Chapter 28
1 Smart people improvised. Smart people adapted. Smart people changed their minds when circumstances were altered. Also, smart people didn't tell their obvious enemies about their nefarious plans for world domination the moment said enemies started randomly being polite. That would be stupid. Not only was world domination no longer a problem, but Perseus Selwyn, twin brother of erstwhile Death Eater Callidora Selwyn, had watched enough action flicks and read enough comic books to not fall victim to that particular shortcoming. He wouldn't be that stupid, even if the temptation was great.
I am invincible! Let me tell you all about my plans, as no-one could ever stop me! Bwahaha!
Stress-relieving as maniacal laughter might be, Perseus didn't exactly indulge in that one, either. He had a printout of the Evil Overlord List in his office, just in case, framed and displayed on the wall.
Actually, it had been a gift from one of the most important people on the planet – tongue-in-cheek, of course, Clever.
She was.
After he got Narcissa (and man, being hung up on her was a bitch, wasn't it?) back into the castle again, he headed toward his office, where he'd wait for Josh, whose time to shine was approaching swiftly. I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum – a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well, he thought, as he headed into the room located at the stronghold's centre, right where he wanted to be the very least – too far away from the outdoors. Rule number ten. He didn't think it would make any difference, in this case. Besides, Windsor wasn't an inner sanctum at all – not really. It was where he lived, right now, but when the whole world was your playground, then it didn't really matter where one chose to hit the hay.
There were two guards in front of his office door. This wasn't something he had felt he needed, but Josh had insisted, and Perseus didn't want to be an idiot.
The kid was volatile and impulsive, but he was good at his job. That mattered.
Listening to one's advisors was on the list, too, wasn't it? He couldn't quite remember which rule it was, right now. Didn't matter. No, wait, he actually did know it: When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice. Rule seventeen. That was it. He told himself to snap out of it and smiled at the two guards: Janelle Dunne and Matthew Greene, their names were. That was something that mattered: knowing who worked for him. "Janey, Matt. You must be so bored."
Both of them relaxed a little, smiled.
"We got each other to talk to, boss," Janey said, sounding a lot more cheerful than Perseus would after six hours of guarding an empty office at the end of an equally empty corridor. "Our shift is nearly over, too."
"I seem to remember that you were both owed some free time, so why aren't you on holiday?"
The two exchanged a look.
"Because of what happened to Maisie and the others, sir," Matt said, solemn. "To Mary's brother. We couldn't leave after that."
Perseus couldn't help but be touched. "Thank you – really. You don't know how much I appreciate the lot of you."
The smiles returned.
"Actually, we do, boss," she said, and nodded. "We're all in this together, and we're happy to help."
"And I am so, so grateful." He tugged down on his jacket, feeling oddly overdressed. "Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?"
"Oh, yes. Miss Fawley is here. You told us if that happened, it'd be okay for her to wait in your office," Matt said, a little sheepish.
"That I did. She's got a key and everything." When he stepped forward, they made way. Good people, both of them. "Once the war is over, we'll all be owed some free time," he said, fished his own key out of his jacket pocket, and unlocked the door.
Inside, there she was. Short, elfin, dark-haired, pale, she stood in front of one of the walls, studying the Evil Overlord List that hung from the wall, a small frown creasing her brow. Bless her, she didn't even hear him coming in.
"Oswynn."
A bit startled, she whirled around, but relaxed when she saw him. "Perseus! I keep forgetting my surroundings. We're the only two people with a key to this room, and it's guarded!" She slapped her own forehead. "Stupid."
"No, just focussed," he said, crossed over to her, and put his arms around her. "Feels so nice. Kind of needed that."
She leaned her head against his shoulder – he wasn't tall, but she was tiny – and hugged him around his waist. "Bad day?"
"No, not really, but draining." Eyes closed, her leaned his cheek against her short brown hair. "The children?"
"They're fine. Em is a little itchy, but that's nothing we can't alleviate with the right potion. He's sleeping now. That's why I'm here, to ask you to up the ingredients in the next batch. The kids are adapting too quickly, and Em scratched his little face bloody last time this happened."
"I'll take care of it. Don't worry." He kissed the top of her head.
"Now, why don't you tell me what's stressing you out on this fine, foggy day."
