to step on one.

"Wait!" she yelled, catching his arm and spinning him away. "Look at the floor."

Daniel's eyes widened as Professor Babbling tapped one of the offending stones and a dart the length of his arm shot out from a hidden compartment.

"Excellent catch," Babbling said, examining the projectile. "And very insidious. If the dart didn't kill you, it's coated in a poison I suspect to be Draught of Living Death. It would appear Grindelwald didn't even want the people taking his tests to succeed easily."

As they continued down the passage, cautiously avoiding the trigger stones, the professor used her stele to draw runes on each panel they passed. Hermione didn't recognize the symbol, but she could extrapolate that its effect had some sort of disabling effect for the triggers. She logged that away in her growing repertoire. At the end of the long hall, Daniel and another wizard pushed open a black, carved door marked with an arch of angular shapes around the outer edge and the hooded face of death in the middle.

The circular chamber beyond was empty except for a single crystal in the center. Around it, a spiral wound outward across the stone floor, seemingly naturally occurring in the local stone. Then again, magic could manipulate such a thing. The walls were carved with runes that Hermione identified as illusion enhancement of some kind, related to the mind. They gave her pause; she had thought the mind challenge had been along the other path. As she glanced over the complex patterns and unique architecture, the others filtered in around her. Once everyone was inside, the door sealed with a quiet swish and the crystal activated. A bright orange flash blinded her.

Blinking away spots, she was confused to find she was suddenly at the Burrow, surrounded by her friends. Or… maybe not suddenly? Why would she think that? She had just come from the house to join the others at dinner. They were all gathered in the garden, sitting around the long table. Mrs. Weasley was fretting over Harry, as always, while Ginny laughed at her boyfriend's sheepish looks. Fred and George were showing off their latest inventions to raucous laughter from Bill and Charlie. Ron was shoveling food onto his plate, and Mr. Weasley was chatting with Percy about some legislation.

Something nagged at the back of her mind. She shook it off.

"Hermione, did you want seconds?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Oh no, Mrs. Weasley," she replied, smiling at the Weasley matriarch. Her plate bore the traces of a delicious roast and mashed potatoes, with a bit of zucchini left on the side, but she was pleased to find that nothing had snagged in her teeth. She forgot that nagging feeling, just enjoying being surrounded by her friends. "I'm quite full."

"Well there's plenty more if you start feeling peckish," the kindly woman said.

"Unless Ron eats it all," Ginny chimed in. Everyone started laughing as Ron looked up, half a pork chop in his mouth, the other half speared on his fork.

"Wha?" he managed to say around the food. Hermione sighed, shaking her head in amused exasperation. As bad as his eating habits were, there was something about it she always found endearing. Something along the lines of an eager puppy scarfing down kibble.

"Hermione, mind if I ask you a couple of questions about what the Muggles call a 'vacuum cleaner?'" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Not at all, Mr. Weasley," she said. That nagging rose up again in the back of her mind, stronger than before. She frowned as she felt a tear curiously roll down her cheek.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" Harry asked. "You're crying."

"I'm fine- just allergies," she said, but it sounded hollow to her ears. Why would she be crying? She was happy, right? Then why was she… sad? Momentarily, she retreated into her mind palace to analyze the sudden upwelling of sadness, using logic to break down her emotions. The dusty doors of her mental library eased open, and the many books that held her knowledge revealed themselves. Along the shadowed, distance walls, many doors hid knowledge she had tucked away from herself. One had a fresh lock.

Curiously, there was a second mental projection of herself in her library, already sitting at her desk with arms crossed in frustration with her.

"You fell right for it," her projection said. "You know better than this. Think logically."

