Chapter 50
Tuesday 18 March 2003: PM
"Mac – you and Ruibby stay here. Finish watching the movie and see Ruibby safely home, please. We'll call you if we need you." Hermione's authoritative voice rings in Draco's ears before he has a chance to assemble his own wits.
Both elves nod, exophthalmic eyes round as they watch the humans interact with as much rapt attention as they'd previously paid to the screening movie. Macdolas sits back down on the beanbag, gathering Ruibby into his arms and setting her before him in an uncanny replication of Draco's recent posture while cuddling with Hermione.
That's not cute – that's a blatant rip-off of my moves. Pilfering little shit. Draco isn't given much time to dwell on his gripe.
Checking her wand is secure in her jeans pocket, Hermione grabs the sorrel merino wool sweater Draco gifted her and quickly shoves her arms and head through the appropriate holes, before thrusting her bare feet into her trusty black flats.
"Malfoy – get your skates on, you need shoes and a jumper, plus your wand. Blaise – where are you? In your Ministry office?" Hermione demands, using her fingers to comb and tie back her loose brown curls with one of the hair bands that seem to perpetually multiply in her pockets.
Blaise's agitated head nods from the Floo. "I'm about to go down to the Temporary Detention Cells to check on Theo – he contacted me when they arrested him after the raid–"
"Good. Clear the Floo, we're coming to you. Take a deep breath, Blaise. Theo will be free and cleared of all charges before dawn breaks – or my name's not Hermione Jean Granger."
Draco allows himself a transitory moment of proud appreciation for his girlfriend's fierce confidence, unswerving determination, and unrivalled clear-headedness in a crisis. He hustles to don his shoes and socks as the object of his admiration turns her critical mocha eyes upon him and clicks her tongue.
"Curb your lollygagging, Malfoy – we have a selection of DMLE arses to kick. You can fuss at your pretty coiffure later," Hermione alludes to his hasty effort to smooth down his disordered pale locks.
Bossy verging on tyrannical – and I bloody love it. Draco pinches green Floo powder between his fingers as he follows his take-charge sweetheart into the now-empty hearth.
"Blaise Zabini's office!" he repeats the directive after Hermione has Floo'ed clear.
Zabini is pacing in a tight circle when Draco arrives. His oddly amalgamated clothing speaks to his overwrought state of mind: black Oxfords sans socks, dark green silk pyjama bottoms... and an unbuttoned finely-patterned houndstooth business jacket over his bare burnished chest. Draco exchanges a look of perturbation with Hermione at seeing their friend so discombobulated.
"Sit down, Blaise. Have a drink of water," Hermione waves her wand to the half-full clear jug on the heavy wood desk, filling the tumbler beside it and sliding it to the centre of the work table. Blaise collapses into the chair and sips automatically. His large, elegant hand trembles as he puts down the glass receptacle.
"He's – he's got claustrophobia – Theo, I mean," Zabini blurts. "Not that he's ever come out and admitted it, but he's my best mate – I figured out what was going on a while back." He gulps down the rest of the water and reaches to refill the tumbler.
"I know, Blaise. We have to get him out of that cell," Draco grips the handle of his wand, wondering what the minimum penalty is for lightly blasting moronic Aurors.
"Stand down, Prison Break. I've got this." Hermione lightly places her hand on Draco's arm to lower it, before twisting together their fingers. "Blaise, do you know where Harry is now?".
"Potter was arguing with a couple of other Aurors down there – they were still bickering when I left to call you guys," Blaise divulges. "There were a shitload of crimson robes getting in each other's way. Can't wait to see another Death Eater's son go down in flames, as usual," he sneers into the water glass.
"Put that aside. Blaise – are you capable of staying in the background and looking dour? If you're too upset to control your emotions, it's best if you stay here," Hermione softly but firmly warns.
"I'll be the epitome of calm, controlled fury," Blaise vows, jerkily jumping to his feet.
"Do up your jacket first – you look a right berk," Draco advises in fond exasperation. "I'll make sure he toes the line, Granger."
"Good. Let's take the elevators, it will give us all some time to calm down and plot the best approach," Hermione is already towing him toward the door.
