Unknown location

November 5, 2006

"Minister Snape?" Hermione asked, dumbfounded, blinking at the man dressed entirely in black. Before they had time to consider defending themselves, he had wordlessly disarmed them, their wands flying into his hands easily.

"Who are you? What happened?" Draco spat, recovering quickly and moving to hover a few inches in front of Hermione. Protecting me, she thought with a frown; she worked to calm her breathing, attempting to understand their current predicament.

"Draco," she whispered, keeping her eyes glued to the Justice Minister, whose face was passive and stance calm. "He's Severus Snape, one of the Justice Ministers." The Justice Department, which consisted of both the investigating police force as well as the WEA's judiciary, was run by three Ministers. Like the other branches of the WEA, one was magical, one non-magical, and the other a wildcard.

"So?" Draco responded, unable to grasp the importance of such a position.

Snape continued to watch them silently.

"Sir." Hermione instinctually stood taller. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere safe." His eyes darted between the pair. "For now. You are being chased by quite a powerful organization."

"How did we get here?" Hermione asked, stepping forward to stand side by side with Draco. "Did you Apparate us?" As far as she was aware, it was physically impossible for magicals to Apparate outside of an Apparition zone. Satellites projected a specific frequency that inhibited them from Apparating, though perhaps a Minister of Justice had some sort of workaround.

"Of course not. Even I cannot apparate outside of an Apparition zone," he scoffed.

"I don't understand," Hermione remarked, heart racing. Was Justice after them too? What was going on? "You did the magic in the street!" she realized suddenly.

Draco turned to her, his eyes calculating.

"I did," Snape confirmed.

Hermione tried to remember the dynamics of the Corps and Justice. As far as she was aware, there was no underlying animosity between the two branches of government, so she couldn't understand Minister Snape's heavy-handedness with the Corps officers.

"I am not here in my official capacity." The Minister looked at Hermione, and she felt a chill run through her; she couldn't help but wonder if he had literally read her mind.

"Why are you here?" Draco asked warily.

"To find you," Snape told him, drawing surprised glances from the pair.

"Me?" Draco clarified.

"Yes." Snape started pacing, and Hermione had the chance to take in their surroundings. They seemed to be in a formal sitting room, though judging by the state of the furniture and the thick layer of dust, it hadn't been used in many years. Snape stopped and, struggling for words, lifted his left sleeve to show a faded Dark Mark imprinted on his forearm.

Hermione's eyes went wide, and she wished desperately for her wand. Still, she slowly reached her left hand into her bag, her thumb lightly hovering over her hand gun's safety. She tried to remember anything she could of Severus Snape – was he a known deserter? Was this all a convoluted plot? Looking at Draco's face, he appeared equally surprised, but could she trust his reactions?

"You're a Death Eater?" Draco gulped, his eyes wide. He really did seem shocked, and Hermione decided for the moment to assume that his reactions were authentic.

"I was," Snape clarified, pushing his sleeve back down to his wrist. Hermione kept her hand firmly in place, trying to determine how quickly she would be able to pull out the weapon and shoot both men, if the situation required. "I defected long ago. I'm loyal to the Alliance now." His words were clear, purposeful, and Hermione suddenly felt she was missing something.

"But you just interfered in a Corps mission," Hermione pointed out.

He nodded. "I'm loyal to the WEA, but I am also loyal to another: Albus Dumbledore."

Draco's eyes grew wide, while Hermione's narrowed, her mind sorting through names, dates, and facts, until she finally found what she was looking for. "Albus Dumbledore? He was a wizard, right? I vaguely recall his name from wizarding history."

"He brought down Grindelwald," Draco answered, blinking, his face betraying his confusion. "But no one has seen or heard from him in nearly 25 years!"

"I don't understand," Hermione repeated to herself under her breath, trying to pull the strands together. Severus Snape was a well-respected Justice Minister – had been for nearly five years, as best she recollected. Now she learned he was a defected Death Eater, though Hermione noted that he had not indicated precisely how long he had been defected. And he revealed he was, in a sense, a double agent – working for both the WEA and this wizard, Albus Dumbledore, whom Hermione could not recall as being particularly important. Snape had saved them from inevitable capture, though to what end remained unclear. What did he want with Draco?

