Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling.
Yet, I pity the poor wretch, though he's my enemy. He's yoked to an evil delusion, but the same fate could be mine.
- Sophocles, Ajax (5th century B.C.)
Chapter 28: The Proselyte
A pale grey light pushed through his eyelids. He opened them, the room coming into focus sideways. His glasses were cutting into the bridge of his nose and, slowly, he sat up.
Ron was asleep beside him, his long legs folded against himself. Mr. Granger was snoring softly on the other couch. Alex and Phrygia were gone. On the far side of the room, Mrs. Granger had not moved, her head cradled in her arms on the bed. The pale tongues of fire still hovered over Hermione's head and hands, almost invisible in the morning sun.
Harry stood, glancing out the windows. There were still people outside. They milled about the street, laying flowers and reading the cards and signs. There were hundreds of bouquets at the gateway now, layered upon one another like roof shingles. He knew the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes would be having a time of it. To all appearances, St. Mungo's was supposed to be an abandoned department store and the street was still moderately trafficked by Muggles.
Harry turned away and moved soundlessly towards her bed.
Diotima still sat on her low stool, quite lost to everything as she swayed in a breeze only she could feel.
Then, Harry looked at Hermione's legs.
He closed his hand over his mouth to keep from crying out.
They were whole again. The char was gone, the bones straightened. And while still heavily scarred, the flesh, the muscles, the sinew had all reformed on the bones like boughs bearing new life. They were her legs again.
Harry felt something bright and massive welling in his chest. He wanted to fall to his knees and embrace this slight woman of such power. The only thing that stopped him was the fear that he would break her concentration.
Dazedly, he came up to her bed. She slept peacefully, lips parted. Her regrown curls spread over the pillow like a shambolic diadem and the pale winter sun touched the curve of her cheek like a caress.
Looking down at her, Harry had the odd impression of layered memory.
How many times in his life had he seen her like this?
Petrified with wide, glassy eyes.
Wincing as she touched a hand to her ribs, taking ten different potions a day.
Lying unconscious in Bellatrix's arms, a knife pressed to her throat.
Her faint breath in a Muggle hospital, head wrapped in bandages.
And now this. The worst of them all.
How many times was he responsible for her pain?
"She heals," said a quiet lilt behind him. He didn't have to turn to know it was Phrygia.
Harry nodded, blinking quickly.
"I cannot thank you and the Mother enough," he whispered roughly.
Phrygia said nothing, coming to stand beside him. She watched Hermione's serene face.
"It is hard, no? Not being with the one you love."
Harry's breath caught in his chest. He looked at her. Was he really so obvious?
But her pale green eyes held no accusation, only a calm sort of knowing. She seemed older than her years, then.
"Yes," he murmured.
"I prepare for it every day," Phrygia whispered, touching her stomach. "We have five moons left together. It will never be enough."
Harry looked back to Hermione's pale face, the large bruise on her temple like ink spilt on parchment. "Can you not leave? If you really wanted?"
The young witch smiled faintly. "I cannot leave them. There are higher things. There are duties...to the coven, to the village...to myself." She paused, her fingers trailing along the edge of the bed. "And I will see Dorian...from time to time...when he comes to visit his daughter. But one day he will find a wife, have other children. He will die long before I am the Mother, and perhaps I will bless his children and their children..."
She released a quiet sigh and went to kneel beside Diotima, whispering softly in her ear.
Harry stayed where he was. He watched Hermione's lips for a long time before, slowly, reaching out his hand, fingertips hovering over the pale arcs.
But, after a moment, he drew his hand away.
Lakey, Emi, and her husband, Luke, joined them around seven. Emi cried silently into Luke's chest for a long while. Ginny returned soon after that, her wan face brightening when she saw Hermione's legs.
They spoke in low voices, taking tea by the windows, careful not to disturb Diotima.
Lakey handed Harry and Ron a new copy of the Prophet. The dark stake was still there, but it was next to a larger photograph of the night's vigil. The headline read:
WORLD IN SOLIDARITY WITH BRIGHTEST WITCH OF HER AGE: 10,000 GATHER IN LONDON, VIGILS HELD FROM NEW YORK TO SINGAPORE
"She's the 'brightest witch of her age' again, is she?" said Harry darkly. "Not a Muggle-loving extremist anymore."
Ron smiled grimly. "That sounds familiar."
At a quarter to eight, Healer Holbrooke returned. After speaking with Phrygia, she came up to them.
