Where I have said I'm nervous previously, doesn't compare to the nerves I feel about this chapter. I feel very much like I am throwing this at the internet, and then I'm going to go hide. It's a long one. I'm not ignoring our previous conversation about 10k, but this just couldn't be helped. There was a lot that I needed to get through.

Also, I'm not going to be able to post as often as I have been doing over the last couple of weeks. Work will finally be starting. I'll still be writing, don't worry. I'm too invested at this point. I just wanted to give you all a heads-up.

Finally, I just wanted to say thank you to you all, for allowing me to put the ramblings of my mind on here. Even in this short time, I have learnt so much from you all. Truly your feedback is invaluable. Thank you again.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Panic/anxiety attack, death, blood, reference to terrorism. As per, let me know if I've missed any, muchos love.

All mistakes are mine.

Without further ado, grab your beverage and snack of choice, and I hope, beyond measure, that you enjoy this one.

I'll see you on the other side.

"The truth is this,

every monster

you have met

or will ever meet,

was once a human being

with a soul

that was as soft

and light

as silk.

Someone stole

That silk from their soul

And turned them

into this.

So when you see

A monster next,

Always remember this.

Do not fear

the thing before you.

Fear the thing

that created it

Instead."

- Nikita Gill, The Truth about Monsters

Chapter 10 – Orenda

10:33 am, 10th of September, 1999 – Tower Bridge, London, UK.

The concept of the man-made bridge has existed within the mind of civilisation since 3000BC...give or take a few years.

The title of the oldest bridge structure still standing, belongs to either the Tarr Steps in Exmoor, England, where the flat surfaces of the stones slabs are rumoured to be where the devil to sunbathes. Or, it is the Mycenaean Bridges that lie in the shadow of the Arkadico Villages in Greece, which are believed to be an integral part of the dead's journey into the afterlife. The feat of structural engineering that is connecting two lands over a body of water is intrinsically poetic within human psychology. Bridges stand constant and strong, allowing life to continue over them and as a result, the bridge is regarded - universally and throughout time - as a symbol of communication, of union, and a connection between realms or worlds.

Tower Bridge has stood in the heart of London since 1894. Differing from the delicate placing of slabbed stones in Exmoor 5000 years' prior, the construction of Tower Bridge took eight years at the hands of four-hundred and thirty-two workers, who placed eleven-thousand tonnes of steel framework that connect two Towers over the River Thames. For a century, Tower Bridge had stood silently and bore witness to the world that crossed over it. In the early nineteen-hundreds, the bridge became London's Red Light District, with the top walkways filled to the brim with Ladies of the Night and pickpockets. In 1917, a muggle named Thomas Hans Orde-Lees jumped from the top walkway into the Thames with nothing but a black blooming cloth behind him; this made Tower Bridge the surprising birthplace of the muggle Royal Parachute Regiment and was also fundamental in convincing the muggle Royal Air Force to give parachutes to their pilots. In November of 1940, during the height of the Blitz, the wizard, Henry Bocham, gave his life protecting hundreds of people who were fleeing St Saviours Estate and Maltby Street Market; the areas had been flattened by a cluster of bombs, and many places surrounding had subsequently been set ablaze. As hundreds of wounded stumbled into the bottleneck of Tower Bridge, the roar of Luftwaffe engines grew closer, closing in to drop another round. Bochum hurtled up the stairs of the North Tower, and in a moment of blind courage, arrested the descent of the bombs that were dropped directly over them. As he diverted the final bomb, a stray bullet from a Luftwaffe caught him and he fell from the top walkway into the Thames below. There were no other casualties on the bridge that night. The first plane flew through the bridge in 1912, but in 1951, a muggle named Frank Miller flew a plane through Tower Bridge on a dare from his thirteen-year-old son, who had bet him thirty-five shillings for the act. In December of 1952, Albert Gunter was a muggle bus driver who was driving the route of the number seventy-eight across the bridge, when suddenly the road before him disappeared. The watchman on duty that day had forgotten to alert the bell and drop the gates that would stop the flow of traffic while the bridge's bascules rose. Without sparing another thought, Gunter stepped on the accelerator and managed to jump the gap, getting all twenty of his passengers safely to the other side. In 1984, a witch called Helen DeGrace perfected the fundamentals of modern transmutation, using the trajectory of the two towers to stem the flow of the Thames for a brief moment. In 1995, a group of wizards and witches dashed through Tower Bridge on brooms one night and sped along the Thames, using the cover of darkness to hide their shadows from watchful eyes. In 1997, the motorcade of the muggle United States President, Bill Clinton, was divided for twenty minutes when the bascules rose to allow a barge called 'Gladys' through to reach her docking appointment at St Katherine's dock on time.

In 1999, on the morning of the 10th of September, Hermione leant against the blue guardrail of Tower Bridge's bascules. Her hands were clasped tightly around the last vestiges of her takeaway coffee, as she looked out onto the Thames. Dappled spots of white gold twinkled upon its surface as the early morning sunlight caressed the turbulent murky water. The traffic grumbled a low continuous roar as it travelled over the bridge behind her. She had been viciously awoken that morning by the insistent sounds of tapping against her window. Hermione had opened her bleary eyes to see Taliesin's huge grey harpy owl scowling at her through the glass. She had thrown back her covers, stumbled inelegantly out of bed, only hopping a couple of times to release the foot that had tangled in the sheet in her haste to get to the window. The owl, Siegfried, had nipped her hand affectionately as he had helped himself to the treats that were waiting on her desk. The note had been scrawled in Taliesin's uncaring hand, asking her to meet him on Tower Bridge at ten-thirty, with no indication as to the reason why. Hermione had sworn loudly when she then realised that she only had forty minutes to get ready. She had hesitated for barely a moment before her wardrobe while she had considered the unpredictable nature of her week thus far before she had thrown on combat boots and a soft jumper and cast a quick charm to quell her fierce bed-head. She had been just about to leave Grimmauld Place when the memory of the colourful book flashed in front of her eyes for the thousandth time since she had learnt of Malfoy's inheritance. She had rushed back upstairs to her room, scrawled a quick note to McGonagall and then dashed to the attic where the owls that Harry kept, slept. She had bribed one with treats and sent it on its way.

Then she had sprinted from the house.

She took another sip of her coffee, her mind restless as it thought over the last couple of days.

Nott and Harry would be stealing the Voynich in a few hours. As she braced herself against the cool breeze, she felt the same creeping sense of unease come over her as she had experienced the night before when she had been sat in the living room. The same unease that had doubled ten-fold upon learning of the Selkie's disappearance.

Random events in life were usually just that – random events. And these random events, Hermione ruminated, were classified as such because they broke the chain of causality. The decision she had made that morning to go to a coffee shop that she never had been to before, was preceded by the necessity for caffeine on very little sleep and not enough time to wait in the line that usually was present in her favourite cafe, before her appointment on Tower Bridge. Her flirtatious interaction with the barista had been preceded by the fact that she had entered the shop, windswept and battling her hair that she hadn't had time to tame fully, and the man with kind eyes had shot her a charming smile and wink.

Every decision, every event has a requirement that proceeds it, which is why it is well understood that nothing is ever truly random. And so, Hermione surmised, a 'true random event' is an event whereby the proceeding actions and decisions are not known or influenced by the person and are never known, thereafter. These events are few and far in-between in a person's life: like a bird flying into a window or being struck by lightning. But if one pertains to the thesis of Chaos, then even these seemingly patternless events have a pattern of causality, however tenuous it may be; meaning that the bird would have inevitably flown into the window and one would have eventually been struck by lightning.

And yet Hermione had become connected to a series of seemingly random events: a random bombing, a questionable creature inheritance, an apparent summoning and 'kidnapping', the disappearance of a Selkie and her horse? And an urgent request for the Voynich manuscript to be stolen.

And now Theodore Nott, Death Eater ally, was having tea in her living room with Harry?

(read: is it really kidnapping if it's a spirit? Spiritnapping?)

Individually, were each of the events notable? Sure. Random? Perhaps not. Just because Hermione didn't know the proceeding causes and actions, didn't mean that somebody didn't.

But two – maybe three – disappearances in the two days?

People go missing all the time. And the Selkie is in the UK whereas the spirit was in Germany, so that shouldn't really raise any eyebrows.

Creature inheritances were… not common. (read: the administrator searching for prior records had still not surfaced from the archives and should probably now be presumed missing.)

Bombings were more common, but still not an everyday occurrence.

And to her knowledge, nobody had attempted to steal to the Voynich for centuries. It was too mysterious, too unreadable, and therefore was only considered valuable to academia.

Was it a mere coincidence that all these random, notable events had happened within the same forty-eight hours and circumference of causality as to end up in Hermione's orbit?

Hermione dragged her eyes from the hypnotic sparkle of the water and cast her gaze to the distant London skyline. She congratulated herself on her choice of clothes as she noticed the black cloud brewing in the distance that was slowly devouring the clear sky. She had the sudden feeling like she was stood on the precipice of staring into a void, about to jump. As she eyed the darkness of the cloud, the creeping sense of unease curled its claws around her shoulders as it clung to her spine and breathed down her neck.

Nothing was ever truly a coincidence, the same way that nothing was ever truly random.

She just didn't know the preceding chain of causality yet.

"Sorry I'm late," said a booming Yorkshire accent behind her. Hermione started from her reverie and looked over her shoulder to see Taliesin, her partner, jog up the pavement toward her, a newspaper in hand.

"I was in the office on my way here, and Oakley and Bronwen trapped me," he slowed his trot and leant heavily against the balustrades next to her, his long roguish hair falling into this eyes. "Word to the wise, they're excited as anything today," he chuckled exasperatedly, "'Member that breakthrough they were nabbing on about Fear they found in Timor?"

The memory tickled faintly from the recesses of Hermione's mind.

