Hermione pressed her forehead to the porcelain and let out a ragged breath. He sat beside her silently, but his fingers traced the winding cables on her sleeve until he found her hand. Draco tested her skin. She was clammy.

"It's not possible," she breathed. Her stomach was fixed on the memory of Natalie's blood on her hands, and then Justin's mangled body, and it burbled with the threat of upheaval once again. "You saw her, too. You said she wouldn't make it. I heard her-"

"Mhm." He pulled her hair back, it was trying to creep around her neck. He plaited her long locks, securing the braid with a thin silver rope from the end of his wand.

They had been holed up in Hannah's upstairs washroom for what felt like an hour; one look at Natalie and Hermione had been completely overwhelmed with emotions, mostly painful. Her joy to see the woman turned to panic, and she had fled up the stairs with Draco hot on her tail. Ron had followed, but Draco employed him with fetching a cool glass of water instead. Hermione had locked herself in the washroom to evacuate the contents of her stomach. It took encouraging words from both men to get her to unlock it again, and when she did, she dissolved into tears. Ron had returned to the gathering, to let them know Hermione was going to need a moment. Draco stayed.

As her stomach settled, Hermione felt dread set in, instead. "There is no way she made it out of his office alive."

"I'm inclined to agree," Draco said. He offered her a black handkerchief, and she used it to wipe her mouth. Only then did she turn to him, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. He took up most of the room with his hulking form, but his posture was lazy and relaxed. Even though he couldn't extend his legs, he still leaned back against the bathtub like it was an easy chair. "Better?"

"I don't understand how she's here."

"We cannot know what happened if we don't talk to her." He fixed her with a knowing expression. "How's your stomach?"

"Calm, but still." Hermione sat back against the tub.

"Perhaps Hannah has some crackers. I'll see." Draco folded himself forward to get a grip on the door handle, and pushed off the tub to stand. Once he had, he held out his hands to her. He was back-lit by the light and his hair glowed. Hermione took his hands. He lifted her to her feet, and pocketed the handkerchief.

Hermione squeezed his hand. "You take care of me."

His face softened, and he released her hands so he could cup her cheeks. Then, he bent down and kissed her forehead. "It's my job."

"I don't want to go out there. I can't believe I ran. It all came flooding back. I've been trying not to think about it, about Justin even. But one look at her..." She shut her eyes, and willed the horrid memory to leave her mind once more.

He brushed stray hairs off her forehead. "We can't stay in this washroom forever."

Despite herself, Hermione laughed. "I know. We need to talk to Hannah, and Imelda. That's why we're here. We can deal with Natalie after."

"If that's what you want."

"Do you think that sounds like a good plan?"

He sighed. "I'm following your lead. You know what needs to be done. Be confident in that."

She looked away. He was right. She often relied on him to validate things she already knew. "I will. I am."

"Good." He bent to kiss her but Hermione held up a hand. She turned her head away from him and finished off the glass of water Ron had left for her by the sink. Then, she cast a little freshening spell, one she had learned when she was on the run with Ron and Harry all those years ago. When she turned back to Draco, he was watching her with an amused smirk.

"What?"

"Nothing. I find it amusing that your prime concern when your assistant reappears after being presumed dead is whether or not you have fresh breath."

She smacked his chest. "I mean, if you want to kiss me straight after I-"

He silenced her with a kiss, sweet and lingering. Then, he straightened. "Come on." He opened the door to the washroom. On the other side, with a hand raised to knock, was Natalie. The woman blushed and stepped back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-I hope you're well, Hermione." Natalie wrung her hands.

"Yes, I… I'm fine."

"Good. Good." She peeked over her shoulder. There was no one behind her, so she held out a hand. "I'm so relieved to see you. All I've thought about is you since I woke up in St. Mungo's. How you found things… if you had survived. The last thing I remember is you telling me I'd be alright." Natalie sniffed back some unbidden emotion. "Please… can we talk for a few minutes?" She glanced at the foreboding man behind Hermione. "In private?"

Hermione stared at her outstretched hand. A gentle push at her back urged her forward. "It's okay," he murmured. The familiar flicker of his blue flame in her mind sprung to life. I'll be here.