Despite his weariness and headache and itchiness and mounting sense of impending stage fright, he had to smile. That was the effect she had on him. He said, in a quiet tone, "They're coming: Granger, the Malfoy kid, Potter, Weasley, their entourage. They're on their way here as we speak. I'm not entirely sure what the details of their plan are, but I know they're heading toward London, and I know they plan to trick me somehow."
"Oh. That was fast."
"I left them enough clues. They think they know me, now." Wow. He told himself to tone down on the resentment.
Her grip around his waist tightened. "They don't know anything. Nobody does." After a little pause, she added, "So, has that bitch Narcissa Malfoy finally figured out your real name? Has she finally deigned to acknowledge your lowly existence?"
Although he managed to suppress a sigh, he did take her by her slender shoulders and created a little distance between them. "Oswynn. Please."
Poor thing looked wretched. She placed her hands flatly on his chest. "The Malfoys have caused unbelievable damage to countless people over the centuries. Voldemort, Grindelwald…no dark wizard would've been successful if it weren't for those Pureblood supremacy shits supporting them. It's the same crap every time. All they ever do is position themselves above everyone else, so they can spit on the rest of us in their smug superiority. I hate them all, and so should you. Why do you like her so much?"
For a moment, he mulled this over, before saying, "I don't hate anyone."
"No. You resent them and you're angry, but you don't hate, and I can't understand how that's possible." She briefly looked away, closed her eyes, pressed her lips together, gathered herself. "And yet, you still like that woman – always have. I don't get it."
"Liking might be the wrong word." Anticipating protest, he quickly added, "Listen to me, please, love. What really matters is how we comport ourselves, how we act, not whether we're still somewhat hung up on one aspect of our past or another. That's what matters, and you need to know that I don't trust her one single bit. She's my prisoner, and once all of this is over, none of…of that will matter anymore." He cupped her face, placed a kiss on her lips. When he backed off, her cheeks were flushed. "I don't trust a single living person like I trust you."
The unhappy expression made way for a smile. There was a shine to her brown eyes. "I trust you, too, dear – more than anyone. For so long, you've been the only one who ever even noticed me. When all the world was broken, you were there and picked me back up. Not once have you given me reason to doubt our mission. I love you so much."
"I love you, too," he said, meaning it.
Narcissa Malfoy and his odd fascination for her didn't have the slightest thing to do with Oswynn Fawley. His crush on Narcissa was more of a cold, distant thing – like the admiration one might have for an especially bright star. Oswynn, though? What connected them was warmth and affection and mutual trauma.
They were as close as two people could get, their biographies bringing them together despite their obvious differences. Well, it was one obvious difference, really.
Both were children of Pureblood families.
His family had sided with Voldemort. His sister had, in the company of their cousin Cadmus Selwyn – which made Luna Lovegood's involvement in this whole thing rather comical, as Cadmus had done a bit of a number on her loony dad – and Lucius Malfoy, murdered Oswynn's older brother Marshall. Her other brother, Aillen, had become an Auror in response to this, determined to be the armed branch of the wizarding establishment.
Never again, the motto was, and this was also funny. They'd so fundamentally misunderstood the root of all evil – all of them.
Oswynn had never forgiven any of them. Her family had, during the war, sided with Dumbledore. Her brother and sister-in-law had been branded blood traitors and killed by Death Eaters.
So far, so good. Mirror images of each other, Oswynn and Perseus shared so much. However, though. However.
She was a witch.
He was a squib.
They'd found each other in the wake of her tragedy.
Naturally, he'd been working on his revolution for far longer than that – since that fateful yelling match with the Minister in 1989. That was when he'd finally made up his mind, as he'd realised that there was no other way, no other way to change the ways of the wizarding world. If he didn't step up and do something about it, the same crap would keep happening, over and over and over again.
"I know that you love me," she said, dragging him out of his brooding, and traced the curves of his ears with her fingertips. Her hands were always warm. "I do. I'm just not sure if you can think clearly where Narcissa Malfoy is concerned…or your sister." A shadow crossed her pretty face.
He didn't blame her for hating Callidora. Part of him did, too – a substantial part, as a matter of fact. How long hadn't they spoken to each other? Right after Voldie bit the dust, if he remembered correctly.
That was a nice side-effect of being a squib: one was so invisible, the Death Eaters didn't even bother. Muggle-borns, though? Boy fucking howdy, as Josh once put it, before getting red in the face and apologising for the cuss word. Adorable, that was.