"They've been saying for ages that fear is an It. Not just a…" he waved his hand around, searching for the word. Unable to find it, he glanced beseechingly to her. She nodded her assent to his silent question; she vaguely remembered their original assertion that fear wasn't just an emotion. Something like 'emotions can be manipulated but fear had a life of its own'.

"Well apparently," Taliesin continued, his tone changing to sound as if he were gossiping about a scandalous event, rather than a reality shifting break-through, "shit's kicked off this morning. Something to do with accepting that some premise is true. But then if you do that and test for an entity rather than an effect, apparently there's an event taking place or something," he shrugged nonchalantly. "I dunno, you know how they are, a bunch of weirdos who say boo to ghosts."

Hermione observed him as he scraped his hand through his hair, huffing in amusement at his conclusion, and noted that the circles under his eyes were darker than they had been.

"You look like you haven't slept Tal," she commented.

He turned to her with his brows raised in accusation. "Rich coming from you lass, you look like death warmed up! I was working on the Waterloo job all yesterday, and y'know how it is, I kept turning to my partner, but then a funny thing kept happening," he looked at her pointedly, "I remembered she's MIA." Though he said the words in a light tone, they held an undercurrent of censure. She opened her mouth to explain but he shook his head. "You don't need to lass, I went to Willows. He explained he'd sent you on a side enquiry. All hush hush about it too. You catch anything good?"

Hermione shrugged, "not sure yet. Bizarre, I'll say that much. I need to check a couple of things out first and debrief with Willows before I read you in."

Tal made noncommittal noise as he cast his gaze searchingly up the bridge.

"Why did you ask me to meet you here?"

Tal took a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks before releasing it in a short huff. His face suddenly darkened.

"Before you begin to worry about what I'm about to tell you. This is all above board. Well…" he swiped a thumb across his bottom lip as sniffed derisively. "As above board as one can be when doing something illegal."

Hermione arched a brow and finished off the last of her coffee. "How illegal?"

"Oh, not too bad," Tal said nonchalantly, as he picked some lint from his sleeve. "Only a couple wars in recent memory contesting the very law we're about to break, but hey, it's signed off by Shacklebolt and Willows so…" The casual conversational tone of his voice was offset by the severe crease between his brows and the fire that burnt in his eyes.

Hermione frowned as she processed what he was saying.

"You're not suggesting The Statue of Secrecy are you?" she said lowly, ducking her head to try and search his eyes that were boring holes into his coat sleeve. He met her gaze suddenly, his usual friendly face was set with barely contained anger.

Taliesin had been an Unspeakable during Voldemort's take-over of the Ministry. In the time that Hermione had worked with him, he hadn't once volunteered to talk about it. From the glimpses of information that she had gleaned from overheard hushed conversations, during Thicknesse's time as Minister of Magic, there had been a violent coup in the DoM, and an attempted purge of Unspeakables who had followed Voldemort's doctrine. The battle had been bloody and long, but hidden behind cloak and dagger and had lasted for months. For a while, the DoM had been split into two factions. One run by Raine, the other championed by Augustus Rookwood. Things had been stressful for a very long time and many had lost their lives; they had all known that whoever controlled the Chambers, controlled magic, and that wasn't an option either side were willing to concede.

"I don't know what to tell you," he ran his teeth over his lip as he searched the bridge again. "Something's got everyone freaked about this Waterloo business. Enough for Shacklebolt to give this a green light." He paused to scrap his hair back and he snorted with grim humour. "And now with the shit that's happening today…"

Hermione reeled as she struggled to keep up. "Wait, what? What are we doing here and what do you mean 'shit that's happening today'?" she asked, her voice growing more clipped and tense with each unanswered question.

Tal held out the paper to her. She flicked it open and felt her world tilt on its axis as she read the headline:

The Secret Rendez Vous - Ministry vs Malfoy Heir in an unexpected turn of events.

She quickly read the article, the creeping unease on her spine turned to horror as another domino fell into place.

Malfoy… As her eyes flitted over the words, she felt the blood drain from her face as she read the confidential details of Malfoy's predicament exposed in Skeeter's obnoxious narrative. What are the chances that this is another coincidence?

Hermione looked back up to Taliesin with what felt like a plea in her eyes, as she seethed with unbridled fury.

How did she find out?!

What is the Ministry doing?!

HEARING?!

"I don't know lass, the department's buzzing. No-one knows anything, everyone's trying to find answers. You caught the case didn't you?" he asked worriedly.

She nodded sharply in response, her pulse racketing up as panic began to set in. Fuck! How, why?! "Willows… does he-"

"He knows; he's trying to find out what's going on."

"I should be there, I-"

"Right now, you have to be here. It's me and you on this, orders from on high."

"On what?!"

"We're meeting the muggle version of us," he said with false cheer.

Hermione stopped, her breath stuttering in a jagged inhale; the hand that held the newspaper fell limply to her side, the article forgotten. She searched Tal's face, trying to see the joke or hidden meaning.

"What do you mean, 'meeting them'?" she said slowly.

"Think they call themselves MI5. Domestic homeland intelligence for muggles. And we," he gestured between them, "Unspeakable Granger and Unspeakable Monaghan are meeting two of their agents, as ourselves I might add, to start an interagency task force," he said in a mock-serious tone and a wide grin that didn't reach his eyes.

Dumbfounded silence settled between them while the rumbling traffic continued by, completely unaware of their plight.

"Officer's Jay and Kilmore," Tal offered quietly after a moment. His face had given up the momentary bout of forced happiness and now bore an expression of having something particularly sour in his mouth.

"Over the Waterloo case?" Hermione croaked. Tal nodded. "But…what?!" she exclaimed in frustrated confusion.

The flagrant hypocrisy of it was stifling, and Hermione was struggling to wrap her head around it. The wrong side of the war had fought to overturn the Statue of Secrecy – sure, it would have been to the detriment of thousands and discrimination of millions - but to denounce them with one hand to only subvert the very same law with the other because of apparent convenience, was a hard pill to swallow in the black and white lines that had set by the Post-War society.

But then wasn't grey legality the Department of Mysteries prerogative anyway?

To demark an item as cursed and therefore too dangerous to be in the hands of the public, only to then use it for her own personal needs?

Because she could be trusted?

Because she knew she wouldn't abuse the power?

Hadn't she pushed Harry to do the very same thing the night before? Hadn't she encouraged 'The Chosen One' to follow a known Death Eater ally, and less than savoury character, into an illegal operation because she wanted to know who had an interest in the Voynich?

Does the end justify the means?

"Head in the game Granger," Tal grunted as he gestured with his head across the bridge. Hermione swivelled her gaze to her left, squinting against the sun slightly, to see two men casually stroll towards them. One was older, his silver hair was scraped back and his beard was neatly groomed; though his shoulders were relaxed as he ambled along, his face was tense as he observed them. His younger counterpart was equally as polished but with dark hair; his sharp eyes reflected the barely contained aggression that was coiled in his posture as they snapped between Hermione and Tal. She noted that the Agents were similarly dressed to themselves: a nod to business decorum with shirts and jumpers over rough trousers and tough boots. The only difference being, that Hermione and Tal's appeared to be more lightweight.

The two men came to a stop before them. Nobody spoke while they assessed one another (read: they openly looked for any weaknesses - the elder gentlemen favoured his right leg over left – previous injury?).

The traffic continued to rumble as it crossed over the bridge.

"There's a restaurant just up here," the younger of the two said without greeting, gesturing to the area behind the Unspeakables toward St Katherine's Dock. "I don't know about you guys, but I could go for some coffee?" His voice held a note of uncertainty as if he were wary of the Unspeakables relationship with caffeinated beverages.

"Sounds great," Tal said with a cheer that again, didn't reach his eyes. He bumped Hermione's shoulder with his as he drew himself to his full height. A stalemate ensued where neither pair wanted to lead the way (read: and turn their backs on the other). With an unspoken agreement, Tal and the younger man stepped into line together leaving Hermione to walk alongside the elder.

The journey over the bridge was slow and silent, each step measured in its relaxed stroll. The tense line of their bodies showed that each movement was exactly as controlled as it was meant to be; no-one wanted to spook someone with a sudden movement, but everyone was ready to react at a moment's notice if someone did.

By the time they walked through the doors of a modern, glass-fronted restaurant called Vicinity, just off the lawns of St Katherine's Dock, the tension was palpable between them. The maître d' quickly seated them with little fuss, recognising that theirs was not a party for charming. Hermione and Tal sat next to their counterparts, neither pair willing to concede the higher ground by completely seating themselves with their backs' exposed to the open restaurant. Hermione sat opposite the younger man, who shoulders hitched and rolled slightly as he made himself comfy in his seat.

A waiter suddenly appeared and hurried them through ordering. A strained silence fell over the group until the waiter returned to cautiously place various teapots and cappuccinos delicately on the table with a white-knuckle grip.

The elder gentlemen to Hermione's right chuckled under his breath as the waiter scampered away, looking relieved with the more distance he put between himself and the table. Hermione arched her brow at the man, catching his eye.

"It appears that as four trained agents, none of us are being very subtle," he explained, blowing gently on his steaming tea.

Hermione felt a twitch of amusement in the corner of her mouth where a smile threatened to spread before she contained it.

"Shall we start with introductions?" she said, finding her footing after it had been so thoroughly taken from under her ten minutes' prior. Taskforce. On our side, she reminded herself.

"I'm Jay," said the younger man, "that's Kilmore," nodding to the elder man beside her. "You are?"

"Monaghan and Granger," Tal said easily, his Yorkshire accent thick. He leant back in his seat, opening his expansive chest to fill that side of the table with his presence. Hermione took a sip of her coffee to stop herself from tutting. Working where she did and having the friends she had, she was used to 'peacocking' – she just wished that they had the grace to at least try and be less overt about it.

