Act 7: "TO BE OR NOT TO BE"
Author's Note: On to the final (and shortest) Act…
I just wanted to say to the readers of this big baggy beast of a story with its zillion-billion characters… You guys are amazing! I'm genuinely touched and overwhelmed by your incredible stamina! I hope you enjoy what's still to come as we move towards the end. xxx
The Fall of Ephraim Golowitz…
59. The Play's the Thing
After the initial euphoria of saving the children, there was an overwhelming sense of sorrow, anger and confusion. Three funerals – Dennis Creevey, Audrey Weasley and Briek Bertel – and the loss of The Blue House as a refuge took their toll.
Bill and Fleur gave Shell Cottage over to safeguarding the children - it was still the safest option. And within minutes, Bill was back to looking like he wanted to scream in frustration. It was no accident that he was working non-stop at The Burrow to render it vaguely 'habitable.'
Hermione was working hard on the 'Big P' project - the plan to trap Salvedra inside a painting - with Ernie and Fleur. Operations were switched to the increasingly cluttered shed at Folkvangr, alongside Katya's Painting – still unoccupied by Narcissa - which had been salvaged, unscathed, from The Blue House. Having reformulated Stypticus Solution, it was now a question of orchestrating a trial run. Everything had to work seamlessly... Hermione doubted they'd get a second chance...
Draco, Harry, Gunter and Niko were spending long periods inside the paintings hunting for The Blue House attackers - 'to take the bastards out' as Draco said, not even bothering to hide his motive… Sylvestra was at the top of his hit-list.
On one such foray, Draco and Gunter sighted Sylvestra, Josep, Dolores and Asusto at Sylvestra's Spanish house, El Sol y Ter. But by the time they'd hotfooted it back to Folkvangr to get backup, they'd moved away. Draco was now in regular contact with Alenka Horvat from the EU's Intelligence Unit. He'd asked the Muggles to help keep tabs on any comings and goings at Sylvestra's property.
It was a perverse irony, Hermione thought, that the moment their attention and efforts firmly switched to Salvedra, Sylvestra and their cohorts, their long-standing enemy, Ephraim, suddenly looked ripe for the picking.
It was tragic, really - in life, Dennis Creevey's election-winning hopes against Ephraim were slim to non-existent. In death, Dennis Creevey would have secured a landslide.
Writing in Sub Rosa, Agatha attributed the murders of Dennis Creevey, Audrey Weasley and Briek Bertel 'while peacefully holidaying in Ireland' to a 'vicious gang' sponsored by Ephraim's daughter, Sylvestra. After much discussion it was decided she didn'tmention the children they were safeguarding.
Rather than dismiss Agatha's report as malicious tittle-tattle, the Daily Prophet shocked everyone by whipping up further suspicions against Ephraim, pointing out that prior to his "brutal assassination" – "much-loved rock legend and passionate Creevey campaigner, Briek Bertel, had been unjustly harassed by Ephraim's pet Blasters" at Hogsmeade on the day Ephraim held his rally.
Angus McCrackle, the Prophet's editor, then went further, noting how Creevey's campaign manager Neville Longbottom had been arrested and falsely charged with treason and endured the 'humiliation' of Cell F (The Bin) before being quietly released. McCrackle bemoaned how Neville's reputation had been savagely traduced as a result - ignoring the fact his own newspaper had been responsible for this.
Even Madam Puddifoot's murder was discussed as another "likely" hit from the Golowitz team...Torquil Haast held a public meeting in Hogsmeade to refute these allegations on Ephraim's behalf. But the Hogsmeade Shopkeepers' Alliance (a new organisation) bombarded Torquil with rotting vegetables and burnt scones – in memory of Madam Puddifoot – and he was forced to escape.
These allegations triggered a political storm... Many Blasters reportedly resigned, donations to Ephraim's election campaign dried up, a petition called for Ephraim's resignation from the Hogsmeade Mayoralty and the Daily Prophet - in conjunction with Ephraim's political rival, Julius Merriman - demanded Ephraim attend a public meeting at the Ministry to answer "pertinent questions".
'It's a fucking revolution!' Ron exclaimed, brandishing the latest list of defections from the Blasters and the Humpties.
'There's an awful lot still staying put, though,' Harry pointed out, reviewing the list of names.
'You don't seem happy about all of this,' Draco said to Hermione, once they were alone.
'Oh, I am,' she said. 'But… none of this is happening for the right reasons…'
'Or even true reasons,' Draco added.
'Yes, that's what I meant,' she said with a thin smile. 'Ephraim deserves to be prosecuted for many crimes – but he's not actually guilty of what he's being accused of here. He didn't murder Dennis, Briek and Audrey. He didn't kill Madam Puddifoot, either. Though he wrongly imprisoned Neville. That IS true. And it was unjust...'
'And he developed Dark Flux and tested it on innocent people all around the world… we've seen this with our own eyes, Hermione. It doesn't matter what brings him down, as long as he's DOWN.'
'Yes, yes. I can see that. He should pay for what he's done. But the ideas he promoted. They're not being challenged here. This isn't about Dark Flux or Right to Exist. He's being accused of killing off his political rivals like it's some kind of personal vendetta. Except it's not true. And he can probably prove it.'
'He won't though, Hermione. That's the beauty of it. Because if he did, it would mean dumping on his own daughter…' Draco grinned. 'Ephraim's snookered.'
XXX
Jean Granger rang Hermione in fits of tears late that night.
'Your horrible, evil wizard… that Golowitz man. He's attacked the Royal Opera House!'
'What – what's happened?'
'Oh, people turning blue… the usual nasty stuff. Can't seem to get away from it lately. It's all the news talks about…'
'Are you sure?' Hermione felt herself falling into dank depression. Not only because innocent Muggles had died – yet again – but because this meant they hadn't exhausted their supplies of Dark Flux. 'What happened?'
'Well, you know there's a jug of water on the bar during intervals?'
Hermione didn't know this but said yes all the same.
'There was something in that… two people poured themselves a drink and dropped down dead. Both blue. One of them was an MP so there's a lot of talk on the news that this was a political assassination.'
This likely explained why Tim, freshly urgent, turned up at Folkvangr at an unearthly hour the next morning, flanked by the jowly spymaster, Henry Beaumont, and Gretchen Dedlock from the Serious Organised Crime Agency.
Hermione was embarrassed to let them in because the house was in such a mess. Thelonious had moved from Shell Cottage to make way for refugees from The Blue House and was stretched out on the sofa opposite Henrik, while Niko was snoring loudly in a sleeping bag in an alcove under the stairs.
Draco was straight onto the Corundum to Harry and Bill, and Gunter and Elizaveta idled indoors from the garden shed to join the meeting.
'It wasn't just an MP,' Tim said by way of excuse for this early morning intrusion. 'It was a Cabinet Minister. And the PM's furious.'
'He's demanding action. And fast,' Beaumont said, his flabby, florid cheeks quivering with excitement. 'It looks like your family seat's been saved – for now,' he said to Draco, 'seeing as this Golowitz appears to have relocated his HQ.'
Gretchen flashed Draco a congratulatory smile, which he ignored.