"Diotima will finish in the next few minutes," she said gently to Ron. "She was able to return Hermione's legs to an earlier state, but not fully back to normal."
Ron nodded, his jaw tight.
At Phrygia's signal, they all came to stand around the bed. Diotima was rocking back and forth now, her gnarled hands clasped in her lap. The hyssop bundles had withered, as though left out in the sun. The tongues of fire diminished to faint beads of light.
"When will Hermione wake, Healer Holbrooke?" said Lakey beside Harry.
"I'd like to keep her like this until tomorrow, at least," the Healer said. "Her lungs need more time to heal and, when she wakes, she will be in a tremendous amount of pain. We will give her potions to help but with burns like these..."
Distantly, Harry remembered his own burn weeks ago, from a Stinging Jinx thrown by a talented Auror trainee. The pain had been severe, but it would be nothing, nothing to what Hermione would feel.
Several minutes passed in silence and then, quite anticlimactically, Diotima opened her eyes and shook her head roughly. She stared up at their stunned faces before barking out a few words, voice laced with laughter. Phrygia suppressed a smile.
"What did she say?" said Luke.
"She says the English are easily amazed."
They all glanced at one another with hesitant smiles. Diotima got heavily to her feet and scooped up the hyssop bundles, muttering under her breath. She stacked them in her palm and they disappeared in a flash of flame.
She rasped in Phrygia's direction.
"She wants to rest now."
"Oh, of course," said Healer Holbrooke and she directed an orderly to show them to an empty room.
As the doors closed behind them, however, a smaller person edged inside.
"Miss—Miss Hermione?"
They all turned, Harry's heart shooting to his throat.
But then, with the agility of the professional Chaser she once was, Ginny rushed towards Duncan and lifted him bodily from the room.
"What's going on?" they heard the boy's cries on the other side of the door. "What's happened to her? They're people outside and Hugo wasn't at school yesterday..."
Ginny spoke to him quietly, leading him back towards his ward.
"He'll see her soon enough," said Lakey with a jovial sort of nervousness. "Once she's back on her feet, she'll be itching to restart the trial."
Healer Holbrooke shook her head sadly.
"Her convalescence will be long, I'm afraid, Director. At least several months. She will need constant looking after...help eating, bathing. The burn-healing paste will need to be applied three times a day in a precise way. She'll be taking several potions for her lungs and for the pain. After a couple weeks, she'll need to exercise her muscles every day if she's to regain full use. Even when she's recovered, the scars may never fully fade and there will be...discomfort."
Lakey looked stricken, but Emi swallowed. There was a hard lustre in her eyes that Harry was used to seeing in Hermione's face.
"I'll help you," she said to Ron and the Grangers. "We'll all help you. Don't you worry. You won't be on your own."
Ron nodded, staring at the floor. Mrs. Granger took his hand.
The doors opened behind them and Harry turned, expecting Ginny. But it was another Healer in lime-green robes.
"Chief Potter," the Healer said a little breathlessly. "The Minister and Deputy Chief Putnam are outside for you."
Harry and Ron's eyes met, the latter's widening. And Harry gave him a small sort of smile that seemed to say "I told you."
He followed the Healer down the corridor.
As he took his final walk as the Chief of the Auror Department, Harry was surprised he didn't feel more. He would miss Gwen, Matt, Ben, and so many of the other Aurors and trainees terribly. He wasn't quite sure what he would do with himself, after. He was self-aware enough to know they wouldn't put him in Azkaban; house arrest was more likely. He'd get to spend more time with Lily, at least. And then, once she was at Hogwarts and his term was up, perhaps he'd finally take Hermione's advice from all those years ago: travel, read, find out what he really liked doing away from all this...
The Healer led him to a small lounge and opened the door.
There were shouts and cries. Flash bulbs bloomed in his vision like oil-slicked flowers. A large hand gripped his own.
"There's the man himself!" the Minister of Magic boomed, shaking Harry's hand so violently his whole arm shook. "The man who tracked down Counselor Granger's abductors."
"What—"
"Smile for the cameras, Harry," said Kingsley by his ear. "Merlin, you look a fright."
The dozen photographers and reporters crowded inside shouted at him to turn this way, to give a smile. They asked after the Counselor.
"She's recovering nicely," said Kingsley brightly, while Harry bit back a retort. "I'd expect nothing less from her. She is a paragon of fortitude and moral courage, a role model for all young witches and wizards."
"What about the Death Eater, Chief Potter?" shouted one journalist from the Prophet. "How exactly did he die?"