Sitting down across from her double, she started reviewing the facts she knew. It was mid-December, so why were they having a dinner party in the garden? Furthermore, where was the snow? That train of thought led her to the next logical step to examine the participants at the dinner. Mr. Weasley… she had locked him away for some reason, behind that door. He was… he was dead. An illusion, she realized. A very clever one designed to lock the victim in a happy place while…

With a gasp, she exited her mind palace and the illusion, opening her eyes to the cavernous room once more. The floor had started to disappear, stone by stone, moving slowly outward from the central crystal, while the team wandered around, trapped in their daydreams, seeing things that weren't there, doing things they couldn't be doing. Even Professor Babbling was still enthralled, her feet slowly leading her to the approaching edge. Hermione didn't have to look to know that there was something unpleasant and fatal at the bottom of the forming pit. How could she break everyone free?

Her first idea was to intrude on their pleasurable illusions, but she wasn't sure how the enchantment worked, not to mention what might happen to her if she got lost inside one with them. Furthermore, she didn't know if violently awakening them might cause some sort of backlash to their minds if they weren't structured like hers. Despite her training and her powers, she had actively ignored the signs telling her that what she saw was wrong. Even now, she could feel the enchantment trying to lure her back, the sounds of her favorite family and friends whispering in her ears.

She had to act, and quickly, or they would all die. Logically, the crystal was the focal point of the spell and providing the power to fuel the illusions. If it broke, the runes would lose their potency. Would it reverse the forming pit too? Only one way to put her theory to the test. Leveling her wand at the crystal, she shouted, "Bombarda!" The blue spell raced towards the crystal, which erupted in a massive explosion of dust and pieces of quartz. The runes along the walls faded away, and the stone floor reappeared.

"What happened?" Daniel asked, blinking rapidly. He swept loose dark hair from his face, rubbing his hand over weary eyes.

"We were drawn into illusions," Hermione explained, taking Ashley by the arm and helping the sitting woman to her feet. "Our happiest places, perhaps?"

"How'd you break free?" the other witch asked.

"Logic," Hermione answered, smiling at Professor Babbling. "I realized things in my illusions didn't add up so I was able to shatter mine."

"And broke the crystal powering the runes," Babbling concluded. "You continue to impress me, Hermione. We should head back, as I suspect we passed the test, thanks to you."

Leaving the chamber in its ruined state, Hermione glowing in the praise from her teacher and the other team members, they returned through the trapped hallway to the original antechamber. The other team, led by Blakely, had already returned, yet their members seemed worse for wear. Several of them were sporting burn marks on their robes, and one wizard was being treated for a long, deep cut across his shoulder.

"Fire and swinging axes along the passage, and then a bloody chess puzzle," Blakely grumbled in explanation. "Nearly got killed by some flying blade when we made the wrong chess move. Had to cheat to actually win the game. You?"

"Dart traps and then an illusion enchantment with a disappearing floor," Babbling said. "All in all, we've dealt with worse. And look, the door is ready to be opened."

The sealed door to the vault beyond was glowing with red and blue lights, highlighting a central spot. Babbling walked over and, with her stele, wrote the rune for open. The magic flashed, interacting with the seals created by Grindelwald. After a moment, the door dissolved like water, and torches beyond lit one by one.

A short staircase led down into a monstrous room, where a large stone casket dominated the center space. Scattered all around, leaned against walls and piled on the floor, were chests and shelves filled with magical artifacts. Passageways led off the main room, likely leading to other storage vaults. Torches of golden fire ringed the room, giving the whole thing the appearance of some grand treasure tomb of ancient times. It was rather impressive, Hermione thought.

"Alright, everyone start cataloging," Babbling ordered. "Blakely, Irene, start logging the items on the shelves. Use your detectors to see if any of them are the primary target. Daniel, Vincent, Ashley, Ronan, explore the passages and be careful. We don't know if they have traps too. If they do, mark them. Someone go let the surface team know to get everything ready for transit."

As Babbling gave her orders, Hermione started walking down the stairs and toward the central tomb. The team spread out, pulling out instruments from their bags excitedly. As they began sorting through clutter and unlocking boxes and chests, she sought understanding. She was curious about who would be buried here who held such importance to the second most famous Dark wizard in modern history. Peering at the inscription, she could just make out the dust-covered words.