"Good thing I have you to keep me on the straight and narrow, then," he said, and took her hands into his. "The last pieces are falling into place, my love. They all think they know what we've planned: Narcissa, Draco, Granger, Potter…Callidora. Now, we have to be patient only a little while longer. Everything will be all right. I promise."
Her eyes filled with tears. She sniffled, blinked, looked down. After drawing a few shaky breaths, she faced him again. "All of this…the deaths, the destruction, the losses…nothing will mean anything if we fail, and I…I will be a worse traitor to our kind than Voldemort and his goons ever were."
"Oswynn, listen to me." He intertwined his fingers with her. "You are not a traitor to your kind."
"Our kind," she said, and edge to her voice, looking indignant despite her tears.
That made him smile. "Our kind, then. Neither of us is a traitor. We're doing what we have to because they have given us no choice. What could we do? Our world was broken, and the Muggle world breaking. We are saving them."
"You're saving them. This is all you." She shifted her weight from one booted foot to the other and back again. "I just helped you with the details."
"You never just anything, and you know that I could never have achieved anything by myself. You, me, our brave friends…we all contributed." he said, put her arms around his neck, and placed his own around her waist. "Granger and company will have figured that someone with inside knowledge would have known where to find most of the witches and wizards. They'll think that was me."
"It was you…in a sense."
He shook his head. "Stop selling yourself short. If it hadn't been for you, I would never have got as far as I have – the pull you have with the others alone. However, you know how much it matters that Granger and company don't find out about you – not yet. Your name was crossed out in the census I left at Josh's house. None of them can find out about your involvement until the right time comes. That's how important you are. Don't ever underestimate how much you matter to this operation…and to me."
She raised her face and kissed him. "I believe you. I believe in you."
"No, darling: believe in us." He hugged her closely again. "All will be well – for all of us. You just wait and see."
2 "Maybe we should have brought your sister-in-law's recipe, after all," Draco whispered almost directly in Hermione's ear, as they slowly walked toward the lion's den – Windsor Castle. He meant the amber spell parchment, of course. After squeezing his way past two chattering schoolchildren, he scratched his right wrist. There were reddish streaks on his pale skin. "Boy, am I glad I turned off the mobilette. Makes so much of a difference."
"Mobile," Hermione whispered at him.
"Mine has a different name. It makes me quirky." What he really meant was the portable magic suppressor.
They may have broken the giant magic suppressor in North Acton, but the closer they got to the stronghold – and that was what it was, always had been – the worse the itch got again. No, this part of town was covered. It made sense to assume that there were wizards and witches imprisoned in the castle. The dungeons, perhaps?
Hermione remembered once reading that during the Second World War, Elizabeth II had been forced to hide in the dungeons – beetle-infested, if memory served – when the Nazis blitzkrieg-bombed the place. Scary.
During the same time, Tom Riddle had been a teenager. Just as scary.
As they wove through a giant crowd of tourists (amazing, that), she and Draco kept almost being separated.
She said, "Better to leave the recipe at home." Code for the cottage in case someone was listening. Wasn't likely, as most people around them were clearly speaking Mandarin, but still. Still. "It's an heirloom. We might lose it."
"Yeah, yeah. Don't mind me. The…my allergies are making me cranky." Again, a group of people wedged themselves between him and Hermione, creating a distance between them. "Oh, for crying out loud." Not too delicately, he elbowed and shouldered his way through the small crowd, earning himself some dirty looks, and grabbed Hermione's left hand. "Sorry, but since you forgot to bring my lead, my hand will have to do."
Sighing inwardly, she grabbed his hand right back. "That's okay. I know you don't bite."
"Not unless prompted."
She shot him a sideways glare, then snickered. "Are we finally familiar enough with each other for that kind of joke, you think?"
"Mutual life saving warrants some familiarity, it's said."
"They do say that."
"Whoever they are."
Together, they weaved their way toward the castle's first guarded perimeter. It was kind of funny that even though people were no longer allowed to visit the castle's interior, they still came from all over the world to stare at its walls. Well, it was an impressive sight. That much was true.
As they started getting within spitting distance of the guards guarding the perimeter, he said, "I feel like we're delivering ourselves to the slaughter."
"If we are, we're taking him with us." She gave his hand a squeeze. "You know it's the only way."
