1. The golden witch

A golden light was descending over London, glittering on the glass towers and reflecting dimly in stone and concrete. It was a light unseen in London itself, proceeding from no meteorological phenomenon, but in fact projected onto a vast, dome-like ceiling an unknown distance underground. This was London as it was seen from the viewing gallery at the very top of the Ministry of Magic, by the scattering of witches and wizards taking their afternoon tea break there.

Hermione Granger's eyes wandered from the pages spread across the small round table in front of her. She liked to look out over this silent, shimmering London from the gallery overlooking the upper cafeteria: the illusion was almost convincing enough to make her feel she was no longer underground. She was sitting by herself, but she was used to it. Her long brown hair fell limply over her shoulders, framing her face, which was thinner and paler than it had once been. Her eyes seemed almost to be reflecting the golden illumination stretching out before her. A dull ache flickered behind her left eye as she played with the pen in her hand, glancing at the spot that was unravelling on the sleeve of her silver and black striped sweater. The sweater was one of her favourites.

'Apparently you can see half of London from up here,' a voice said gently just off to her right. Instinctively she pulled a Ministry file over the pages she had been studying. Then she turned her head slightly and smiled. Arthur Weasley was standing next to her table in a dapper blue suit, balancing a cup and saucer on a tea tray.

'This London or the real one?' she replied in a warm voice.

'Am I interrupting?' said Mr Weasley, a look of concern clouding his gaze as he glanced at the papers spread out over the table in front of her.

'Of course not,' she replied. 'We can take our tea break together if you'd like,' she added, standing up and pulling out the chair next to her. Mr Weasley smiled and sat down with aplomb.

'How's Ron?' he asked brightly, rather to her surprise.

You speak to him more often than I do, she thought to herself, before quickly replying:

'Basking in the afterglow of a successful operation by the Auror Office.'

'The Belhaine operation?' he said, a wistful look in his eye. 'They've done themselves proud, those boys. Are you going to the press conference?'

'I … uh … I'm not sure,' she replied. 'I'm really going to be terribly busy this afternoon.' She felt rather disarmed by the question, and annoyed at herself for not foreseeing it. Of course he expects me to go. It's a big thing. Why wouldn't I go?

Mr Weasley frowned slightly in reply.

'How's Mrs Weasley?' Hermione ventured, seeking to steer him away from that subject.

'Fine, though I'm sure she'd like to see more of you.'

She wondered whether Mrs Weasley really would like to see more of her. She knew the kind of looks she had been getting lately whenever she visited the Burrow. She reflected fleetingly that maybe Mr Weasley was speaking more for himself than for the matriarch of the Weasley family.

'How are Ginny and Harry?' she continued. Mr Weasley looked at her quizzically, as if he could hardly believe she was asking him the question. It occurred to her that maybe she had gone too far. 'We haven't had much chance to catch up with them lately,' she added quickly, trying to smile into the process. 'Ron and Harry have been so busy with this Belhaine business.'

Mr Weasley nodded. She could hardly expect him to be convinced. Does he think I should have been involved in the raid? I'm not an Auror.

'Really, Hermione, they don't tell me anything,' he replied, the same wistful look in his eye. 'But then again, I can't really expect them to. confide in me.'

'You're right,' she said. 'Excuse me.'

He smiled again and gulped down a mouthful of tea. Then he leaned in slightly closer.

'How are you, Hermione?'

For a moment she imagined that she was sitting in front of a psychiatrist. I suppose they all think I need one.

'I'm fine,' she replied, brightly enough. 'Just very busy, as always.'

'You don't need to hide what you're doing,' he said in the same friendly voice. 'I won't think the worse of you.'

She glanced across at him. She thought she could detect a slight sadness in his expression.

'You don't think I'm wasting my time then?' she said in a lower voice.

'You've never struck me as the kind of person who would waste their time,' replied Mr Weasley, sipping his tea again. 'In any event, I didn't come looking for you to give you a lecture.'

'No, you're not the kind of person who would do that.'

He nodded and looked down into his teacup before talking another quick mouthful of tea.

She knew that he had seen the pages she had been reading before he had arrived. She also knew that she was frequently the subject of concerned conversations at the dinner table in the Burrow. She knew what he was going to talk about, and suspected that he had been pushed into doing it. She decided not to waste any more time avoiding the subject.