Here lies Vicena Grindelwald, a mother who understood the Greater Good.

B. 1853, D. 1897.

"Grindelwald's mother," Babbling said from behind her pupil. "A rather grandiose final resting place for her."

"She died rather young," Hermione replied. "Murdered?"

"Quite possibly," she said, running her hand along the sarcophagus. "Grindelwald would have been about fourteen at the time of her death, two years before his expulsion from Durmstrang for unethical experiments. It is entirely possible that she was the subject to one of her son's tests, and died, but who's to say? It makes sense that he would hide his most dangerous and powerful artifacts here. Dumbledore would never think to disturb someone's final resting place once Grindelwald was defeated in 1945."

"But we aren't as reluctant," Hermione pointed out. There was a little hesitation in the back of her mind as the expedition felt like grave robbing now.

"No, we have a job to do," Babbling said, nodding. "As distasteful as something like this might be, sometimes it is required to rediscover things we once thought lost. Anything seriously dark or powerful we contain in rune-lined boxes or bags to suppress their potency until we get them back to the Department or the museum."

"Bathsheda! There's a library and some other storage rooms along the passages," her stout second-in-command called. "The passages loop around and connect."

"Like a bunker," Hermione said.

Blakely nodded. "You might want to see what we found in the library."

"You've piqued my curiosity," the professor laughed, walking off with the wizard. Hermione turned back to examining Vicena's tomb. Something about it was drawing her in. The sides had been carved with various scenes of wizards and witches, some dueling, others showing some scene of domination over what she assumed were Muggles or Muggle-borns. A few moments were… not so tasteful, but she pushed through and called on her power in order to examine them with a strictly objective eye. She suspected that Vicena's views had influenced her son's in his formative years and subsequently led to his rise to power.

Something about one scene caught her full attention though. Getting down on her knees, wand in hand, she studied the rather spacious carving depicting a witch whom she assumed was Vicena. The witch was wielding some sort of amulet or talisman, holding it with outstretched hands over her victim on the ground. Fine detail had been etched into this particular image, showing clear features and even holding a hint of color. A notion of something prickled at the back of her mind. Touching her wand to the scene, she stumbled back a little when it seemed to grow larger, the figures playing out the scene.

The wizard challenged the witch to a duel. Both were armed with wands, but he quickly disarmed her. In a flash the witch brought out the talisman, and something etched with silver, flowing lines started to leave the wizard's head and fly into hers. By the end of the scene, the wizard was on the ground and the witch was striding away.

Her attention was drawn to the sound of stone scrapping as a hidden compartment in the tomb opened. A box of dark wood lay inside with esoteric runes, hand carved judging by the slight shakiness of the hand that made them, covering the lid. Hermione glanced around the chamber, but none of her peers had noticed the discovery. She wouldn't disturb their work. Remembering some of the revealing spells the runes professor had used in the past, she drew her wand across the case. Charms against those who might reach in bare handed, those who might lift the box with magic, and those who might attempt to destroy it, all flashed dimly. The spells were powerful, but worn out. As with the Inferi at the entrance, it seemed these had weakened at their creator's death.

The young witch pulled her hair back and secured it with an elastic band, leaving her view clear. After careful examination of the curses and quickly sorting through her ever-increasing repertoire of spells, she began carefully casting counters at the box, moving steadily from one to the next until she was almost chanting. Finally the last trace of original magic cleared, and she could reach into the hidden opening. Upon opening the lid of the black box, a faint green glow spilled out. The light lingered for a moment before fading. An oblong talisman lay in its place, cushioned in velvet, emitting that light green glow from the substance swirling around inside it. A snake wound around the glass, ending at the skull that rested on top. A thin leather cord was folded underneath the glass.

With gentle fingers she lifted the pendant from its resting place, curiosity overriding her better judgement. The piece was beautiful, yet clearly contained some ancient power, and she longed to uncover its secrets.