"Lose, lose. Oh, I get it." He glanced down at her. "If there's ever been a leap of faith, then it's what I'm doing, here. Because I believe in you. Because you believe in me."
His words actually rendered her speechless. Quite an accomplishment.
That was when two of the guards – clad in black, not dark-green like in East Sussex. Maybe a regional thing? Rank? Who the hell knew or even cared, at this point? – spotted them approaching and raised their guns at them.
The pair stopped walking.
There was some commotion around them, followed by a quick clearing of the immediate area. The tourists vamoosed as well as possible and pretended everything was okay. That was how the human mind mostly worked, wasn't it? Everything was normal. The authorities knew what they were doing. If someone got a gun pointed at their head by the police, then it was their own damn fault.
Draco raised his free hand but kept holding on to Hermione's left with an iron grip. "My name is Draco Malfoy. I'm pretty sure you've been looking for me and my friend. We're not here to fight, but to give ourselves up." When the guards just kept pointing their guns at him and Hermione, he actually managed to smirk. "Well, what are you plebes waiting for? Take me to your leader. Now."
3 After talking to whoever of who cared on her radio, the higher-ranking soldier had Hermione and Draco put into rather uncomfortable handcuffs and led right into the lion's den.
Past the main gate, they were intercepted by a tall, muscular woman who wore her dark, curly hair pinned up tightly. The woman gave both a cold look, and said, to Hermione, "Try anything funny, either of you, and I shoot the boy in the stomach. It wouldn't be fatal for a few days, but it would sting like a bitch. The sepsis would eventually kill him, and that is rather unpleasant." She arched her eyebrows, now facing Draco. "You should know. We got your wife that way, didn't we?"
Hermione immediately looked up at Draco, whose face got red. "Draco. Don't let her provoke you. It's just words."
His pupils were narrowed, and his jaw clenched. After a few seconds, during which he just glared at the nonchalant, impassive woman, he broke off eye-contact and nodded curtly. "We'll be on our best behaviour."
The woman nodded. "Good." To the two soldiers who'd picked the pair up at the first perimeter, she said, "Bring them. Make sure they don't trip and fall on their faces. The boss doesn't want them harmed."
"He's way too nice, if you ask me, Sarah," one of the men said, grabbed Draco by his left elbow, and towed him along. "Come along, you freak. Time to party."
To Hermione's intense surprise, they weren't taken to any dungeon or even separated. No, they were dragged along, hands bound and body itching to the point of pain, to what she recognised as the Crimson Drawing Room. God, it was so beautiful. As a child, she'd been here with her parents. No time for grief right now, though. Very soon, this would all be over. Still, as the soldier who'd dragged her in here shoved her on one of the ornate chairs lining the far wall, she couldn't help but wonder how her parents were doing, far away and with no memory of their daughter or even their own real names and lives. She thought of her in-laws, all dead except for Ginny and Bill. She thought of Ron, who hadn't even seen her leave Wales.
He was fine.
No, she would not feel guilty for leaving him – for anything, really. She'd done what had to be done, and that was that.
He was all right, now. He was all right without her there.
For a few minutes, she and Draco just sat there by themselves, side by side, trying and failing to ignore the ghastly itch.
"Feels a little like waiting outside Dumbledore's office," he said, after a minute or two. "Minus the genocide, of course."
"Or the itch."
He tilted his head to the side to give her a beatific smile. "What are you even on about, Granger? You were never called to Dumbledore's office. Bloody do-gooder."
Her lips were chapped, the insides frayed and burning and itching (bleeding, too, judging by the metallic taste in her mouth), and still, she returned his expression. "Maybe that's why we always won the House Cup, not because of Saint Potter."
First, he opened his mouth to reply something. Then, he reconsidered, nodded with something that looked like appreciation, and replied, "Know what? I think you might be onto something. Granger the puppet master, pulling the strings behind the scenes. Devious."
"You have no idea."
Another minute or so ticked by.
Leaning his head against the wall, he said, "If we get out of this pickle alive, I'll join you in your fight for House Elf equality."
It was hard to put into words what hearing that elicited in her. She felt both heavier and lighter. There was a bit of a knot in her throat, but it wasn't something bad. In any case, the goddamn itch seemed to matter a little less. She even stopped shuffling her feet for a moment and looked at him. "You sound like you mean it, Draco. Careful."