"And what about zee young one?" said a slight man with a French accent. "Will ee recover?"
"When will the Callahan trial resume, sir?" interjected another. "Will Counselor Granger still lead the prosecution?"
"Is the Auror Department a fundamentally blood supremacist institution, Chief Potter?" asked a witch from the Quibbler. "Should the Ministry be enacting new reforms to overhaul recruiting, increase Muggle-born outreach, and identify and sack—?"
"There'll be plenty of time for all your questions," the Minister interrupted tightly. "If you would just follow my assistant out, I have sensitive matters to discuss with the Auror Chief."
The reporters and photographers grumbled, but filed away. With their departure, Harry saw who else was in the room: Deputy Chief Putnam, Matt, and Gwen. He smiled grimly at the latter two before turning back to the Minister.
"Sir," he said lowly, "I think you may be missing the larger context here. I did not find the Counselor. She was brought here by two witches who saved her life and neutralized Rudge and More. I nearly killed..."
But Kingsley was shaking his head, smiling. "It's you who misses the larger context, Harry. The Counselor is alive and recovering. One of her captors is dead, the other in custody, thanks to you."
Harry released a disbelieving breath. He tried again, dropping his voice lower as Putnam watched them.
"A blood supremacist was in the ranks for eight years, sir. He radicalized a young Auror. There could be others and it happened on my watch. I nearly murdered Yvain More," he stressed again. "He will wake up and remember that. His family will press charges."
"Oh, I doubt that," Kingsley said easily. "My chief of staff visited with the More family and their counselor less than an hour ago. They have no intention of pressing charges. In fact, they're saying Yvain will tell his story if it keeps him out of Azkaban."
"I—what...?"
Kingsley's large palm landed on his shoulder. "You're right about Auror reforms, though. That likely won't go away. We'll need to be seen as taking some action. Let's leave that discussion for tomorrow though, shall we? It looks like you could use the rest." He brought his hands together expectantly. "Now, where's the lead Healer? A photograph together wouldn't hurt, you think? Must ask her when she thinks Hermione will be ready..."
Putnam's face was a peculiar shade of purple as he followed the Minister out the door.
The More family still stood when he entered the room but they watched him warily, like he was a half-starved lion liable to spring at any moment.
But Harry was mostly just tired.
After a few words with their counselor, the family trailed out of the room. Caelia, alone, stood beside her brother.
"You tell him everything," she whispered, eyes boring into his. "Don't hold anything back."
His heavily bandaged head nodded.
She picked a speck of fluff from his hospital gown. "And remember, I love you."
The young Auror closed his eyes and swallowed.
Harry looked at Caelia as she passed, but she kept her eyes fixed forward. Matt closed the door softly behind her.
Yvain More stared hard at his blankets. The bandages covered the worst of his wounds, but Harry could see the gash where his boot had made contact with his jaw, the flesh sewn together like a torn sail.
"How're you feeling?" Harry asked stiffly, pulling a chair up to the bed.
"Fine, sir," he said, voice tight from the inability to fully move his jaw. "They said I'll be better in a couple days."
You know who won't be better in a couple days?
Harry closed his eyes and released a short breath. Matt sat beside him, his presence a soothing balm.
"Before we get started," Harry said tersely, "whatever you have done...you didn't...I should not have gone after you like that. I apologize."
Yvain's pale lashes blinked under his bandages. Slowly, their eyes met.
And it was hard for Harry not to remember what those eyes had been eleven hours ago, when the smell of charred wood and flesh stung his throat.
And harder still not to remember what had come next—the dark and decadent wrath that exulted in each blow of his fist, each pulse of blood over his fingers. And the words...the words that had never touched his lips in thirty-seven years had been there, clear and bright like a Dark Mark against a moonless night.
But there had been that voice—the one that spoke in her fine timbre—pulling him back, again. Saving him from mangling his own soul.
"I am sorry," said Yvain, very quiet. "You won't believe me...but I was—am—very fond of her."
Matt shifted, perhaps feeling the waves of heat radiating from his commander.
"Let's start at the beginning," said Matt. "How long have you known Theodonus Callahan and Deedrick Rudge?"
Yvain returned his eyes to the bed, his long legs like two mountain ranges beneath the sheets.
"Theo since I was seventeen. Rudge...much shorter. Not until last year."
"You met Callahan during Recruitment Week?" said Harry.
"Yes," he said, blinking in surprise. "He—er—interviewed me. Encouraged me to apply to the Auror Department."