As if she didn't settle on her plan of attack as soon as she decided we were coming here. Draco lets his faint smile quirk as he beckons Zabini to follow with a sharp head tilt.
"Come on, mate. Granger has dragons to slay – we don't want to miss this."
"Auror Potter – I request a private word. Now," Hermione lets the merest hint of anger infuse her emphatic request. She smiles humourlessly when Harry's tousled head rapidly spins to pinpoint her position, his face paling. Breaking away from the group of three of his colleagues with whom he'd been heatedly debating, Harry bustles to her side. He ignores the silent flanking figures of Draco and Blaise.
"Hermione! You shouldn't be here, love!". Harry's eyes are drawn and distressed.
"You shall address me as 'Ms Granger': I am here in my official capacity as Mr Nott's legal counsel. Find somewhere for us to discuss the gross missteps your department has foolishly taken tonight, please." Hermione glares at the noisy crowd milling outside the Temporary Holding Cells.
"'Legal counsel'?! Come on – you're currently employed by the Ministry! And it's an undeniable conflict of interest for you to represent your accuser," Harry groans.
"We'll do this here, then. Let the record state that I did request a confidential meeting," Hermione clips.
"I resigned from my position in the Wizengamot Administration Services division this morning; the two weeks' mandatory notice is exempt depending on special circumstances eventuating. The signed letter is sitting atop Mrs Sandore's desk, if you need to verify," Hermione informs.
"Wait – you quit?" Harry breathes in shock.
"Given that you have not produced a shred of tangible evidence to categorically prove your specious case against Mr Nott, I am well within my rights to serve as his legal representative, provided no coercion has been applied by either party.'
"I–I don't think–"
"Obviously," Hermione dryly observes, maintaining her frosty manner despite the pang she feels at Harry's crestfallen face. "Theo Nott has clearly been framed for these atrocities, and his Wizardly rights railroaded in favour of the DMLE fabricating some much-needed good press to bury their recent string of ineptitudes."
"His Wizardly rights? Hermione, it's standard procedure to bring in suspects for questioning, you know that," Harry attempts to claw back some slipping ground.
"According to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's Procedural Manual, Section 58, Subclause 14: 'Any witch or wizard brought to the DMLE for questioning shall not be incarcerated in the Temporary Holding Cells, should that person display signs of physiological or psychological distress, or should the DMLE be made aware of pre-existing medical conditions that predispose that individual to suffering as a result of incarceration. Alternate arrangements will be made as a matter of greatest priority in those circumstances, ensuring that the witch or wizard's physical and mental condition be kept at optimum levels of health and functionality.'" Hermione recites the block of text with nary a stumble, keeping her eyes trained keenly on Harry's troubled jade orbs.
"Theo's claustrophobic, Potter," Draco quietly explains. "Putting him in that tiny metal box is pure torture."
"Ah, shit." Harry's anguished whisper is quickly followed by a flurry of action from the black-haired Auror. He pivots, bellowing at the yabbering throng, "Everyone out! Immediately! Gilmont, Faulkner – I'm entrusting you with preparing and guarding the Duelling Area/Simulation Room. Make sure it is cleared of clutter, and open the windows. Pop a small desk and five comfortable chairs in there, and rustle up some chocolate and hot drinks – plenty of sugar, please. You have ten minutes. Go," he commands.
The named male and female Auror partners nod their comprehension and agreement, their carmine robes swishing as they swiftly and gracefully depart to follow Harry's orders. The rest of their workmates stare at Harry like vacuous sheep waiting to be shorn.
"I said GO! Don't make me fucking Stun the lot of you!" Harry roars. "Most of you have already stepped well out of line tonight – it would be a bloody pleasure to make you spend a night back there to consider how your overeager sloppiness has potentially corrupted Operation Acromantula!" he jerks his thumb to the cells behind him, as the magical police finally scatter.
Harry waits until the long corridor beside the cells is cleared before he stands before the first bay and points his Auror badge at the keyhole in the middle of the solid metal door. "Alohomora Magicae Virtute Muneris."