Once more, he tilted his head to the side to smile at her – not a sneer, not a smirk: a real smile. It shaved years of care from his features, lit up his whole face. Suited him. Suited him quite a lot. "I do mean it. This might be a last-ditch attempt at gaining some favour from a potential elusive creator figure that most likely doesn't even exist. Still, I mean it."
This time, she had to will herself not to sniffle like a dejected child and to breathe a few times to keep composure. "Thank you."
He looked ahead again, into the stately chamber. "It's the least I can do, really, after my crazy aunt Bella skewered our erstwhile House Elf."
Dobby.
Jesus, Hermione hadn't thought about poor Dobby in ages.
That was when, at the opposite end of the room, the door was opened, and their main antagonist walked inside: Perseus Selwyn, wearing a casual black suit and a white shirt. He signalled for the armed goons to stay in front of the door, waited until they shut said door, and then approached his prisoners. He grabbed a chair, positioned it about four feet from both Hermione and Draco, and sat down.
Back in the Ministry, the light had been dimmed, and they'd been kind of busy, but now, she could get a really good look at him.
Mary Shelley had been right: this was a handsome chap. He had tousled black hair, big blue eyes, symmetrical features, a clearly muscular yet not bulky physique. The clothes were tailored, no doubt, as they fit perfectly. Funny how someone who looked like this could ever be invisible in wizarding society just because he couldn't cast a spell.
"You look nothing like your sister," Hermione said, ignoring how dry her mouth felt, how the cuffs were biting into her wrists, and how the itch had come back with a vengeance. "Though you share her penchant for keeping appearances."
His brow creased somewhat. Then, he smirked. "Oh, you mean the clothes. I'm just wearing them because it's a special occasion. I'd rather go for something like little Draco is wearing right now, which is ironic, given his own predilection for snobbery."
"Who're you calling little, you gnome?" Draco said, and rolled his eyes.
"Just as deliberately obnoxious as your parents," Selwyn said, and shook his head, managing to actually look a little sad. "But height jokes? Really? Boo. I thought you were smarter than that. Might as well go with a performance joke. Much better chance of hitting a nerve." He focussed his attention on Hermione. "I do bear a certain resemblance to Callidora: the structure of my face, my eyes…although she's taller and a ginger. Takes after our mother."
"You wanted us to find out who you are," Hermione said, after another little look at Draco, who'd closed his eyes. "Not a smart move for someone who's been so bent on making his identity a big secret."
The smirk returned. "No more need for secrecy. Also, I suppose you must have conjectured that someone like me would enjoy the drama of the reveal…being seen and all. You and I, Miss Granger, are exact opposites, yet equally discriminated against. I got to say, I find it hilarious that you'd so passionately defend the rights of House Elves yet fail to care one fig for fellow human beings suffering prejudice."
Draco only snorted with disdain.
She straightened her posture. "Yes, we messed up. We did. That's true. But between being a child and having to defeat the most dangerous dark wizard of our generation, we didn't have much time for social justice issues. After that, you happened before anyone could enact real changes. And you know what, Mister Selwyn? You're whining with a full belly: good education, boatloads of money, freedom to move back and forth from the wizarding to the Muggle world…not too shabby. Others?" She shook her head. "Not so lucky, but I suppose that when it's not about you, you can't be bothered to get indignant about how unjust the world is." From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco looking at her.
The smirk melted off Selwyn's face. He ran his pasty fingers through his hair, rubbed at his eyes, shook his head. Then, he placed his hands on his knees in a clearly deliberate motion, as if he had to will himself not to snap. He locked eyes with Hermione again. "You know what that ridiculous argument sounds like? That I could just go live in the Muggle world completely? Sounds like telling someone to go back to Africa. It's preposterous, ignorant, and insulting. I am not a Muggle. I was born into the wizarding world. I have as much right to not be othered there, to be able to exist there without having to rely on others as anyone else. Hell, technically, I have more right to be there than you, if you really want to think your argument through to the logical conclusion. I'm from a purely magical family."
"Still useless, though," Draco said, and shrugged. Was he doing this on purpose or was he just that mad?
Hermione tended to believe it was a mix of both. After all, they needed Selwyn to believe that they had surrendered. That kind of action always came with an unhealthy side order of loathing and self-loathing.
Two pinkish blotches appeared high up on Selwyn's cheekbones. He glared at Draco. "Go tell that to your mum."