'Are you sure it was Dark Flux?' Hermione asked. She was tight-throated and emotional this morning. Everything was getting to her these days… she kept feeling hot and heady, nauseous. Discussing a Muggle military attack on the wizarding community before breakfast made her feel worse…
'Forensics ran tests overnight. There's no doubt,' Gretchen said crisply. She surveyed Hermione's flyaway hair and dishevelled state in her dressing-gown with cool disapproval.
'The PM's deeply perturbed. If we don't destroy Golowitz's centre for operations I suspect he'll suspend all cooperation with your people – possibly even break this statute thingy…' Tim said.
Hermione felt Draco tense beside her.
'That's a little over-zealous, don't you think?' Harry said in guarded tones.
'We have a right to defend ourselves any way we see fit,' Beaumont said pithily, 'and an attack on the perpetrator of these crimes is surely the most fitting response of all?'
'Except Ephraim probably didn't do this,' Hermione declared.
Beaumont blinked rapidly and she could feel everyone's eyes on her, confused, even irritated.
'Form suggests otherwise,' Gretchen said in clipped tones.
'But he loves the opera house. Opera's his favourite thing!' Hermione said, realising how pathetic she sounded - like she was defending him! But it was true…
'So it's a place he knows well,' Gretchen said, making a note of this on her phone, her scarlet nails tapping purposefully.
'Yes, but I can't see him doing something like this… In fact he isn't directly responsible for many of these attacks. We mentioned another wizard – Salvedra. Do you remember him? And Ephraim's daught—'
Henry Beaumont batted this away… 'The PM wants to target Golowitz… And we will. Tomorrow night.'
'But that's when he's meant to be talking at the Ministry,' Parvati piped up. She was listening from the dining-table.
'Then we'll need a signal from you guys, if that's okay, to tell us when he's definitely heading to this Nethercross,' Tim said, almost apologetic, in stark contrast to his boorish colleague.
'Do you intend to kill him?' Parvati asked.
Tim was seated with his back to the table so he had to tilt his head to look at her. 'No… but it might be a corollary of any military action.'
'Truth is, we've got the fucking yanks breathing down our necks on this. Their attaché grassed us up to the CIA…' said Beaumont, 'and now the US authorities want us to hand him over - except we want him tried by our own courts in Britain.'
Harry looked fit to burst. 'By rights he should be handed to me… I've been building a case for the prosecution for months now.'
'And which government do YOU work for?' Beaumont asked, perplexed.
'I work for Auror HQ – it's a sort of… wizarding Interpol,' Harry explained. 'Ephraim's crimes are international. So we should get first dibs.'
'But he's also committed crimes within our own community, Harry,' Bill argued. 'It might be better if he faces the British Wizengamot first.'
'But don't we have the death penalty now?' Parvati piped up from the table.
'Well… that's not necessarily the worst outcome,' Bill snorted.
Tim looked nonplussed. 'I'm pretty sure that's a distinct breach with UK Law, actually… if Ephraim had a hand in introducing capital punishment he's chalked up yet another crime!'
'I can't see anyone having the bottle to actually EXECUTE him,' Draco said. 'I mean, he's still Acting Minister. He's not going to sentence himself, is he?'
'It'll come down to the Chief Warlock presiding at the Wizengamot,' Hermione pointed out.
Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. 'You see? All this goes to show that Ephraim can't POSSIBLY be put on trial in the UK… he's got too much influence. He has to come to Paris.'
'The way things are moving against him, folks won't be happy till he's locked up in Azkaban!' Bill warned.
'Auror HQ has its own prison. Black Soul Mountain… Bulgaria. Nobody's ever escaped.'
'I'm pretty certain he's exempt from Azkaban actually, because he's American,' Thelonious said calmly.
'I believe there's a bilateral agreement between our Ministries,' Hermione said huffily. 'But really… Harry's right! This is an international case… And for all of your fighting talk, you need to arrest him first. That's not going to be as easy as you all think it is.'
This didn't seem to matter because a full-scale row broke out. The Muggles demanding they had him, the wizards claiming he wasn't theirs to take… Hermione tuned out feeling increasingly queasy and broke away from the group to get dressed upstairs. She could feel Draco's eyes on her as she moved away.
XXX
Hermione said she was going to her parents' house but she snuck into the shed instead, turned the radio on, and entered Katya's painting.
Draco was right. The tower was still lifeless and empty…
NARCISSA, she thought. But nothing. A white blank.
Hermione looked back to the hazy grey leading back to Folkvangr but to her frustration, a powerful image came to mind… one she hadn't invited in.
Rapier-speed… a whirring purple cloud… almost colliding with an obsidian black rockface... She pulled back and looked up but the summit was hard to make out as a yellow, sulphuric haze and feathery grey flakes swiftly enveloped her.
She was relieved that this was her mind and not her body as the thick, ashy ground undulated, swirled… writhing in thick black ropes. A faint hissing sound and a molten, scarlet glow gurgled to her left… A sizzling ashen stew spat out streaks of orange and crimson.
She shouldn't feel heat in her current form, but she felt clammy, nevertheless.
A wisp of yellowing white smoke wreathed its way around her. Cloying, choking…
She found herself gazing beyond the grey veil into a large room with a terracotta-tiled floor, dirty batter-beige walls and ancient wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling.
A flicker of movement drew her eyes right.
Long, spindly, black-clad limbs… gnarled fingers with hooked, tapering nails… extended far from the wall towards the centre of the room.
Her heart thudded; a strong, single beat in her chest.
She was inches from Salvedra; separated by the thin canvas of a landscape painting.
She slowly eased herself away from the foggy border between this world and the one beyond the frame. She couldn't possibly handle Salvedra alone…
Despite this, she was curious. Where was this? A room in Sylvestra's Spanish house?
Someone entered. A man speaking Spanish. A low, insidious voice replied – so close it seemed to rumble through the wall at her.
Salvedra's body lurched into view… the back of his head. Narrow, egg-shaped. Balding at the back. He wore his collar high, almost touching the bottom of his ears – ears with peculiarly elongated lobes.
He spun around and faced the picture. His face loomed close; cadaverous, sallow-skinned. Eyes like cold, black marble staring straight at her.
Hermione gasped and recoiled - as far as her mind could carry her; traversing at breakneck speed through a spinning blur of colours and shapes…
Was he following? She discerned a dusty shadow on the far horizon…
Who had he been talking to? NO! Don't think that! Think of nothing!
Think instead of... DAMN! Her mind had changed course... Why couldn't she keep it reined in?
She landed with a thud on a bed of roses - inside the painting she'd visited with Gunter. She gazed up at the sweetly beatific face of a grey stone statue; eyes blank, mouth slightly parted. The garden was pink and pretty… rose garlands, shady arbours, an arched trellis over a path leading towards the painting's grey frontier.
Her insides churned nervously… which felt far too real, considering her transient, immaterial state.
The grey barrier here felt thin, almost translucent. The room she gazed out onto was the same spartan bedroom with the bed to one side against a wall and a window gazing out onto fields where she had seen Sylvestra with – she suspected – Tom Bennet.
A woman – Katya Malfoy - was sitting on a chair looking out. Old habits die hard, Hermione thought, surprised at her own flippancy in the circumstances.