The incantation immediately generates a series of clicks and grates as rods slide free and cogs gyrate to unlock the forbidding gate. Placing his hand on the handle, Harry holds off turning it to state, "I'm going to trust that you lot aren't going to try anything daft, like grabbing Nott and trying to Apparate away with him – that won't work in any case, this place is lousy with Anti-Apparation spells and any attempt to circumvent them will automatically result in a particularly nasty Splinching, alright? Do I have your word, or do I need to confiscate your wands?".
Hermione speaks on behalf of her crew. "You have our word, Harry. Please – get Theo out of there."
Harry nods grimly, carefully swinging open the door and muttering "Lumos": a series of harsh white lights snap to life above them. Unable to quash her involuntary gasp of despair, Hermione steps aside as Blaise and Draco rush in to help their friend.
Theo Nott is at the far corner of the stark, unfurnished cell, curled into an impossibly small ball with his arms wrapped around his head. He is rocking slightly, seemingly oblivious to their presence as he repeats a string of… German? numbers in a cracked, monotonous, run-together chant.
"–null-ein-zwei-drei-vier-fünf-sechs-sieben-acht-neun-zehn-elf-zwölf–"
"Theo – mate, it's Blaise, it's alright, you're gonna be alright…" Hermione blinks away stinging tears as she watches Zabini sink to the floor and wrap his smaller friend in the gentlest of hugs, crooning soft words of reassurance and comfort. Draco crouches beside the pair and rubs light circles on Theo's shaking back.
"Fucking hell," Harry mutters beside her, clawing at his hair in a familiar gesture of distress. "Hermione – I didn't set up the bloody raid – I didn't know anything about it until Faulkner clued me in. That nitwit Barry Bones intercepted the anonymous tip-off just after I left the office for the night–"
"Not a coincidence, I assume," Hermione cynically notes.
"By the time I arrived at Nott House, Barry was holding The Manifesto over his head like Muhammad Ali with the heavyweight champion of the world belt – and his team of gung-ho clowns had already dragged in Theo and thrown him in here. I was trying to cut through some red tape when you turned up," Harry grants his much-maligned hair a respite, instead waving about both arms in a gesture of pure frustration and ire.
"Harry – do you believe Theo is guilty? Do you really think him capable of these crimes?" Hermione urgently queries.
"Unofficially? No. Officially? I'm ninety-nine percent sure the poor bastard has been framed: but I have to follow correct procedure – or risk Theo copping more of this prejudicial crap," Harry growls. "Barry didn't even want to apply for the Veritaserum – the dumb turd claimed all the evidence he needed was in his hands."
"Barry Bones… he's a distant relation of Amelia Bones, I take it?" Hermione muses, trying to place the other Auror.
"So distant as to be practically impossible to prove," Harry sniffs. "He's been trading on the slim connection ever since he turned up here like a bad Knut. He's more likely to have descended from a family of grave robbers than share blood with the late, great, Amelia Bones."
Theo's agonized intonations have finally ceased; Hermione covertly dabs at her moist eyes as Draco and Blaise assist the lanky young man to stand up, supporting him with their strong arms firmly bolstering his thin shoulders.
"Come on, Hermione – let's head to the back room. Gilmont and Faulkner should have it set up by now," Harry waits for the Slytherin trio to move ahead of them, quietly directing them through the corridors until they come to the large room situated at the rear left corner of Level Two. The silent Aurors on either side of the open door engage in a quick exchange with Harry before regaining their posts.
Harry guides Theo to sit in the squashy armchair that has been plonked directly below the largest open window, displaying the muted streetlights below. The sound and smell of steady rain is welcome and refreshing, especially in comparison to the meanness of Theo's recent temporary prison.
Blaise and Draco drop into the chairs beside their buddy, scooching them closer to form a protective flanking bulwark. Hermione and Harry take the seats opposite; Hermione stifles her impulsive grin at Gilmont and Faulkner's choice of 'desk' – it is simply a large coffee table, piled untidily with a selection of Honeydukes and Muggle chocolates and lollies, a kettle of hot water, mismatching mugs, and fixings for coffee and tea. A jug of tap water and some paper cups complete the impromptu repast.
