Watchwizard Eric Munch stared at the dregs of his tea miserably, regretting for the hundredth time that he'd never paid much attention in Charms; if he had, perhaps he'd be able to make himself another steaming cup. He knew there was some spell for conjuring up water; that would be a start, if he could only remember it.
"Agua-net? No, that's not right…" he muttered to himself. "Aqua-mint?" That wasn't it either.
Maybe he could just take a bit from the fountain? No, that wouldn't do; some malcontent from Magical Maintenance had probably pissed in it during the strike. Gits.
Somewhere, it struck midnight.
Glancing down to the end of the Atrium, where the Fountain of Magical Brethren painted glittering reflections on the tile, he was surprised to see two figures huddled together, obviously deep in conversation. One sported a bright green bowler and the other one - and who could ever mistake it? - had an obnoxious silver-white mane.
Shaking his head in disgust, Munch wondered how many other nobodies like him were privy to this seedy underbelly of the political system. And how many oblivious chumps were there who believed that their ballot was sacred? He'd believed it too, when he was a young man.
No, the only thing that mattered in this gods-forsaken bastion of Justice and Harmony was who you knew, and what you knew.
As he mulled all of this over, a glimmer of light in the darkness caught his eye. The visitors lift was descending - was it broken again? He'd put in a request for repairs a week ago, and it was probably still sitting on the bottom of Cattermole's in-tray.
He was duty-bound to investigate, and, if the journey put him in a position to accidentally overhear the Minister's conversation, well, all the better. Carefully, he stood and made his way across the long hall.
The whispering voices became more distinct.
" - an excellent idea to create an Advisory Board for Azkaban, Lucius."
"I'm gratified that you think so, Minister," Malfoy replied in an unctuous tone. "These are troubling times indeed, and it would do great credit to this administration to show fortitude in the face of adversity."
Fudge wore the look of a greatly beleaguered man. "All of this senseless rabble-rousing! To tell you the truth, I'm quite at the end of my patience with Dumbledore. He may have been a great wizard once, but he presumes too much! Too much, I tell you!"
"I have great faith that Dolores will do what she can at Hogwarts, but we must not neglect the subversive elements on our own doorstep - "
Abruptly, the conversation stopped as they noticed the watch-wizard coming round the fountain.
"Lift's gone wonky again, Minister. Just gon' take a look," Munch explained nervously.
"Oh, good, very good." Fudge replied in a clear dismissal. They obviously considered him beneath their notice.
Just as Munch had suspected, the red box was empty, but he set about resetting the entry code just in case.
Meanwhile, Malfoy worked on convincing Fudge that Dumbledore's agents in the Ministry were spying on him. He was so focused on this task that he didn't notice the feather-light touch ghosting across the back of his coat.
Hermione had had practice stealing hair from the unsuspecting, of course - as the Polyjuice debacle in second year could confirm - but she was still unaccountably anxious as she grasped the long, pale strands between her fingers. She had no idea what she was going to do with them.
It was the security wizard she'd intended to impersonate tonight, but hearing Malfoy the elder pouring his poison into the Minister's ear was beyond infuriating. Fudge himself was perhaps an even bigger buffoon, but there wasn't much she could do about him. He was bald, after all.
"Don't you find it curious that, after nearly two years, Law Enforcement has made such… inconsistent progress in finding Sirius Black?" Malfoy drawled.
"Hmmm," Fudge hummed, noncommittal. "The Editor of the Prophet has been pestering me for updates...says the public is growing restless for progress…But the Aurors have always been very competent. Yes, most competent."
"Oh, that is unquestionable. But let us say, for the sake of argument, that there is a certain individual, whose loyalties may be… divided… well, they could certainly misdirect the investigation if it suited them."
"That could be true, I suppose, but…the repercussions..."
"Ah - I understand you perfectly. You don't want to tip your hand, in case our concerns turn out to be unfounded, eh? What about conducting an interdepartmental audit, by someone impartial? Yaxley, perhaps? He is painstakingly conscientious and a great personal friend."
Bastard! Hermione thought. He couldn't be allowed to get away with this.