Returning the artifact and closing the lid of the box, she stowed it in her bag and looked around for Professor Babbling. She stood off to one side, examining some golden orb sitting on the shelf with Blakely. Hermione was about to start heading over when echoes came down the stairs from above. Raised voices drifted in, along with an odd pinging sound like something striking a Shield Charm.

She wasn't the only one hear to the chaos above. Babbling looked up, worried, and Blakely was drawing his wand nervously. Some of the closer members of the team had gone on the alert as well.

Suddenly a crash echoed from above, followed by parading footsteps.

Babbling leapt into action. "Everyone to the sarcophagus, hurry!" she ordered. All the team members in the main room rushed to the center of the chamber, putting the stone resting place at their backs and drawing their wands in preparation for facing their enemy. The auburn-haired archeologist took up a lead position, her stele in one hand and her wand in the other. The sounds from above had faded, and for a moment, Hermione thought maybe the team members above had driven off the invaders.

The clang of metal against stone dissuaded her of that notion, her hand gripping her wand tighter as she tensed for action. Shadows moved toward them, sharpening into seven robed figures, four males and three females, as they entered the main chamber. Each of the mysterious figures wore face obscuring masks of silver and gold, although their mouths and chins were still visible.

Aside from the decorated masks, every one of their attackers was different. The lead figure was wearing teal robes decorated with a black crystal lattice design, styled with an eastern Asia feel. A large belt was thrown across his waist, a sword's scabbard hanging off his left hip. Samurai-like gauntlets, boots, and armor plating on his chest and shoulders lent to the Asian influence of his garb. The female figure directly behind him had decorated her mask with a bird in greens and whites, her white robes much more European in style. Splotches of color, made to look like pools of ink or paint, decorated the robes. Her armored gauntlets, boots, and shoulder plates were white and black, with silver trimming, while lines of shimmering steel had actually been woven into the threads of her armor.

The other five members were wearing something like a standard uniform of robes and armor, although one of the males had removed the sleeves to show off his muscular arms. They all wore red and gold robes, with armor on their chests, shoulders, and arms. She didn't see a single wand on any of them, just swords on belts.

"Who are you?" Professor Babbling called out. "What do you want?"

The lead figure didn't respond, merely gesturing around at all the artifacts. It was quite clear they had come for the same reason Babbling's team had, and Hermione realized these must be some of the Department of Mysteries' enemies, the ones who had been striking Unknowable Wells' operations elsewhere. How had they found them? Professor Babbling seemed to have reached a similar conclusion, and her normally soft expression hardened with determination with the realization of whom they were facing.

"You're interfering in a legitimate operation," Blakely called out. His stout frame seemed set for combat, sturdy in a duelist's pose. "The Department of Mysteries itself is funding this mission." The lead figure's mouth thinned as Blakely postured, much like Professor McGonagall's did when she was annoyed.

"I don't think they care," Babbling muttered.

The lead figure turned to one of his companions, muttering something that Hermione couldn't hear, but she was able to read his lips. No fatalities, incapacitate only. The bearded man he had muttered to walked forward, raising his hand. Hermione realized, as that hand rose, just what exactly these people must be. Like herself and the professor, they were Empowered, and they, unlike anyone on her team, could use those talents offensively.

A blue energy beam raced from the figure's hand, heading toward the center of the group. Professor Babbling quickly drew a triangle shaped rune in the air, yelling out, "Quen!" An orange shield formed around the team, and not a moment too soon, as the energy beam impacted against the shield with an audible ping. Their leader winced at the force behind the attack, and then gasped as a second bolt immediately struck the same spot, testing her focus. A spider web of cracks was forming on the shield, a third blue bolt striking it. The cracks widened.

"When the shield breaks, scatter," Babbling ordered. "Fight as hard as you can."

The man attacking the shield formed several blue bolts of energy around him, directing all of them to fire with a gesture of his hand. The shield shattered like glass, and two of the team were struck by the bolts and fell immediately. The rest of them, including Hermione, Daniel, Blakely, and Professor Babbling, took off for the side passages, casting spells as they ran.