She lightly cleared her throat. "Just so we're clear, because I'm sure this is ah…" she hesitated, trying to find a neutral means of expressing her sentiment. "I'm sure our situation is unique enough to warrant questions, but uh, who do you think we are?"

She winced as Tal threw her an exasperated look. She shrugged helplessly - you try finding a way to ask without sounding stupid and without saying anything, she thought archly at him.

Jay looked between them, a bemused smile growing on his face while Kilmore settled his cup carefully back in its saucer.

"You mean magical?" he said quietly, his voice stumbling as if the seriousness of the question was alien to him.

Tal grinned ruefully, "that'd be the one."

"Yes, we've been made aware, and of the sensitive nature of the information," Kilmore offered, casting a glance at Hermione.

She nodded in concurrence. "Operating so openly like this is new for us," she hedged, taking another sip of her drink. "You'll have to excuse us if we're a bit closed off."

"That's fair," Jay said with a small smile, even as his eyes tightened their gaze. "Full disclosure we only were debriefed on the full nature of circumstances half an hour before we left to meet you, so you'll have to forgive us if it hasn't quite sunk in yet."

Hermione looked up sharply at him in surprise, a silent 'oh' on her lips. Tal shifted in his seat to face Jay more.

"Tit-for-tat, full disclosure," Tal said, "we were only informed about this task force an hour ago. Well, I was informed," he pointed to his own chest, then his grin widened as he flicked a pointed finger to Hermione. "She found out two minutes before you guys turned up."

Jay and Kilmore showed mirrored looks of faint surprise and amusement on their faces.

"I think that's one thing we can all bond on then, magic or not, our governments are shit at communicating anything," Kilmore chuckled, his deep voice resonating in his chest as he leant back in his seat – the picture of complete ease. The sleeves of his jumper pulled up slightly and Hermione spotted the beginnings of colourful tattoos on both of his wrists.

Tal caught Hermione's eye and gestured with his head to the open restaurant behind him. She scanned the area and saw two tables had been seated full of people who chatted happily over their menus. Taking the hint, she wordlessly and wandlessly cast 'muffliato'.

"Our superior informed us that this knowledge is only known by a select few in our government," Kilmore continued conversationally, though Hermione saw his eyes track the interaction between the Unspeakables. His brow flickered slightly as he too glanced around the restaurant.

"The tables are sat too close for this conversation, we've made it so we can talk freely," Hermione explained awkwardly as she battled with the heavy feeling in her chest that was trying to prevent her from saying so.

As Kilmore's settled into his seat with a mild approving look, his words finally processed in Hermione's mind.

"Wait, you said a select few in your government know?"

"Yeah," Jay said, "only the upper heads though. My hand's still cramping from the amount of paperwork they made us sign."

"The PM and the Crown, I assume," said Kilmore.

"But- "

Hermione stopped abruptly at the sound of Tal's aggressive snort. He met her eyes with a bitter smirk.

"No muggle - fancy headwear or not - must know of our existence except, apparently, the ones who already know," he said conversationally.

Hermione frowned as she looked down into her drink, and re-evaluated the situation as if it were a problem to solve. The tension at the table began to mount as no-one spoke following Tal's pointed tone.

"If you think about it, the practicalities of running two worlds simultaneously alongside one another for centuries without the majority civilisation knowing of the other's presence is a tall order. Some communication is logically the only way it could be done Tal," Hermione said diplomatically.

"You came 'round quickly," he commented. She snapped her eyes up to his with a rebuttal on her lips, before he waved her off. "I hear you – I do. It just smarts, is all. Too soon." Tal gave a small shake of his head and averted his gaze to his drink. Hermione looked back to the muggles who were watching them with keen interest.

Before she could say anything to relieve the atmosphere that hovered over them, Tal shifted in his seat, his dark expression lifting into his familiar focus that Hermione knew and trusted. "Anyway," he breezed, "you guys got any idea why we're teaming up on this?"

"We've been operating on Critical threat level," Jay said with a heavy sigh, wiping a hand down his face. "But we never saw this coming. SIS was focusing on the happenings over the in the Gulf, meanwhile, we were focusing on making sure The Troubles stay quiet. Waterloo came out of nowhere." He swallowed heavily and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips as his gaze danced between the Unspeakables and his partner. "We never saw this coming," he repeated helplessly.

Kilmore twirled the spoon that lay on his saucer.

"The wires were silent. We're still scouring previous intelligence and all incoming sources, but we've got nothing. Not a whisper. No one's taken credit for it. We were just about to conclude that this was a one-off, some random fucker, when Scotland Yard gets a call from the City of London Police, saying that they've just picked up a bloke, drunk as a skunk, who's ranting a load of bollocks about hocus pocus and how he knows stuff about Waterloo." Kilmore took a delicate sip of his tea, the small china cup looked altogether too small in his large hands. "Anyway, Detectives get down there. Verify that he's not entirely off his rocker and might actually be a bit of a catch, take him back with them to hold him tight and give us a call. Higher-ups have a look and something about what he says sets them off. I don't know what it was yet, but it must have been something big because we deal with crazy people chatting about magic or whatever powers that be, all the time. Next thing you know, we're signing our lives away and now we're here with you two."

Jay shook his head, as if in disbelief before adding, "honestly this whole thing, as gut-wrenching as it to admit, was almost closed in a neat file. Now it feels we've woken up in some sort of fever dream."

"You got that right. Either way, with regards to the case, that's all we know; that our guy is sitting pretty in Scotland Yard, giving everyone the creeps," Kilmore finished with a half-cocked grin under his immaculate beard while Jay huffed a laugh into his coffee.

Hermione shared a heavy look with Tal. Whoever this man was, obviously was saying the right things to grab the attention of whoever knew of actual magic. Otherwise, Hermione was sure they wouldn't have risked the gamble of exposure.

More questions with no answers.

"What about on your end?" Jay asked, glancing with wide eyes between the Unspeakables.

"We were initially on the scene," Hermione said. "We received an intel report of an attack on a list of sites. By the time the report had come through though, Waterloo had been hit. As soon as we could get in there, we assessed the scene. The suspect used magical means of detonation – a spell of some kind," she amended, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall the details. It seemed like so long ago that it had happened. "We concluded that the caster was killed in the explosion due to the incendiary nature of the spell."

"From there," Tal easily cut it, knowing that that was where Hermione's involvement had ended. "We put our law enforcement department on intel gathering and trying to uh, assist your lot with anything."

"Oh, so there's already a colla-"

"Not quite," Tal interrupted with a placating smile to Jay. "They're undercover."

A comically exaggerated expression of comprehension dawned on Jay's face. Hermione bit back a smile as Kilmore rolled his eyes and tutted into his tea.

"But we've hit a dead-end," Tal continued, "nothing new since."

Kilmore tilted his head slightly, "where was the initial intel from?"

"Overheard hearsay reported by one of the informants. He was brought in yesterday and questioned. But he couldn't give a clear description of who he'd heard it from. And eh," he shifted in his seated and frowned at the table before looking back up. "Other means of attempting to clear up the memory have been unsuccessful. He was too drunk."

A quiet settled over to the table as everyone processed the gathered information.

"By deductive reasoning," Jay questioned softly, his face set in deep consternation, "would it a be fair suggestion to say that your world has more of a direct line to the suspect?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione's brow furrowed as she looked to him.

"Well I mean, we've got ours and SIS' net spread wide. Neither of us has managed to get any nibbles in terms of intel. The only actionable intel came from your side… so what I mean is, can we, therefore, deduce that the suspect hid in your world, ergo, leaving all the breadcrumbs in your world?"

Hermione spun her now empty mug. It was a fair deduction but –

"But your world is where the first major breadcrumb was found so…"

Hermione nodded her agreement to Taliesin's statement.

"And so we arrive at the motive for a joint task force," said Kilmore loftily from the corner.

Hermione settled back into her seat, laughing quietly at the elder's glibness.

"I take it we're going to interview the man in Scotland Yard?" she inquired.

"Aye, we're booked to go see him at one. One of the Detective's ordered a psychologist who's in there now, he was concerned about capacity. We've got a couple of things we need to do in the meantime but we can meet you there?"

"No, that's perfect," Hermione replied quickly with an eager smile as her pulse skipped a beat. Malfoy. This would give her time to track down Raine and find out what had happened to her charge.

Once Kilmore had settled the bill. The group left in a much lighter air than they had arrived in, laughing amicably over something benign that Tal had brought up. They parted ways, exchanging pleasantries and as soon as Jay and Kilmore had disappeared, Hermione and Tal set off with co-ordinated fierce determination to get some answers.

11:45 am, 10th of September, 1999 - Department of Mysteries, British Ministry

"Surely there must have been some sort of arrangement between the muggle intelligence services and ours? This can't be the first time that something like this has happened Tal?" Hermione lamented as she stepped off the elevator onto the polished floors of level nine as Tal followed close behind.

"If there has been, it's not common knowledge lass" he grunted, sidestepping an Unspeakable trainee who was wearing large, light-shielding goggles that were too big for his face. Hermione zig-zagged through the corridors passing by the various offices. Tal had been right, the department was electric with hurried movement and conversation. All around them, Unspeakables of every rank were running through the halls or bent low over reports, all with the same set blank expression of focus.

"I need to check in on the Aurors, see if they've caught anything. I'll meet you in the Atrium at quarter-to-one?" Tal said as he started walking backwards away from her down an adjacent corridor. Hermione nodded her agreement, waved her goodbye and set off.

While it was very easy to get lost in the maze that made up the DoM, Hermione had learnt quickly that it was simple enough to find someone, if one knew where to look. She reached her destination and knocked on the open door of the DoM's archive warehouse. When she got no response, she peaked her head in, to see, in vain hope, if she could easily spot Tin. Seeing the empty room beyond, she stepped in to begin her search.

