The Seven-Pointed Circle

by flee the light

Non-canon post-Hogwarts trilogy with Hermione as the protagonist. Hermione has never got over how Harry went into the forest to face his death without her. Several years on from that night, a shadowy figure with a mysterious power draws the two of them into a twisted and subversive game she intends to play with the wizarding world. [Harry/Hermione] (eventually)

14. The last of Harry Potter - Chapter 14

14. Witchfinders

Hermione crouched in the stairwell, her head little more than a metre below the level of the bridge. Their footsteps came towards her, back towards the South Bank. She wasn't worried about them coming down the staircase where she was hiding: they would stay on their side of the road, go down the other set of steps and continue on their way along the South Bank towards Waterloo station. She could hear their voices, her voice mainly: cooing, protective, terribly concerned.

'I'm not going to let you out of my sight any more, darling,' she was saying. There was no reproach in the voice; only concern. Darling, indeed. She wanted to shove it down her throat.

Now their footsteps were echoing on the steps, on the other set of steps. A memory charm, of all things. She hoped it had worked and hadn't done him any more damage. But when it came to memory charms she was confident in her abilities. She could work them with reasonable precision, down to a single memory. Of course, it was far easier to extract a recent memory. But it was clear to her now just how fragile he was.

For a brief moment she entertained a vision of what she would have done to Ilaria De Angelis if she had decided to wait for her on the bridge. It would have been messy. It would almost certainly have been seen by muggles. And it would have caused an embarrassing incident at work, to say the least: a Ministry official making a public spectacle of magic in the middle of London. But none of that mattered. The damage to Harry could have been irreparable.

She stood up stiffly, crossed the road and looked down the other stairwell. It was empty. She wondered where Caius was. Hopefully he hadn't gone into the pub to get himself a drink. She made her way noiselessly down the steps and turned the corner onto the riverside walk.

Caius was the first thing she saw. He was standing in the shadows, slightly back from the main stream of passers-by. The next thing she noticed was the look on his face: fear and warning. A man was standing next to him in the shadows. A handsome man with tousled blonde hair. He looked vaguely familiar to her. Disguised in his hand, almost invisible to the passers-by but quite visible to her, was a wand, pointed subtly at Caius.

'I wouldn't bother hanging around here,' said Caius with put-on calmness. 'They want to invite us to a party, but I reckon it'll be crap.'

She looked down the underpass. A tall woman with a proud, sculpted face and long brown hair was standing there, quite still, watching her, a look of satisfaction on her face. What a pair these two make. So photogenic. The woman made a quick gesture with her hand, so that Hermione saw the tip of her wand.

'Oh no, do come and hang out with us,' said the woman, now walking towards them. Another opportunity for a public spectacle of magic.

'Trying to resist us here would be a very bad idea, as you well know,' continued the woman, now speaking directly inside Hermione's head. 'And there's really no need. We're simply messengers, sent here by someone who wants to talk to you.'

The woman gestured to Hermione to step with her out of the crowd. She obeyed, for the moment.

'Who wants to talk to us?' Hermione began, adopting her most peevish, official voice.

'You won't know him', the woman replied.

'Try me. I know very well who's on the Ministry's list of at-large dark wizards. I'm just curious how far down the list your boss is.'

The blonde man laughed. The laugh was surprisingly a rather jovial one.

'Way off the mark, I'm afraid.'

'Pity,' added the woman. 'One of the Ministry's finest, and she hasn't the foggiest idea who we represent.'

'We're the good guys,' added the blonde man, smiling even as he kept his wand trained on Caius. 'Although you might have a hard time seeing it.' I've seen him at Hogwarts, Hermione suddenly thought.

'See?' he replied. 'You've recognised me. I'm a fellow Gryffindor.'

A brief memory of a boy who had been in Percy Weasley's year flashed through her mind. A reckless show-off. Don't remember anything positive about him. He's a good legilimens though. She grasped for a name but couldn't see it.