Hermione grabbed Daniel out of the path of an energy bolt, throwing a Stunning Spell over her shoulder at the caster. The enemy, however, seemed to have their own protection; every spell fired at them was consumed by a shimmering black liquid. The substance seemed familiar to her, but somehow… out of place, as though it were being used for an unusual purpose. As they ran, though, she couldn't devote the energy to processing the feeling. She and Daniel fled down the closest passage. Glancing back over her shoulder, she could just make out the figures casually descending the stairs to the floor of the main chamber, apparently unconcerned.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" Daniel exclaimed. "What kind of magic was that?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione lied, which was far more efficient than creating a cover in that moment. Kemper had mentioned that some people with abilities could conjure energy and command it to their will, usually in the form of beams or shields. She had never thought she would be caught in something that seemed very much like one of the former professor's hypothetical combat scenarios.

"We need to get around them and outside," Hermione muttered once they reached a bend and paused to quiet their breathing. "We can call for help once we're on the surface. The Department of Mysteries must have some sort of presence nearby that could assist."

"Maybe," Daniel said, glancing around the corner. "I don't think they followed us."

This, she thought, was probably because she and Daniel were the youngest members of the team and the least likely to be a threat. That was something they could use, as the enemy likely would have gone after Professor Babbling first. She whispered this to her companion as they crept along.

"Professor Babbling was heading down the passage that leads directly to the library," Daniel said.

"What's down our path?" Hermione asked. From elsewhere, she could hear the shouts of spells as the team fought against pursuers.

"Just some storage chambers, extra shelf space," Daniel replied. The room at the end of the hallway appeared exactly as he described, and they slipped in through the open doorway quickly but quietly. There were wrought iron shelves everywhere, like a dusty evidence locker except in the catacombs rather than a police station. Wall shelves with stacks of miscellaneous stuff, freestanding shelves with antiques and unique décor, shelves upon shelves of boxes and chests. More rooms could be seen off to the left, while another passage that led deeper into the catacombs branched off to the right. An odd sound caught her attention, and she pulled Daniel behind one of the boxes.

The two of them crouched together, breathing softly, not even daring a whisper. The distant sound she had heard gradually became footsteps, steady and slow, as though the one causing them were keeping an eye out. Peeking around the corner, she had to cover her mouth in surprise as one of the armored figures appeared, walking out of the wall. Kemper had certainly never mentioned an ability quite like that. The figure looked around, phasing his way through shelves and a crate. Hermione gently tapped Daniel on the shoulder, gesturing urgently for them to change hiding spots. This man wasn't just double-checking. He was searching, for them, and he would walk right into them if they didn't move. She crawled underneath one of the nearby shelves, while Daniel hid behind a pillar. It wasn't a moment too soon, as the man's head appeared through the chest they had crouched behind previously.

The crack of a particularly powerful spell caught the man's attention, and he turned his head to glance down the passage towards the library. Hermione took the opportunity to switch spots again, ducking behind a pillar on the other side of the room from Daniel.

As though reassured that there wasn't an immediate disruption, the masked figure resumed his search, striding closer and closer to where Hermione stood. She could see Daniel peeking out around his pillar, his shoulders squaring, tensing, his wand slipping into his hand. The man was almost on top of her. His hand was reaching through the pillar, testing to see if the space was clear, his fingertips almost touching her hair. She knew what Daniel was going to do even before he finished making the decisions.

She started to shake her head, but Daniel spun out of his hiding place and shouted, "Reducto!"

The figure turned in the direction of the shouted spell, tilting his head curiously as the Reductor Curse raced towards him. Hermione watched in rapt and horrified wonder as the spell phased through him, impacting against the wall behind him and leaving a crater.

"Was that best you got, kid?" the man chuckled.