She was smaller than she'd imagined. Slightly-built. It was hard to discern much as she was a virtual silhouette, contrasting with the bright light outside. But Hermione could see her hair was wavy and styled - like a 1920s movie star. And shorter than expected, exposing a slim neck. It looked strangely vulnerable.
Katya lifted her hand in greeting to someone beyond the window.
How thin her wrist was! Hermione fancied she could encircle that wrist with her thumb and index finger. A heavy bracelet and it might snap. Her hand was a glancing butterfly, so pale Hermione fancied the light outside almost shone through.
Her eyes were momentarily drawn to a flash of brown shuddering briefly, metronomically, in the top left-hand corner of the window-frame. A sign flapping in the wind? A loose tile?
Turn around, she begged. Let me see you…
Hermione sensed a presence behind her. Live, whole… A livid blue fast enveloped her.
She sighed inwardly.
'Hello, Ephraim.'
'You couldn't resist.' She could sense him smiling.
'And neither could you.'
'Well. She is my daughter,' he said, drawing level with her.
He was substantial, towering. She felt smaller than usual beside him. His face, though, was marked with grief as he stared at his elfin child.
'Where is this place?' she whispered.
'Wish I knew. I'm often tempted to step through and see…'
'But not brave enough to do it…'
Ephraim's sigh resonated. It was answer enough.
'I saw Sylvestra here once.'
'Makes sense,' he muttered.
There was a rustling behind them. Hermione jerked her head away from the veil to the mass of flowers and leaves and tall rose bushes at the edge of the painting. A slither of movement stirred amongst the vines…
Ephraim's hand clamped onto her arm and in a flurry of blue she was somersaulted out of the picture, alighting on a bleak, barren hill. The murky green landscape was scarred with heavy score-marks and a mound of earth was crowned by a bent, black tree. Leafless, bare, blasted; its trunk had been cracked open by an almighty force. Its branches reached up to a pale, pitiless sky, twigs clasped together in helpless supplication.
Ahead of her was a gleaming white door. It shone - blinding, forbidding…
Hermione tried to approach it but was beaten back by light, forced to shield her eyes.
She sank to the ground, disconsolate.
'What do you see?' Ephraim asked. She'd forgotten he was with her, that he'd hurtled her through myriad paintings to this exact spot.
'A white door… It's extremely bright.' It was giving her a headache.
Hermione recalled the endless white corridors she'd been lost in when taken at Abaran and realised that Narcissa was trapped inside that pristine white light.
Ephraim lowered himself to the ground next to the tree. 'I see nothing. But I know Narcissa's there. I've looked for her non-stop and yet I still can't reach her.'
He stared fixedly at Hermione. 'Sylvestra's eyes turn black, too… The ability to see through colour-magic is a useful gift.'
'Did you see who was in the rose garden?' She feared it was Salvedra…
'No. But I didn't like the fact they were hiding.'
They fell into silence.
Hermione had to ask… to be sure… 'Did you know there was a Dark Flux attack at the opera house?'
A muscle twitched in his cheek. 'I've been up all night dealing with it,' he groused. 'Every single obliviator at the Ministry's disposal has been working to resolve the issue.'
'Did YOU do it?'
Ephraim looked at her, eyelids half-mast over weary eyes. 'What do you think?'
He looked tired and angry. But there was something defeated about him, too.
'Well… You're in big trouble, Ephraim,' she said. 'Deservedly…'
His mouth curled into a grimace. 'When our deep plots do pall… although… I didn't actually do the things I've been accused of. But you know that already.'
'It was Sylvestra.'
'Of course…' His eyelids now slipped down and he leant against the tree and for a moment she thought he'd gone to sleep.
'Stand down as a candidate,' Hermione urged him. He was tired of it all, she could sense it.
He smiled. 'And hand myself over to Potter?' His eyes snapped open and stared at her. A malevolent streak of blue swirled around her.
'You can't win this election,' Hermione said, trying to keep her voice steady. 'You've lost too much support.'
'I warned you what would happen once I publicly disavowed the New Family Act. I certainly lost the media. But I presume that was your plan all along? To make me weak... You scored a very palpable hit!' he added bitterly.
'Actually, no… I presumed you'd win and hoped you'd be better than I feared. But these are terrible laws, Ephraim! Unfair, unpopular—'
'Except they're NOT,' he said, his voice laced with bile. 'That's what you repeatedly fail to understand. You have a very snug view of the wizarding world and its denizens…'
'Far from it,' she retorted. 'I was involved in the war against Voldemort. I know what cruelty can do, how it controls people.'
'Then you should understand that my quickest route to power was to give people what they wanted… make them feel better about their own inadequacies and give them the God-given right to hate…. To blame others for their failings. It's a tried and tested tactic,' he said breezily.
Hermione glared at him. 'It's dishonourable. And deep-down you know it! '
'And you think forcing me to cow-tow and admit to a bunch of lies would be any better? It's what's expected of me with this farce of a public meeting I'm being subjected to!'
'You've committed crimes…'
'But not these… Shame about poor Creevey. Pumped-up little pipsqueak, but plucky as hell.'
'Yes, he was,' Hermione said, her eyes unexpectedly welling-up. 'And Audrey didn't deserve to die. Nor, Briek. He was a good man.'
'Why were they killed?'
'Because they were... in the way.'
Ephraim looked at her and shook his head. It felt more like a paternalistic gesture rather than the usual throb of heated feeling she sensed from him. 'You should retreat from further engagement… Sylvestra has become extremely dangerous… It was always going to happen I suppose. Her fate.'
'I can look after myself.'
He looked crestfallen. 'But it's not just yourself you need to care for… and you can't expect me to tell you how to hurt my own daughter. You realise that, don't you?'
'So there's a way?'
'Where there's a will… you should know that by now. You have colour-magic,' he chortled mirthlessly.
She made to stand up, although she suddenly felt dizzy and had to hold onto the tree. Again, that wasn't right… She wasn't actually real here.
Ephraim gave her a piercing look. 'I'll escort you back to your picture.'
'No, I—'
I'm not going to creep out after you like a bogey-man. Accord me some dignity, please.'
'We're enemies,' she said, tilting her face towards him in a forthright fashion. 'It's plain stupid to trust you. I've learned that.'
Ephraim smiled. 'You should have learned the opposite by now, Hermione. But you're someone who revels in being stuck in their ways I've noticed. And… in this, we are as one. I know you want me to submit. To surrender. And there's sense in what you say. Even… dare I say it? Kindness? But I'm not one to falter. I will fight. I'm one of life's blasted contrarians… And an opportunist. A survivor. So please don't underestimate me…'
'I wouldn't dream of it…' She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea swept over her.
'Come on. You need to rest… Where are we going?' he asked, offering her his hand.
Hermione felt so drained, so exhausted, she slipped her hand into his. She couldn't exactly feel him… more a warm, blue glow.
'Stand down,' she reiterated as they approached Katya's tower.
'They'll arrest me.'
'Then let them.'
'And what if I'm sentenced to death?'
Hermione snorted derisively. 'Don't be ridiculous.'
He growled with laughter. 'Let's hope so. I'm too young to die.'
'How old are you?'
'Almost fifty-three… My birthday's the same as Draco's. Did he ever tell you that?'
'No… I doubt it matters to him.'