The Head Archivist, Tin, was a small, round man, who barely reached past Hermione's shoulders, and whose likeness never failed to remind her of a mole. Tin was not his real name, she knew that much; it was a rather affectionate nickname from what she had gathered, considering that Tin avidly collected tinned containers and used them to help store magical items (read: Report 478 – The advantages of using an alloy to negate magical properties, by H. S. Demkin, 1745). Tin was, without a doubt, a brilliant Archivist. His domain was an incoherently organised warehouse that contained all manner of lively and dangerous mysteries that he had to regularly coo into submission. As the Head Archivist of the DoM, it was Tin's business to know where everything and everyone was at all times so that in the event of an emergency (read: one of the cursed items decided to start another revolt), Tin would know who was nearby to help get the warehouse back in order.

Hermione tentatively stepping into the foyer of the warehouse. The room itself was similar to a messy depo: papers were stuffed into too full drawers, cabinets were bursting with files and scrolls, a huge table lay centre of the room and was covered in careless ink splots, abandoned quills and half-formed notes. The far wall of the room was made-up of French doors that led out on to a balcony that overlooked the expansive warehouse below. The warehouse itself was so large, that she couldn't see the farthest point - it was too shrouded in the shadow of distance. Hermione stepped through the doors and craned her neck, while balancing on her tip-toes, to try and get a better look over the myriad of tall shelves and boxes. From the light of the floating candles that lit the considerable space, she could see movement in the aisles and watched as a couple of archivists bustled along, head in their work. She quickly accepted, yet again, that of all the times that she had attempted to find Tin this way, none had ever been successful. And so she began to make her way down the rickety spiral metal staircase that led off the side of the balcony.

Feet firmly secure on the warehouse floor, Hermione set off in the direction that she saw one of the other archivists disappear a moment before. She started down a gloomy aisle, following the cold light that shone in the distance. As she got closer, she could make out a young woman who she had seen working there before: Katelin? Kathryn?

"Excuse me?" Hermione called. The woman jumped back, hand clutched to her chest in shock.

"I'm terribly sorry!" Hermione rushed to say, hands outstretched to calm the woman who offered her an embarrassed smile.

"It's okay, lost in my own world," the woman laughed demurely, her soft accent baring a hint of French. "How can I help you, Unspeakable Granger?"

"I'm looking for Tin."

"Ah, he said he was dealing with the records today."

"Right, how can I get there?"

"Oh turn out of here on to the main corridor and keep going. You'll know when you get there," she said with a conspiratorial smile.

Hermione offered her thanks, backtracked her steps and started down the main corridor as the woman had said. All the stress and exhaustion of the last couple of days began to melt away as she marvelled at the sights around her. The towering shelves above were packed with wonders of exotic curiosities and rarities. Her gaze caught on a twenty-foot golden statue of Anubis, its staff tall and proud. She was admiring the way the floating flames reflected on its surface when she noticed that its head was turning to watch her in turn as she passed on by. Quickening her step to escape its gaze, she saw a line of, what appeared to be, white fluffy cotton balls that were the size of basketballs, making squeaking noises as they crossed the corridor and disappeared down an aisle. As she passed another stack, a sudden flash caught her eye and she saw two full suits of armour sword fighting with flamingos.

It was a moment more before quiet music met her ears. As she navigated around what could only be described as a quorum of gargoyles who were avidly arguing over lampshades, the music grew louder. She could pick out the sombre pluck of piano keys against a swell of strings. As she grew closer, so did the intensity of its crescendo, with a twisting melody of the violins wrapping around the arpeggios of the piano keys.

She peered down the corridor it seemed to be coming from. The walls were lined with vinyl records that were all floating, trapped in a diaphanous web. The corridor itself was organised to resemble a living room with low-lit floor lamps, plush rugs and red comfy sofas. Stood centre of it all, was Tin, his arms stretched high as his hands conducted the tempo of the music. Hermione ducked quickly to avoid a record that drifted slowly passed her head to join the miasma of shifting records above, that danced to the twitch of Tin's wand. Hermione settled into the nearest chair as the wash of a sorrowful note cascaded over her, raising goosebumps on her skin. The melody was longing, hopeful yet so terribly broken. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and her mind drifted while she waited for Tin, not wanting to disturb him during a complex casting.

While she knew she needed to debrief Raine about everything she had learnt over the last couple of days, she couldn't stop the nagging sensation that came from deep within her, that needed to know what was happening with Malfoy. In passing, she had assumed that this need was because she felt responsible for him in some way. That because he was her case, she was responsible for his well-being and so, she assumed, she was perceiving the unexpected machinations of the Ministry to be a threat to someone who had been left in her care.

The orotund ensemble of the orchestra quelled a moment, leaving only the steady placement of the piano and a singular yearning violin entwined around its constant chords.

Every time Malfoy's situation had crossed her mind, she had wondered whether he would do the same in her position. If roles were reversed. Would he care for her well-being? Would he leave her to die? Would he leave her to suffer the pain in that horrid cell alone?

And every time she had concluded that yes, he would.

He's done it before.

But now with the threat of something more… Now with the obvious interference of the Ministry, those questions still bounced around her mind but they were now more akin to a weak convincing argument. Would Malfoy interfere on her behalf now or would he leave her to the dogs?

Would he care?

The lone violin was joined with a chorus of rising cello, the piano emboldened with firm chords underpinning its arpeggio as they wrapped around one another, rising towards their crescendo. They were out of synch with one another, and yet their discordant harmony painted a song of opposites, with the melody passing between the two with ease.

Hermione knew what troubled her now, the gnawing sensation deep within her. She had always prided herself for being brave but as the sensation had grown over the last hour, she struggled to admit to herself what she knew to be true. She struggled because every time she got close, the acrid taste of bile filled her tongue. Every time she did, she saw those silver eyes stare down at her as she screamed for help.

The crescendo breached in euphoric tragedy, leaving only the tremolo of the strings to wait for the helpless call of the piano keys.

Against her better judgement, she cared… And as she finally put definition the gnawing inside, she indescribably knew that it would somehow be the death of her.

"Unspeakable Granger?"

Hermione blinked her unseeing eyes and focused on the man before her. Tin had finished his conducting, the spell fully cast. The music still played above, the lone violin sang desperately between every distant, soft piano chord as if it were trying to will it back.

She cleared her throat to move the emotion that had built there, "I didn't want to disturb you. It's uh," she looked above at the mess of swirling records entangled in the silken weaves of magic, "incredibly beautiful magic. All of it. What is this?"

"All these records are the first recordings of pieces of music," The silvery light of the spell reflected in Tin's shrewd eyes as he looked up in admiration. "As you know, regardless of whether or not the composer was magical, emotion always holds a note of the mystic. The first recordings of these pieces capture the emotion, be that heart-break, anger, joy. Over time, the magic gets restless, warps the records you see?" He leant over the sofa to pick up a twisted disk. "So now and again, you have to let them out, and when they go together, they create more music," he looked above. "This one's my favourite. It's called 'The Beginning of the End,' movement one through to seven."

"It's beautiful," Hermione whispered as the strings finally caught the piano, wrapping its weak notes in a swell of bass. Slowly the piano began to play, rising in tempo and falling into harmony with the now exuberant strings. At long last, they peaked together, before settling into a gentle sway in perfect partnership.

"What can I help you with anyway?" Tin said, distractedly.

"I'm looking for Willows," she said with equal quietude, not wanting to disturb the symphony.

"Righto, follow me," Tin said, and with a final look up at the spell, he turned and led Hermione out to the main corridor. He took a left, and with his quick waddle, led them deeper into the belly of the warehouse. Hermione's heart was too heavy to admire the stacks as she had done before.

It wasn't until she heard a chorus of hissing whispers as if she had stumbled upon a writhing pit of snakes, did she pay more attention to her surroundings. As Tin turned down another aisle, Hermione saw that the source of the hissing were portraits that covered every space of the walls of the new aisle they were headed. An ominous silence fell around them as she began to pass through, every step heavy with the feeling of hundreds of eyes that watched. At the end of the aisle, lay a door that Tin opened with a tap of his wand.

"Wait here a moment," he said as he stepped into the room. He left the door wide open and Hermione watched as the small space lit up when Tin stepped over the threshold. He leant over a wide drafting table, his canny eyes squinting as he held his face close to the surface, peering at the details only known to him.

"Willows is on his way back through the Chambers by the looks of it. If you run, you should be able to catch him in the corridor as he comes through," he said speculatively. Hermione released a quick disappointed breath. Fun, she thought sarcastically.

"Thanks Tin, if I turn left at the top of here and carry on straight, I'll get back right?"

He chuntered his agreement, his attention already elsewhere on the table before him.

With that, Hermione filled her lungs and took off in a sprint.

She streamed down the aisle, hopping over the trailing cotton balls who were making their return journey, passed the now quarrelling quorum of gargoyles with a hop and a skip, and put on a burst of extra speed to zip passed the watching Anubis. She vaulted up the rickety staircase, her lungs burning from the air she gulped in, her footsteps reverberating loudly off of the metal steps. She threw open the Archive door and slipped out into the corridor, her boots slapping heavily against the polished surface. She dodged and slalomed through the busy corridor, trying her best to not run into anyone who was already travelling at speed themselves.

Hermione broke free of the office corridor and skidded to a halt in front of the door to the Chambers that was slowly creaking open. She doubled over, her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath when she saw two soft leather boots come into her vision and stop before her.

"Little bird?"

Hermione released a measured breath, attempting to relax her pulse as she straightened. Raine stood before her, his head tilted quizzically.

"Need to debrief – Germany – Malfoy - and I got more."

One of Raine's perfect high brows arched impossibly as he assessed her.

"Office," was all he said before he swept around her and strode away with his long, elegant gait.