'Maybe later,' replied the man. 'When you remember something nice about me.'

'Enough of this,' snapped the woman. 'Can we carry on this fascinating chat at the office?'

She turned to Hermione and Caius. Unlike her colleague, Hermione couldn't place her at all. She was a witch all right, but not a Hogwarts witch. Not that it meant anything: plenty of wizards and witches didn't attend Hogwarts: some went to regular schools and others were taught at home.

'I trust it you're going to come with us without a fuss?'

'Why would we make a fuss when you've been so charming?' remarked Caius.

'I admit I'm a little curious as to what all this is about,' said Hermione, 'but we really haven't got time this evening. Perhaps we could make an appointment?'

'I was afraid you were going to say that,' said the woman. Hands reached for her and Caius, and the next moment all four of them were gone from the street.

---

They stood before a tired brick-fronted building, a Victorian town house divided up into flats. By the look of the street they were still in central London, possibly where it merged into the East End. Despite the wizards' obvious skill in legilimency, Hermione couldn't help but speculate about who they were working for. The dark wizards on the Auror Office list weren't up to all that much, so she had heard. And at the back of her mind she couldn't help wondering whether this all had something to do with Harry and Ilaria.

'You do realise that if I report this, the two of you will lose your wands?' Hermione began. Oh my goodness I sound like Dolores Umbridge.

This didn't seem to impress them.

'Are you going to come inside?' asked the brown-haired witch.

'How long is it going to take?'

'Not long.'

She looked at Caius, who shrugged at her in return. How do I know he isn't in league with them? Him and Ilaria?

They passed through a darkened hallway, the wizards not bothering to turn on the lights, and stopped before a door at the far end of the ground floor. Through the gloom Hermione could make out a nameplate on the door. The nameplate read:

MIR

The campaign to prove magic is real

She had read it twice just to believe it.

'Is this serious?' she remarked as the door opened, letting out a white, harsh light.

'I was right,' said Caius. 'This is going to be a terrible party.'

'Go in,' said the witch, a cold look on her face. Hermione glanced at Caius. Was it worth trying to escape? She was a little too curious to try.

Inside was a flat with the sparse, dreary decor of a rented office. In a room off to the right-hand of the hall a man was waiting for them, sitting upright on a black leather sofa. A table and two empty chairs had been arranged in front of him in the middle of the room. Without saying a word, he gestured to Hermione and Caius to sit down. The face was not friendly, but she was surprised to find that she recognised it: narrow, slightly tanned cheeks, a dry complexion, a taut, straining neck, sharp blue eyes, close cropped wiry dark blonde hair. The man in the cafe across the street from Vlaminck's. So it was me he was watching?

Still not addressing Hermione and Caius, he looked up at the two wizards standing behind them.

'Thank you,' he said gravely.

'This is the person you saw leaving Vlaminck's this morning,' said the blonde wizard.

He seemed to look at her for the first time. He surveyed her from behind his desk with a keen but disapproving expression.

'Yes, it is,' he said quickly. The taut smile that stretched out across his lips was like that of a teacher who had just caught some pupils smoking in the bushes. 'And so this is the Hermione Granger?'

She had had enough of being ignored.

'Since you brought us here, I assume it was because you wanted to speak with us,' she said, folding her arms and scowling at him.

The blue eyes shot back to her.

'Oh I do want to speak with you,' he replied. 'I'm sure you'll have lots of interesting things to say.'

'Yes, this is Hermione Granger,' said the blonde wizard from behind her back. 'She was a few years below me at school. A very powerful witch, very deeply versed in spell lore. Key member of the Order of the Phoenix during the wizarding civil war, one of the leaders of that organisation and one of its main strategists, and as a result now a rising figure in the Ministry of Magic, close to the Minister itself.'

The man nodded grimly at the details of his subordinate's report.

Then his gaze rose again. 'And who is the other one?'

'Caius Hanmer. Nothing much to report on him, other than he comes from a well-to-do family. Part of the wizarding gentry.'