"He must've left an impression," said Harry levelly. "Your professors were uniformly certain you were destined for a career in arithmancy."
Yvain smiled, but it was more of a grimace. "I did...I still do love arithmancy."
"Did Callahan seek you out at Recruitment Week? Try to get you alone?"
"No," said Yvain with unexpected force. "Theo gave a demonstration in tactical dueling. It was incredible to watch. I had already applied to the French and American schools for arithmancy, but I didn't see the harm in taking one of the informational appointments."
"What did you two talk about?"
Yvain shrugged and then immediately seemed to regret the movement. "The programme, the application process. I asked about his experiences on the job. He asked about my family."
"What'd he ask about your family?"
"Nothing really. What my parents did, if I had any siblings..."
"Did you tell him about your sister?"
Yvain blinked again, blue-green eyes looking between Harry and Matt. "My sister?"
"Yes, did you tell him about her?"
"I said I had a sister..."
"At that time, your sister had just returned from a gap year abroad. She was dating a Muggle. Did you tell Callahan that?"
Yvain's brows drew together. "Yes, but only in passing. It didn't seem...serious at the time. Caelia...she had lots of boyfriends growing up."
"How did Callahan react when you said your sister was dating a Muggle?"
"He didn't react," said Yvain, annoyance touching his patrician features for the first time. "He didn't say anything, really."
Harry sat back. "Did you talk about anything else?"
Yvain shook his head stiffly. "Just about school, my favorite subjects."
"Was he easy to talk to?"
"Yes," he smiled, before wincing again. "He's like the brother I'd always—"
Yvain stopped himself and Harry remembered.
Our brothers treated him horribly growing up, that's what I've always put it to...
The two older brothers get all the attention in that family...
"Did you stay in contact after that? After Recruitment Week?"
"Yes," he murmured. "We exchanged letters while I was a trainee."
Harry nodded to Matt, who took down a note.
"There aren't any, if that's what you're thinking. I always burned them."
"Why?" asked Harry.
"Theo said it was standard practice. Auror correspondence is inherently sensitive. It can fall into the wrong hands."
Yvain said this with a rote conviction, like it was a precept passed down by divine hand. But—and Harry was reminded of Yvain telling Caelia he couldn't speak about his work—this was not exactly Department policy. Like all wizards, Aurors wrote letters. The onus was on Aurors to ensure no sensitive information was included in their correspondence. It was not up to recipients to burn them.
And Harry began to see how the poison seeped inside, like a toxin in ground water. This shy and lonely boy had trusted Theo Callahan with everything.
"What did you write about in your letters?"
"Usual things—how the programme was going, where I should specialize."
"Did you write about your family?"
"Yes," the pureblood said haltingly. "From time to time."
"What about?"
He gave a begrudging sort of shrug. "I told him a bit about what was going on with Caelia and Adam. By then, it was clear she wasn't going to break things off, though my parents tried. They started talking about marriage."
He fiddled with the bandages around his right hand. Harry wondered if that was the hand that had struck Hermione.
"Were you worried for her?"
Yvain nodded faintly.
He chose his words carefully. "Did Callahan offer any advice?"
Yvain shrugged again, still picking at the bandage. "Not really. He said I wasn't alone, though. It was becoming more common."
"What was becoming more common?"
"Mixed marriages. Squibs. It's the natural outcome when you start blending the worlds."
Again, the rote conviction. Like speaking words that weren't his.
Harry paused.
"Your flat had a good number of books on wizard-Muggle relations. When did you get interested in that?"
"Around that time, I think. Theo said if I wanted to understand what my sister was getting into, I should have an appreciation of their history. That it was a lot more interesting than most wizards realized. That Muggle Studies doesn't give you the full story."
"The full story?"
Yvain laughed slightly. "Yeah. Muggle Studies is rubbish. It's Ministry propaganda."
"How so?"
"Well," and his eyes lit like a scholar stepping into a library, "remember the story about Wendelin the Weird?"
Harry looked at him blankly. He attended Hogwarts before Muggle Studies was mandatory. And if it was covered in History of Magic, he definitely didn't remember.
Thankfully, Matt nodded.
"The wizard who used the Flame-Freezing Charm? He let himself be captured just to feel the flames."
Yvain grinned. "Yes, forty-seven times to be exact. But no one ever talks about the forty-eighth time."
"What happened?" said Matt.