'Probably not.' He fell into silence. 'I miss Draco. He made me laugh… He probably paints me as evil incarnate. But we had good times, too.'
'If he'd known what you were really doing I doubt that would have been the case…'
'Maybe you only truly know how you feel about someone when they're gone?' He cast her a sidelong glance. 'I guess you – Draco, too – will be at this public meeting tomorrow.'
'I don't want to be—'
'I want you there.'
'Whatever for?'
He grinned. 'I might need a lawyer…'
XXX
Hermione still didn't go to her parents' house. She Apparated instead to her Uncle Derek's bedside at The Spires hospice.
He was asleep, mouth lolling open. There was a twitch above his right eye that she wished she could smooth away.
His hand was surprisingly small and frail in hers. Had he shrunk? How did that even seem possible?
Despite the circumstances, she found his presence comforting. She leant forwards, resting her head against his scratchy blue bedcover, and closed her eyes.
A gentle thrumming eased through her, like her mind was relaxing… But it was short-lived. The rumble and squeak of the wheels on a trolley, jangling with glass and china, echoed down the corridor and burst through the door.
'Oh, sorry love. I didn't know anyone was here,' said the nurse.
Hermione sprung up and rubbed her eyes, bleary with fatigue.
'He's holding on is Derek… a true trooper,' the nurse said kindly. 'Is he your Dad?'
'No. Uncle.'
'Ah, that's nice… it's good to see 'e's so much family caring for him. Can't say I've seen you 'ere before.' The nurse was busily attaching a device to his finger. He briefly stirred – eyes narrow, glazed – and then his head fell to one side and he was wheezing gently again, sound asleep.
'There's not so many of us,' Hermione remarked. 'I haven't been in for a while…' she added guiltily.
'Well, I wouldn't leave it too long between visits if I were you,' the nurse warned.
Hermione gulped back tears. 'How long has he?'
'Well, 'e's neither going backwards or forwards, if you know what I mean.' She shrugged. 'How long's a piece of string?'
'Depends on if it's straight or curled up in a ball I suppose.'
'Still works out the same length in the end though, don't it?'
XXX
'Thank you for lending me your bedroom,' Binta Koranteng said to Hermione. 'I'm comfortable here. Safe.' She smiled shyly, accepting a cup of bush tea from Jean Granger.
Hermione couldn't fathom how Binta felt safe. Nowhere felt safe anymore.
'Must say, I'm getting a bit addicted to this bush tea myself,' Jean said, face gleaming from the steam rising from her teacup. 'Are you sure you don't want one, Hermione?'
'No. I'd best get home.' She wasn't feeling too hot again and constantly being on the verge of tears was getting wearing.
Draco had been at her parents' when she arrived. She told him she'd been at the hospice. He knew that was only partly true but he didn't press her – not here, anyway. Robert and Ziff had whisked him away to the garage – she wasn't sure why – and they'd been locked in conversation ever since.
'You look peaky,' Ziff said to her, a look of concern on his face, when they eventually emerged.
'You do… all the bloody time,' Draco murmured, pulling her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, exhausted.
Jean was teasing Ziff about how he never ate anything but crisps and cereal and he was wasting away while Robert robustly defended the 'boy.' Hermione smiled. It was like they'd adopted him…
'Draco, make sure she sleeps tonight. I know you're busy saving the world, but Hermione needs a night off,' Jean said as they left.
'She's right,' Draco said, back at Folkvangr. 'You're worrying the hell out of me.'
XXX
With everything going on – so many people occupying too small a space – it had felt like a long while since Hermione had felt truly alone with Draco. Here, in the dark dusk of their bedroom, she felt herself unravelling.
She tried to wriggle out of her clothes but kept sighing. Every muscle in her body was aching.
'Do you want a hand?' Draco asked, handling her as though she was made of the most delicate, precious porcelain. 'I know you're knackered, Hermione, but… is there anything else going on? Something I should know?'
'No… I'm just a bit… down, I s'pose… I thought there wouldn't be any more Dark Flux attacks now we have the children.' She suddenly felt tearful as he unfastened her bra. He gently rested his hands on her breasts and leant his chin on her shoulder.
'Yeah… me too. But they obviously have backup supplies…'
'KILL while stocks last…' Hermione said in a triumphalist, sarcastic tone.
He dipped his mouth to her neck and kissed her. She felt infused with a warm, soothing glow. He eased her down onto the bed and unfastened her jeans, sliding them down her legs.
He looked at her with a concentrated expression on his face. 'Feels like you've been avoiding me,' he said, a note of soft concern in his voice.
'God, no. If anything, I miss you,' she said emphatically, pulling him towards her.
He lay down beside her and caressed her cheek and then her neck… subtly checking her glands, she thought with wry amusement. His hand drifted down to her breasts and skirted round to her armpits – and then his hand moved back to cupping her breast and rested there. He had a thoughtful expression on his face.
'Is something wrong with me?' she asked in alarm.
'No…far from it,' he said, biting his lower lip. He moved his hand away and sat up, looking down at her. He blew out his cheeks and sighed. 'Fuck it. I'm just going to say it… Is it possible you're pregnant?'
'PREGNANT? ... No. No, I'm not. You don't need to worry about that.'
His mouth quirked into a crooked smile. 'It's not a case of WORRY, it's just that – I don't remember you having a period for…' His eyes moved from side to side… 'I dunno. Feels like forever, but then time's so fucked up these days…'
'I drink my special tea, Draco,' Hermione smiled. 'We're FINE.'
But Draco didn't look convinced. 'Yeah, but…'
'And I've had a period, actually.'
'An invisible one.'
'NO. The day we found Magda… that weekend. Short and sweet.' She shook her head. 'Everything's so manic I don't think I'd have coped with anything else...'
'Okay,' Draco said, chewing his lip again. 'I guess that was a chaotic couple of days…' She could see his uncertainty shimmering brightly like a quavering halo. 'I just thought with you getting tired and sick all the time and… there was something weird with Sylvestra. She sort of implied something…got me thinking, that's all.'
'EVERYTHING was weird with Sylvestra,' Hermione sighed. 'The woman's hardly normal, is she?... Look, we've got so much to think about at the moment we can't waste energy thinking about hypotheticals.'
'It can't be hypothetical if you've had a period,' Draco said bluntly.
'Well, I HAVE.' She thought a moment…pulling the duvet over her. 'So we don't need to worry, because let's face it, it'd be fucking TERRIBLE timing... embarrassing.' She shuddered at the thought.
'It wouldn't be the besttiming, I agree...' He pulled off his clothes and lay down beside her under the duvet and his hand drifted down, tenderly drawing circles on her belly. 'Feels like tomorrow's D-Day for Ephraim. I hope he listened to you today, Hermione. I hope he just stands down...'
Draco had already surprised her this evening by not being annoyed that she'd seen Ephraim again – although she hadn't told him yet about seeing Katya…
'There's times you've wanted Ephraim dead.'
Draco sighed. 'I've had so many bloodthirsty thoughts, it makes my brain ache… The man's a narcissistic prick. But… he kept looking for my mother when I didn't think he would... Guess I have to give him that.'
Hermione turned to face him. 'Draco… This plan for tomorrow. I think the Muggles are going to kill him.'