'Oh I wouldn't go that far,' remarked Caius. 'The Skeltons are a far more illustrious family than we are.'

Skelton. That was the name. Charlie Skelton. He had obviously hidden it from her with legilimency.

A rather sour expression spread over the man's face, but he said nothing. He turned again to Hermione, a serene, composed expression in its place.

'So you've done very well out of being on the winning side.'

The scowl remained fixed to her face.

'I'm sorry, who are you?' she asked witheringly.

His face unwillingly registered her discontent.

'You are entitled to that, at least,' he remarked, almost politely. 'My name is Stephen Morley. You probably saw the name of our organisation on the door.'

'Yes. Something about proving magic is real,' Hermione replied.

'That is our aim, yes. I am the chairman. You've already met my associates, Chloe Goodwin and Charlie Skelton. The vice chairman, Mr Marchelow, is on his way and will hopefully be joining us soon.'

Apart from Charlie Skelton the names meant nothing to her.

'Well, Mr Morley,' Hermione began. 'Could we just clear something up at this point? There's something I don't quite get. For someone so interested in magic that you want to prove its existence, and with associates who are obviously wizards themselves, you don't seem very keen on magic.'

'I knew that would strike you,' replied Mr Morley, grinning coldly. 'I'm glad you brought it up. I was wondering if you were going to pretend that you're not a witch, or even …' chuckling to himself, '…that witchcraft doesn't exist. Happily we can dispense with that pretence. I am indeed not 'keen on magic', as you put it. I have very good reasons for that. Chloe and Charlie know that only too well, I've certainly never hidden it from anyone, least of all from them. Don't imagine that I believe magic to be the result of some diabolic pact. Not at all. I acknowledge that wizards don't have a choice in whether they have magical ability or not. It depends what they choose to do with it. Chloe and Charlie, and other wizards like them, agree with me that magic has to come out into the open, to become a legitimate, law-abiding part of the fabric of this country. They agree that wizards and witches cannot be allowed to live among us in secret, free to use their powers at will.'

As Mr Morley ended his speech, Hermione looked at Chloe and Charlie. Their faces revealed nothing. Mr Morley continued.

'Do you really think it's fair, Miss Granger, that you should exist in secret, with no checks on your powers whatever?'

She had wondered, at times, whether it was right that magic was kept secret, but she wasn't sure she saw any alternative. It would so easily degenerate into misunderstanding and hysteria.

'Whether secrecy is absolutely essential I wouldn't know,' she replied. 'It's debatable I suppose. But it's not true that there are no checks on wizards' powers. Since you're so well informed, you would know that wizards are bound by laws that are just as strict, if not stricter than those governing the rest of the population.'

'From what I've seen of your statutes,' replied Mr Morley, 'you devote an awful lot of attention to ensuring that secrecy prevails. One of the worst crimes a wizard can commit is to risk the exposure of your society. And you have an army of secret agents whose job is to go around wiping the memories of the poor people who happen to come into contact with you. Isn't that so?'

'People's memories do get erased,' Hermione admitted. 'But there's hardly an army of agents going around doing it. And again, wizards who hurt other people, or steal from them, or kill, get punished whether the victim is another wizard or a mu …'

'A Muggle,' put in Chloe Goodwin scathingly.

'A non-magical person,' said Hermione, correcting herself.

'But why should you have your own courts, and your own punishments?' Mr Morley probed again. 'We are all one country here. Why should we trust wizards to self-regulate? Particularly when for you, the confiscation of a wizard's wand is considered a harsh punishment.'

'Since you know so much about wizards,' Caius remarked, 'you may have heard of a place called Azkaban. Maybe you should pay the place a visit. You may change your mind about what is and isn't a harsh punishment.'

'I've heard of it of course,' replied Mr Morley. 'A ghastly place by the sounds of it, whose inmates undergo psychological torture comparable with some of history's most sinister political regimes. It's hardly a good advertisement for wizarding society now, is it?'