"An audit, you say? Very clever, Lucius, yes, very clever indeed."
The wizards concluded their conversation, and, while the Minister returned to his office to use his personal Floo, Malfoy headed to one of the public fireplaces lining the marbled hall. Hermione followed him, still seething, torn between throwing a curse and strangling him with her bare hands right then and there. A small (and rather ugly) part of her gleefully wondered if the father would look as terrified by a physical attack as the son had done all those years ago.
This was no cowering schoolboy, however, but a dangerous Death Eater. And she wasn't exactly Harry Potter, who was somehow always managing to defeat opponents far more powerful than he.
So, in the end, she merely watched him disappear into the green whirlwind of the at the ashes he left behind, Hermione noticed that he'd apparently dropped something as the Floo took him away. It was an empty leather coin-purse.
Carefully, she picked it up. It bore an ostentatious monogram, the "M" formed with two serpents twining around a sword, leaving no doubt as to the owner. She put it in her pocket.
The last escapade into the Ministry had been a near-disaster, and if there was one thing that could be said about Hermione Granger, it was that she was a quick study. She'd cast a number of spells on herself and the Invisibility cloak (once more pilfered from Harry's trunk) to deter detection.
It was unlikely that either Malfoy or the security wizard would have been able to sense her without the charms (which ability, Hermione had deduced, was proportional to magical power) but it wouldn't do to be overconfident.
She placed a sleeping spell on the wizard named Munch and took his wand, leaving him slumped down on his desk. Just as suspected, his wand was sufficient to convince the lift to take her down to level nine. And this time, her hands didn't tremble as she broke the wards on the black door, nor as she made her way through the circular room.
Every avenue of research had been exhausted; everything that could have been done with the time-turner - short of breaking it apart - had been done. It took several weeks after that before Hermione acknowledged that she was at an absolute dead end, and that she would need to return. It may have been tempting fate, but the prospect of failure at this point was unthinkable.
Back in the Time Room amongst the ticking clocks, she copied more research and took two more Time Turners to experiment on, and was extremely relieved that no one seemed to have added wards after her previous break-in.
Hermione had promised herself that if she was ever in the Department of Mysteries again, she would do something about the surveillance files, so the next stop was the room with the Trace Map. Beginning with McGonagall's file, she destroyed only the pages with more personal information and left the rest, having reasoned that removing the file completely was more likely to attract attention. The rest of the Order Members followed: Mr. Weasley had a particularly large file, as did Alastor Moody. Tonks and Shacklebolt, on the other hand, seemed to be flying beneath the radar of whoever was in charge of this repugnant spying operation.
Reaching "Snape, Severus, b. 1960", Hermione paused for a moment, undecided.
He's an evil bastard, and we can't trust him! a voice that sounded like Harry's counseled.
Don't be stupid! Just put it down and get out of here! the little Ginny in her head chimed in.
But curiosity proved to be an insurmountable temptation once again. Instead of putting the file back, Hermione opened it. Apparently, Snape was a half-blood (which surprised her), and the youngest Potions Master to ever teach at Hogwarts or to head Slytherin house (which did not). There were copies of his publications spanning more than a decade.
There was also a muggle photo of a dilapidated row-house; in front stood a haggard-looking woman, holding an infant in her scrawny arms. The entire scene made Hermione unaccountably sad.
But before she could consider what her friends would say if they found her pitying Snape, Hermione felt a distinct shift in the energy of the room.
Duck! all of her senses screamed.
But it was too late. A non-verbal spell hit her in the back, and she fell to the floor amidst the scattered archives of Snape's unfortunate life.
"Aha! I knew it!" It was Senior Unspeakable Bode, back with a vengeance.
"You might have slipped through my fingers last time, but I've put wards all over this office!" he gloated. "I just knew you'd be back."
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Hermione chanted in her own mind. He'd put a body-bind on her. And really, serves you bloody right. Why, oh, why didn't you check for security spells?
He approached his prey, of whom only the end of one faded trainer was visible.
"Now, lets see who you really are… and why you're so interested in my files..."