Harry notices Hermione's quizzical gaze and sheepishly explains, "They have access to my office cupboard – I have to keep it locked, Aurors are like ruddy vultures when it comes to snacks. Don't judge me," he grumbles.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Hermione chuckles. She is gladdened to see Theo accepting a mug of steaming tea solicitously prepared by Blaise, and the Kit Kat fingers that Draco has unwrapped and snapped for him. Her blond boyfriend drops the tiniest of winks as he catches her eye… clearly his thoughts have strayed to the night she first introduced him to the delicious chocolate wafer treat.
Now is not the time to relive your first [explosive] kiss; nor is it acceptable to start blushing. Don't look directly at the sexy git – he wreaks havoc on your composure without even trying. Hermione wrenches her attention back to Harry.
"Let's all have a bite to eat and a drink before we start the discussion proper," Harry amiably suggests. "Mr Nott – Theo – please accept my apologies on behalf of the DMLE for the indignities you've suffered tonight. Rest assured I will be submitting an official complaint and a request for a formal investigation first thing tomorrow morning," he avers.
Theo dips his head in silent acknowledgment, sipping at his tea and dutifully swallowing small bites of Kit Kat. He doesn't appear to be relishing either: but at least his colour has improved and the blind terror in his mossy green eyes has been replaced with a dull resignation.
The buttons on his dark grey cotton pyjama top are mis-fastened, and he is wearing slippers. The jerks didn't even let him get properly dressed. Barry Bones won't see another month in the job, Hermione furiously promises.
"Are you planning on complaining about your own actions, Potter? Weren't you the Auror steering this ship of fools until it wrecked?" Blaise snarls, sitting forward in his chair and irefully pointing at Harry with a half-unpeeled Mars bar.
"Harry's team didn't serve the warrant or instigate the raid, Blaise – it was Barry Bones's unit. Hold off on your fury until after Harry has had a chance to speak, please," Hermione cautions. The calm steel in her voice settles Blaise almost instantaneously; he contents himself with narrowing his eyes and chomping an over-large bite out of his chocolate bar… and promptly choking on it. Draco reaches behind Theo to soundly thwack Zabini on the back.
"Aargh–go easy– near knocked me into next week– no, not again!" Blaise scoots to the lip of the chair to evade Draco's hovering hand, hurriedly sculling a cup of water to alleviate his coughing fit.
"Wouldn't like to see you asphyxiate, pal," Draco smirks. "Can't deprive the world of 'Blaise the Praised' just yet."
"Too right," Zabini croaks. "But lay off the whacking – you're stronger than I would have given you credit for, considering your general air of sallow infirmity."
"Fu–"
"That's enough banter," Hermione decrees, before the conversation devolves to inventive cussing. "Harry, I think we're set for food and drink: you may as well begin. Be aware I will stop this preliminary discussion at any time, should I believe you are encroaching on my client's rights."
"Understood. Mr Nott – are you willing to answer a few questions about your movements this evening, and the evidence discovered at your abode?" Harry petitions, green eyes meeting green.
"I am," Theo's voice is hoarse but steadfast.
Harry rests his hands on his knees as he leans forward. "The black leather-bound book known as The Manifesto that was located in the attic of Nott House tonight: were you aware of its presence in your home?".
"No. I avoid the attic, my father–". Theo breaks off, cradling his mug between trembling hands. "I do not have fond memories of the attic, and rarely venture within."
"Who else has access to the property?" Harry presses.
"Just my house elf, Wireceaster. He lives in the East Wing. My Floo is open to a few friends… and the Ministry, obviously." Theo's mouth twists. "The list of friends is pitifully short – everyone in this room, Pansy Parkinson, and recently I've added Luna Lovegood. Oh, and my grandmother, of course."
"Have you ever before seen The Manifesto?".
Looking up at the matte grey ceiling, Theo slowly replies, "When I saw it tonight… I had a flashback to my childhood… My father had it in his study once, I peeped through the keyhole and saw him flipping through it, with Walden Macnair. I don't know for certain if it was the same book – I scarpered before Father caught me sneaking a peek," he shrugs.