'One moment we're too lenient,' Hermione retorted, albeit with little conviction, 'the next too harsh.'

'You might well say so,' said Mr Morley, almost brightly. 'And you wouldn't be wrong. I would call your laws arbitrary at best.'

'But seriously,' said Hermione, now losing patience with the man, and starting to become eager to leave that place. 'What do you propose to do? Rewrite wizarding laws? Apply to become the next Minister of Magic? What are you anyway, a wizard or not?'

Her irritation seemed to please him. He tutted in reply.

'Am I a wizard? Most certainly not.'

'Then why do you care so much what wizards do? Why is it any of your business?'

He shook his head.

'It is the business of everyone in this country to know that we have in our midst a society within society that acts with impunity to protect its interests and achieve its goals, and which moreover has supernatural powers at its disposal. A secret society that is riven with a feeling of superiority over us mere mortals, a feeling of superiority that can so easily turn genocidal.'

'Since you've made it clear that you know about what happened a few years ago,' replied Hermione, 'you'll also know that wizards who chose to use their power for evil were defeated.'

'Yes, your faction defeated them,' said Mr Morley. 'Defeated them and took control.'

'And the country,' remarked Caius, with bitter emphasis on the word 'country', 'is much safer as a result.'

'The country stands in debt to you, is that it?' asked Mr Morley.

'If you like,' replied Caius.

'The country's welfare depends on your magnanimity, is that about the size of it?'

'You're taking it too far, as you well know,' said Hermione.

'Am I? You have the power to decide whether we live or die, is that right?'

The anger she had been trying to repress was by now starting to leak out. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms.

'Scores of us died to protect you,' she said in a voice louder than she had intended. 'Did they forget to tell you that?' She gestured angrily at the two wizards standing behind her.

'Yes, plenty died as a result of your civil war,' Mr Morley replied. 'Although the number of victims who were wizards was far fewer than the number of victims who were innocent members of the public. You would know that, I think, given your position in the organisation you work for.'

'Yes, a lot of innocent non-magical people died,' said Hermione. 'But you can't even imagine how many would have died if the other side had won.'

'Oh yes, you were the good guys, weren't you?'

'Yes, we were.'

'But why, after good triumphed, did you not do the right thing and come out into the open, to explain yourselves to the people of this country, to account for all the unexplained deaths, to come forward and be judged?'

'I … uh …' She had no reply. In truth, she had never really considered it.

With sudden gusto, Mr Morley put his elbows on the desk and clasped his fingers together, half suppressing a smile as he did so.

'Quite,' he said grimly, the smile still lingering on his lips. 'You did nothing of the sort. You covered up the deaths, took back power, wielded a little retribution and then went back to business as usual. And promotions all round for the likes of you, eh, Miss Granger?'

She glanced across at Caius. He looked back at her, acknowledging the idea she was proposing to him. She flexed her wand hand. But as she did, she felt a scorching pain flash through it.

'This is no time for leaving,' replied Chloe Goodwin, speaking in a low voice at her back.

'No, Miss Granger, this is no time for leaving,' said Mr Morley, cold command in his voice.

Hermione scowled at him.

'What exactly is it that you propose?' she asked quietly. 'What on earth do you want from us?'

'Take my proposals before your Minister of Magic, as you call him,' replied Mr Morley.

'What proposals?'

'That you unmask yourselves and ask for … no, petition for … integration into this country,' he replied. 'So we can all live peacefully as equals. You can hardly claim that it's unreasonable, now, can you?'

She smiled.

'And do you think that kidnapping us is going to convince us to be your ambassadors?' she said.

'Kidnapping, do you call this?' said Mr Morley.

'Well, I get the distinct impression that we're being held here against our will,' replied Hermione.

'A meeting I call it,' said Mr Morley. 'An exchange of views. I'm not interested in kidnapping, I'm interested in making my point. And the issue at stake is so important that I'm prepared to keep you here until you have listened to everything I have to say.'

'And by the sound of things, that may take some time,' put in Caius.

