15. An enemy's enemy

He saw a dark corridor before him, illuminated by light flooding in through a cloister. As he walked along the corridor, he could see the intricately carved stonework of an ancient wall, worn down and ridden with little pits and the marks left by generations of pupils. He wasn't walking alone: he was with a friend. He tried to see her face but couldn't make it out. They were walking with their backs to the light. That must be why their faces were shaded. She was talking to him, grasping him by the arm in her eagerness to tell him something, to give him some good advice. She was always giving him good advice. He strained to hear her voice, but the voice he heard wasn't quite the right one.

They turned a corner into another similar corridor then stopped before the door of a classroom. He listened for a moment. Inside he could hear a woman speaking. His friend touched him on the arm, this time in warning. 'Don't go in,' she said. 'I don't think it's a good idea.' For some reason he didn't want to take her advice. He pulled himself free of her grasp, knocked on the door and entered.

The pupils all sat quietly in their seats, listening intently to the teacher, a tall woman with long black hair and flashing green eyes. I've seen her before. But he had no idea where. She turned to the door, smiled and beckoned him to enter. There were two empty desks in the front row.

'Is one of those seats free?' he asked timidly.

'Of course,' said the teacher sweetly. 'One is for you and the other is for your friend.'

He looked towards the door. His friend stood on the threshold, a look of fear on her face. He hesitated, midway between the door and the desk.

'Won't you come in?' asked the teacher. 'I think you'll find this class fascinating.'

'I don't think so,' said the girl from the doorway.

'No need to be shy, either of you,' said the teacher, stepping out from behind her desk and down from the wooden platform. 'You know lots of people here already.'

He looked around at the other pupils in the class. They looked back at him silently, timorous at their desks. Some of the faces he did recognise, only he couldn't remember their names. There was a pale boy with dark, unruly hair; a tall dark-skinned boy; even Ilaria herself sat meekly in the corner, scarcely making eye contact with him. He continued to scan the multitude of faces: here was a boy with red hair he was sure he knew from somewhere, and next to him a red-haired girl, surely his sister. His breathing started to quicken at the sight of her. He started to move towards the red-haired girl, who looked at him with alarm as he approached, but the teacher caught him by the arm.

'Please don't, dear, you're scaring her.' He turned to face the teacher, his breathing quickly returning to normal, his heart beating slower.

'What's your name, Miss?' he asked.

'You can call me Lily,' said the teacher, a serene smile on her lips. She reached out and stroked his cheek.

'My mother's name was Lily,' he replied.

Suddenly the night sky was above him, the air cold and damp. He could still feel a hand stroking his cheek, but as he regained consciousness, he realised it wasn't the teacher who had the same name as his mother.

'James? James?'

Ilaria. She was stroking his cheek, leaning over him, her hair hanging down and almost touching his face, her pale, worried face framed by the night sky. He was lying down, apparently on grass, which felt cold and clammy beneath him. He twisted his head around slightly and could make out an angular, neoclassical church tower rising above them. He raised his head and Ilaria cradled it in her arms, reaching down and kissing him softly on the cheek. They were in a garden that lay in the precincts of the church whose tower he had just glimpsed. Beyond the garden's railings and brick walls were smart, elegant buildings with few lights on.

He started to remember: they had met on the bridge, she had seemed terribly worried, as if he had been lost. They had hurried away from the crowds on the riverside, onto the streets that lay behind it, first along a main road then onto back streets lined with brick houses, finally stopping at the gate to a little public garden. To their surprise it was unlocked, so they had gone in to rest. 'We're just a few minutes away from the station now, anyway,' he remembered her saying. They had sat on a bench for a few minutes, and he remembered his mind wandering back to the bridge. After that, he surmised, he must have passed out.

As he raised his head from the grass, his mind groped for the bridge again. A dark hole of emptiness hung over it. His mind climbed the steps, trying to get up onto the bridge. Something was waiting for him there. But halfway up the steps he stopped. The reckoning, that's what's up there. He wanted to flee again, flee into unconsciousness. He put his hand on the grass and it felt numb. The numbness was a reminder too. A reminder of something his hands had done.

'James! No! Stay with me!' Ilaria said to him, her voice suddenly loud with panic.

He seemed to see her lips moving silently, as if she was speaking another language, her mother tongue. His mind seemed to relax and clear. The numbness in his hands was gone, the bridge distant, just another bridge over the Thames. He saw her frown as she scrutinised his face. She turned around abruptly, scanning the garden around them and the dark buildings that lay beyond it. Ask her what happened on the bridge. But he couldn't. He had to change the subject.