"Has anything happened recently to indicate Nott House's security may have been compromised? Any weakening of your spelled wards? Have you received any threatening correspondence, or felt as though you were being followed?" Harry asks.
"No, none of that." Theo hunches as he admits, "It's possible there's been a breach I wasn't aware of… some nights I have trouble sleeping, so I take Dreamless Sleep every now and then." He intercepts the look that flashes between Harry and Hermione.
"I'm careful not to develop an addiction – shit, sorry, Draco–" Theo looks horrified at his slip of the tongue.
"No offence taken – go on, mate," Draco assures.
Sucking in a deep inhale, Theo continues, "I was dog-tired tonight, but my head wouldn't turn off, so I went to bed early and prepared a draught. I'd just taken a sip when my bedroom door flew open and I ended up getting hauled in here."
"Arseholes," Blaise grouches.
Ignoring the outburst, Harry postulates, "Could your house elf – Wireceaster – have recently found The Manifesto and placed it there for safekeeping? Or perhaps he has a grudge against you, and planted it there purposefully?".
"It's extremely unlikely, on both counts. Wirey used to work for my grandmother, and he's fiercely loyal to her – and me. He insisted on coming back to live with me when I settled back in England full-time. I showed him the attic when he first arrived, and advised him to keep it locked and let it rot." Theo restlessly shuffles his slippered feet. "Where is Wirey – is he OK? I didn't see him downstairs when that pig-faced bloke slapped manacles on me and chucked me through the Floo."
"I'm not sure," Harry admits. "Let me check – I'll be back in a tick." The Auror hops up and confers with the female law enforcement officer; she departs shortly thereafter.
"Gilmont's going to find out. Won't take her long," Harry reports.
Hermione decides it's time to step in. "Where do we stand on the Veritaserum issue, Harry? Are you still pushing for Theo's compulsory ingestion and interrogation?".
Scrubbing a hand across his face, Harry's weariness and stress is apparent in his strained tones. "I don't want to exacerbate Theo's condition any more tonight – I was hoping that an official administration of the truth serum would categorically prove his innocence and lead to the dismissal of all charges, and his swift release. However–"
"I'll do it," Theo interjects, setting down his empty mug and staring intently at the conflicted Auror. "I have nothing to hide, and if it means getting out of this mess tonight – I'm in. Forget about needing the judge to sign off on it, alright?".
Hermione double-checks with her client before she lends her support to the proposition. "Theo – are you wholly positive you are comfortable with this? You've already suffered a bad shock tonight, and I am perfectly willing to file injunction after injunction if taking the Veritaserum will worsen your condition," she asserts.
"Thank you, Hermione: I'm OK, now. I want this over with." Theo's determination is unmistakable.
I'm proud of you, Theo. Hermione resolves to tell the man exactly that, before the night is over.
"Set it up, Harry. And ensure you fully record it, please. I don't want any pushbacks about method irregularities or perceived bias," Hermione enjoins, pulling fresh parchment and a biro out of her Extendable bag. "It's faster to write notes with than a quill and ink," she defends against Draco's small smile.
"Ma petite, I would sooner question a hungry Manticore than find fault with your professional techniques," Draco remarks. "May Blaise and I remain, or is it best if we absent ourselves from the formal examination process?" he addresses Harry.
Harry cocks his head to the side, considering the request. "You may stay – but only on the proviso that you practise absolute silence throughout. One word from either of you – and you're out. Agreed?".
"Agreed," Blaise and Draco answer in unison.
Producing a small colourless vial of liquid from his top pocket, Harry holds the ampoule in one hand while he digs in his cherry-coloured robes for his adapted Muggle digital voice recorder. He thumbs the 'on' switch and places it in the centre of the coffee table, after using his wand to clear the food and drink away to the sides.