'Miss Granger,' said Mr Morley, plainly trying to ignore Caius. 'It is worth your while to hear what I have to say.'

Hermione frowned at him.

'Like I said, you expect me to plead your case before the Ministry?'

'I can hardly ask for an audience myself, can I?' Mr Morley replied, 'a mere muggle like me?'

'Well, you could ask your tamed wizards here to send a petition or something on your behalf,' remarked Caius. The next moment he winced in pain, obviously the recipient of some curse cast behind his back.

'Miss Granger, you at least strike me as an intelligent girl,' said Mr Morley, ignoring what had just happened. 'We have had a debate of sorts this evening. If you're honest with yourself, you'll admit that I have a point. You're ambitious too, as I understand it, which is fair enough, although I don't approve of the organisation you've chosen to work for. If you made this idea work, you will go down in history as one of the people who brought about the integration of wizards into mainstream society.'

'She already went down in history,' put in Caius. 'She was at Harry Potter's side the night he put an end to Voldemort.'

'Let's not go back to that dead end, please,' replied Mr Morley with an exasperated air.

Hermione smiled again.

'You want me to work for you, is that it?' she asked.

'You disapprove of my methods, I suppose?' said Mr Morley. 'It's very easy for you. The doors of your society are open to you. They are closed to me. Your society looks down on me, doesn't give me the time of day. I'm nothing but a sheep to be herded this way or that, or slaughtered if one of you deems it appropriate.'

'I'm perfectly able to judge a person's character,' Hermione replied. 'Whether they're a wizard or not. I don't have a very good feeling about you. And you certainly haven't convinced me. So now I'd like to leave, together with my friend here.'

'You won't take my proposition before your organisation?'

'You realise what would happen if I did?' said Hermione. 'That someone would come to erase all the knowledge of magic you've acquired.'

'They'd have a nasty surprise if they did,' said Chloe Goodwin.

'I appreciate your candour, Miss Granger,' replied Mr Morley. 'You're undoubtedly telling the truth when you say that one of your agents would be dispatched to deal with me. It's hardly worth mentioning that this is just another confirmation that your organisation is not as noble as it makes out to be.'

She really didn't know what else she could say to the man.

'I don't say it's so noble. But it has the right to exist and the right to a little trust.'

'Because you are the good guys, and you can be trusted to protect us …'

She half-shrugged in reply. Mr Morley stood up rather abruptly and walked silently to a desk at the far end of the room, next to a window with the blinds pulled down. He picked up a laptop from the desk and brought it over to them.

'I wonder what you make of this,' he said curtly.

He typed in a password, opened a file then turned the laptop around so that they could see the screen.

To begin with the file showed nothing but a black screen. But after a few moments the blackness was replaced by a video recording that started to run. Mr Morley maximised the image so that it filled the whole screen. The image was grainy, dimly lit and slightly pixelated, making it hard to see much of the surroundings, but they could make out three figures in a room, one seated and two standing, one in front of the seated figure and the other to the side, indistinct and somewhat in the background. The two standing figures wore masks. The person seated was obviously their prisoner and seemed to be tied to the chair he was sitting on.

'Explain this to me,' said the masked figure, brandishing a piece of paper at the prisoner. Hermione thought she could detect a faint trace of a foreign accent in his voice.

'I don't know anything about it,' replied the prisoner, showing no sign of being intimidated by his captors.

'Really? It was sent to your email address though.'

'Emails get sent to the wrong address all the time.'

'Your name is Goodwin, though, isn't it? Ben Goodwin …'

Through the gloom of pixels the prisoner seemed to smile.

'You know, I don't feel like we've really hit it off so far, so I don't really feel like telling you.'

The masked figure lowered the piece of paper in his hand.

'To be honest I hardly need your confirmation. I've already seen your driving licence. We accept that as proof of your ID.'

'That's good,' said the prisoner. 'As I didn't bring a gas bill with me.'