'You never did tell me how you came to Britain,' he said suddenly, smiling back at her.

She looked back at him, smiled and kissed him on the lips, repeating the words Grazie a dio twice under her breath.

'I didn't tell you, it's true,' she said, looking at him earnestly, her eyes shining. 'But how come you're thinking about it now?'

'I don't know,' he said, sitting up. 'I just thought of it.'

She kneeled down next to him on the grass, slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her head against his temple.

'Of course I'll tell you,' she said softly. 'Then in a few minutes when you're feeling better we can go together to the station. We still have some time before the train goes.'

'Ok,' he said. 'You're sure we should still go to Paris?'

'More than ever,' she replied. 'Anyway, I was going to tell you why I came to Britain. I came to go to school. My father sent me to a boarding school when I was eleven.'

'Ok,' he replied. 'But why Britain? Weren't there any schools good enough in Italy?'

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

'Oh they were fine. But we had some problems there. We moved about a lot, but wherever we moved, after a while something would happen.'

'What do you mean?'

She hesitated, looked away for a moment then looked back at him, smiling a naïve kind of smile.

'I mean some … incident would happen.'

'You mean like getting bullied or something?'

She nodded, a sharper look in her eye.

'Yes, there was bullying involved. I don't know if you ever experienced …'

Here she hesitated again.

'… I don't know if you know the feeling, when people, like other children, just decide that there's something different about you, not right about you?'

He tried to sift through his empty, useless brain. It did evoke some sort of palpable feeling.

'I think I know what you mean,' he said. 'But looking at you, knowing you, it's hard to imagine that other children would find something to dislike.'

'Well, they did,' she said forlornly. 'They saw something in me that was different. The last time it happened, some older boys from my school followed me home, shouting names at me. I moved fast, so they never caught me, but they threw stones at our house, shouted names at me, even at my family.'

He pulled himself upright and put his arms around her. She settled herself against his shoulder, shivering slightly.

'The neighbours never did anything to help us,' she continued, 'and the police didn't want to know either. After that, we packed our things and moved away.'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' he murmured. 'It must have been terrible.'

'It was. We went to Milan, where we lived in a hotel for a while. That was when my father took the decision to send me to Britain, to school. And I'm glad he did. I never had any problems there.'

She was shivering more intensely now, and he had started to shiver as well.

'I think the grass is a bit wet,' she said in a low voice.

'We should be going,' he said, squeezing her tighter. 'You're getting cold.'

She looked up slightly from his shoulder and nodded.

'Yes, let's go now,' she said quietly. They stood up quickly and slipped quickly out of the garden, Ilaria closing the gate behind them.

Hermione's head spun. She had apparated too many times that night, mostly against her will. She looked around to check for Caius and the witch who had been held captive with them. To her relief they were sitting either side of her on a rather musty-smelling sofa. She looked around to see where they had been taken this time. The room they were in was poorly lit, but she could make out its tall ceilings and rather dingy patterned wallpaper. The room was also rather cold. Overall it had a vaguely Grimmauld Place-esque air. As she turned her head to take in her surroundings, she realised that no enchantment held her in place. She looked down at her hands, which were sore and slightly blistered from the digging.

'Are you ok?' she said, addressing both Caius and the witch almost immediately.

'Yeah, fine,' replied Caius, smiling at her through the gloom. The witch nodded but didn't speak.

'Did you see what happened, before we disapparated?' Hermione asked.

'I saw a bit,' Caius replied. 'I saw the wizards in the masks moving in on the witchfinders' wizards, and I saw one of them grab hold of us. Then we were gone.'

'You thought Morley and Marchelow were witchfinders too?' Hermione asked.

'What else could they be?' replied Caius. 'But who'd have thought witchfinders would have their own tamed wizards?'

'They are witchfinders,' said the witch, speaking for the first time. 'At least, that Mr Marchelow calls himself one.'

'He would,' remarked Caius.

'He's horrible,' said the witch. 'I never knew there were Muggles like him. He made me prove that I was a witch.'

'Prove it? How?' asked Hermione.

'That wizard who serves him cursed me,' the witch continued. 'I don't know what the spell was, but it was like it… entered me and forced me to recite the incantations of spells I'd cast. Spell after spell, but just the words, without the spell actually happening.'

Hermione had heard of such a spell. It was a version of priori incantatem, used in earlier times to extract proof that a wizard had committed an unforgivable curse. But it had been banned for fifty years at least.

'It felt like I was vomiting,' the witch continued, her eyes wide with horror. 'The words came out of me like I was being sick, over and over again. One spell would have been proof enough. But I must have regurgitated every spell I did in the last year before he got the wizard to stop. Before he was satisfied. Satisfied that I was a witch, so he said.'