Hermione fell into step behind him and watched from his tall shadow as the busy corridor naturally parted to make way for him to pass. The door of his office swung open before he arrived, welcoming him through.

"Shut the door," he said over his shoulder as he breezed across the room. By the time Hermione had turned from doing so, he had lowered himself into the imposing wingback chair, his feet propped up on the desk. He watched her attentively with his dark piercing eyes as she sat in the chair opposite him.

After a moment of quiet, he spoke.

"Did you get that coffee as I told you to?"

"Yes, and several more since."

"Good." His eyes flicked between hers, his fingers steepled under his chin. Hermione was practically vibrating with all the questions she had, but from previous experience, she knew she'd have to wait until Raine got his questions out of the way first.

"What did you find in Germany?"

Hermione tried to calm the adrenaline that ran through her body. She stretched her neck from side to side and re-told every detail she could remember: from the Kitsune, Bill's story and the theory of their guardianship, to the Temple of Ignis, the Summoning and Bill's dealings with inferi. Raine sat silently throughout, his blank expression giving no impression as to his thoughts.

"Theories?" he asked when she'd finished.

"I agree with the Curse Breakers. Someone went there with the intent of kidnapping, for want of a better word, whatever spirit lay in that temple. The timing of the disappearance of the Will-o'-the-wisp is convenient and the Temple is the Temple of Ignis, I'd say that the spirit was the fire of the Will-o'-the-wisp. They put it into a body and walked it out," she clasped her hands in her lap and frowned down at them. "How the inferi tie into this I'm not sure. Bill seemed to think that the forest was making them, but I don't understand why or how that could be."

Raine hummed quietly as he turned his gaze to stare unseeingly through his desk. Hermione jumped slightly as he set his fireplace alight with a twitch of his finger.

"It's an interesting hypothesis, don't you think?" While his resonate timbre was light with curiosity, Hermione suppressed a shiver at the sinister undercurrent that lingered like a threat.

"What is?"

"The forest is an ecosystem, no?"

Hermione frowned slightly, "yes."

"The Black Forest, in particular, is a delicate mesh of nature and natural magic, yes?"

Hermione nodded hesitantly; the creeping sense of unease was back in full force, slithering ice-cold pricks of nerves down her spine.

"Think of Yellowstone in America: the rivers were flooding, the vegetation couldn't grow, the animals were leaving. The park was dying. So after however many years, they reintroduced wolves. The wolves hunted the elk, which in turn minimised the elk grazing habits, which allowed for the vegetation to grow wild once more, which then slowed and cleaned the flow of the rivers, allowing for more animals to return to the park. That is the power of One in a chain. The wolves saved Yellowstone." He motioned slowly with his finger toward the fire that crackled merrily in the hearth. "Now what happens when you have a chain as complicated as that of the Black Forest, where magic and nature are interlaced around one another, and you remove a kink in that chain?"

Hermione's hands tightened where they rested on the arms of the chair. "The effect cascades."

"Yes, but magic is…" he cast his eyes off into the fire, his lips pursed in thought. "Nature is intelligent, magic is intuitive. So when the chain in nature is broken, the effect cascades; but when the chain in magic is broken – what happens then?"

"Well if it is intuitive, surely it would try to fix itself."

Raine turned his raven eyes back to her, his silence acting as his response.

"So if we suppose that the Will-o'-the-wisp was part of the chain, the magic of the forest is trying to fix the break…with inferi?" Hermione shook her head in confusion, "I don't see the logic in that."

Raine stood suddenly making Hermione jump again.

"Neither do I, but I bet the answer is going to be a good one," he said cheerily, a wide grin spreading across his face as he walked over to one of the numerous bookcases that lined the walls of his office. He stopped before one that housed row upon row of jars in all shapes and sizes and pulled one down from the shelf. He tucked it into the crook of his arm to pry off the lid as he ambled back to the desk.

"What's the plan with Germany then?" he said absently. Hermione was about to answer when he interrupted once more. "Want one?" Raine held out the jar to her, inches from her face.

"What is it?"

"Strawberry laces."

Hermione shot him a questioning look as she reached into the jar and pulled out the red confectionary; he shrugged innocently as he picked his own, dismissing her unspoken question. He sat with a flounce back in his seat and placed the jar between them on the desk.

"As of right now, Bill and the other curse–breakers are leading the direction of the case in terms of the forest. I'm going to do what I can to see if I can somehow find out who's visited the region recently," she reported as she chewed around the saccharine lace. "It's the only thing I can think to do without a direction to start looking."

"Very well. Did you say Malfoy earlier? Do you have any answers?" Raine settled his dark eyes on her expectantly, whilst he continued to chew on his lace.

"I don't have any answers; I've only just found out. I was hoping you knew what was going on?" She tried to keep her voice level while her heart fluttered in her chest. The claws of the creeping unease dug further into her spine.

"Well that's annoying," Raine huffed as he savagely tore at the red sweet. His demeanour darkened drastically all of a sudden as if the black cloud she had seen earlier hung over his head. "No, I haven't heard anything, I found out through the fucking paper."

"How have they managed to keep this so quiet? The Ministry is as airtight as a paper bag."

Raine made a low noise in the back of his throat while a lock of black hair fell into his eyes.

"Because they didn't want anyone to know Little Bird. This is a power play."

Hermione frowned, "I don't think it's just that."

"Why?"

"Because the timing," she straightened her posture in her seated position to lend credence to the theory she had zero evidence to suggest. "It's too much of a coincidence. This and Germany, and everything else!"

Raine paused mid-chew and quirked an eyebrow at her. "What 'everything else'?" His voice rumbled, toeing the line of the darkness he had sunk further into.

Hermione spent the next ten minutes recounting the conversation she had had with Nott and Harry the night previous, detailing what they had known of the Selkie, the horse's disappearance and the Voynich operation. Raine stared blankly at the surface of his desk, twirling the remnants of the lace between his long fingers.

"You see? You add in Waterloo, and now Malfoy, and it's too much," she said in almost a pleading tone.

"When this man, Nott you say?" Hermione nodded, "after he's gotten the manuscript, then what?"

"Harry's going to follow the transaction, see who they are."

Raine slowly placed the last of the sweet into his mouth while still lost in thought. Just about when Hermione thought she could stand the silence no further, Raine tutted flippantly.

"Well, this is a bother."

"So you agree?" Hermione pressed.

Raine sucked on his tooth, he eyes tightening their blank gaze. "I'll admit, I have my own suspicions about a couple of events we have discussed, but when you lay all of them out like that, it's certainly possible that they're connected. However," he reached forward and plucked another lace from the jar and used it to point accusingly at Hermione, "do not use this as confirmation of your theory. Prove it, Little Bird. Assume they are not from here on out, otherwise, you run the risk of confirmation bias and searching for zebras when you should have been looking for horses all along."

Hermione quirked her head, thrown by the sudden equine metaphor. Raine huffed a quick laugh and leant back in his chair.

"Though they are few and far in-between, sometimes Little Bird, it really is just a coincidence."

Her rebuttal died a death before its utterance. He had a point – as loathe as she was to admit it. And though every fibre of her being was telling her that something more was at play, Hermione also was reminded of the numerous times that they had been lectured on this throughout their training. Trying to investigate and control the unexplainable and unexplored areas of reality was a nuanced art of accepting the unimaginable to be true; the flip of that coin was the ability to see normality through the fantastical. Sometimes, with the nature of the position they held, it was all too easy for an Unspeakable to assume something more about a case, and as such, overlook the easily explainable facts.

"Is that all for now Little Bird?" Raine asked, leaning forward as if about to stand. "Only I promised to look in on Bronwen and Oakley before the trial – they're rather hysterical today," he added with an affectionate smile.

"Yeah, yeah…" Hermione righted her clothes as she stood and made to leave when - "Wait!" Forgotten panic flooded her system once again. "The trial! I should be there, but Scotland Yard! Oh m-"

"Hermione, you can do nothing for him now."

She froze, stricken by the finality of his words. Raine came around the desk and stopped in front of her, his gaze watchful, dancing between her eyes.

"You can't do anything in that room. It's a full Wizengamot hearing. You have no power in there." A slow smirk spread across his lips, lending him a feral air. "But I can. Continue with Waterloo please – I assume that's what you're referring too, with Scotland yard?"

"Yes, that's where the suspect is," she nibbled the inside of the lip. "You're going to go?"

"Yes," Raine said stepping around her to head towards the door.

Hermione followed him out.

"The muggles…" she started, but hesitated, uncertain of what she wanted to say. Raine quirked an eyebrow at her over his shoulder in question as they started to make their way down the busy corridor.

"I just – why? After everything, why?" Her voice strained with the plea of the questions.

"We work with muggles all the time," Raine sniffed, nodding to a group senior Unspeakables as he passed.

"Undercover yes. This is different and you know it," Hermione couldn't help the sharp edge that affected her tone as the frustration of the morning bubbled over the surface.

Raine suddenly whirled around and loomed over her with his imposing dark figure.

"Pray tell, Unspeakable Granger, how is this different?"

The urge to step away from him was overwhelming.

But Hermione had long learnt the lesson of never conceding ground to a man who thought himself superior.

"If muggles find out of our existence naturally then so be it, we wipe their memories. But it is forbidden to offer such information without familial relationship…sir." She tipped her chin up to him and squared her shoulders while her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

"Do you have a problem with working with muggles Granger?" His voice was like ice that crackled ominously under her feet, threatening to plunge her to her grave.

She reared back, appalled at the implication. "Of course not! It just feels unsavoury to not acknowledge the double-standards of the situation, when the other of our priorities is going to a hearing very soon because he fought for the side who wanted to abolish the law that I am breaking, with the blessing from the very judge who presides over his case!"