'Funny,' said the masked man. 'But to get back to business: this email was sent to Ben Goodwin, among others, and you are Ben Goodwin, whether you admit it or not.'

He held up the piece of paper again, this time closer to the prisoner's face.

'What do you see written on it?' he asked calmly.

'Names and addresses,' said the prisoner in an equally nonchalant tone.

'I don't suppose you're going to tell me whose?'

'No, because I don't know.'

'I think you do. But I'll tell you anyway. They're the names and addresses of wizards. Do you know how I know?'

'No'

'Because my name and address are on the list and, as you and I know, I am a wizard.'

As if to confirm this, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the prisoner. The prisoner made no response other than to sit a bit more stiffly in his chair.

'And what's more,' said the masked wizard, 'I don't remember giving out my name and address to you and your friends.'

'So what?' the prisoner replied. 'It's probably just some mailing list.'

'A mailing list … And what does this instruction mean: 'wizards to be targeted'. Targeted for what?'

'Like I said, must be a mailing list. Special offers on potion ingredients or something.'

The masked wizard put the piece of paper away and looked at the prisoner. He seemed to be laughing softly to himself.

'It may interest you to know,' he said, once again pointing his wand at the prisoner, 'that some of the people on this list have already received what you call special offers'. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a different piece of paper, this time some sort of flyer.

'Read it,' he said, thrusting it at the man's face.

'I'd rather not,' said the prisoner.

The wizard moved swiftly round the room, all the time keeping his wand trained on the prisoner. He handed the paper to the other masked figure then went back to his original position.

'We know you practise witchcraft', the other figure began to read. She spoke with a thin, precise voice. 'We are watching you. Expect a visit from us'.

'Sounds friendly, doesn't it,' remarked the first wizard.

'How should I know?' said the prisoner. 'I don't know anything about it.'

'In any case,' said the wizard, 'there's only one thing we need from you, and that I think you do know. Tell us and we'll let you go.'

The prisoner said nothing.

'The name of the person who sent this email, that's what we want. Tell us who gave you the instructions to target these wizards.'

'I can't tell you what I don't know.'

The masked wizard turned to his companion.

'I don't know. Has he convinced you?'

'No,' came the reply.

The prisoner shrugged and looked grimly at the wizard and the wand pointed towards him.

The female masked figure left her post and came to join her companion as they silently contemplated the prisoner. After a few moments the first wizard nodded to her silently.

'Mortify,' she said, her thin voice breaking the silence. Blood started to seep from the prisoner's eyes, ears and mouth.

At that point the recording ended. Mr Morley snapped the screen shut.

'Still think the good guys won?' he asked, his eyes scrutinising Hermione and Caius.

'Well, you would need to tell us who those people are and when this was filmed, for a start,' said Hermione.

'They weren't Death Eaters, if that's what you were hoping to suggest,' said Mr Morley.

But she hadn't thought that. She couldn't see Death Eaters intercepting people's emails for one thing. And the masks weren't right either. She didn't know what kind of dark wizards these were.

'As for the date of the recording, I can tell you that,' said Mr Morley. 'It dates from a few months ago. You'll be pleased to hear that the victim escaped with his life. Somewhat scarred by his encounter with wizards, of course.'

Definitely not Death Eaters then, Hermione thought to herself.

'That's as maybe,' said Caius. 'But what's to say the prisoner wasn't a wizard himself? He seemed like an insider to me.'

'He isn't,' said Chloe Goodwin harshly. 'I guarantee it. He's my husband.'

'So he's part of your organisation?' said Caius, scowling at Mr Morley. 'I suppose that means that you and he have been going round sending threatening letters to wizards' homes.'

'And I suppose you,' Hermione added, turning to Chloe Goodwin, 'supplied the addresses? I've changed my mind: I will be bringing this up with the Ministry. A serious inquiry is needed in this case.'

'Enquire all you like,' hissed Chloe in reply, coming very close to her and training her wand on her. 'We don't answer to the Ministry of Magic or to any other part of wizarding society. We're outside the system.'