"After casting the charm, he accidentally dropped his wand in the flames. When the fire died out and he was still alive, the Muggles bludgeoned him to death," he said simply. "But Muggle Studies would have you think the witch hunts of Europe were just some great lark. Three million of our kind lost their lives that way. I never would've known that without Theo. He knew so much about all of it. He told me about their weapons, too. About nuclear bombs. Muggles have enough of them to destroy the world ten times over. But, no one talks about that."
Harry and Matt glanced at one another.
"Did your relationship change at all after you officially joined up?"
"Not really," he said. "Though Theo said we shouldn't be seen together too often. He was trying to help me work my way up. Didn't want anyone to think he was playing favorites. So we'd meet up after shifts at my flat or his."
"Did any others join you?"
Yvain blinked. "How do you mean?"
"Did Callahan show this kind of...regard for anyone else in the Department?"
"No," he said almost proudly, "it was always just him and me. Until Rudge."
Harry inadvertently released a soft breath. But he still couldn't be sure.
"When did you meet Rudge?"
Yvain paused, considering. "It must've been spring of last year. Not long after Lance was born."
"Your nephew."
"Yes."
"You learned he was a Squib around that time, correct?"
"Yes," Yvain said, light eyes darkening. "Theo told me to be prepared for that, but it still hurt."
"Why did it hurt?"
The young Auror shifted uncomfortably. "By that time, I could see what her relationship was doing to her. She was drawing away from the family...from her school friends...even from me. She spent more time with Adam and his kind. When we found out what Lance was...that he'd never go to Agrippa, never go to Hogwarts...it was like she was leaving us for good and all for..."
A Muggle.
Harry could tell it had never occurred to Yvain that perhaps Caelia had felt forced to choose. That if Adam had been wholly welcomed into the family...if they hadn't been told to hide what they were to one another...that things might've been different.
Harry injected a softness into his voice that he did not feel. "That must've been very difficult."
He nodded. "She said it didn't matter, of course. She's a mum. She has to say that. But I knew she regretted it."
"Regretted marrying him?"
Yvain nodded. "Or at least having a child with him."
And Harry almost felt sorry for him, then. Almost. He thought of the interrogation room, of Caelia taking her Muggle child into her arms, kissing his dark curls. She was anything but a woman who regretted her choices. Yvain was too far gone to see that.
"Did you tell Callahan how you were feeling?"
"Yes," he mumbled. "I was pretty upset."
"And soon after that you met Rudge?"
"Oh sorry, yes." Yvain shook his head, apologetic. "I got off track, didn't I?"
But they were not off track. Yvain saw the two events as separate—his nephew's birth and his introduction to Rudge—but Harry knew they were linked. Feeding Yvain a steady diet of blood supremacist entitlement and discontent, Callahan had likely waited for this exact moment. When this vulnerable, angry, and confused young man would reach an irrevocable turning point. When he'd be ready to mete out his anger on the unwitting world that had taken a most beloved sister.
"Theo didn't tell me who Rudge was right away. He hadn't been seen in years, so I didn't recognize him either." A small smile tugged at Yvain's lips. "When Theo finally told me Rudge had been a Death Eater, I think he expected me to balk. But he should've had more faith in me. He was the one who taught me to think for myself, after all."
Harry worked his jaw. "How often did the three of you meet? What did you talk about?"
"Fairly often," Yvain answered. "Maybe one or two times a week. They decided to bring me in on a plan they were working on."
Again, that hint of pride.
"What was the plan?" Harry said tightly.
Yvain hesitated. "They never told me the full details," he admitted. "And Theo and Rudge disagreed about some of it..."
"Tell me what you know."
Yvain nodded, looking nervous. "They told me...they told me they were monitoring seditionist elements within the Ministry."
"Seditionist elements," Harry repeated dryly.
"Yes. Ministry officials who want to overthrow the government with the help of the Muggles, who want to unite the worlds by force."
Harry gave him a level stare.
"Did Callahan or Rudge give any evidence there was such a plot?"
"No," said Yvain, not a little defensively. "They said they had to keep the information close-hold, else the seditionists would catch wind and change how they communicated with the Muggle authorities."
"And who did they say these seditionists were?" asked Harry, vaguely aware his hands were shaking.
"There were lots of names, lots of suspicions. The Minister's chief of staff, the head of the Office of Wizard-Muggle Exchange, the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, the Deputy Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and..."
He stopped, suddenly quite anxious. And Harry almost laughed. That Yvain would care about his reaction now.
"You can say it."