'And they wanted us to condemn that torture film,' remarked Caius drily.

'I can't believe it,' said Hermione. 'Who was that wizard? He should be arrested.'

'His name's Fitz-something,' said the witch. 'He came leering towards me out of nowhere on the street. Said he saw me with a wand in my hand. I thought he was some kind of lunatic.'

Quite possibly he is.

'What's your name?' she asked the witch.

'Serena. Serena Lynch,' the witch replied. Hermione looked at her more closely. When she had first seen her, she had thought her to be not much more than a teenager, but up close she seemed older. She was small and there was almost something childlike about her, but there were little crow's feet around her wide eyes and her skin seemed dry and worn. She was probably somewhere in her thirties, Hermione decided.

'I'm Hermione,' said Hermione. 'This is Caius.'

'I know who you are,' said Serena. 'I recognised you as soon as I saw you. I couldn't believe the witchfinders had captured you.'

'Yes, I was a bit distracted,' Hermione replied, the events on the bridge suddenly coming back to her.

'Speaking of which,' said Caius, 'do you think we should be getting out of here?'

'Probably,' replied Hermione. But she was curious as to who had rescued them. It struck her as odd, and possibly a good sign, that whoever had brought them to that place had seemingly not placed any charms on them to hold them there.

She stood up, partly to test whether there were any enchantments in place after all. As nothing seemed to impede her movements, she began to walk around the room. At the far end of the room was a window, covered over with a long, dark curtain. She lifted the curtain and saw the typical buildings of a London street in darkness, a fairly upmarket area by the looks of it. Letting go of the curtain, she crossed the room again, this time in the direction of a door on its opposite side. She reached the door and rather gingerly touched the doorknob. No trace of magic. Caius was by now on his feet too. Serena Lynch stayed fixed to the sofa, her knees pushed together.

Hermione pushed on the door and it yielded, quite easily. The corridor outside was dark. But as she leaned out into the dark a wand light came towards her.

'Don't be going just yet,' called a voice, not from the dark, but from behind her in the room.

By the time she had turned round from the door, a man was already standing in the middle of the room. He had no wand in his hand, but he must have just apparated there. Caius had quickly drawn his wand, but was already lowering it.

'No need for that,' said the man. He was young, tall and slim with curly black hair and tanned skin. 'You're in no danger here.'

He went over to Serena, who was still sitting on the sofa, looking up at him.

'Are you ok?' he asked.

'I'm ok,' she replied swiftly.

'Did they hurt you?'

She nodded.

'They had a rather sick way of proving that she's a witch,' remarked Hermione.

'I'll bet they did', replied the man, who had a slight trace of a foreign accent.

'We should be thanking you, I suppose,' said Hermione rather circumspectly.

'Who are you, by the way?' added Caius.

The wizard half-grinned.

'That's a fair question,' he agreed. 'My name is Tobias Destrument.'

The name wasn't familiar. Maybe he's a foreign wizard.

Tobias Destrument stuck out his hand. After a moment's hesitation she shook it.

'I'm Hermione Granger,' she replied.

'I know,' he said.

'They always do,' added Caius sardonically.

'Actually far fewer people than you think know who I am,' Hermione replied.

'How I wish I'd been there that night when you fought off Voldemort and the Death Eaters,' said Tobias Destrument, a look of reverence in his eyes.

'It wasn't much fun, I can tell you,' Hermione replied.

'I can only imagine what it must have been like,' Tobias continued. 'We were in awe once we heard the reports. My family raised a hundred toasts to you, and to the fallen. Since then I've become something of a student of the Battle of Hogwarts: who fought on what side; the stages of the battle; who died and who survived. But seeing you here, I realise I know pretty much nothing. I've never even set foot inside Hogwarts. And here in front of me I have not one but two people who fought there.'

He glanced quickly at Caius and gave him a short bow. Looking slightly aghast at Tobias Destrument, Hermione did what she always did when reminded of the battle, which was to try to picture the people who had died there in happier times. Professor Lupin. Fred. Tonks.

'I really don't know what to say,' Hermione murmured after a few moments of silence.

'I understand,' said Tobias Destrument. 'I'm sorry if I came across as a bit obsessed. It's just that I do take what happened very seriously.'

'Quite rightly,' said Hermione, the lump in her throat more or less under control.

'I think he's right too,' said Serena Lynch, who had got up from the sofa and joined them in the meantime. 'I lived through those times. And I remember how I felt when I heard the news.'

Everyone was silent for a few moments

'I'm Serena, by the way,' Serena added, almost apologetically.