'The system may be interested in you, though,' Hermione retorted.

'Enough!' Mr Morley shouted, interrupting them. 'Am I to understand, Miss Granger,' he continued, returning to his usual composed tone, 'that you condone wizard torture of prisoners?'

'No,' said Hermione. 'I certainly don't. But this prisoner is rather suspicious himself. You're all …'

At that moment the door opened. A tall man in a heavy coat, with thick bushy hair and beard bustled into the room. He looked around at the people gathered in the room, his eyes bulging and a look of ponderous agitation on his face. Barging into the room behind him came a red-faced, muscular man with curly blondish hair, brandishing a wand and pulling along with him a clearly terrified young woman. She was petite, half a foot shorter than her captors, with large, sad blue eyes and fine, mousy, disordered hair. When she saw Hermione, her eyes grew even wider.

'Another one of them, Stephen,' said the black-bearded man in a low, tremulous voice. He pointed at the woman, a look of fearful contempt in his eyes.

'Very good, how did you catch her?' asked Mr Morley.

'I saw her using a wand to open the door to a safe house, replied the red-faced wizard, obviously very pleased with himself.

'And what's more,' added the black-bearded man, 'we've located another site.'

'Excellent,' replied Mr Morley. 'Did you start to excavate?'

'Not yet.'

The black-bearded man looked coldly at Hermione and Caius.

'You caught a pair yourself I see,' he murmured.

They're witchfinders. Suddenly the thought flashed into Hermione's mind. She had never seen one before. But that must be who they were, Stephen Morley and the black-bearded man. This was presumably the vice chairman they had been told was on his way.

'That's right. Know who this is?' said Mr Morley, pointing at Hermione.

'You know I refuse to speak their names,' replied the black-bearded man.

'This one's a protégée of the Minister of Magic,' added Morley, adding sarcastic emphasis to the words 'Minister of Magic'.

'I recognise the face,' said the man, slowly coming nearer to her then stopping at a safe distance. 'A troubled face,' he remarked, inspecting her with dark, wary eyes. 'Hardly surprising when you think what lies beneath the skin.'

He looked away abruptly and turned to Morley.

'Did you get anywhere with them?' he asked.

'They're stubborn,' replied Morley.

'Unwilling of course,' replied his associate.

'Excuse me,' Hermione interrupted, addressing Morley, who struck her as the saner of the pair. 'But who is this?'

The man turned and looked at Hermione with what seemed like some kind of astonishment.

'Of course, my apologies,' Mr Morley replied 'This is Robert Marchelow, Vice-chair of our movement.'

Mr Marchelow turned to Morley.

'Is it wise, giving them our names?' he asked, apparently quite serious.

'It hardly matters,' Morley replied.

'Whatever you think best,' Marchelow remarked, seemingly unconvinced.

He turned again, this time looking at Caius.

'Smirking defiance,' he murmured to himself. 'Not a hint of shame. Let them do the excavation,' he added, his voice loud again. 'Then they'll see.'

Before they knew what was happening, the office disintegrated before their eyes and they were out in the open. When their surroundings stabilised, they were all standing in a kind of muddy depression, embankments of rough unhealthy grass rising on either side of them. The moon was out, casting a doleful light on the company.

Hermione's first instinct was this was the moment to flee, but as soon as she tried to move she found that some charm held her fixed in place. Glancing around, she could see that the same charm also bound Caius and the sad-eyed witch.

'Don't even think about it,' said Chloe Goodwin.

'That's right,' added Mr Morley. 'It's regrettable that you weren't in any way affected by what I showed you earlier. But hardly surprising I suppose. So we're going to have to try a bit harder to convince you that your position is completely untenable.'

'Really?' replied Hermione. 'I would just mention, since I suppose that you don't actually want the Ministry of Magic to launch a full-scale investigation into your activities, that if anything happens to us tonight, that's exactly what you'll get.'

Mr Marchelow leaned towards her.