Draco regarded her with still, grey eyes. 'They say different... but... I think you're right. They'll have a military unit waiting at Nethercross. Tim wants me to tell him the moment Ephraim leaves the Ministry so they can nab him BEFORE they bomb the shit out the place, apparently...'
'Feels like a kill order,' Hermione muttered. And yet Tim had specifically said that the British Government wasn't in the business of assassinations...
Draco flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. 'Thing is, I trust Tim to do the right thing, but he's not calling the shots. I reckon it's the other guy that looks like a fat beetroot.'
'Beaumont.'
'He doesn't like wizards, I can tell, and he wants to make a big fucking point.' He paused… 'And the thing is, I shouldn't give a fuck about Ephraim getting taken out, but now we're on the verge, I actually do! I don't want some random Muggle soldier obliterating him. I want him to stand trial for what he's done. And Harry's done shitloads of work on this case. He deserves to get his man.'
'Ephraim won't let himself get taken by Harry. He doesn't like him,' Hermione murmured, recalling Ephraim's furious face when Harry was calming the crowds in Hogsmeade.
'He's jealous. Harry's earnedhis popularity, whereas Ephraim had to buy his… A trial led by Harry would scare the crap out of him... But it's the best outcome.'
'So what do we do?' Hermione anguished. 'Oh god. I can't believe I'm going to say this, Draco, but do we TELL HIM?'
Draco twisted round to look at her. 'Tell him NOT to go to Nethercross?... Jesus. You realise that would go down like a bucket of cold sick with the others, don't you?... After everything that's happened.'
'I know...'
They locked eyes... 'But that's what we're going to do, isn't it?' Draco eventually said with a sigh. He started to laugh. 'What are we like? This man's fucking monstered our lives and we're going to let him off the hook...'
Hermione eased herself into his arms. 'It's the right thing to do, though. And we persuade him - in return - to give himself up to Harry.'
'Good luck with that,' Draco smiled. 'Do we tell Harry?'
'I think so... Because Harry might be able to cut a deal with Ephraim. Make it more palatable for him.'
Draco thought about this for a moment. 'Well if there's one thing Ephraim loves it's cutting a deal... and he's ran out of road here. He's finished... that list of names Ron showed us? The Blasters have been decimated. Big guns like Carmichael resigning... And guys like Dowson and Rosier and Melissa's husband, Osgood. Though I doubt they left the Blasters in moral outrage at Ephraim's supposed crimes.'
'Rats deserting a sinking ship…'
'Or rats following a new captain and wanting to make sure the old one knows his time's up.'
'You mean Sylvestra?'
'Tom Bennet DIDN'T resign and we know for a fact he's working with her. I bet he's persuading the rest that Ephraim's gone soft… Gunter's mate who works for Gilgad, Pascal, he says even TROY has quit working for Ephraim. He's mates with Tom…I bet he's joined up with Sylvestra, too.'
Hermione pondered this a moment. 'That's why they hit the Royal Opera House… it was personal. Putting Ephraim in his place.' She thought about Ephraim's downcast demeanour. He knew it too. He knew the game was up.
XXX
It felt important. Momentous; like the end of an era.
Julius Merriman and other concerned departmental chiefs at the Ministry had demanded this public meeting. They were backed by the Daily Prophet and aggrieved groups such as the Hogsmeade Shopkeepers Alliance - all "baying for blood" as Agatha's gleeful Sub Rosa editorial put it. Queue management controls were put in place to cope with the huge crowd expected to flock to the Ministry Atrium to hear Ephraim speak.
Thelonious, Ernie and Tansy had been in touch with the few remaining members of Kickback who'd avoided arrest for 'subversive activities' and spent the day painting anti-Golowitz placards. Thelonious, Kai, Bill and Angelina - decked out in varying degrees of disguise - headed to the Ministry to help sow chaos amongst the crowd and pressure Ephraim into stepping down.
However, it was immediately apparent that 'rabble-rousing' wasn't going to be necessary. The Ministry's grand Atrium was jam-packed with a sea of placards - 'Golowitz out!' – 'Go Home!' – 'Creevey-Killer!' – and a mammoth banner had been unfurled sporting a saintly image of Dennis Creevey with his campaign slogan - 'Creevey: A Class Act!'
A line of Blasters, looking distinctly uncomfortable, formed a protective barrier between the crowd and the stage. They were Ephraim's line of defence but were rendered helpless when a ferocious bout of booing mixed with chants of 'Get Ephraim out!' erupted the moment Ephraim swaggered onto the dais, emanating his usual charismatic braggadocio.
'Nothing like a show of humility, Ephraim…' Draco muttered sardonically, watching from the sidelines with Hermione and Harry. They'd hoped to speak to him before he took the stage, but there was no way they could push through the pulsating crowd to the dais.
Ephraim could barely contain the contemptuous sneer on his face when he surveyed the screaming horde before him… But there were pockets of support, too - a muffled chant: 'We have a Right to Exist!' fading in and out of earshot, eventually drowned out by a rising crescendo of cries – 'Murderer!'… 'Creevey-killer!' … and, 'Justice for Madame Puddifoot!'
Hermione recognised the ringleader of this particular protest. It was the Hogsmeade Post Office worker who'd been a vocal demonstrator after Ephraim's Hogsmeade rally. Here, he was levered onto the plinth of the fountain that graced the heart of the Atrium.
Hermione, Draco and Harry skirted the bulk of the crowd as best they could and were soon close to the Blasters. Hermione felt certain that they'd been noticed, despite wearing hooded capes.
Ephraim embarked on a scripted speech refuting all allegations and inviting a full and frank investigation into the death of Dennis Creevey. But his voice was lost amidst the roar of disapproval and then impassioned cheers whenever he mentioned Dennis's name.
'You're a fucking traitor!' yelped the man from the Post Office.
'Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!' went up the cry, accompanied by a discordant crash of spoons on pans, courtesy of the Hogsmeade Shopkeeper's Alliance that seemed to have swollen its ranks far beyond Hogsmeade. Hermione saw sales assistants from Twilfit and Tatting's and Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley. The owner of Potage's Cauldron Shop was passing around a variety of cauldrons to be used as drums.
'Go home!' screeched an unseen voice from the back of the room.
'You've no bleeding right to be here, let alone tell us what to do! You're not even BRITISH!' agreed the Hogsmeade Post Office worker in loud, declamatory tones.
The crowd appeared to have switched from full-blooded support of Ephraim and his bigoted policies just a couple of weeks ago to nationalist fervour.
Ephraim cast a Sonorous charm so his voice could carry over the crowd, but the chorus of drumming cauldrons ratcheted up even higher.
He was joined on-stage by Julius Merriman, looking dapper yet severe in a sleek, dark robe and a traditional wizarding hat. This looked like a staged intervention – Plan B for if the crowd didn't buy Ephraim's sales pitch.
Merriman unfurled a piece of parchment and coughed loudly to get the attention of the rowdier elements, who quietened down a notch.
'Ladies and Gentlemen! Mr Golowitz has vowed to submit to questioning by a Special Committee of the Wizengamot convened for the express purpose of addressing media speculations regarding the unfortunate demise of Mr Dennis Creevey…' He dropped the parchment. 'I therefore suggest you hear the man out… That would be the honourable, British approach to this issue. Mr Golowitz has a right to refute these allegations!'