Yvain swallowed. "Counselor Granger."
"Anyone else?"
The Auror shook his head. "Not that I remember."
Harry nodded. "I'm a little hurt I wasn't included."
The corners of Matt's mouth twitched. But Yvain didn't appreciate the sarcasm.
"None of us thought you or Minister Shacklebolt were involved," he said quickly. "If anything, the seditionists wanted to use your fame to advance pro-Muggle policies."
"I see."
"What was their plan then?" said Matt. "To expose the seditionists somehow?"
Yvain nodded. "Yes, but Theo and Rudge...by then—this was summer now—they started rowing over tactics."
"Tactics?" repeated Harry.
"Yes. The best way to expose them."
"You were there when they rowed?"
Yvain shook his head. "I think they were trying to shield me from it. But Theo would say things later, complain about Rudge when he wasn't there."
"How did they differ on tactics exactly?"
"I don't know."
"How do you not know?"
The pureblood shifted, uncomfortable again. "I said they didn't tell me everything. They said I'd be brought in at the proper time, that I had to prove I could be trusted."
Harry ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Then, he paused.
"Rudge said something to me on the law," he said slowly. "He said the Counselor was only the beginning. Does that mean anything to you?"
Yvain's lapis eyes flicked towards his, then away. "No."
Harry watched him for a long beat. Then, he sat back.
"It's not enough, Yvain," he said flatly. "Your counselor said you had a story worthy of keeping you out of Azkaban. You haven't given us that. Rudge is dead and Callahan in custody. If you really think he'll walk free now after what's happened to the Counselor—"
"I told you how they're connected!" Yvain said, alarmed. "No one knew Theo was working with Rudge."
"Magical Law Enforcement doesn't need that. Theo Callahan is going to Azkaban for a very long time regardless. The way I see it, unless you've got more to tell us about the plan, whether others were involved, or future attacks, I reckon you'll be joining your precious mentor. It'd be no less than you deserve for the abduction, torture, and attempted murder of a Ministry official. And that's without the hate crime charges."
Yvain swallowed, eyes darting between them.
"All right," he finally said. "I—I know their rows had something to do with a book."
"A book?"
He nodded quickly. "Yes. It had some Latin name, I never fully caught it. I got the impression they worked on it together. That it spelled out the plan."
Harry and Matt exchanged a glance.
"Where's this book now?"
"I've no idea, truly," he said, eyes wide, and this time Harry believed him. "I only found out about it because I overheard them...it was during that last row, you see, right before Theo was arrested. I'd gone to Theo's flat. He and Rudge were shouting inside so I listened at the door. Apparently the book had gone missing and Theo was in a state. He was convinced Rudge had taken it."
"What did Rudge say?"
"He said he hadn't...but after, once Theo was arrested, he told me he'd hidden it for safekeeping."
"Did he say where?"
He shook his head. "Only that no one would be able to find it."
Harry paused, considering this. "And this was right before the attack on the Camerons?"
"Yes, maybe the day before. It all happened so quickly—that row, Rudge being spotted in Diagon Alley, the Muggle family, Theo's arrest."
Harry saw the pieces too, he just couldn't make them join up.
"Did...did Callahan ever give you any indication why he attacked the Camerons?"
Yvain shook his head numbly. "I'd never heard of them until after the arrest."
Harry stared hard at the bandages around Yvain's fingers.
"All right. So what happened after that? After Callahan's arrest?"
"I called off shifts a few times. I was worried about him...worried for myself. But after a few days, when nothing happened, when no one came to arrest me...I knew he hadn't talked."
And Yvain closed his eyes, his pale skin coloring with shame.
"Then what happened?"
"Rudge got back in contact," he said. "This was maybe a week later. He said the reason he'd taken the book was because the Ministry was onto Theo, that it wasn't safe with him. He said...he said the only way to help Theo now was to show the world how dangerous she is...get her to confess to her crimes..."
"The recording...burning at the stake..."
"Yes," Yvain breathed. "He said it was laid out in the book, that it'd actually been Theo's idea. It wasn't supposed to be just her, but all of them. But with the trial, we had to act fast."
Harry nodded numbly. "And then I put you on her security detail. Rudge must've been overjoyed."
"He had a hand in that too, though."
Harry's breath caught in his chest. "What?"
"He made sure to attack her on a day when I was on duty. I told him you were looking for a security detail assignment for me."
"The brick..."
Yvain nodded.
When Harry said nothing, Matt shifted. "But if he went to the trouble of attacking her, why not just take her then?"