"I was a Death Eater in the 1970s," Snape started, casting a wordless Scourgify to clear the couch of dust and other particles. He gestured for the pair to sit down as he continued, "I was – misguided. I had a notion of the world based on naivety and anger."

"What happened?" Draco asked.

"I saw something–" Snape looked directly at Draco "–horrible. I knew then that Voldemort was not the visionary I had deluded myself into thinking he was. I left, but at that time you didn't really leave the Death Eaters. So, I ran, and Dumbledore found me. I have been working with him since."

"But who is Dumbledore? What does he do?" Hermione questioned.

Snape shook his head. "Dumbledore is an incredibly powerful wizard. Once upon a time, he headed the organization that directly opposed Voldemort."

Draco looked ready to argue but closed his mouth.

Snape continued, "While most of Western Europe has moved on, and Voldemort and his Death Eaters have become nothing but an oddity, Dumbledore has not forgotten. He has been waiting."

"For what?" Hermione asked with furrowed brows.

"I can't tell you what – I myself don't know. Only that I have been waiting 26 years to share with you—" he looked at Draco "—a horrible truth. And I was asked by Dumbledore himself to give you this." He turned to Hermione and handed her what looked like a piece of candy.

She looked at it, confused. "A... Lemon Drop?" she questioned, reading the wrapper.

He shook his head. "It's a portkey."

Her eyes went wide. "A portkey? Is that how you brought us here?"

He nodded and looked about ready to explain when Draco interrupted, turning to Hermione. "I thought you said portkeys were hardly used in the WEA?"

"They're very highly regulated – books that contain the instructions to make them are banned. Portkeys usually require a court order to produce," Hermione explained, giving Snape a calculated look. "Why did Dumbledore want you to give this to me?"

"He didn't tell me why." Snape seemed impatient, though it wasn't clear if it was with them or Dumbledore. "He just wanted me to tell you he'll be waiting for you, Ms. Granger. This portkey will activate with the phrase 'Bertie Botts'; just speak the words, and you will be taken to his chateau."

She frowned, looking at the innocent looking piece of candy and wondering what some old wizard would want with her. "So you have no idea why he's interested in me?" she asked.

"No."

"Do you have any idea who I am?" she asked, her cracked voice betraying her nerves.

He shrugged. "I checked your records when I began the process of looking for the pair of you. It was fascinating; you were classified as a non-magical until your records were changed two weeks ago."

"Yes," she confirmed, reluctant to provide details.

"Beyond that, I am ignorant. Though I am curious why the Corps has expended so many resources into your capture. I am simply a messenger, however," he explained.

Hermione was disappointed after being momentarily hopeful for answers.

"What about me?" Draco asked abruptly. His face was somehow paler than usual.

"You can't possibly remember, but I was there when you were born, Draco," Snape started. "I was very close to your parents; perhaps in a different lifetime, I would have been your godfather." He smiled, an odd facial expression on the stern man. "What I have to tell you – to show you – is for you alone."

He walked over to the couch and grabbed the sides of Draco's face with his hands. Draco flinched back in revulsion at first, but then remained still as some sort of silent magical exchange occurred between them. After a few moments, Snape released Draco, giving him a sad nod and returning to his seat across from them.

Draco's face was masked in confusion, his breaths short.

She was suddenly reminded of his first week in her home, when she would explain things that he couldn't rationalize or that didn't fit into his worldview. "What is it?" she asked.

He simply looked at her and shook his head, then turned to the Minister. "Why?" Draco asked him.

Snape shrugged. "I'm not certain, but my understanding is it was a – punishment of sorts."

"But," Draco started and abruptly stopped. "It doesn't make sense." He was scratching the scar on his right shoulder again.

"Madness never does," Snape replied.

The three sat in silence until Hermione cleared her throat, thousands of questions on the tip of her tongue. "You said Dumbledore has "not forgotten" Voldemort – that he's merely been waiting. What does that mean?"