"Not even close," Daniel said. He started a barrage, casting spell after spell at the approaching figure, yet it made no difference. Each attack phased through him with no effect whatsoever. Complicating matters, the spells then connected with the clutter of the room, sending shards of wooden crate and antique into the air. Hermione knew he was distracting the man so she could escape, but she wouldn't leave Daniel to suffer whatever the enemy might do to him, even if she could risk the shrapnel. Forming a quick theory on how his phasing worked, based on the observed phenomenon, Hermione rushed to form an effective counter.

"Crebrescunt! Plumbeum!" she shouted. The man was surprised, and she took great satisfaction in that as her Thickening Charm struck him followed by her Leadening Hex. Her first spell might be used mainly in cooking for soups and creams, but Hermione reasoned that it could keep the man's molecules from separating while her Leadening Hex connected and would make his body as heavy as lead. The man couldn't move, no matter how desperately he tried, which gave Daniel the opening he needed to flee the corner he'd been trapped in.

"Thanks," Daniel said. He was flushed, and there was a look in his eyes that gave her some odd feelings. She could examine those later, right now they needed to get moving. The others needed their help.

"Don't thank me yet," Hermione said. She took his elbow and nearly dragged him from the room. "We need to help the others and I don't know how long the spells will hold him."

Running back through the passage they came down, Hermione hoped they could either attack the enemy from behind or escape the vault to call for help. The pair reached the main chamber and stopped in their tracks. A shimmering purple energy sphere was covering the exit, with one of the female robed figures sitting in the center of it. Her head turned to look at them, an amused smirk tugging at her exposed mouth.

A body came flying from the opposite passage, landing near the two of them. Hermione quickly checked for a pulse on the scruffy, robust wizard, Ronan, and found one, although he had been beaten rather soundly. The male attacker without sleeves on his robes emerged from the passage Ronan had flown from, cracking his joints as the muscles in his arms grew slightly smaller. Muscle enhancement, she thought, with enhanced strength too. From the library passage, Babbling and Blakely backed into view, working together to draw another runic spell that produced a bright flare of energy.

Several shards of teal crystal flew toward the professor, cutting through the flare of energy and fire. The leader of their enemy appeared, along with the girl in splotched robes. Both had drawn their swords, which struck Hermione as quite distinct. The leader's scimitar was longer and narrower than the traditional blade, with only a slight curve, and was made with what appeared to be a fusion of metal and crystal. The girl's looked like an elongate ink pen. The blade itself was shorter and almost rounded, like a thick rapier, while the end had the appearance of a metallic pen nib. As she wielded it, the same black liquid that protected them trailed from the end like ink. Blakely sent a curse at the girl, but a quick swish of her blade swallowed the spell. With a flourish, the girl drew a series of red lines around Blakely.

"Finite!" Hermione shouted, jabbing her wand at whatever the masked girl had created. A crystal intercepted her spell, reflecting it up into the ceiling even as the lines constricted and flashed like a Stunning Spell. Blakely collapsed. The leader struck his foot hard against the ground, crystals bursting forth, forcing Professor Babbling to dodge to the side and right into the path of a crystal projectile. The professor went flying, Hermione shouting out to her as she slumped against the stairs, unconscious.

Her yells drew the attention of the leader and the girl with him, and it suddenly struck her that they hesitated ever so slightly. Others wouldn't notice- it was so slight. But still, they knew her. And, she quickly realized, she knew them. She had even called them… friends. But why were Mikhail and Claudia attacking them?

Daniel gave a cry suddenly, and went flying past, and Hermione whirled around. The remaining female had appeared, along with the phasing man, and her hand was still outstretched from the telekinetic throw. The phasing man reached out towards her, and Hermione screamed and stumbled back… right into a pool of ink. She was frozen in place, unable to move or dodge the other woman's hand as it touched her shoulder. An immense and foreign sense of calm and sleepiness stole over her, and try, as she might to struggle against it, her body was quickly submerged into a deep sleep. The last thing she saw was Mikhail and Claudia walking over, standing above her slumped figure, their body language indicative of regret.

Her mind came awake before her body, cataloguing the ache of sore muscles, the presence of all four limbs, the brush of the stone floor on her cold cheek.