"Auror Harry Potter, badge number 1527, recording the voluntary administration of Veritaserum and accompanying formal interview with Mr Theodore Nott. Also present is his legal representative, Ms Hermione Granger, and Mr Nott's nominated support persons of Mr Blaise Zabini and Lord Draco Malfoy. The date is Tuesday 18 March 2003, and the time is 9.42PM…"
"…Mr Nott, I hereby advise that you are cleared of all charges brought against you tonight with regard to the Operation Acromantula case; you are free to leave without further sanction or limitation," Harry pronounces, scratching in his top pocket for another phial. "I would recommend waiting ten minutes before your departure, to allow the Veritaserum antidote to flush your system in full. Lean forward, please," Harry unstoppers the new vial to place three precise droplets upon Theo's tongue.
"Auror Potter: are you confident that Mr Nott was unable to resist or subvert the truth-revealing effects of Veritaserum by use of Occlumency or other means, magical or otherwise?" Hermione formally enquires.
"I am satisfied with the untampered veracity of Mr Nott's responses, yes," Harry swiftly concurs.
"I petition for a written copy of this interview to be provided to me no later than close of business tomorrow, please," Hermione insists, carefully rolling up her closely-written sheafs of parchment and improvising their restraint with another ubiquitous hair tie.
Harry rolls his eyes and mumbles something mostly unintelligible beneath his breath… though it does sound suspiciously like "more bloody reports" to Hermione's keen ears.
"Of course, Ms Granger," is his official response. "Do you have any other questions?"
Hermione's reply is lost as the sounds of a scuffle erupt at the door (Harry having decided to leave it open to offset any lingering effects of Theo's claustrophobia).
"You've got no bloody right, Gilmont!" the discordant male screech has four of the five occupants of the makeshift inquiry room immediately abandoning their seats to stand, wands drawn and directed at the approaching source of the disturbance.
Gilmont crosses the portal, backing into the room while shielding a small elderly house elf (who sports a thick, elaborately twisted white moustache) behind her voluminous robes. Faulkner enters hot on her heels, his attention also centred on the unidentified shouting man.
A corpulent middle-aged wizard with a decidedly pig-snouted upturned nose appears in the doorway, sweat rings marring his crimson Auror robes. He fumbles his wand from one hand to the other, seemingly unable to effectively fix his perspiration-slickened grip.
"Potter! What's the bloody meaning of this, then?! That sodding elf is my material witness!" he shouts. "No one undermines Barry Bones and gets away with it! How very dare you interfere in my investigation! S'pose I shouldn't expect any less, you're forever hogging all the glory and trading off on your dubious reputation–"
BANG! An intense jet of red light fires from the tip of Gilmont's wand, hitting the blustering Bones in the middle of his unfortunately-shaped schnoz. He topples to the floor like a sawn redwood: Gilmont magicks one of the armchair cushions across to soften his head's impact on the hard tiles just before he lands.
"Oops," the dishwater blonde laconically comments, fiddling at the tip of her maple wood caduceus. "Auror Potter – I'm afraid my wand has performed a sudden, unexpected misfire… it seems to have accidentally Stupefied Auror Bones," she deadpans. Her honey brown eyes shimmer with a delightful mischief.
"What a shame – though accidents do happen, Gilmont. I recommend casting a few rebooting spells overnight, that should do the trick," Harry's reaction is equally droll. "In the meantime, might I prevail upon you and Faulkner to move Auror Bones into one of the Temporary Holding Cells? I fear he might need a more contained environment to recover from his mishap."
"Certainly, Auror Potter. This is Herr Wireceaster, by the way. He assures us he has not been injured or ill-treated in any way, though I believe he is exhausted from tonight's happenings, and would benefit from some refreshments," Gilmont nods to the coffee table, gently pushing the bemused-looking elf toward it.
Faulkner raises his own wand to levitate the unconscious Bones ahead of them, as he and Gilmont move to follow Harry's orders. Gilmont drops a lazy wink to the room at large before she departs.
"What a bloody goddess," Blaise breathes, his awe at Gilmont's bold manoeuvre lighting up his onyx eyes and widening his charismatic smile. "Wordless Stupefaction, no less! Where have you been hiding her, Harry? I think I'm in love!".
"Zabini – Gus Gilmont would eat you for breakfast, and save your sorry bones for soup," Harry snorts. "Don't even think about it."