"Dumbledore has every intention of seeing the end of Voldemort," Snape told her, though his eyes drifted to Draco, analyzing the younger man's reaction.

"But – why? He and his followers have been relegated to 50 kilometers of relatively undesirable land. I'm sure he'll die off eventually on his own," Hermione pointed out.

Snape shook his head. "Voldemort has made Hogwarts his base of operations," he started, considering his next words carefully. "Hogwarts is more than simply a school. It is built on a nexus of magic."

Hermione recalled a nearly identical speech coming from Draco. "I know that. I still don't understand the relevance; the magical world has been fine without it."

Snape gave a frustrated grunt. "Hogwarts has existed for over a thousand years. I would not expect to see an impact overnight. But Voldemort espouses dark magic. The long-term influence of such behavior on the place – I can only imagine the consequences." He shook his head.

Draco frowned before finally speaking. "There is no such thing as dark magic," he argued, "only power and those who are willing to use it."

"Spoken like a true Death Eater," Snape bit back. "I don't know why you are here, Draco. Only that I have waited 26 years to tell you the truth, and I have done so. Do not delude yourself like I did; as far as I'm aware, you have not yet done anything you cannot take back. Choose your path wisely."

Hermione's eyes drifted between the men, both exiles from a different world. Draco was as inscrutable as ever, his face like stone and his mind closed to her. She considered Snape's words, "I don't know why you are here," and Draco's lack of response. She knew there was more to Draco's story; but what precisely was she missing?

Snape floated their wands back to them. Hermione grabbed hers, returning the 10-inch piece of wood to the holster where it belonged, and letting out an involuntary sigh of relief at the feeling of it pressed against her skin. She looked up and realized Snape was preparing to leave.

"Sir," she started, "if you don't mind, can you tell us where we are? We're trying to get—" she debated if she should share her mission with the man before choosing caution, "—somewhere."

He looked at her oddly before responding, "We're in Cokeworth. This is—" he paused for a moment, his mouth in a tight line, "—my home of sorts. I must go, before my absence from London is noticed. I would recommend that you do not linger here. While the Corps should not be able to trace how you travelled or with whom, they may nonetheless be able to trace the magic."

Hermione nodded, and just as he was about to turn away, she remembered herself. "Thank you, sir," she told him, feeling oddly comforted that a government Minister had helped them in some way, even if it wasn't in his official capacity.

Draco just sat there, almost frozen in thought, not acknowledging the man who seemed to upend something in him.

"Good luck," Snape told them earnestly, before disappearing in a flash.

She turned to Draco. "So?" she asked him, hoping for some indication of what had transpired.

"It's nothing, Granger," he told her, his voice harsh and firm.

She felt like she had been slapped, shaken by the juxtaposition of his softness from the night before against the coldness of the man before her now. "Ok," she responded, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.

"What now?" he asked, his voice betraying his uneasiness.

She cleared her throat, glancing at the lemon drop in her hand and shaking her head. "I don't know Dumbledore. I still want to see Sirius Black and see what he knows about what happened to me before going down another rabbit hole. The good news is, we're now much closer to Black's home in Cambridge. I suggest we take a coach out tonight. Hopefully, we can be there in two days."

Draco nodded, but Hermione couldn't help but feel more distant from the man than ever before.

London

November 6, 2006

Daphne stood outside the familiar townhouse, the shuffling of feet on the other side of the front door confirming that he had in fact heard her, even if she was currently being ignored. Frustrated, she shouted, "Mr. Potter, it's Daphne Greengrass, please open up."

A minute must have passed, but finally he opened the door, looking very much not "James Potter"-like. "I need to speak with you," she told him, forcing the door open and entering the house, ignoring his mumbled objections.

There was no doubt: James Potter was a broken man. He wore a bathrobe and slippers, the robe bearing stains that looked long dried. His breath reeked of whiskey, and a glance at his living room revealed a half-filled decanter. Empty bottles of an assortment of alcoholic beverages and the half eaten remnants of several TV dinners littered the kitchen. The house was dark, the lights dimmed to their lowest setting and curtains closed. James himself looked to have aged years in only a week. His eyes were puffy, with dark purple circles beneath them.