The corridor around them had fallen silent, save for the echo of her risen voice off of the polished walls.

Hermione stood resolute, her chest heaving, her fists clenched at her sides. She knew she had crossed a line and she could feel the mortification growing in her chest. She had gotten so swept up in the injustice of it all, and then for Raine to insinuate that her aversion was due to her discriminating was beyond measure.

She planted her feet, securing her footing, assuming a duelling position, doubling down on her stance. Come what may.

Raine stood still as a statue. His baleful dark eyes pierced through her. He placed his hands in his pockets and took a slow, threatening step into her space. He slowly stooped his tall form only to lower his face menacingly close to hers.

"Good." He growled sinisterly, his eyes flashing with murder. "Fucking do something then."

Hermione felt the subtle disturbance of air around her before she processed Raine's dark silhouette stalking away from her. She let out a shuddering breath and unclenched her trembling hands.

What on earth does that mean? Do something! What the fu-

"Not sure if that was the smartest play kid." Hermione looked over to see that one of the Senior Unspeakables who had come to stand next to her, his gaze fixed on severe lines Raine's disappearing form.

13:15pm, 10th of September, 1999 – Scotland Yard, Victoria Embankment, Westminster, London, UK.

Four sets of heavy booted footfalls made their way through the thinly carpeted office. Hermione noticed that the people who sat working in the formal business space, only cast them cursory glances, seemingly satisfied with whatever judgement they arrived at before they continued with their work. She inhaled deeply before releasing it in a long measured breath in an attempt to quell the burgeoning flutter of anxiety she could feel crawling into the fringes of her awareness. Tal threw her another worried look. Ever since she had met him in the atrium of the Ministry with still trembling fingers, and had refused to disclose what had happened, he'd been checking her over.

She refused to meet his eyes again.

He'd hear about it eventually - of that she had no doubt. For a covert operation, Unspeakables were notorious gossips. She had decided that until that time came, she would focus on the task at hand. Because if she didn't…

If she didn't, she'd scream.

Inhale.

Kilmore and Jay led the way across the tepid office. They had met the Unspeakables out the front, as per their prior arrangement. Kilmore had made a call on his phone, a concept that Tal had been amusingly befuddled by, and had gotten the all-clear from the Detective watching over their suspect. Hermione mused as they walked in-unit toward the place where the suspect was being held, that in the space of just a couple of hours, all four of them looked as if they were ready to call it a day. She didn't know the details of what had happened with the Agents, something about bureaucracy and politics; there hadn't been enough time to get the details from Tal about his time, but what little he had said, alluded to complete carnage in the DMLE.

Exhale.

Kilmore tapped the windows of an office as he passed. The door ahead of them quickly swung open showing a woman with a magnificent mane of black curled hair.

"Time do you call this?" she demanded, her harsh borough accent lent to the accusatory tone.

"It's not like he's going anywhere, we're only fifteen minutes late," Kilmore shot back. The woman scoffed.

"Yeah he hasn't, but I have! I swear K, you get worse with age." Before Kilmore could reply she had turned to Hermione and Tal, offering her hand with a curt smile. "Detective Barnett, you are?"

"G and M," Jay said, smoothly interrupting Hermione as she took the Detective's hand.

"Right, good to know. Come along then."

Inhale.

Detective Barnett skirted around Kilmore, file in hand, and led them through a series of coded doors that took them well away from the main populous of the office.

"He's been quiet today, was pretty monosyllabic with the psychologist."

"What's the doc's verdict?" Jay asked.

"That he's exhibiting signs of paranoia and delusions of grandeur, as well as intermittent bouts of volatility. She wants to come back and run a..." Barnett opened the file eyeing the notes as she walked, "PCL-R and redo the mental capacity assessment."

Hermione and Tal exchanged dowers looks, both lost on the details of the conversation.

"Basically guys, I'm not sure how much sense you're going to get from him."

"Noted," Kilmore replied, "his name?"

Barnett checked the file again.

Exhale.

"Enos Ollivander, twenty-seven years old."

The Unspeakables shared another sharp look. Ollivander, Sacred Twenty-Eight. Hermione lamented quietly her lack of knowledge on their family tree. Twenty-seven couldn't be Garrick Ollivander's son, but she couldn't guess where he fell within the family.

"Here we are, I'll leave you to it," Barnett caught Kilmore's arm as he reached for the handle of the door she'd gestured to. "Behave yeah? Follow the rules K."

"Of course," he said breezily, flashing her a charming smile. "Don't I always?"

Barnett scrutinised him a moment more before she turned to Jay imploringly. "Please?"

It was only when Jay nodded his assent, did Barnett hand over a small piece of paper and step away from the group.

"The code," she gestured with her head. "You've got half an hour before I've got to get him moving for his next medical," she said over her shoulder as she walked away.

"Why so many medicals?" Tal asked.

Jay shuffled to the side of the doorframe while Kilmore began to input the passcode.

"Whole thing about prisoner maltreatment and best practice. Got to make sure things are way above board in situations like this, make sure they don't have any defence whatsoever when it comes to trial," he said with a shrug. "What do you lot do?"

Tal barked a laugh.

"Not this," Hermione replied.

Inhale.

"Enos Ollivander I presume?" Kilmore said grandiosely as he stepped through the door. Hermione followed Tal through, leaving Jay to close it behind them.

"Oh good, are you the half time show?" said the slight man who was cuffed to the table. A bitter smile spread across his handsome face. "Really, it's a wonder that your kind still survives, you're terribly… uncivilised."

"That we are," Kilmore agreed with a grave nod of his head, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table, while Jay took his post in the far corner. "But we got you beat though didn't we ol' chap," he said with an easy grin.

Exhale.

Hermione took the spare seat next to Kilmore, noting the lack of cameras in the room. Enos' eyes darted over the party, lingering on all their faces for a moment before moving on. She relaxed her shoulders when she saw no sign of recognition in his face as he'd looked at her. It was an unfortunate quandary, being part of the Golden trio and plastered on the front of the newspaper whilst also trying to be an Unspeakable. And while Hermione often wished for anonymity, actually meeting someone who was supposedly from the magical world who didn't recognise her at least partly, was suspicious.

Enos scoffed and leant back in his seat, affecting a nonchalant pose to accompany his arrogant drawl.

"I'm allowing you all to believe you're in charge. It's highly amusing. It's like going to the zoo to watch monkey's play house."

"Is that so?" said Jay.

"Of course, these," he lifted his cuffed hands in gesture, "may work on muggles like you, but won't keep me here long." He smirked, his eyes darting between them all. "I'm here because I allow it."

"Riiight, 'cause you're the magic man aren't you?" Kilmore said with laughter in his voice.

Suddenly Enos slammed his hands against the table; the bang reverberated around the small confines of the room.

"Yes," he hissed, spittle flying from his clenched teeth, his face a picture of fury. "I am."

Inhale.

Hermione studied Enos, noting how the cut of his noble features melted back into the relaxed arrogant smirk as quickly as they had become the twisted grimace moments before.

"So tell me, magic man," Kilmore continued unaffected. "What do you know of the attack on Waterloo?"

Enos released a rich chuckle, "not much I'll be honest with you. I wasn't there, obviously." He raised his hands again in presentation. "But I do know that I am enjoying this performance between you all. This, 'I'm the hero, you're the bad guy, we're going to save the world' air of superiority that you all carry yourselves with. It's endearing, truly."

"You don't think you're the bad guy?" Tal said from somewhere behind Hermione.

"Oh my gracious no!" Enos laughed again, "No, no, we're the saviours, you're the bad guys."

Exhale.

"How do you figure that? Your lot killed sixty innocent people, all told. Plenty still wounded. How does that make us the bad guys?" Kilmore demanded and Hermione noted heat in his expression for the first time.

"Because sixty is a drop in the ocean compared to the amount that you have killed and will kill in the future. Your kind will ruin this world. You've already started. Poisoning the oceans and killing the trees. You think this is your sandbox, your toy to break. Millions. You have killed, millions. And you will kill billions more." He leant forward in his chair, his arrogant mask slipping in cold fury once again. "So don't cry to me about sixty souls, unless you're willing to count the rest!"

Inhale.

"My kind," Kilmore repeated. "Muggles right?"

Enos laughed bitterly, "what? I mean, yes, muggles are your kind because you yourself are a muggle but that's not what I refer too. No, that thinking is terribly reductive and juvenile really. No, your kind, as in Antediluvian."

A heavy pause stretched out in the room. Hermione saw Kilmore turn to look at her from the corner of her eye.

"If we are Antediluvian, what does that make you?" she asked.

A shark-like grin spread across his face. "Let's just call us Enlightened."

Exhale.

"Someone want to explain what this Antedil-crap is?" Jay demanded from the back.

"Ironically dear boy, it is a person or type of people who are stuck in the past." Enos leant back in his chair again. "Our worlds aren't so different you know. Both stuck in the same self-destructive cycles. This tribe versus that tribe, this system versus that. Competition and selfish gain. Just slap a different name on it, it's all the same establishment. Broken, twisted, decaying with age and stuck in antiquated ideals. Us verse them. Heroes and Villains. Our worlds live in the past; repeat the same party line and call themselves radical. Call themselves the hero." He laughed. "It's all very predictable and thus, antediluvian. You see?" He finished with a beaming smile as if awaiting applause.

Inhale.

"Who's your father?" Hermione asked in place of acknowledging his spiel. Enos started, his showman smile dimming slightly.

"Gideon Ollivander. Why?"

"Did he have any siblings?"

"Why?"

"Answer the question," Kilmore demanded in a bored tone.

"But why does sh-"

"Just answer the fucking question, did he have any siblings?"

"Yes, one. My uncle." He spat his expression twisting once again.

"You don't like your uncle?" Tal asked.

Enos bared his teeth, "no, he's a stuck up prick. Now there's another of your kind for you!"