But the audience clearly disagreed.
A kettle flew through the air catching Ephraim on the side of the head. He staggered backwards, reeling. Hermione held her breath expecting him to retaliate, but his hand went to his head and a look of awed wonder and disbelief stole across his face instead.
The kettle appeared to be the opening gambit in an onslaught of mouldering vegetables and fat, squishy tomatoes, hurled by the Hogsmeade Shopkeepers - but then a collective gasp rang out as a jet of lurid scarlet wand-fire shot through the crowd and the man from the Post Office abruptly fell headfirst from the plinth.
The crowd surged forwards, yelling and shoving, pushing into the Blasters.
Hermione strained to see which Blaster had fired this first shot in what felt like a deliberate provocation.
'No!' Ephraim bellowed. 'Put down your wands!' But the Blasters ignored him and were now jostling between themselves with many turning on the protesters.
Hermione felt eyes burning from the fringes of the dais in their direction… Torquil Haast, targeting Draco with a look of pure venom. She'd never seen him so transported, so animated by ANY emotion. His stiff, pale face was glowering with venal hatred.
Brightly coloured sparks and a blood-curdling shriek and someone had fallen to the ground and was being trampled underfoot. The crowd was now clambering onto the stage… and Merriman hastily ushered Ephraim away.
A Blaster was standing a few feet from her. He pushed back the visor on his helmet. It was Tom Bennet - and his wand was pointing straight at them…
'Fuck's sake,' Draco grunted, pushing Hermione and Harry backwards. 'We need to get out of this place. Where will Merriman have taken Ephraim?'
'There's a sort of antechamber…' Hermione explained but trailed off as the drumming cauldrons suddenly ramped up in volume. The frantic drumming hurt her ears.
'You guys go ahead!' Harry barked. He was anxiously watching a tussle in the crowd. 'Just saw one of the Blasters – Scrimshaw, I think – smack Thelonious in the chops. And I can't see Kai… Bugger. She's gone down… Gonna get them out!'
XXX
A dark, empty corridor stretched out before them.
'Where do you think YOU'RE going?' came a wheedling, officious voice that Hermione had hoped to never hear again. The spindly, hobbling form of Mr Jinks emerged into view… She felt a familiar wave of revulsion as he approached.
He was flanked by a tall, imposing figure with a large, leonine head decked out in full Blaster regalia. Cormac McClaggen.
'You heard him … Hop it! Only those on official Ministry business are allowed back here!' Cormac boomed.
'We need to speak to my stepfather… immediately,' Draco said curtly.
'By WE… d'you mean you and your girlfriend?' Cormac smirked. 'Who'd 'ave thought it, eh?'
He sniggered nastily and gave Hermione a long look up and down… but the next moment he was lying on the floor, his body crooked and misshapen, clamouring for breath. His eyes bulged ominously as he desperately clawed at the tightening neck of his robe which was choking the life out of him…
Mr Jinks jumped backwards and scrambled for his wand but it flew out of his hand.
'We haven't got time for morons,' Draco said coldly. 'We want to see Ephraim.'
Jinks bowed obsequiously. ''Of course, Mr Malfoy. I'll let him know that you're here.'
Cormac emitted a thin, strangulated whine, his face violet.
The tall, dapper figure of Julius Merriman loomed into view. 'Ah! There you are!' he said in his crisp, patrician tones. 'Mr Golowitz is keen to see you. Follow me!'
Almost as an afterthought, Draco flicked his hand and Cormac was released.
XXX
Ephraim was slouched on a chair in the corner of the room. He looked deflated, distracted…
Karl glared at his master with undisguised peevishness but the full focus of his disgust was clearly reserved for Hermione. He roughly shouldered past her as she entered the room, heading outside with a look of dark determination on his face.
There was a scuttling movement to her right… Torquil Haast tossed another look of unadulterated hatred at Draco. Interesting, Hermione thought. Did he know Draco had killed his brother? And if so, how?
Ephraim briefly glanced at Hermione and Draco but a fresh commotion quickly commanded their attention.
Mr Jinks's unctuous voice was high-pitched and querulous…
He turned to Merriman with a dissatisfied scowl. 'Potter… Demands entry!'
'Let him in,' Ephraim grumbled. Was he going to turn himself over to Auror HQ? Hermione wondered.
'But it's highly irregular, sir,' Jinks said, his smarmy features sweating in indignation. 'Potter represents a foreign judicature!'
Draco sidled up to Harry. 'Everything okay?'
'Madness,' Harry said under his breath. 'Half the fucking Blasters have upped and left!'
'Why?'
Harry's voice dropped lower. 'Following Bennet…'
'What's this about, Julius?' came a shrill voice behind Harry. The voice belonged to a witch Hermione barely knew, Loubella Blythe, notoriously one of Witchell's cronies who Padma used to call 'ole fishface'. She'd recently been named Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Tana McLaughlin, Ron's long-time colleague, was at her side.
'There better be a VERY GOOD reason why I've been summoned here,' Loubella snarled. 'We have a full-scale riot raging in the Atrium!'
'Mr Golowitz has decided to withdraw his candidacy for Minister for Magic,' Merriman said coolly.
Hermione stared at Ephraim. He seemed unfazed, even bored.
'And what's this to ME?' Loubella exclaimed, exasperated.
'He also wishes to plead guilty to a number of criminal offences, Loubella.' Merriman broke into a smile. 'Seeing as Mr Golowitz is our current acting Minister for Magic this involves YOU, I believe, more than me.'
Loubella Blythe was white as a sheet. Once she'd gathered herself, her voice quavered. 'I see… which offencesdoes he admit to?'
'Perverting the course of justice, Embracery, Defamatory Libel, Conspiracy to effect a public mischief...' Ephraim declared boldly. His voice rang out – a resonating, rich-toned baritone. Half of these 'offences' didn't even exist under Common Law anymore, Hermione thought. What was he up to?
'And... That's it?' Loubella asked. Hermione recalled how Sub Rosa had named her as one of the beneficiaries from Guldstern's money-laundering activities. She was corrupt as hell…
'Other issues will arise I suspect, Loubella,' Ephraim said airily; a veiled warning. 'Although Dennis Creevey's murder most certainly won't.'
Harry pushed himself into the centre of the room.
'As a representative of Auror HQ I need to inform you, Ms Blythe, that we have been conducting our own investigation into Mr Golowitz with a view to an international prosecution,' he said in a tight, furious voice. 'Under International Wizarding Law I demand access to the prisoner and collaboration at the highest level to ensure that Mr Golowitz faces justice.'
Loubella Blythe didn't strike Hermione as a particularly collaborative sort… indeed, the more Harry talked, the more resentful she looked. 'You may submit applications to the Wizengamot in the usual manner, Mr Potter. But Auror HQ has no legal supremacy over British law.'
'That's not quite true, actually,' Harry said archly. 'It's our contention that Mr Golowitz has engaged in acts of cross-border terrorism – that trumps EVERYTHING.'