'Changing the subject,' Caius remarked, 'much as I would have liked to continue digging of course … but how come you were on hand to rescue us from the witchfinders?'

'Yes, how come?' asked Hermione, a little worried that Tobias Destrument had been following them too that evening.

'Oh, whenever we can we like to keep track of new vow wizards like Skelton and Goodwin' said Destrument with disgust. 'Digging around for the graves of Voldemort's victims with their witchfinder friends is one of their favourite pursuits. Making prisoners dig their holes for them is a new one, though. How come you were their prisoners, anyway?'

'New vow wizards?' Hermione echoed, avoiding his question.

'Oh, you mean the Ministry hasn't heard of them?' said Destrument, his eyebrows arched in surprise.

'Well,' Hermione replied, almost blushing. 'I can't speak for the Ministry. I don't know everything that goes on there.'

'Maybe your Aurors know something about them,' replied Destrument. 'Or if they don't, they should.'

'I'll look into it,' Hermione replied. And I definitely will too.

'Still,' put in Caius, 'the idea that wizards are helping witchfinders sounds sort of ridiculous.'

'It sounds ridiculous, but it's really happening,' added Tobias Destrument.

'But what for?' said Hermione.

'They told me that they don't believe that wizards should be a secret anymore,' said Serena. 'They asked me: What possible justification is there for wizards to remain secret? What have wizards got to hide? That's what they said. That's how it started. And they kept saying to me: Why don't you admit that you're a witch? But why would I admit to being a witch in front of a Muggle who obviously doesn't like witches? So I refused to admit it. That's when they cursed me to make me confess.'

She shuddered visibly at the memory.

'Wizards will have to hide if we ever get exposed,' added Tobias Destrument. 'Hide from mobs and lynchings.'

'Don't you think that's a bit exaggerated?' said Hermione.

'Didn't you hear what she just said?' said Destrument, his tone rising slightly. 'The outside world hates us. Or is suspicious of us at best. And now there are even a few of them who have lackeys inside our world. They say they've taken a new vow: something about a new openness between wizards and Muggles. But I think they're positioning themselves just in case wizarding society is ever exposed.'

The door opened and another man entered. He was older than Tobias Destrument, perhaps in his late thirties, shaven headed and with dark circles around his eyes.

'This is Xavier. Xavier Belhaine,' said Destrument, pointing to the man, who nodded politely to Hermione, Serena and Caius.

'Are you ready to speak to him now?' said Xavier Belhaine to Tobias Destrument. Hermione recognised his voice: it was the voice of the masked man on the video recording.

'Yes,' said Destrument. He eagerly turned to the others. 'When we rescued you from the new vow wizards, we managed to capture one of them too. A particularly nasty one too. Do you want to see what kind of wizards work for witchfinders?'

'No thanks,' said Hermione. 'I don't think I want to see you torturing a prisoner.'

'Who said we're going to torture him?' asked Destrument.

'We were shown a video recording of this man torturing a witchfinder,' said Hermione.

'By Mr Morley, I presume,' said Destrument.

'Well, if you can tell us that the recording he showed us was faked, go ahead,' Hermione retorted.

'It wasn't faked,' said Xavier Belhaine. 'But it wasn't an unforgivable curse. We never use those.'

'I don't know the curse you used,' remarked Caius. 'But it looked pretty nasty to me.'

'I know what that curse feels like,' said Destrument. 'It looks worse than it is.'

'Oh sorry,' said Caius. 'So it's mild torture you go in for round here?'

'It is mild,' said Xavier Belhaine. 'The wizard we have in the next room would have no problem doing worse. It's Fitzroger, Marchelow's very own wizarding assistant.'

'He's the one who tortured me,' said Serena, her eyes opaque with anger.

'So you're descending to his level, is that right?' said Hermione.

'The wizard in there just likes torturing people for fun,' replied Belhaine. 'We actually want information out of him. Information that will benefit you and the Ministry in the end.'

'I don't think I want that kind of information,' replied Hermione.

'Look, nobody said we're going to torture him,' said Destrument. 'I want you to see what kind of person he is. We won't harm him. We don't do those sorts of things.'

'You're the good guys, I suppose?' Hermione remarked.

'We are. But it's important that these new vow wizards know that we know about them, that they can't act with impunity. Especially if the Ministry doesn't know about them.'

'Who says the Ministry doesn't know about them?' exclaimed Hermione.

'Or isn't doing anything about them,' put in Belhaine.

'That's even less likely.'

'Come and see anyway,' Destrument repeated.

'I don't think I want to,' replied Hermione.

'Come and see,' Destrument insisted, this time grabbing her arm.