She raised her hand and clasped her fingers around Natalie's palm. Whoosh! Hermione was pulled via side-along with a sharp tug behind her navel. They reappeared in a bedroom-it had to be somewhere in the upper floors of the Finch-Fletchley house-and Hermione wrenched herself out of Natalie's grasp… Natalie stood between Hermione and the door, and flicked her wand. The air in the room deadened as the silencing spell was cast. Hermione's stomach threatened again and her heart pounded in her chest.

Where are you? he demanded frantically.

Upstairs, I think. Door's locked and the room is silenced.

I'm coming.

Hermione scrambled back as Natalie took a step forward. "I'm not going to hurt you, I need your help!" The young woman pulled up her sleeve. Hermione gasped. Her skin bore a Dark Mark. This time, the tissue which surrounded the poisoned ink was almost dead. It was gangrenous at best, and the winding green veins which extended from the blackening skin were reaching for the wrist.

"It's spreading. I can't make it stop." Natalie winced as she touched the tip of her wand to the raised skull.

The words tumbled out of Hermione's mouth before she could prevent them. "Who did you kill?"

"Alecto Carrow. She had figured it out-what I was doing. Who I was protecting." Natalie huffed out a pained breath.

"You… you were protecting me?" Hermione stared at this woman she thought she had known so well.

"You didn't know. Good." Overwhelmed by pain, the woman slumped against the door. "I don't know how long it will last. I need to leave before it stops working."

"How long what will last?"

The woman shook her head in resignation. "I only had so much of the potion to begin with, enough for six months if I stretched it." She shrugged. Her head fell back against the door. "I've run out."

Polyjuice. It could only be the infernal potion which had already threatened Hermione's safety. She had said so herself-it can't be her. Where was Natalie, then? She had been her assistant for years, it wasn't possible that she spent the entirety of her tenure using a glamour or a potion. A darker pain settled in Hermione's chest. What had happened to the real Natalie? If this was an imposter… was she dead? And for how long had Hermione been robbed of grieving her? But then…

"Who are you?" Hermione breathed.

The woman smiled sadly. "You are going to hate me."

"Try me."

"Help me and I'll tell you."

Hermione shook her head. "Tell me, and I'll consider it."

The magic pulsed in the room in an insistent thrum-like someone was knocking. Someone powerful. Draco.

I'm coming in.

No. I need her to talk.

She could kill you!

We can't know what happened until we ask her, remember?

I don't like this.

Let me do this.

Hermione trained her wand on the collapsed woman. "Where is Natalie Coleman?"

"France."

"Does she know who she is?" The woman shook her head. "When was the last time you took polyjuice?"

"Three days ago. It's fading. S'why you can see my mark." She straightened as best as she could and pulled the jumper over her head. She flung it to the side. She still wore the two-piece outfit she had on the day she was attacked, but now her clothing appeared to be too large for her frame. "Please-I've tried everything. I can't make it stop. It's going to kill me, I know it will-"

Get her away from the door, Hermione.

"-Please. Hermione. You are the only person I know who can figure out why it's happening, please."

"Draco can help-"

The woman shook her head. "No. He can't see me like this."

"Why not?"

A tear streaked down the woman's face. "He won't understand."

"That hasn't been my experience," Hermione said with a sigh. She knelt down in front of the woman, who now seemed as threatening as a feather. "I will try to help you. It will hurt. I don't know if I can save your arm-"

"I don't care. Do it."

Hermione took hold of the woman's hand; the once soft and round fingers felt long and boney in her own. The polyjuice certainly was fading, and in mere moments she would know who the woman was before her, the one who she had confided in, cried with, given gifts to, shared her theories… and it was all a lie. And as far as Hermione knew, she was a threat. But the ink had to come out, or there would be no answers given.

She pressed the tip of her wand to the snake's head, as she had done with Draco's mark. Then she searched for something to drain the ink into-ah! A vase with wilting daisies sat on the bedside table. She summoned the ceramic thing and removed the flowers. Then, she held the woman's forearm over the mouth of the vase. Hermione looked her in the eye. The woman nodded.

"Diffindo!" Just as Draco's had, the ink leaked from her arm. The woman whimpered. It didn't take much. Her blood replaced the ink before long. Hermione flicked her wand and wound a rope around the woman's forearm to slow it.