Draco pressed his lips together but didn't otherwise react. Thank God.
For what it was worth, Hermione felt like hitting Selwyn's face against the wall.
"That's what I was talking about. This one hit a nerve." To Hermione, Selwyn said, "Imagine growing up in a world that relies entirely on stairs when you can't walk. It's still your world, your family, your life, but since most people living there are perfectly able to use their legs, they don't give a damn about installing a ramp or a lift for you. You need to be carried everywhere, and everyone else ignores you, loathes you, or pities you. And you try to change things for the better, but every attempt falls on deaf ears. So, no, Miss Granger: exiling the person who cannot walk to the land of wheelchairs is not the right solution. Everyone else needs to stop being shitty."
She let that sink in for a few seconds, then said, as calmly as she could, "That, I agree with. Prejudice is bad, ostracising a minority even worse. Genocide and world domination are the only logical solution to this predicament, then? Who would've thought?"
"You don't know anything. I told you who I am. I let you turn off the magic suppressor in North Acton." He jabbed a finger at his own chest. "I let you free your friends from the amber. I let you come to me. Not once did you have any control over the situation, children. I'm not Voldemort. I may want you to understand, I may still be hung up on approval from my own people – which you, a Muggle-born, really are not – but you can't talk me into a rage. It is what it is. Our world – my world – is a hellhole for anyone who doesn't conform. Even after Voldemort, little changed. People like me were still discriminated against, because even the so-called good guys didn't give a damn. And as for resentment between wizarding families and Muggle-borns? Still alive and well, thanks to how little dialogue was actually permitted regarding the inclusion of the Muggle-borns' Muggle families."
Hermione wanted to tell him that his Pureblood pride was a bit paradoxical in face of his sales pitch.
This time, Draco was quicker. "Are you done? Pity party over? Soapbox speech concluded? I got to hand it to you in one sense, though: you certainly managed to bridge the old enmity between Purebloods and everyone else. If my hands weren't cuffed, I'd clap."
Surprisingly, this made Selwyn smile. It was a cold expression: artificial and well-rehearsed. Now, he finally resembled Callidora. "You remind me so much of your mother, kid."
If looks could kill and all. Draco said, his voice hardly above a whisper: "Don't talk about my mother, you squib bastard."
The smile stayed. "Hm. I guess I hit a nerve, now, didn't I? Just like my boy Josh hit a nerve when he put a bullet in Astoria's gut."
"Draco." Hermione saw that he'd blanched and was a breath away from snapping. "If you try to attack him, you die."
"Your mum, too. Oh, yes, I forgot to mention. Stupid of me." Selwyn slapped his hand to his forehead, still wearing that utterly phony smile on his face. He really reminded Hermione of his twin now. It was eerie. "Narcissa is still alive. I did shoot her in the chest, yes, but a friend of mine healed her. No harm, no foul. You should be grateful. You should also understand that I'm not a murderer."
Draco's shoulders slumped. He still said, "Fuck you," though.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm evil. It's my fault she got shot in the first place. I know. Poor little racist snob who was part of a terror regime based on xenophobia and persecution." He shook his head like an exasperated parent.
Hermione gnashed her teeth together and buried her fingernails in the palms of her hands to keep composure.
Selwyn caught sight of this and smiled again. It looked genuine – amused. "By the way, you want something against the itch?"
"Yes. Turn off the magic suppressors."
He smirked at Hermione. Jesus, he was obnoxious – even worse than Callidora, though Hermione hadn't known her during her Death Eater days.
Maybe Callidora had been even worse when she'd been allowed to wreak havoc unchallenged.
"No, silly, but I do have this," he said, and pulled a small metal flask out of his jacket's inner pocket. "A potion that alleviates the effect, courtesy of yours truly." Probably anticipating some snarky reply courtesy of Draco Malfoy, he quickly added, "No, I can't cast spells. Yes, I can brew magic potions. I can also get into Diagon Alley by myself and activate port keys, in case you were wondering."
"Duly noted," Draco said, and sneered. His eyes were reddened. He looked ready to explode.
"I have to take this once a day, too. Drives you crazy otherwise, doesn't it?" He unscrewed the top, took a little sip of whatever was inside, and then got up to approach Hermione. "You know I'm not going to poison you."
"It could be Veritaserum."