'The British Wizengamot will hear what the prosecution has to say about these charges being levelled against Mr Golowitz. You may submit witness statements but there's no guarantee that—'
'But nobody official has charged him with ANYTHING!' Harry shouted, increasingly irate. He looked at Hermione, a desperate look in his eye. 'As far as I can see, Mr Golowitz is currently prosecuting himself!'
'Why are YOU here, Mrs Weasley?' Loubella Blythe asked tetchily.
'I needed some legal advice,' Ephraim quickly interjected before Hermione even had a chance to open her mouth. 'And my stepson is here regarding some important family business.'
Loubella sighed and turned to Auror McLaughlin. 'Read Mr Golowitz his rights and escort him to the interrogation room…. Once you've given us a statement, Ephraim, and seeing as these appear to be very minor infractions at best, I'll waive the custody requirement - but I expect you to return here tomorrow morning for a preliminary hearing in the Wizengamot.'
'I should explain to everyone waiting for Mr Golowitz to return to the Atrium what's happened,' Julius Merriman said making for the door.
'As our only remaining candidate for Minister for Magic, I suggest you hurry up!' Loubella said acerbically, 'come with me Mr Haast,' she said to Torquil before turning about-heel and hastening out of the room, Jinks close behind.
Harry groaned and sprinted after her. Hermione could hear him cajoling her as her high heels tripped down the corridor.
Tana clamped Ephraim's wrists together with a magical binding.
'I'd ask you to be my defence lawyer, Hermione,' Ephraim said, a gleeful glint in his eyes. She'd never seen a man so happy to be arrested… 'But I suspect you'd say no.'
'You need to come with me now,' Tana said, levering Ephraim off his chair.
'Not so fast young lady,' Ephraim said. He fixed a hypnotic blue gaze on her face. Tana's round brown eyes widened and she nodded. 'You have one minute, sir. I'll be outside.'
Draco was leaning against the wall, watching events unfold. 'Very fucking clever, Ephraim. Get yourself arrested by the Brits - which cuts out Harry and any chance of a real investigation into all the shit you've pulled… However, your dream of being Minister for Magic is in the gutter. And you're going to prison…'
'Not tonight, though,' Ephraim said, smacking his lips.
'Well… if you don't, you'll be dead by morning,' Draco said in cutting tones. 'Nethercross is under attack and there's some very determined and highly-trained assassins who will find you and kill you the moment you leave this place.'
'KILL me?'
'The Muggles have had enough.'
Ephraim looked at Hermione. 'Is this true?'
'Yes.' She sensed a dimming of the light inside of him. All his cleverness – for nothing.
'You need to confess to something MEATIER to make sure you're kept nice and safe in the Ministry dungeons,' Draco said. 'Although anything too meaty and you might wind up in Azkaban…'
'Not possible… I'm an American!'
'So you'd rather go back there?'
An array of emotions swept across Ephraim's face. 'Sometimes… but not in chains.'
He closed his eyes, pondering his predicament. 'Looks like I really do need legal advice,' he said to Hermione.
'I think you should surrender to Harry.'
'NEVER.'
Yes. It was definitely more about 'Harry Potter' than Auror HQ... 'Draco's right. You need to confess to something more SERIOUS to be put into custody… or… you could suffer a sudden, violent mental deterioration that warrants immediate removal to St Mungo's?'
Ephraim chuckled. 'Fake madness?'
'Possibly,' Hermione said. 'But I think you're better off spilling your guts - something like embezzlement of public funds. You could start with the Hogsmeade Restoration Fund and go from there... There's plenty of angry shopkeepers desperate to denounce you!... You're best off with the truth, though.'
'Well… that IS true, actually,' Ephraim said. 'I'll go with that.'
Hermione shook her head in disgust. 'I'll call Tana.'
'Hermione…' Ephraim said calling her back. 'There's something else I want to say…'
There was a peculiar poignancy in his expression that shocked her.
'I've been thinking about Parvati… I didn't treat her well.'
Hermione stared at him stony-faced. 'You were a bastard.'
'Exactly. And I can make it up to her.' He pondered a moment. 'Her sister. Padma.'
'You know where she is?'
'Yes… She was one of Sylvestra's test subjects when she was learning the fixing spell… She was fixed into a painting at Malfoy Manor.'
'Which one?'
'Oh, a painting of Malfoy Manor itself… Very mediocre.'
'View from Folborough Hill…' Hermione was both stunned and relieved to hear this.
'That's the one.' A sudden burst of sadness seemed to explode from deep within him.
'What about Padma's boyfriend? Tony Goldstein?' Hermione asked urgently. 'Is he with her?'
Ephraim shook his head. 'His fate was more complicated I'm afraid. He was securely bound into a painting by Dolores that was then sold at auction… a Samuel Palmer… Nice piece.'
'Your US CEO bought it.'
'It was shipped to the States.' His face sank and he looked burdened with a world of woes. 'I know Padma was your friend, Hermione. I hope you can find a way to set her free. But … I believe she was moved to Nethercross when I vacated Malfoy Manor.'
'We better go,' Draco said to Hermione, urgently tugging her arm. He was pulling his phone out of his pocket. 'Gunter's already there with Niko and Oleg. I'll warn them!'
'DRACO!' Ephraim called after him… but he didn't turn back.
XXX
'What do you mean he's not coming?' Tim demanded. He was dressed from head to toe in skin-tight black and looked slightly incongruous.
'He's been arrested,' Draco said.
'What do I do now?' Tim threw a worried glance at the three armoured trucks and rocket-launcher barely hidden in a wooded copse. 'The PM will be furious.'
Beaumont was skulking close by, eavesdropping. 'Let's take the place out and say we can't identify the body.'
Tim's face puckered at this. 'That's hardly honourable, Beaumont!'
'Are you going to pursue him through the wizarding legal system?'
'Of course not!' Tim blustered.
'So he's not our problem anymore, is he?'
'There's something we need to get from the farm before you bomb it to smithereens or whatever it is you brave boys have planned,' Draco said in laconic tones.
'Well…I don't fancy your chances,' Beaumont said, staring down his nose at Draco, even though they were evenly matched in height. 'There's guards.'
'We can fly-though, find this picture and get it out fast,' Gunter assured Draco, gesturing at Troyanda13 – poised to transform into crows.
'Well, the quicker the better,' Beaumont snapped. 'I've got to report back to JTAC. They're getting impatient.' He peered at Nethercross Farm through binoculars. 'I'll give you ten minutes to get in and get out – you'll need to be a good half-mile outside the perimeter once we let rip.'
'There's a windmill close to the property. We'll meet you there,' said Niko.
XXX
'I don't remember a windmill!' Draco said, once they'd Apparated to the tree that had been their rendezvous point the night they rescued Binta and Katya's painting.
Hermione vaguely recalled there'd been a light in a window across the fields. Was that the windmill? YES… there it was! She could discern its distinctive bulk and shape. It had been a moonless night before; but tonight, the fields and farm were bathed in soft, silvery light.
Moments later and they were shivering in the windmill's cool shadow, gazing across the fields to Nethercross Farm.
Hermione gazed up at the windmill towering above them. The sails swept noisily round and round… a constant creaking motion. The window where she'd seen that candle flickering was dark and featureless. Even so, she rubbed her arms to dispel a peculiar prickling sensation.