'Let go of her arm,' said Caius, suddenly pulling out his wand.

'I don't need your protection,' Hermione retorted, looking angrily at Tobias Destrument. 'I just want to leave.'

'I want to see him,' said Serena quietly.

'Are you sure you want to, Serena? What good will it do you?' said Hermione.

'I want to see,' Serena replied in the same determined tone.

'Come on then,' said Destrument. 'Then you can go.'

'What information do you want to get from him anyway?' asked Hermione as they stood before a closed door.

'We just have one question,' replied Destrument. 'I should think it's the same question you would want to ask him yourself.'

'What's that?' asked Hermione. What have I missed? The thought that she had been unobservant rankled with her.

'How come Morley and Marchelow know real wizards in the first place?'

Oh goodness, how obvious. It now struck her that the whole evening had been one failure after another, and how slow-witted she had become in the face of real danger. That's what four years of complacency does to you.

'So he's in there?' said Hermione, pointing to the door.

'Oh yes,' said a new voice, one that sounded familiar. A girl was standing beside the door. Presumably she had exited the room behind it without making any noise. She looked no more than about eighteen. She bore a strong resemblance to Tobias Destrument, only she had very pale skin, lank dirty blonde hair and had an almost emaciated face.

'Is there any chance he'll be willing to talk?' asked Xavier Belhaine.

The girl smiled.

'Oh, very little chance.'

Hermione felt a sinking sort of feeling in her stomach. She's the one who cast the curse in the video.

The wizard called Fitzroger was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, his face several shades whiter than it had been before. He scowled as they entered the room.

'So you got the Ministry on your side?' he remarked, looking pointedly at Hermione. She wondered if the threat of the Ministry might be enough to persuade him to answer the question they all had. She glanced again at the washed out, sullen girl who had joined them. There was no way she was going to let her curse the prisoner.

'The Ministry has to get involved,' Hermione began in her most official-sounding voice. 'This appears to be a case of wizards revealing our existence to muggles. To… witchfinders at that.'

She could hardly believe she was saying the word.

'I didn't tell them,' said Fitzroger brashly. 'And I don't know who did. It's not my fault if the Ministry's got careless about erasing muggles' memories.'

'It hasn't,' Hermione replied.

As she spoke, she realised that the next thing she would have to say was that someone would be dispatched to do just that to Messrs Morley and Marchelow. She could almost see the look on Mr Morley's face.

Fitzroger snorted.

'I suppose you're going to send the boys round to deal with the witchfinders?'

He looked around his audience.

'It's like some kind of police state. Oh, it's all smiling faces and we must protect the muggles these days, but that's what it boils down to.'

'A police state?' Caius remarked. 'And I suppose you're a pro-democracy movement?'

'Are you really trying to tell me,' Hermione put in, 'that you see no difference between how things are now and how they were when Voldemort took control of the Ministry?'

'You're wasting your time,' remarked Tobias Destrument.

'Please let me do my job,' Hermione replied. What a bad actor I am. 'Do you think it's a good idea for people like Mr Marchelow to know about the existence of wizards?' she continued, shivering as she recollected his speech at the unmarked grave.

Fitzroger smiled.

'I believe in a world where wizards shouldn't have to go around wiping Muggles' memories,' he said calmly.

'How touching,' remarked Destrument, suddenly stepping forward.

'Shall I try?' said the pale witch, her wand suddenly pointed at Fitzroger.

'No!' Hermione shouted.

Destrument looked at Hermione and then at the witch. The resemblance between them was striking. She's either his sister or a slightly unsuccessful clone of him.

'Wait, let me try,' said Serena, approaching the wizard.

'Serena, I don't think you want to …' said Hermione.

'I'm not going to do anything like that,' said Serena, glancing at the pale witch and then at Fitzroger closely. He stared at her in silence.

'Give it to him,' said the pale witch quietly. 'He deserves it after what he did to you.'

'Serena, don't,' said Hermione.

Serena looked the prisoner right in the eyes. He stared back, his head trembling as if he was trying to break out of the grip her gaze held him in.

'Tell us,' she began in a quiet tone, 'how do the witchfinders know about us?'

Fitzroger seemed petrified in her gaze.

'All I know,' he said, his voice faltering, 'is that it started with Mr Morley. Charlie Skelton was the one sent to erase his memory. But he persuaded him not to. I don't know how he did it.'

A few moments of silence followed, but Serena kept Fitzroger's gaze locked in hers.

'But why did his memory need to be erased?'

'I don't know.'

After a few more seconds, Serena released him from her gaze.

'He's telling the truth,' she said mournfully.