Bode lifted the Invisibility Cloak off carefully and turned her around, so she could see his face, and he, hers.
His expression was absolutely nonplussed.
"You? But… I know you from the paper… Harry Potter's school friend… what in the name of Merlin…." he muttered.
But Hermione wasn't listening.
"Polyjuice? No, not very likely…" he continued. "Well I suppose I can wait to see…"
Ever since the meeting with Dumbledore, she'd started paying more attention to the magical presence of the people around her. She could now recognize who came into the Gryffindor Common Room without even looking up from her homework, just by the feel of their aura.
The energy she was sensing now -oily, supercilious, gaudy - was familiar too. In fact, she'd suffered the presence of its owner barely an hour ago.
Lucius bloody Malfoy.
Run! she wanted to scream to the oblivious wizard still staring at her. Run before he kills you!
And as though he'd heard her thoughts, Bode's face twisted into an ugly snarl and he reached for her, wrapping his hands around her throat. Squeezing.
His eyes above hers were wild, reflecting some epic internal struggle.
"M-mud...blood…" he choked out.
Hermione panicked. Air - breathing - was something one took for granted, and to have it suddenly taken away was disorienting and terrifying.. She could have cried to think that it would all end right now, as she lay there on the floor, after everything that had happened.
Please, she thought, looking directly into his eyes, please, please, I don't want to die.
Bode's face contorted into a grimace of pain, as though he were trying to lift some immensely heavy burden. His lips moved soundlessly, mouthing what may have been the word "prophesy". But the edges of Hermione's vision had begun to blur, and she couldn't be sure.
Suddenly, the pressure around her throat was gone, and her attacker threw himself backward with a cry of pain.
"No, no, no...can't… won't…" he muttered in a broken tone.
Horrified, Hermione watched as he knelt before her and smashed his forehead repeatedly into the cold granite of the floor. When he drew away, his face was covered in blood.
It was painful to see, and she desperately wished she could look away. But he continued, and eventually she heard the sickening crunch of a breaking bone.
Bode drew a heaving sob, and in the dead silence of the room, the sound came back again and again in an eerie echo. The man may have tried to kill her not a moment ago, but Hermione felt terribly bad for him.
Why? Why is he doing this?
A spasm passed over Bode's face, and it went unnaturally blank. He stood, gave her a long impassive look, and walked away.
In the distance, she heard the slam of a door.
It was only then that all of the pieces fell into place. Malfoy. Bode. Prophesy. Mudblood.
Imperius Curse.
It hadn't looked nearly so bad when the impostor Moody had practiced it on their fourth-year defense class and, at the time she'd wondered why the Imperius was in the same league as the torture and murder curses. But now she understood. What she'd just witnessed… it was indeed unspeakable.
Oh, how she hated that man. Nearly killing Ginny and sending an Order member to prison hadn't satisfied him - no, he was so determined to get (what she now realized was) a prophecy that he'd cursed poor Bode.
To be forced to murder someone, against your will? She couldn't even imagine how terrible that must be. But he'd managed to resist somehow, and she could only hope that he'd find the strength to keep fighting.
Hermione lay there for what felt like an age, waiting for the Petrificus Totalus to wear off. When feeling returned to her stiff limbs, she stood on unsteady feet and vanished all of the scattered papers.
She had to go after him, she realized. There was no other choice. Malfoy could not be allowed to succeed in whatever diabolical task he was carrying out for Voldemort.
So, Hermione made her way to the hall with the glittering glass orbs, hoping it wasn't too late.
Something was wrong; it was obvious the moment she opened the door. A thick white mist lay heavy across the floor, but through it she could make out the bright flashes of spells being thrown.
"Protego!" A hoarse cry. With a tremor of recognition, Hermione realized that it belonged to the ancient witch she'd met before.
"Avada Kedavra!" Bode shouted, and the mist turned momentarily green. Hermione held her breath.
"Boderick! What in blazes are you doing, you stupid boy?" the witch demanded in quiet fury.
"Agatha...help…" he croaked.