Slowly, the wakefulness spread. She could twitch her fingers, wiggle her toes, blink her eyes. She had no idea how long she had been out, no sense of how much time had passed. Opening her eyes, struggling to do so as her body fought off the last of whatever that woman's touch had done to her, she took in the sight of a completely empty vault. There wasn't a single artifact left; all the chests and boxes were gone. Everything they had catalogued was missing. Stiffly, she lifted herself up from the stone floor.

"Hermione! You're awake! I was afraid they had…" Professor Babbling whispered kneeling down beside her. With a loving touch like a mother's, she brushed her bushy curls from her eyes, ran gentle fingers down her cheek, checked her over for injury. Satisfied that she was relatively uninjured, she helped Hermione to her feet.

"I'm okay," Hermione said, her tongue still sluggish in her mouth. The other team members were milling around, dazed or treating their injuries. The purple force field that had covered the exit was gone, just like the rest of Mikhail and Claudia's group.

"I'm glad you're alright," Babbling said, giving Hermione a quick hug. "I've never seen people like that before."

Babbling might not have, but Hermione had. She had trained with them every weekend, but now…. Now she wanted to know why one of Kemper's students had attacked them. Had Mikhail gone rogue? Was he acting on Kemper's orders? Did he serve another master? Questions swirled around in her mind palace like fluttering ministry memos, not filed away because she simply had no answer. That thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Silence hung over the team as they emerged from the crypt, taking in the unconscious forms of the three members that had stayed on the surface. They had gone down into the catacombs at midday, but now night had fallen. A half-moon hung in the air, giving the graveyard a silvery-white glow. Impressions in the grass that had been loaded boxes for transport back to the Ministry were all that remained of the few artifacts they removed from the tomb before the attack. They hadn't stood a chance, Hermione knew, against whatever group Mikhail and Claudia had been a part of.

"It's gone," Babbling muttered. "It's all gone. We failed."

"Not all of it, professor," Hermione said, reaching into her bag. Clutched in her hands was the box containing the glass talisman. "We still have something." The grin her mentor gave her was dazzling.

With a suppressed pop, Snape appeared on sidewalk the under the street lamp outside Grimmauld Place. Grimacing as he walked towards the steps of Number 12, keeping his limp concealed, he fought the lingering effects of the Cruciatus Curse away. The Dark Lord had been furious with his followers, although he had not revealed the reason. Each of them had been subjected to the Torture Curse, Lucius receiving it twice as long, and then the Dark Lord had venomously declared they were going to show their loyalty to their cause with blood.

Snape could guess what the Dark Lord had discovered this day. The snake's death had prompted the maniac to check his protections, to see if his immortality remained. His outburst at the Inner Circle meeting all but confirmed that he had uncovered the truth.

Pushing the door open, he crossed the threshold and glided as best he could across the carpeted floors to the drawing room. They were all still there. Molly slumped in a chair, lost in her own world. The elder Weasley boys were muttering to themselves in the corner, a bottle between them. Those troublesome twins were sitting at the table, staring a hole through it over clasped hands, while their spy in the Minister's office, surprisingly, sat with them. But Snape's black eyes continued to rove over the despondent scene, to land on the boy that looked too much like his father.

He was seated next to the girl Weasley and his inept best friend, and as his head turned to look at Snape, those green eyes locked with his.

"Severus? We weren't expecting you," Mary said, emerging from the hallway. Lupin was behind her, along with the Metamorphmagus and Jack Harper.

"This couldn't wait," Snape declared. "The Dark Lord called a meeting of the Inner Circle tonight. He was… more furious than I had ever seen. I suspect he has taken the snake's death harder than we anticipated. He sent a message to Mallory."

He had all of their attention now, but it was Potter's that he was entirely focused on. Those green eyes were shifting, sadness marring them, and yet a spark was igniting there. A spark of hope.

"We need to call the rest of the Order to headquarters," Snape said. "I know where Black is."