"'Gus'? Her name's Gus? Is that short for something? How long has she been working here? Why haven't I met her before? She's single, right? 'Course she is, the universe couldn't be so cruel! Have mercy, Potter! I think I'll call her 'Gussie'," Blaise gleefully rubs together his hands anticipatorily.
Hermione, Harry, Draco and Theo break into spontaneous laughter, as Blaise pretends aggrievance, his hands on his hips and an exaggerated pout on his cheeky face.
Such a jester, Hermione affectionately reflects. Luckily, that's just what we need right now.
Theo's rusty laugh trickles away as he ushers his house elf into Blaise's unoccupied seat. "Wirey – are you alright? Here, have a Chocolate Frog, I know they're your favourites."
Nibbling at the Frog with one hand, Wireceaster nervously twirls his waxed handlebar moustache with the other. "Master Nott is well? Wirey worries when he sees fat wizard accost Master," he frets. "Wirey tells him over and over Master Nott never goes to attic! Dummkopf." The elf's German accent thickens as he spits the insult.
Harry sighs. "I'm very sorry, Mr Wireceaster. Auror Bones will be facing disciplinary action before the week is out."
Wireceaster's black eyes goggle as he seems to register Harry's presence for the first time since being hustled into the room. "Master Auror Harry James Potter! Der Junge der Lebte! Brave und selfless! Blitzeinschläge!" he cries, sweeping into a stiff bow.
"Here we go again," Draco grunts, moving to stand behind Hermione and loosely circle her with his arms. "Do you think this wildly misplaced hero-worship is coded into their elven DNA, Granger?" he nuzzles at her ear.
"Granger? Fräulein Hermione Granger? Die klügste Hexe der Welt? Such honour, such honour!" Wirey abandons Harry in favour of grabbing Hermione's hand and smearing chocolatey kisses along the back of her knuckles. He entirely ignores Draco's presence and petulant protest.
"Wirey just called you 'the cleverest witch in the world'," Theo helpfully translates. "He's right about that… thank you, Hermione." His dreamy dark green eyes have regained most of their usual lustre, and his relieved smile speaks volumes to his improved state of mind.
"You're very welcome, Theo," Hermione smiles back. "I'd give you a hug… but I seem to be inundated with male attention at present," she laughs. Draco is yet to dislodge Wirey's stubborn grasp on her hand, and is possessively hugging her even tighter.
"Listen, guys… your support– all your support, it means so much to me," Theo rasps. "And not one of you – well, with the exception of Harry, and he was just doing his job – asked me if I was guilty of these horrible crimes… You came to my aid without any hesitation or conditions, and I-I want you to know how much I appreciate you… and that I count you as family. My family. Thank you." He swallows hard.
"Brace yourself – that's a hug-worthy statement if ever I heard one," Blaise hurdles an armchair to crush Theo into a tight embrace. He knuckles his friend's charcoal curls as he announces, "You and Wirey are coming back to my place, once you're both up to the Floo journey. I'm of dire need of the company, to be honest – what a shitstorm this night turned into," he sighs.
"Take this pesky geriatric elf with you before he Apparates away with my girlfriend," Draco bitches. "What are you laughing at, Potter?".
Harry's chuckles soon bloom into infectious guffaws, causing the rest of the humans to follow suit.
Blaise eventually sidles up to Harry to win the last word.
"So… any chance I could bribe a certain Auror to put in a good word with Gussie for The Great Zabini?".
German translations:
Dummkopf – Idiot (literally 'dumb head').
Der Junge der Lebte – The Boy who Lived.
Blitzeinschläge – Lightning Strike.
Die klügste Hexe der Welt – The cleverest Witch in the World.
Hi - quick note for Brianna DaSilva and anyone who is interested in the Harry/Pansy developing relationship: I wrote a short drabble detailing their clinch after they squabbled during the Chinese luncheon.
It's posted on AO3, called 'Harry's Apology' and the link is: /works/26892955 .
I intend to flesh out the Hansy story once this WiP is finished.
Thanks for reading, guys.
xoxo VJ