Hermione was closer now, so close she could see them facing each other, wands aloft.
"That's all right...just take it easy," the witch crooned. "Be a good lad, and lower your wand...there, that's it... slowly, now…"
His wand hand trembled, and began its descent, but just as she was sure he was about to give up, Hermione saw him shudder.
Knowing what was coming, she cast Stupefy and he fell down, the words of the Killing Curse half-way out of his mouth.
The Keeper of the Prophecies muttered some incantation, and the mist vanished, leaving Hermione pinned under the witch's steely glare.
It was only then that Hermione realized that she was no longer wearing the cloak.
"You again," the older witch said without surprise. "You really shouldn't be here, but since you did just save my life, I suppose I can't complain."
Unsure how to respond, Hermione blurted the first thing that came to mind: "I think he's under the Imperius Curse."
The witch called Agatha nodded curtly. "I thought as much. Do you know who…?"
"Lucius Malfoy," Hermione replied without hesitation. Someone had to know because it was certain that the snake would try again. "He wants one of the prophecies."
"Interesting...very interesting…"Agatha murmured, circling the prone form of her colleague.
"What are we going to do?"
The older witch looked up. Her gaze left Hermione feeling as though she'd been dissected, examined, pronounced adequate, and haphazardly stitched back up.
"We're going to let him have it," she said at last.
"You...you can't be serious," Hermione protested, aghast.
"Oh, he won't be able to touch it. Only those about whom the prophecy is made can retrieve it. If anyone else tries, the protective curses will be activated and they'll be knocked out for a good while... but Broderick already knew that. As a matter of fact, I suspect that he intended to get caught."
"Oh. I see. That way, he'll be taken away where he can't do any harm and Malfoy will realize he can't force someone else to get the prophesy for him."
"Smart girl. Now go stand over there and wait for my signal to Rennervate him."
Doing as she was told, Hermione crouched behind a desk and watched as Agatha performed a series of complex motions with her wand. A memory charm, she realized.
Soon, the witch knelt down beside her.
"Now," she commanded, and Hermione released the luckless Bode from his unconscious state.
Precariously, he stood, and looked about in confusion. But the question of where he was and what he was doing didn't phase him for long, as the curse took over. They followed him quietly down the aisles until he reached the P's.
Of course, Hermione thought. P for Potter.
Bode scanned the neatly-labelled rows of orbs, and at last, his eyes seemed to alight on the one he sought. He reached for it, but in the moment before his fingers made contact with the glass, there was a loud SNAP! and, in a flash of blue flames, the wizard was thrown across the room.
Agatha approached him, and, kneeling down, cast several spells. "He'll keep till morning, I think," she said. "Then 's can have him."
When she was finished, the older witch addressed Hermione: "Now. Tell me what you're doing here."
"I...uhhh,well..." Hermione stuttered, completely blindsided. No excuses came to mind, so she told the truth. "I came to talk to you."
When no acknowledgement was forthcoming, she ploughed on.
"Well, you see, it was something you said the last time we ...uhh, met. You said that you knew I was a "fellow-traveller", and that got me thinking, well, that is, I wondered if you could help me…"
Trying to gauge the other witch's reaction, Hermione could make out nothing but a minute pursing of the lips. There had been an entire speech prepared, but she couldn't remember it now.
Instead, she muddled thought with all the Gryffindor determination she could muster, and hoped for the best.
"I'm doing research, you see. On time-travel. Only, I'm stuck. I've tried everything. Everything I could think of, that is. So...I just wanted to, you know, pick your brain…but I understand if you don't want to. Just tell me, and I'll leave right now… "
"Alright, that's enough," Agatha snapped. "Get your foot out of your mouth, girl, it's painful to watch." She summoned a piece of parchment and scribbled something, passing it to Hermione
"You know the place?"
Hermione nodded. The One-Eyed Harpy: a pub in Diagon Alley that had a reputation for attracting the criminal element.
"Good. Does the time suit?"
Again, Hermione nodded. She couldn't believe her luck.
"It's settled then. And now, you really need to be going."