"Episkey!" The cut closed up. Still, the woman moaned in pain. She clutched her arm to her chest and pushed until she could stand. Hermione jumped out of the way-the woman stumbled forward and collided with the bed. The moment she had cleared the door, Draco broke through the lock and burst into the room. His gaze seemed to skip right over Hermione's head to the woman on the bed. A woman who, when Hermione turned around, had become herself once more. There was no mistaking her upturned nose, the sleek black hair cropped at her chin. Nor was there any mistaking the way Draco strode to the side of the bed, sat, and pulled the woman into his arms. He spoke softly to her, and she turned her face into his chest.

Pansy Parkinson was alive, but writhing.

"Shh. It's alright," Draco murmured, wand hovering over her arm. He appeared to perform a kind of diagnostic spell. His face fell, and he shook his head at Hermione. "Would you fetch Hannah?"

Hermione blanched. "You can't save it, then."

"No. I'd rather a skilled medi-witch perform the removal. I don't have the finesse. It must be done, now, or she's dead. Hermione! Go!"

Her feet carried her but Hermione was barely aware of them touching the ground at all. She raced down the steps. Lucky for her, Hannah was in the kitchen prepping tea.

"Hannah-you're needed upstairs. It's urgent." Hermione only then realized that Ron stood at the stove, stoking the kettle. Hannah fled the kitchen without question, but Ron went to Hermione's side.

"What's happened?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Just… come on." She took his hand and pulled him along.

In the doorway of the upper bedroom, Hermione could only watch as Draco held a petrified Pansy. Hannah performed diagnostics of her own, but she seemed to agree with Draco's diagnosis. She asked Hermione to close the door. Once the door was shut and silenced, Hannah set to work. Hermione couldn't hear a thing-all that went through her head was a steady throbbing energy. She stared. Ron tried to say something to her, but it went unheard. Hannah readied Pansy's arm, tying off the limb above the elbow, and nodded to Draco. His head snapped, and he spoke-but his lips moved without words. No sound. Thrumming.

Turn around!

She jumped as his voice roared in her head, and only then did she turn her back to the scene. Her head found Ron's chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. Then, all the sounds flooded in.

Pansy screamed. Ron huffed. A pang zinged between Draco and Hermione, and she felt a flicker of an apology, and a brief image of a kiss.

Hermione covered her ears with both hands. It was too much. She felt herself being lifted-how had she gotten on the ground? The door frame passed overhead, and then a stretch of hallway, before another doorway opened… and then she touched down on a soft mattress. She curled into herself and reached out to find Draco's blue flame, anything from him. She concentrated everything she had on searching through the inky blackness, letting the golden light guide her way.

Finally, she saw a shoreline. Black sands, and black swirling water. She flitted across the water, searching, searching… when she found him, his fire was dull and low, orange and cool. She sat beside the little flame, and curled herself around him.

When she awoke, it was because large hands were covering her with a soft blanket. The hands belonged to the fire she guarded. He knelt beside the bed at eye height. He was worried. Hermione's fingers crept out from under the blanket to find his, and he linked them together.

"She's stable," he murmured.

"Is she?"

He nodded. "She's lucky. It wasn't her wand arm anyway." Hermione couldn't help but smile slightly, and his eyes crinkled. Then, the softness in his face faded. "You have to understand, Hermione…" He stopped and shook his head. "I never thought I'd see her again."

Her heart dropped sharply. "You loved her."

"Not as such. We clung to each other like lifeboats for a long time."

"But you cared-"

"It's been half a decade! I'm not sure I even understood what that meant." He kissed their joined fingers and his lips remained there. "It wasn't like this."

"Still," she urged. "It must be shocking to see her again."

"It is. She went missing on assignment. I tried to find her, but it was like she disappeared into thin air. I accepted she was dead. As it turns out… she's been working her way through the old channels."

Hermione gasped. "She's an Unspeakable?"

"Yes. We were inducted the same year."

"She killed Alecto Carrow."

"Three years ago. She confirmed it to me just now. But… that's why it got this bad. It goes against your theory about why mine turned… I think the ink reacts this way if you kill the person who gave you your mark." He was concerned, and rightly so. If that wasn't the answer to his part of the prophecy, there was more to worry about.

"Perhaps you're right." Hermione propped herself up on her elbow. "How does she account for surviving Justin's attack?"

"The men I sent… they found her. Stabilized her. She got to St. Mungo's on her own."