He arched his eyebrows. "What secrets could you possibly be keeping at this point? No, I got other methods of finding out the truth, and I don't intend to force you to do anything. I already know what I have to. Come on. One sip, and the itch will be barely there."
"Hermione…"
"It's okay, Draco." She looked up at Selwyn and nodded. "If you want to help, help."
"I'd love to." He put the flask to her lips, tilted it a little.
A cool, somewhat sweet liquid poured into her mouth. Tasted a bit like peppermint tea. It was actually pleasant. She swallowed it down despite her reluctance and…
…the itch wasn't just barely there, it was gone.
She couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief.
"See? Told you. You develop a tolerance after a few years, but it still helps even then." He crossed over to Draco. "If you try to bite me or whatever, things won't end well for your mum. Be a good little boy and behave."
"I hate you so goddamn much, you parasite," Draco said, but still drank the potion. He, too, looked as if chronic pain had suddenly been taken from him.
"You're welcome." Selwyn sat down again. "Oh, and for the record: everyone in my custody who feels the effects of the magic suppressor gets this potion. I do not torture my opponents."
"Congratulations," Draco said dryly. "When does the victory party start? I need to buy something nice to wear."
Selwyn screwed on that awful Callidora smile again. "The day after tomorrow. I still need to talk to your other buddies…you know, the ones you're pretending to have betrayed, so they can pretend to blow up the Palace of Westminster, so they can pretend they're really trying to free my prisoners? Or are you already at the stage of the plan where you two have gone rogue and are pretending to actually be surrendering because you figured I need to get into Hogwarts to get magic powers?"
Hermione did her best not to let her dismay show. She even managed not to glance at Draco.
Meanwhile, Selwyn just kept on smiling, smiling, smiling. Did nobody ever tell him how off-putting that was? "I told you. I have been in control this entire time, children. I've been preparing for this moment for decades. You jumped in a few days ago and think you can throw a big enough spanner in the works? Think again. The Death Eaters choked on their own arrogance. I will not."
"Wow, what a pun. Such cleverness." Draco yawned. If it was a natural thing, it was perfectly timed. "You certainly love hearing yourself talk, don't you? Well, if you've already won, and we're already doomed, why don't you do us the favour of putting us out of our misery? Because I can't take another self-congratulatory, smug speech about how amazing you are, without starting to scream. Please. Shoot me or whatever the hell you use to dispatch dissidents. Do me a favour."
For a moment, he didn't reply. Then, he said, in an oddly serene tone, "No. I still need you, until at least tomorrow. Then, who knows? Maybe I'll kill you. Maybe I won't. Let's up the mystery, shall we?"
"Let's not," Draco said, and scoffed.
Selwyn leaned forward a bit, rested his elbows on his thighs. "Look. I'm not trying to convert you. I'm just being honest. I know what you're planning. It won't go the way you think. I don't need to physically get into Hogwarts at all. You can't trap me there. You also can't trap me in amber. Someone I know once gave me a sample before the Ministry was caked in the stuff. It's true that I can't dissolve it once it's solidified, but I can keep it from solidifying in the first place. So, that scheme's down the drain. I've already got your buddies. They're on their way here. I do need your assistance tomorrow, and believe me, you'll give me whatever I want. That's all that matters. Save your energy, friends. Don't rebel. It's not worth the effort. I won. You lost. Soon, it will all be over." He pushed himself to his feet, adjusted his jacket, smiled again.
God Lord, how could Hermione ever have missed his and Callidora's resemblance? Uncanny.
"Oh, and one more thing," he said, having already turned to make a wannabe dramatic exit, the cretinous hypocrite. "The time travel thingamajig your loony pal Nott was working on before the seal went up? It's not going to work. It can't work. Mull that over a bit until I send someone to take you to your accommodations. You must be tired and malnourished." With that, he left.
The moment the door was shut, and they were by themselves again, Draco turned to Hermione, and said, "You think he's telling the truth?"
She chose her next words with care. "It doesn't matter. We only have one choice left, now, and we need to either succeed or die trying."
Crushing despair or no, he still had the ability to laugh. "Oh, I wish I had your spine of steel."
"You do. You just don't know it, yet." She looked at him.
He looked at her. "In another reality, Granger, the two of us would have teamed up long ago. Pity I was such a shit in my youth."
"Yes," she said, infected by his good humour despite herself. "Pity."