'Your Ministry of Magic,' he said in a low voice, 'which never investigated the deaths of people killed by wizards, which has no memorial to those murdered and thrown in unmarked graves. Your Ministry only launches an investigation to make sure that its interests are protected.'

'The fact is,' said Mr Morley with a cough, interrupting his associate, 'that the day will come when your Ministry of Magic will have to face the reality that its authority is based on a sham. You'll come to see it yourselves, if not tonight, then in due course. Consider this part of laying the groundwork.'

'Behaving like this you're not going to convince me of anything,' replied Hermione coolly.

'We'll see,' said Mr Morley.

'Let's get on with it,' said Mr Marchelow in a loud whisper into his associate's ear. Mr Morley nodded and took a step back.

'I leave you in the capable hands of Mr Marchelow.'

Marchelow nodded roughly to the red-faced wizard who had accompanied him. Immediately the wizard muttered a charm and spades materialised in the hands of Hermione, Caius and the sad-eyed witch. Caius sized up the spade in his hand.

'Before you get any ideas,' remarked Charlie Skelton, I'd take a look around you. Caius looked up slowly, a rather bored expression on his face. The three wizards who served the witchfinders had their wands pointed at them.

'This place,' Mr Marchelow began suddenly, his arms raised in the air, 'is an accursed place. Death lingers here, poisons the air, chokes me as I try to speak. This is a place of murder. The murder of innocents, killed by wizards.'

'If you're planning to raise the dead,' Caius remarked, 'I think you ought to know that that's the sort of thing that dark wizards do, and I sort of had the impression you're not so keen on them.'

Hermione shivered. It was true that there was a bleak, baleful air about the place.

'No such abominations will be done here,' replied Mr Marchelow, even more sonorously. 'Tonight we are here to collect evidence. Evidence of the evil done by witches and wizards.'

'I have to admit,' remarked Caius to Hermione and the sad-eyed witch. 'I'm starting to like this one. He's sort of cool.'

'Even now you desecrate the memory of those who were killed here,' said Mr Marchelow, his eyes wide and staring with anger. 'It's no surprise. But you will be silent and you will dig.'

'Dig?' said Hermione.

'You are standing on a mass grave,' continued Mr Marchelow. 'Four years ago, the wizard organisation known as the Death Eaters killed 13 innocent people and threw their bodies into the pit that lies below us. You will dig until you reach the bodies that your fellow wizards left here. Then I will ask you again, what possible reason could mankind have for trusting wizards.'

'What was it you were saying earlier about desecrating the memory of the dead?' asked Hermione quietly.

'Dig!' shouted Mr Marchelow, his voice reverberating around the embankments that rose up around them and out into the night air.

They stood still, looking at him in horrified silence.

'Make them dig!' he commanded the other wizards.

The enchantment followed the next instant, compelling them to push the spades against the soil beneath them and start to move it away. Once they had dug up the first piece of turf, the command came again, forcing their limbs to repeat the action, again and again. Hermione's hands and legs started to feel sore from a physical exertion she wasn't used to. She looked up from her task. Mr Marchelow stood over her, a look of satisfaction on his face. Mr Morley stood a little way back. On his face there seemed to be no expression at all, only a blank registering of what was taking place.

They continued to dig, three holes widening and deepening at the bottom of the depression. Hermione felt her spade strike something hard. She looked down, the thought that this was a bad idea following a moment too late. Something pale and smooth was starting to protrude from the earth. Mr Marchelow seemed to spring towards her, she felt his hot, stale breath at the back of her neck. Then suddenly the enchantments that bound them and made them work seemed to falter, and they could move their limbs more freely. Caius was the first to throw down his spade. Hermione looked up and around. The three wizards and two witchfinders who had stood guard over them were now circled by a further cohort of wizards, their wands trained on them. The new wizards were wearing masks, masks of the kind Hermione had seen in the video recording of the torture scene.

'That's quite enough,' said a voice from behind one of the masks. Hermione thought she recognised the voice.