"He said it wasn't the right time. We didn't have the equipment. It'd have the most impact during the trial."
Harry released a slow breath through his nose.
"And you just went along with this, did you?" he said, dangerously soft. "You spent months protecting a woman—a mother—who you planned to torture and kill?"
"I-I never wanted to do it, truly," Yvain faltered. "She—she was very kind to me. We talked about books, about arithmancy. I told Rudge...I told him if she confesses, we should let her go. Let the Wizengamot deal with her."
"Did she...confess?"
Yvain nodded. "Yes, but Rudge...he wouldn't have it. He said it had to be done. To show everyone, to remind them what unification would mean for our kind."
And for some reason, Harry thought of Lily and Duncan on a broomstick, voices mad with laughter. He thought of Healer Holbrooke and Alex speaking lowly over Hermione's bed. He thought of the rich Muggle couple from the opera, beaming as Harry told them he'd visit their daughter. He thought of Ron, staring transfixed as Alex inserted a needle into his arm. He saw Dudley's wife, Shannon, marveling at the size of a galleon in her palm. He saw Daniel Marin ruffling his hair at the ball, complaining about the long queue for drinks. And he saw Hermione—eyes exceptionally bright—as she embraced another doctor, a man who could not remember saving her.
Harry had expected anger, but only a strange sort of sadness filled him then.
What exactly were his kind so afraid of?
"Thank you for telling us all this, Yvain. I know it can't have been easy."
The young Auror blinked. "That's it?"
"I'm sure this is the first of many interviews."
"But—but is it enough? I won't go to Azkaban?"
Harry got heavily to his feet. "That'll be up to DMLE. Unfortunate you decided to attack someone Director Lakey considers his fifth daughter. But, if you remain cooperative..."
"I will be."
"Good. Matt, could I ask you to get the discharge paperwork from the AD? I already snapped his wand, but we still have the forms to sign."
Matt watched him closely. "Are you sure, sir?"
"It's all right," Harry said, meeting his eyes. "Really."
Hesitant, Matt made his way towards the door. Harry listened for the distant pop.
They were left alone.
"I just have one more question."
Yvain looked at him, wary.
"The library, the window. She went out with you willingly. How did you do that?"
Yvain smiled a little sheepishly. "It was just a guess. I was never certain."
"The ball?"
Yvain nodded. "I saw her run, then you. I paid closer attention after that. I doubt anyone can tell, unless they're looking for it."
Harry nodded, staring at the floor.
"I-I haven't told anyone," he said quickly, "if that's what you're worried about. And I won't. I'd be mad to."
Harry nodded again. "Thank you."
"Of course."
There really wasn't much Yvain could do. They were alone. He didn't have a wand. If he had shouted in time, it wouldn't really have mattered.
So when Harry Potter raised his wand of holly, Yvain released only a resigned sort of sigh.
"Obliviate."
Sometimes, in the moments before sleep, Harry would get the peculiar notion that his heart had stopped beating. Startled, he'd press a hand to his chest and inevitably feel the small, steady thud of that mercurial organ against his palm.
That was how Harry looked in on Hermione that morning and afternoon, with the panicked sense that his heart might've stopped beating without his knowing.
In between dismissing Yvain, back-briefing Lakey and Emi, visiting the Camerons, bidding farewell to the Fidrayan witches, he'd step into her room and watch her for a few moments. The color was returning to her lips, he saw, like the first light of dawn on the rim of the sky.
To see those lips move again. To see them form words—calm and deliberate and impatient and forceful and contrary and earnest and teasing and gentle—all the things that she was...
But she would not wake for hours yet.
Around two, Harry shut the doors softly behind him and stepped into the corridor just as Healer Holbrooke rounded the corner.
"Chief Potter," she said, startled.
Her short hair was mussed and the whites of her eyes were laced with fine vermillion threads.
"You should go home," she said gently. "You've been here hours."
"So have you."
She smiled. "True enough. But I reckon you haven't slept in a proper bed in—what—three days?"
"Something like that."
She watched him a moment. "If I might offer some advice, having been a Healer for some time..."
He nodded.
"You can't take care of someone else if you don't take care of yourself. What comes next for Hermione is going to be difficult. You all will need to be patient as she absorbs what's happened to her, what it's done to her body. It's best for her recovery if she doesn't have to worry about those around her, if she has stability. That way she can focus on herself and getting well."
He stared at the floor. "That's good advice."