Exhale.

Sensing blood in the water, Jay pushed, "why don't you like him?"

"Because he doesn't like me."

"Why doesn't he like you?" Tal said, joining in.

"Does it matter?"

"Answer the question," Kilmore repeated.

"Because he bought into the 'my tribe is better than yours' shit. I told you, he's an Ante-"

"But you're an Ollivander, surely you're all the same?" Tal pushed.

Enos scoffed. "In some respects, we do all seek knowledge."

"Well, then how are you different?" Jay asked.

"We just are," Enos stated with an exaggerated shrug.

"Yeah, but how?" Tal said.

"We just are," Enos sank lower into his seat.

"But how?" Jay repeated.

"Fuck off," Enos growled, his face whitening with fury.

Inha-

"He's a squib."

The room was so silent following Hermione's statement, that she was sure that no-one breathed – herself included.

Then several things happened in quick secession, almost appearing simultaneous. Tal let out an elongated noise of realisation while Enos slammed his fists in the table, launching himself up.

"HOW DARE YOU!"

Hermione slid back her chair, the metal legs scraping harshly against the hard floor as Enos lunged over the table, spitting rage-filled obscenities. Kilmore stood from his seat and began to reach across the table, while Jay took several long strides across the room.

"Incarcerous."

Thin ropes slithered from Tal's wand and wrapped themselves tightly around Enos' writhing body, hauling him back into his chair and binding him to its folded form. He quietened immediately, a look of dawning horror on his face as he took in the magical bonds that bound him.

Exhale.

Jay released a quick breath, turning to Tal with wide eyes of wonder.

"You weren't kidding after all," he mused, resuming his post in the corner, while Tal flashed him a winning smile and a wink before he rounded on Hermione.

"How d'you figure that one?"

"I didn't, it was a guess. Garrick's a good man, and he's a half-blood himself, so it's not a blood prejudice thing."

Enos scoffed from his "I told you tha-"

"But there isn't a magical person I know who doesn't look down on squibs in some way, and the Ollivanders are a proud sort. Besides," she gestured with a nod of her head toward Enos who had become deathly pale. "Arrogance and villain speech aside, if he cares as little as he says he does about everyone, then why stick around? He is right, if he were magical, he could easily be out of here."

Enos' thin lips stretched over his bared teeth, his pin-prick pupils never veering from her face.

"But I believe everything else," she concluded turning her attention to him. "You really do know who's behind the attack don't you."

Inhale.

The whites of his eyes were stark as he glared at her, the tendons on his neck were in sharp relief as he strained against the ropes.

"Of course I know you bitch! But I'll never tell! I'll bite my tongue out before I do." He lowered his head, twisting it jauntily like a snake preparing to strike. "But I won't need to. You'll find out soon enough. It's all in motion now, an oncoming tsunami, you won't be able to stop it as it tears the last breath from your lungs."

Exhale.

He tipped his head back as a raw sound tore from his throat, corrupting the hollow laughter that wrenched free from his lips.

Inhale.

Hermione heard a knock before the door opened and Barnett's head appeared through the gap. She cast an alarmed look at Enos, her eyes lingering on the ropes. Hermione stood to follow the others out, the sound of Enos' tortured laughter still ringing in her ears.

Exhale.

The group set off, trailing quietly behind Barnett who ranted at Kilmore about how the use of ropes to retrain a prisoner during an interview was strictly against the rules he promised to follow. Hermione watched with mild amusement as the silver man brushed it off, nodding and shrugging.

Inhale.

'It's all in motion', Enos had said. All. Meaning Waterloo was part of something bigger.

Exhale.

She felt the nagging need to input her theory. It was all connected.

Inhale.

Fucking do something. But she had to assume that they weren't.

Exhale.

It's all connected. She had to prove they were.

Inhale.

Do something.

Exhale.

Hermione blinked against the sun that hit her eyes. She whipped her head around. They had gathered out the front of the building. Tal and Jay were laughing over something off to the side.

"Alright?"

Her teeth clacked as she snapped her jaw shut, repressing the flinch of surprise at Kilmore's voice behind her.

"Yeah, just thinking it through," Hermione replied, turning to him. "What do you think he meant when he said it's all in motion?"

Kilmore blew out a breath, smoothing a hand across his neat hair. "I don't know, but I know I don't like it." His brow furrowed in thought a moment before he turned back to her. "I think it's best though, to amend the intel scans for his vernacular, see if we can start finding more of these Enlightened folk. What you guys gonna do?"

"Speak with the Ollivanders, find out what we can about Enos. In the meantime, I'll procure some veritaserum and we'll take another run at him."

Kilmore started to reply when a stream of police cars and vans screamed past, lights flashing and siren blaring, drowning any hope of conversation. Kilmore scrunched his nose, hitching a lip in a disgruntled expression.

"Fucking riots, I bet."

"Riots?" Hermione repeated.

"Yeah, spread across the whole country past couple of days. Well, ever since Waterloo."

Once more, the claws of unease tightened their hold on her, as she watched the flashing blue lights disappear into the gloom of the on-coming black cloud that had crept closer from when she had seen it that morning.

11:45 pm, 11th of September, 1999 - 12 Grimmauld Place, Claremont Square, Islington, London, UK.

Blink.

I should really clean this canopy.

Blink.

I wonder if it's ever been cleaned.

Blink.

…Fuck.

Hermione sighed and stretched her stiff limbs from where she lay in her bed. She had been awake for hours. At some point before dawn, she had given up her attempts at sleep but had not yet risen from the safety of her nest. She had hoped, as she had watched the light of the morning peak in through her windows, that if she simply refused to put her feet to the floor, she wouldn't have to acknowledge the day. By the time the rain had begun to drum its constant beat at around eight, she had decided that she wouldn't have to deal with the swirling mess of thoughts that tumbled around her head, all of which were vying for her immediate attention, if she simply remained in bed.

After Scotland Yard, she and Tal had gone their separate ways: him back to the DMLE, her to the offices of Substance Control on level four and had to toil away the hours signing a plethora of wavers to procure the veritaserum. Kilmore had said that Enos would be tried in a muggle court, so 'technically' Hermione hadn't lied when she had signed that the information given while under the influence would not be used as evidence in any Ministry hearing, because 'technically' that would be true. The fact of the matter was that Hermione didn't care if she got a full confessional from Enos about his involvement, she just wanted to loosen his lips. She had believed him when he had said that she would not be able to stop the apparent oncoming tsunami; but she could evacuate as many victims from its path as possible, to minimise the fallout. After she had finished there, she had apprehensively headed to the DoM to search for Raine. No-one had seen him, not even Tin. Hermione had returned to an empty home – Harry nowhere to be seen - assuming that Raine would owl her that night with an update as to Malfoy's situation. No message had come and so Hermione had managed to send an owl to Mr Ollivander requesting an audience before she had collapsed in her bed and proceeded to stare at the canopy for hours on end.

Avoidance.

The whole thing was a mess.

Besides, it was a Sunday. The world could wait a few hours for her to catch up on rest before it ended.

Tap, tap.

Hermione looked over to the window to see a barn owl staring at her imploringly through the pane, as the fierce wind ruffled its already drenched feathers. Spurred by sympathy, she finally lowered her feet to the cold floor and quickly crossed the room to let it in. The barn owl hooted weakly as it hopped over the window sill, its body trembling from the cold. Hermione scrabbled for her wand in the clothes she had abandoned the night before and cast a quick drying spell. Though the sudden blast of heat made the owl's feathers stand on end, giving it the appearance of a fluffy ball, it hooted happily and held out its leg for her to release the scroll.

Leaving the owl to help itself to the treats on her desk, she sat back down on her bed and unravelled the message.

Little Bird,

I believe you are right – at least in part. The Malfoy boy's hearing yesterday was a pantomime of politics. He is as well as can be, back in his family home in Wiltshire, though I am certain he shall not remain long. He has been acquitted of all charges Section 4a, subsection Alpha-Beta of the inheritance amendment of 1301 of the Bylaws of Infinitae Famalia. The other option was that he was to be executed by the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.

Yes, I know. It's is a random law isn't it. Very convenient for the coughball politicians to have such a nuanced law to-hand, even though I'm sure between them, they wouldn't be able to recite the names of all their mistress' and offspring.

Forgive me, I am tired and frustrated. After I left the Malfoy boy, I went to the Ministry archives and it took myself and three others, five hours to find the small paperback amendment with that particular law in. It is not stated anywhere else. Which leads me to believe they must have prepared this defence for him.

But this begs the question, how the fuck did they know to plan this defence for him? But inheritances are natural aren't they? They surely couldn't have planned this. Had I not seen with my own eyes the veracity of the Malfoy boy's nature, I would be questioning whether this was a true inheritance.

This is not a coincidence. How did they know?

I feel that the sad fact of the matter is, is that the only person with 'good' intentions in that room was that hag, Wilma? I think that's her name – and she tried to kill him.

How was Scotland Yard?

R.

Hermione re-read the note. 'It's all in motion', Enos had said. 'This is not a coincidence.' But surely what could 'they' hope to gain from Waterloo and Malfoy's release. 'Inheritances are natural, aren't they?', she didn't know if an inheritance could be induced non-naturally (read: she hoped somebody had informed the archivist's family that they were missing, presumed dead). Theoretically, it could work, but as was the way with all magic. But to what purpose? If the two were connected, what could the Enlightened possibly gain from blowing up Waterloo and Malfoy's release? She flipped the parchment back and forth. A scrawl of ink on the back caught her eye:

P.S. I stand by what I said. I only regret the tone in which I said it. Forgive me, Little Bird.

A band of tension released from around her chest as she breathed a sigh of relief.

She crossed her room to retrieve supplies to write a response. The spherically shaped barn owl perched on the window sill, eyeing the stormy weather with trepidation.