Hermione glanced at their joined hands. "She's been masquerading as Natalie for six months. She knows… everything about me, Draco. I've snotted on that woman, crying over this or that."

"You've snotted on me too, she's not special." He gave her a gentle smile. "She could be quite useful to us."

"How is Hannah taking it?"

He sighed. "Much better than I. She's gone downstairs with Ron to… prepare the company for a new face. Once Pansy has recovered, of course."

"What does Pansy want?"

"To protect these women, once she's healed. She assumed you were dead, ending her assignment. But you gave her something else to fight for. She wants to stay with Hannah, and Imelda, and the rest… be their protection." Draco cupped her face. "I'm not the only former Death Eater with a score to settle."

"Her assignment? Hang on… who assigned her?"

Draco took a deep breath. "Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Hermione sat up like a bolt. "They have been trying to protect me together."

"Looks that way." He held open his arms and invited her into his embrace. She readily accepted the comfort. She always felt so small in his arms. He kissed her temple. "Hannah and Imelda are ready to talk, if you're willing. For your report."

She breathed against his cheek and felt her throat clench. "Gods. When all this began, I thought I was alone."

Draco said nothing. Instead, he reached for her inside her mind. This time, she met him on the shore.

You found me.

I had a good teacher.

Well into the wee hours of the morning, three muggle-born witches communed around the recovery bed of a former Death Eater, a woman who had recently been liberated of her left arm. They shared their stories, compared notes… set suspicions straight. Then, together, they completed a lengthy report which would be called The Matryoshka Brief-so named by Imelda, after Russian nesting dolls. Each woman gave her testimony to a spelled quill, monitored by the lone wizard in the room. The healer, the refugee, the spy, and the instigator… all pieced together what was known, and who was to blame. Then, the brief was rolled up, and addressed to the one person who could spread the information as quickly as possible.

The next day-a Tuesday-every magical person woke up to a copy of the Daily Prophet, a special edition with only one story to report from an anonymous source. The Prophet, in all fifty years of its existence (as the one, truly reliable source for reasonably truthful news and gossip inside the Wizarding world), had only once before foregone its unending stream of speculative articles and photographs. Just once. This was noteworthy.

The words, written in the smallest font the press could handle, detailed how five ministry officials, several of whom upper level members of the Wizengamot, had been smuggling Muggle-born witches and their children out of Russia… never to be seen again, at the behest of a secret society of former Death Eaters. The persons were named, and evidence cited.

Gerald Covington (deceased).

John MacAfee.

Romilda Vane.

Millicent Bulstrode.

Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt.

(Bulstrode and Vane had come as a shock to Hermione, given how she had relied on them, but Pansy detailed all the times she had seen either witch pass on vital information to a Carrow, or bury something which could have been of use.)

The Matryoshka Brief went on to detail how these officials had misused their power, going so far as to name each infraction in excruciating detail. The list of offenses was long; the report accused each person of serious charges in violation of the Dawes Convention, a treaty made by the seven wizarding ruling bodies which made up the United Confederation of Magic, in order to protect their citizens. Kidnapping, extortion, concealing evidence, endangering minors… sexual violence. Murder. The author (unnamed) invited members of the public to come forward with any information they might have, directly to Rita Skeeter.

At the conclusion of the article, the author (or authors, as it were) made one last demand:

For the sake of the muggle-borns the world over, for their children, we insist on the resignation of each party named herein, and that an immediate interim Chief Warlock be appointed to begin an inquest into the missing women and children. In light of these crimes, the Wizengamot should defer its rulings to the will of the people. We demand that no new Minister be elected until the completion of the inquest. How deep does this corruption go?

Author's note: Whew. I apologize for the two week delay on an update. Truly, I rewrote this chapter from scratch *four times*. We've finally reached the point where the tide will turn, and we'll experience the fallout from the release of the report, which is now known as The Matryoshka Brief. 'Matryoshka' is the Russian word for nesting dolls, as mentioned in the chapter. Each doll opens to reveal a smaller doll inside.

Now, Hermione and Draco have allies. They're not alone, and whatever comes next comes with a host of able magical supporters.

I hope you're still with me-thank you so much for reading, and please tell me if you liked this fourth attempt at an update. ;) Big thanks to pink_wednesdays for her words of support.