'Are you cold?' asked Draco.
'A little… where the hell are— OH MY GOD!' A sudden blinding white flash lit up the night. She grabbed hold of Draco and they stood and watched in horrified silence as an explosive roar rumbled towards them and a huge, rolling cloud billowed high into the sky.
'Too soon,' she whimpered, as a second flash, even brighter than the first, lit up their faces.
A movement from the top window caught her attention… a faint shade of pale reflected by the explosion across the fields, but it quickly melted into blackness and was gone.
'Hey!' Niko yelled, jogging towards them from the far side of the windmill.
'Thank god,' Draco panted in relief.
'The others are coming…'
Oleg and Gunter were holding a painting between them. 'When they said ten minutes they actually meant six!' Gunter frowned. 'That Beaumont fucker doesn't like wizards!'
'Who's got the Portkey?'
Niko was frantically hunting on his hands and knees in the grass. 'Fucking hell,' he complained. He splayed his hand and a beam of light illuminated the sodden turf. 'Blasted thing was a safety pin! Couldn't Elizaveta have used a cup or a big fucking brooch or something?'
'Doesn't matter. We'll Apparate,' Gunter said. 'Will the painting be okay?'
'I should think so,' Hermione said.
XXX
'We need to paint the back,' Hermione said urgently, once the painting was installed in the shed alongside the rest of their growing collection. 'Stops any unwanted visitors.'
'Well, let's be quick about it,' Niko remarked, liberally slapping black paint onto the canvas. 'Everyone's heading to The Burrow for a celebratory drink. I could definitely do with one – those Muggle bastards scared the shit out of me.'
Hermione was hunting down a spare rag of some kind to cover the painting. 'What's the celebration?'
Niko looked at her, slack-jawed. 'We've been wanting this cretin locked up for years! And now he is!'
'Oh. Of course…' Ephraim going down for embezzling the Hogsmeade Restoration Fund hadn't been quite the dastardly ending she'd always envisaged for him. Still.. it was a start. Harry would be breathing down the Ministry's neck until he got his way and Ephraim was packed off to Paris.
'And the Weasleys are moving back into their home. It's still a wreck but better than it was.' Niko flashed her a grin. 'The staircase? That's me. I did that!' Niko propped up 'View from Folborough Hill' to dry.
'You two coming?' Draco and Henrik asked from the open door. Parvati momentarily stepped inside the shed and glanced her hand across the painting of Malfoy Manor, sighing deeply. Both happy and concerned…
They walked across the field towards the twinkling lights of The Burrow behind its high hedges. The grass was damp against Hermione's calves. The night sky smelled of more rain to come.
She shivered, still chilled from the shadow of the windmill at Nethercross.
'Mummy,' Hugo squealed when they walked in, 'look at what Niko done!'
Hermione lifted her eyes across the kitchen to the staircase. The wooden banister and railings had been shaped to resemble a tree, its branches woven together into a series of hearts and birds ascending out of view… silvery leaves glinted in the warm glow of candlelight.
Hermione smiled at Niko. 'Very nice.'
It was crowded around the kitchen table but Molly was in hearty form. She served steaming bowls of chicken stew followed by apple pie, although Hermione wasn't in the mood to eat - or drink, despite Arthur plying everyone with cowslip wine and a home-brewed nettle beer that had Henrik giggling like a schoolboy after he drank – against seasoned advice – three pints in quick succession.
Children were squealing and running from room to room with Parvati and Fleur in full chase while George and Ron appeared to be running what looked suspiciously to Hermione like an 'Exploding Snap' gambling table in the living-room, with the older children wagering chocolate frog cards.
Not everyone was there. Arlene and Gabby were still recovering from injuries – both physical and emotional – and had stayed at Shell Cottage with Thelonious who opted out of festivities because he was feeling a bit dizzy after being clobbered at the Ministry – although Hermione reckoned he didn't really enjoy large social gatherings.
Percy left early with Molly and Lucy. Hardly a surprise, Hermione thought. Their world had fallen apart in the worst possible way and they were putting one hell of a brave face on it.
'I don't begrudge any of your happiness,' Percy said to her quietly when she followed him outside into the dank night air. 'It's important to savour the good when it comes… less often than it should, these days.' His hands shook a little as he spoke.
'If there's anything I can do to help…' Hermione said, hating her own inadequacy.
'The best thing you – or any of us can do - is stop those bastards who took Audrey,' Percy said, lowering his voice so his daughters couldn't hear him. He reached out for his children, one on either side of him, and they walked slowly up the drive.
As Hermione watched them go she could hear the kitchen behind her falling into silence.
'I think we should drink a toast to our dear departed friends,' Arthur said and there were muted notes of approval and the burble of sad, troubled conversation and then the sound of a cork being popped from a bottle – glasses clinking, and bit by bit the volume of conversation cranked up; the squeals and cries of children charging through the house resumed with Angelina raising her voice as someone – Hermione guessed it was Alfred from the surly-sounding response – knocked over a glass.
A violin squeaked into action, accompanied by a flute. She could hear Gwen applauding and whooping so she presumed Oleg was one of the musicians. The music was both jaunty and sad, floating into the night.
A chill hand wrapped itself around hers. 'Mummy… I think you should come in now.'
It was Rose, staring up at her with large, round eyes.
'Just getting some fresh air…' She gazed up the drive. Percy and his daughters had ducked from view into the field.
'But you should come in… it's better that you do.'
Hermione shot a glance at her daughter. Her serious expression troubled her more than she wanted to admit. It was rather frightening being unnerved these days by her own daughter.
'You two okay?' Draco asked from the open doorway. His eyes were shining and he had a glass of firewhiskey in his hand.
'All good,' Hermione smiled.
'She's here,' Rose whispered to her mother, gently nudging her towards Draco.
Hermione's heart jumped into her throat. 'Who?'
Her heart was still thumping as she inched her way into the kitchen… the scant floor-space had been taken over by a dancing game that seemed to involve a lot of crossing-over of arms and legs and a fair deal of toppling over while laughing hysterically.
She moved to the sink to pour herself a glass of water and her eyes drifted to the window and the tree-lined drive heading to the field.
A small, elfin figure, like a dark fairy, barely distinguishable in the shadows, was standing at the furthest end of the drive - head bowed.
Hermione's lips and hands tingled with sudden, acute fear…
She turned around, looking for Draco. He was laughing with Harry as they fiddled with the nozzle on Arthur's beer-keg. Beer spluttered inexpertly into their glasses before gushing onto the floor.
Please look over, please come here, she silently begged.
'What's up?' Draco asked, his hand warm on her shoulder. 'You look like you've seen a ghost.'
She turned back to the window.
The small, dark figure was staring up at them; her face pale and indistinct.
Draco's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in alarm. 'Shit. It's Katya…'
His glass of beer almost fell from his hand but between them they caught it.
When they looked back, she was gone.
XXX
CHAPTER TRACKS:
"RIVERSIDE" by AGNES OBEL
"ALMA OPPRESSA DA SORTA CRUDELE" from La Fida Ninfa by VIVALDI
"TAKE A BOW" by MUSE
"BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS" by GREEN DAY
"TILL THE SKY FALLS DOWN" by DASH BERLIN
Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters.