"You can wait it out in the attic with the other owls if you like?" The barn owl hooted happily and clipped his beaked as she ran a gentle finger over its feathers in a vain attempt to smooth them. Hermione took this to mean yes and was about to open her bedroom door to let him out when something out the window caught her eye.

A large shape, that was blurred by the rain that came down in thick waves. The dark cloud that Hermione had noticed the day before had finally made landfall and was releasing its burden with vengeance down on the world below, while the wind slapped the trees in the square with fervour. The large shape was getting closer, dipping low over the rooftops, its wings beating rapidly to keep it straight in the hellacious wind. It was only when it was metres from the window, did Hermione realise it was a large eagle owl. She leapt to the window, threw it open and jumped out of the way just as the huge bird swooped in. By the time she turned from closing it again, the dripping eagle owl was perched on her desk glaring down at the rotund barn owl who hooted softly up to it, as if trying to calm the murderous looking bird. Hermione saw the eagle owl had a large brown package clutched in its talons. She cast another drying spell which had a similar effect on this bird's feathers also. However, the sudden puffed appearance did nothing to quell its austere aura. She cautiously approached, leaning her face away from the flinty glare that the bird had now turned to her, while the barn owl bobbed its globular form in a strange sort of dance.

"You can wait out the storm as well if you'd like?" she said hesitantly as she opened the door to her bedroom. The barn owl hopped into flight and disappeared quickly up the stairs. The eagle owl, however, glared her a minute more, before it reluctantly spread its wings and disappeared to the rafters.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione gathered the package and the writing supplies and sat back on her bed. She saw that there was a letter attached to the package.

Hermione,

Hope this finds you well. As you know, the library was damaged during the battle and we lost a great many books. The new head girl, Poppy Pertinger (I think you would like her very much) has taken it upon herself to catalogue and organise the existing contents of the library. I hope you don't mind, but I shared your request with her. She has gathered a number of books that fit the description you have given. If none of these books are of any use to you, nor do you wish to keep them, then please send them back and we shall take another look.

Please also find attached a selection of pastries and desserts from the kitchens. I only wished to send some pumpkin pasties but I fear the elves got a bit excited when they learned who it was for.

Hope you are all well,

Minerva.

Hermione tore into the package, releasing the smell of baked goods into the room. She reached for a particularly lumpy bag labelled: Pumpkin Pasties. She unfastened the tie eagerly and would have blushed at the noise that came from her throat as the pastry hit her tongue, had she not been completely and unashamedly thankful to be chewing the sweet goodness. After a few more bites, she drew the stack of tomes that were bundles neatly in red ribbon closer to her. They were all various measures of 'small', some degree of 'brown' and all bound in leather. She untied the ribbon and carefully picked up the first, flipping the front page:

Ester's guide to Countering that Curse – Volume I

She placed that one aside and picked up the next:

Magical Mischief, Maladies and Malaise

She placed that one in the pile and moved to the next:

The Journal of George Ripley

She placed it on the pile and was about to move to the next when her hand paused. Hermione hesitated before picking up the Ripley's Journal again. She flicked through the pages and her eyes caught on the familiar vividly coloured illustrations she remembered seeing all those years before. Flicking to the front of the book, Hermione picked up another pasty and settled in to read.

Hermione learnt of Ripley's travels across mainland Europe and his quest for exploration. She admired the detailed sketches of his discoveries: from thorny flowers to Jobberknolls and Flapdoodles. It wasn't until she reached the entries of August, did her pulse begin to spike.

17th August 1489.

Upon Paracelsus' guidance, I headed deeper into the Alpine Mountains. The winds are bitterly cold at night, fearsomely howling the further in and higher up I travel. It is as if they are warding me back.

19th August 1489.

I have found them. The Sylphs that Paracelsus described. They are extraordinary. A colony of men who live high up on the mountain tops. At night, they take flight. They disappear into the shadows, their wings as black as the midnight sky. They swoop and holler as if they were young boys in the streets of Cambridge. I shall try to introduce myself tomorrow.

21st August 1489.

I find myself gazing in wonder at these young men. Their features are delicate and perfect as if carved from stone. Their hair as white as the snow of the mountains, their eyes as silver as the moon. And yet when they fly, their wings are barbed, as dangerous as the claws from the tips of their fingers. But I believe Paracelsus was wrong. These men are not a new breed of creature. I have encountered a brother colony farther north in the Fjords of Scandinavia some ten years ago. Vilenjak they were called. They guarded the northern winds for their mates, while their female counterparts, the Veela, hunted the shores. I remember the white wings of the Veela against the black wings of the Vilenjak, it was a sight to behold.

She examined the detailed diagram of a wing. Leathery membrane separated by bony arms. A light dusting of feathers up the struts that led to the large horned knuckles. He had drawn them from different angles, examining their stretch and motion.

23rd August 1489

Alewiss is the leader of these men. He spoke with me for some time. I was correct in my suspicions. He explained the men could not do as the women did. The women were hunters, fierce and devastating. He said that it was always the place of the men to guard the air for them so that their siren song would travel far and wide.

He thought it their duty, to shepherd the wind.

Hermione ran a trembling finger delicately over the thin page. Ripley had sketched the one he had labelled Alewiss. She hovered over the sharp cheekbones and pointed jaw, stroking the etchings with disbelief, but her gaze kept getting drawn back to the silver eyes that watched her from the page. The sketch of this man, Alewiss, had captured the timeless smirk, the knowing glint of a secret untold. This was a face she knew.

Malfoy.

Hermione launched herself from her bed, summoning the first clean outfit she could think of – her Unspeakable uniform.

Inheritances are natural, aren't they?

She wrapped the light material of the protective gear around her, the supple black blend of leather and goblin weave fit her like a glove.

Shepherd the wind.

She grabbed her wand and the journal.

It's not a coincidence.

She scrawled a quick note to Raine and sprinted up the stairs. Felwyn, Harry's huge Great Grey owl nipped her finger in greeting.

"I need you to take this to Raine Willows. As fast as you can," she urged, attaching the journal and the note to the owl's leg. She casted 'impervious' over Felwyn and the package.

"Go!"

She stayed long enough to watch as Felwyn's herculean wingspan stretch and beat against the wind, disappearing into the waves rain, before she herself disappeared with a crack!

15:01 pm, 11th of September 1999 – Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, UK.

Hermione's hair coiled and tangled like wildfire in the ferocious wind while the cold, heavy droplets rain slapped her skin like blades of ice. She looked up at the wrought iron gates that featured in her nightmares regularly. Malfoy Manor stood before her, bleak and imposing under the darkened angry sky.

It's not a coincidence.

She didn't know what it was, but all she knew was that the gnawing deep inside of her, told her that it wanted Malfoy free, away from the relative safety that Azkaban had provided him.

It could be nothing, she told herself and she pushed open the gates.

This was not her first time returning to the Manor. The Ministry had passed a 'seize and censure' of all cursed items amongst Death Eater estates and so in a coordinated effort, the DoM and DMLE had entered the grounds, stripped them of their blood-wardings, and seized a veritable treasure trove of cursed objects.

Hermione froze, one foot on the path of the drive, realisation seeping down her spine like the frozen rainwater that drenched her through. Fuck… They had left the estates open. Unguarded. Without security.

It wasn't a coincidence.

She set off at a sprint, the gravel of the drive crunching heavily under each quick footfall. Her chest heaved as she vaulted the steps, casting a wandless 'alohamora'.

The door clicked open and she threw herself through it, not hesitating for even a second.

That shouldn't have worked, how could we leave them that exposed.

Hermione stood in the dark entryway, her breath loud against the silent shadows, save for the wind that howled through the body of the house. She lifted her wand above her head, silently casting 'lumos'.

Shepherd of the wind.

She set off, her movement silent with practised ease. She kept low, her knees bent in readiness.

The minutes ticked by, not a soul was in sight as she searched the entirety of the downstairs with efficiency. Her hand hesitated only a moment at the door of the drawing-room, her heart skipping a beat.

Inhale.

It wasn't a coincidence.

Malfoy.

Hermione pushed open the door. Her witchlight doused the room in a cold glow, elongating the shadows.

Exhale.

Noting the absence of life in the room, she closed the doors securely and turned sharply on her heel, resuming her search.

The storm continued to rage outside; the wind screamed through the hollow carcass of the manor while the rain battered the windows as if trying to break in. With every empty room, she felt the creeping claws of unease tighten their embrace once more. Returning to the entryway, Hermione didn't give herself a chance to think as she took the stairs, two at a time. At the top, she faltered, unsure of which corridor to take: left or right.

Left.

Hermione set off at a light jog, peering into rooms as she went. It wasn't until she was halfway down the corridor that her witchlight fell upon a door open ajar at the end of the hall.

It wasn't a coincidence.

Inhale.

She slowed before the door.

Exhale.

She gently pushed it open.

Inhale.

Her light hit a seating area that was arranged in front of a grand four-poster bed. Her eyes caught on the Slytherin scarf wrapped around the post. His room.

Exhale.

She stepped cautiously into the room, her eyes darting back and forth looking for signs of disturbance.

Inhale.

She stepped around a long sofa.

Exhale.

Her foot froze in the air before her next step.

Inhale.

Hermione's witchlight reflected off of the shiny surface of a dark liquid that was streaked across the far post of the bed.

Exhale.

She stepped cautiously to the left to see around the side of the bed.

Inha-

The white light of her wand shone like a beacon on the obsidian expanse of a leathery wing. Long clawed hands clutched the small lifeless body of a house-elf to his hunched form.

Hermione pointed her wand unerringly at the silver eyes that quietly watched her.

Exhale.

"Malfoy."

You've made it to the end of the marathon, take a seat, catch your breath!

As always, constructive criticism is welcome. Let me know your thoughts and theories!