"I need your help," she told him before quickly Scourgifying a small section of the couch upon which to sit.

James stood there, incredulous. "Do I really look like I'm in any position to help you?" Even his glasses sat uneven on the edge of his nose, as if no aspect of him was working quite properly.

"No, you don't," she bit back. "Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"I really don't give a fuck what's going on." He shrugged.

"Really? So that's how it is? You spend your life fighting for the Alliance – fighting for your son – and now that he's gone, you're okay with his legacy being destroyed?" She was practically yelling at him.

He gave her a look, somewhere between apathy and confusion, so she continued, "There's a bill before parliament – the Harry Potter Remembrance Act. Do you know what it is?" He looked unmoved, but she carried on. "It's the preliminary law to separate the WEA into two distinct entities: a magical and a non-magical state. And there's a chance it will pass!"

He shrugged. "If that's what the people want..."

"Are you serious right now?" Daphne's eyes were wide.

"I lost the love of my life 15 years ago. My only son is dead. Maybe my mistake was fighting for anything at all. If I had just minded my own business, maybe they would be here," he argued.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I knew Harry, probably better than he knew himself. He would never have been able to live with himself if he hadn't done anything and everything in his power to try and make the world a better place. And I believe he got that from you! He told me stories about the Order days – about you and the others fighting Voldemort. You showed him what it meant to fight for your world!

"Sure, if you had been okay hiding and staying quiet and compliant, perhaps you would all still be alive. But what about everyone else? And what sort of life would it be? Would you still be on the run from Voldemort, or perhaps hiding out from fundamentalists? What sort of life would that have been? There is nothing okay with Harry being dead. But he fought, and I personally will not let his name be used to create the very world he fought against!" she finished, looking for any sign she had gotten through to him.

He was silent, though his features had shifted from anger to simple defeat. As though he believed her words but considered himself powerless to do anything to help.

"Daphne." He looked at her sadly. "I don't think I have any fight left."

"I'll do the fighting," she told him. "I just need your help."

He nodded reluctantly, and she explained, "I'm being blackmailed by someone. I'm not sure who, but they clearly want me to support the HPRA. But I refuse to give in to the blackmail."

"What do they have on you?" he asked, straightening his glasses and walking to the kitchen, to make coffee she hoped.

"They have photos of me spending time with a man, Ron Weasley. None of them are explicit but, taken out of context, they're going to imply I was unfaithful to Harry."

James returned, appearing thoughtful. Daphne knew he was aware of the nature of her and Harry's engagement, but it was still an uncomfortable conversation to have. "You anticipate they will release the photos?" he surmised.

She nodded. "Yes. And I'm worried that it's what they wanted all along – a distraction from the bill. Something to quiet my voice and that of the opposition."

James nodded. "Okay." Suddenly, he was standing straight, wiping crumbs from his robe. Daphne smiled, reminded of the astute political advisor she knew. "We need to identify allies. Representatives who will stand by you. And—" he paused, "— it's a risk, but I think you should speak against the bill."

"But won't that just anger them more?" Daphne asked.

"It will – and people make mistakes when they're angry. I'll stand by you; I'm not sure how much that will matter, but hopefully it will make people think twice before suggesting you were unfaithful to Harry. If you don't say anything about the bill, they control the narrative. If you speak against it in front of Parliament, you are making a stand; you are telling the world you won't be manipulated and you will not let Harry's legacy be manipulated." He looked younger than he had just five minutes earlier. "Would you like some coffee? This is going to take a while."

Daphne smiled and took a breath, feeling more hopeful than she had since opening that envelope.

A/N: Thank you as always to my Alpas/Beta - ElizColl, Art3Misia and Astrangefan. I have written a "WEA 101" for anyone getting confused on terminology/timeline - it is pinned to my Tumblr at canttouchthis87.

I adore and appreciate all reviews/comments/emotions.

Next up - Cambridge.