"Is...is he going to be alright?" Hermione asked, indicating Bode's insensate form.
Agatha gave her another one of her piercing stares, and sighed. "In time. But it's anyone's guess as to how long it'll take. The wards...well, I set them decades ago, and couldn't tell you exactly what they were."
Hermione bid the witch goodnight and turned toward the door. As she walked away, a feeling of helpless anger settled like lead in the pit of her belly. Bode had overcome the Imperius Curse to save her life. He deserved better.
Suddenly, she remembered the coin-purse she'd stowed in her pocket. Pulling it out, she ran her thumb over the gilded embroidery.
What would Lucius Malfoy do? the thought came unbidden.
After a moment, a vicious little smirk curled up the corner of her mouth The bastard was finally going to get a taste of his own medicine.
The coin purse was carefully placed where it looked as though it could have been dropped during a hasty escape. Not too obvious, though. No, Malfoy's style was subtle and serpentine.
On the way upstairs she placed his long blond hairs into the Polyjuice and, by the time she stepped foot in the Atrium, Hermione was Lucius Malfoy, down to the tips of his dragon-hide boots.
Munch was still asleep. She deliberately tossed his wand on the desk instead of returning it to his pocket. Then, she woke him.
"Mr Malfoy!" the man exclaimed, rubbing sleep from his half-closed eyes.
"Yes, what was your name again?" she drawled, in a decent imitation."Never mind. It hardly matters. I had...forgotten something, and was forced to return."
"And did you find it? Sir?" The epithet was distinctly contemptuous.
Good, she thought. The more angry, the more suspicious.
Five years of dealing with Draco Malfoy provided sufficient material for this impersonation.
"That is hardly any of your concern. Pestering your betters isn't in your job description, is it? No? I didn't think so."
Obviously seething, the watchwizard narrowed his eyes. "Everything that goes on here after hours is my business. Sir."
"Then I suggest you get back to work and leave me in peace."
Having said her part, Hermione turned away, and, with a satisfying swish of a cloak, stalked imperiously towards the visitor's entrance. Munch was surely not as stupid as he looked; any minute now, he would put the pieces together.
The night was miserably cold, but this did nothing to dampen Hermione's spirits. Walking out of the digny alley with a certain swing in her step, she was brought up short as a taxi sped past, nearly knocking her down.
As it's shape grew fainter in the distance, she could still hear the fading echo of cursing, which brought on the sudden realization that she was in London. Muggle London.
She was in Muggle London looking like Lucius Malfoy. For the next hour, at least. Oh, dear.
Ducking back into the shadows, Hermione hastily transfigured the wizard's robes into a black overcoat and donned a less ridiculous hairstyle. Then, she made her way down the street, with no clear destination in mind, knowing only that she couldn't linger lest Munch got it in his head to follow along.
Maybe it was best to just hang around a bit before going back. Should she go into a pub to get warm? Was anything open this late?
She walked, hands cradled in the crook of her arms against the biting cold. On all sides, the whitewashed buildings rose imposing from the ice-slick sidewalk, their stately facades turned ominous in the darkness.
Snow began to fall. In the distance, she heard the wail of sirens, and far beyond, the unrelenting hum of traffic.
A black town car zipped past, pulling up in front of the Ministry of Defense across the way. A side gate opened and shut. Then, a woman wrapped in a grey overcoat came into view.
Though her hair was neat and her coat professional, she wore a pair of brutal-looking, impossibly-high black heels. Their persistent clicking drew Hermione's eye and she stood transfixed, watching the woman approach the car.
Could she be a bureaucrat? wondered Hermione. A spy? Or a courtesan?
But in a moment it became obvious that she too had been captured in the woman's gaze; it traveled the length of her form - Malfoy's form - languidly, and approved. The woman granted her a fleeting smile. Then, she got into the back seat, and the car drove off.
The woman had vanished just as suddenly as she'd appeared, leaving Hermione to wonder if she'd been a phantasm born from the shadows of the night. Still, she stood a long while staring at the sidewalk where those devilish shoes had tread, filled with an inexplicable longing.