She touched his arm. "Have a shower, then. Have a kip. I'll be sure to send word if her condition changes and we won't be waking her until tomorrow."
"Thank you," he said, still unable to meet her eyes, "for everything you've done for her."
"Thank you for getting her back." And Harry was surprised at the fierce resonance in her voice. "I shudder to think of our world without Hermione Granger in it."
He released a short breath. "I do too."
Harry took that shower. He sat on the floor, the hot water sluicing over the tight muscles of his back.
He remembered sitting on the bed, pulling a fresh shirt over his torso...and then he didn't remember anything else.
When he woke up—hungry and disoriented—it was dark out. He finished getting dressed, tucking the recording into his joggers, and paced into the hallway. He saw the light on in Lily's room, so he knocked and looked inside.
"Daddy!" she gasped, launching into his arms. "Mum said not to wake you! I was so worried about you!"
"It's all right, love. I'm fine."
"And Aunt Hermione?" she said, pulling back to look at him anxiously. "Hugo hasn't been at school for two days. People kept asking me what was going on, but I didn't know. Duncan said he tried to find out but Mum shooed him away."
"She's safe and she's doing better. She's not awake yet, but once she's ready I'll take you to see her, okay?"
She nodded into his neck and he patted her wet hair.
"Eat dinner?"
"Yes," she mumbled. "Mum left you something."
"Good," he said. "You should be in bed."
"I was waiting for Mum to do my hair!" she cried, indignant.
He laughed, though it felt strange to his throat. "I can do it for you."
She looked skeptical, but perhaps she saw something in his face—his need be around her a while longer—that led her to agree.
She sat at her painted vanity and Harry knelt behind her, her brush comically small in his large hands.
"Everyone at school's been so worried!" she said, grey eyes wide in the mirror as Harry combed out the tangles. "The teachers keep whispering about it when they think we can't hear."
He created a jagged part down the center. He knew Ginny could do much better.
"Some of the girls in my class said they want to be Aunt Hermione for the next Winter Pageant. Wouldn't that be great, Daddy?"
His hands paused. He thought of the last pageant, almost two months ago now. Their table had been surrounded by Ministry officials and journalists, but none of them had come to talk to Hermione...
Why was it that women—particularly those who were bright and ambitious—were only loved once they were brought low in some way? Could they not be loved when they were whole and hale and unbending? But, no. Hypatia must always meet her mob. Boudicca, her dose of poison.
"Yeah," he said softly, "I reckon so."
He kissed Lily goodnight—her hair in two uneven plaits—and closed the door softly behind him. He went to the kitchen and ate standing at the counter.
His head seemed to clear on a full stomach and he found a measure of the resolve he knew he would need for what would come next.
He was washing up when Ginny found him.
"Are—are you feeling okay?" she asked once he'd turned off the taps.
She so rarely stumbled over her words.
"Yeah. Better," he said, glancing at her. "Thanks for saving me some food."
"Of course," she murmured.
She seemed to want to come to him, but held herself back. Looking at her, Harry did not know what he felt but, after a moment, he released a short breath, came up to her, and took her in his arms.
"I'm so sorry," she said, voice muffled against his chest, "about everything that's happened."
He said nothing.
She lifted her head and looked at him anxiously. "You—you know you can talk to me, right? About what happened...if you need to..."
"I know," he mumbled.
As she buried her face in his chest again, Harry tried to imagine telling her. Telling her what the last three days had been—the desperate search, the barely-sublimated terror, the roiling guilt, the monstrous rage. He tried to imagine her face, how she might respond. But he could not hold the picture there. Even before the room by the garden, even before the forest, he was not sure he would've told her.
After she kissed him goodnight, he took the stairs to his study. The golden disc felt like a millstone against his leg. Inside, he went to the cabinets and removed a gramophone—another modified Muggle invention from a hundred years ago that filled his home. He placed it on the desk and removed the recording. With the touch of his wand, it grew to its normal size. Heart beating thickly in his ears, he set the disc on the tray and sat down in his chair. With a sweep of his wand, he cast a strong silencing charm.
Then, he lowered the needle.
Nearly an hour later, the needle returned to its cartridge and Harry sat crumpled in his chair. Head in his arms, he tried to stop his shaking, the dark rivulets from his eyes.
No one would ever hear it. Ever.
It would not be needed for Yvain's trial. They had more than enough for that.
He would hide it away where no one would find it. Even if they were staring right at it.
And then, Harry lifted his swollen face.
Of course.