'I'm very close to mastering it,' she said quickly, her words filling the silence.

'The Seeing Circle?' he said, glancing up from his cup.

'Some people have called it that,' she replied. 'The Circle of Sie would be a more correct form. I prefer the Seven-Pointed Circle.'

There was a pause, in which the only sound was the conversation of a pair of wizards speaking in low voices across the gallery.

'The Seven-Pointed Circle, then,' repeated Mr Weasley in a low voice. 'And what will it enable you to do, mastering the technique?' he asked, in the same, almost conspiratorial tone.

'Take on those who want to use it to bring down wizard society,' she replied firmly.

Mr Weasley didn't reply.

'Why is it so hard for everyone to believe that this is a real threat?' she exclaimed, her voice seeming to reverberate in the void left by his silence. Her voice had come out louder than she intended.

The wizards sitting a few tables away had fallen silent and were looking at them. Mr Weasley shot them an affable look of acknowledgement, while Hermione glared back in silence. One of the wizards tutted slightly and the other shook his head before turning away.

'Can't you admit that it's theoretically possible?' Hermione continued in a lower tone.

Mr Weasley seemed to muse over the question.

'That a kind of Muggle magic could be used to expose wizarding society?'

Mr Weasley deliberated. Hermione crossed and uncrossed her legs, gnawing her lower lip.

'It is possible in theory, of course,' he said finally. 'Some Muggles wield impressive powers, powers that would compete with what any half-decent wizard is capable of doing. I think even the odd book has been written on it.' Yes, I've read all four of them.

'I read the report you sent to Kingsley,' he said urbanely. Plenty of people read it, for all the good that has done us.

'Did you? And what did you make of it?'

His tone was one of easy and comforting familiarity, but she felt as if she were before the entire Wizengamot. She very rarely brought up the subject in front of Ron's family, but she knew that the details of her nocturnal activities and obsessive studies frequently did the rounds at the Burrow. She didn't know Mr Weasley had gone to the trouble of reading up on the Seven-Pointed Circle. The thought was something of a comfort to her.

'The sort of risk you're getting at, as far as I understand,' said Mr Weasley, 'is that this Lillian Herrick could try to curse a wizard, a high-ranking Ministry wizard, one with all sorts of magical security clearances, and convince him to undo the enchantments that keep our world secret.'

'That's one way of doing it,' she replied warily.

'And I suppose it would work, at least that part of it would,' Mr Weasley continued.

She dragged back the reply she was about to give and waited for him to go on, her mouth still half-open.

'Thing is,' said Mr Weasley, 'the behaviour of such a wizard would be so suspicious that the Auror Office would be onto him in no time on suspicion that some kind of dark magic was at work.'

She tapped her foot under the table.

'If that way doesn't work she'll find another,' she replied quickly.

'Well, maybe she's still looking, your Lillian Herrick,' said Mr Weasley.

That's just a polite way of saying nothing has happened since I filed my report. She hoped she hadn't started scowling.

'She's not my creation,' she retorted, her patience starting to disintegrate. 'I didn't inflict her on the wizarding world. She decided to inflict herself on us, to wake us from complacency.'

Mr Weasley listened quietly, as if he was waiting for Hermione to compose herself.

I shouldn't have said the word complacency. She knew that some people saw the character of Lillian Herrick not only as an invention, but actually as a mouthpiece for veiled criticism of the Ministry.

'Two years ago this Lillian Herrick gave you a nasty shock.'

At this remark her heart sank. It's all in my mind, that's what they all think. Still, she had to give him credit for showing even that much understanding.

'I suppose you could call it a shock,' she replied with a sigh. She wouldn't have called it a shock.

'As far as I can see,' Mr Weasley continued, 'what this person likes above all is to worm her way into people's minds in order to torment them. That in itself is quite serious, particularly as she is just as likely to attack wizards as Muggles.'

'Wizards even more so; we're more of a challenge,' she put in.

'Still,' Mr Weasley went on, 'she doesn't seem to do it as a prelude to killing them, like a certain person once did.'

You can say his name, he died years ago.

'She seems more interested in making people miserable.' He seemed to smile to himself at this observation.

'I suppose that makes her not much of a threat,' Hermione began, in a tone as conciliatory as she could manage.

'In any case, once she revealed herself to you, she lost some of her power to influence you. Perhaps this story of how she's going to help witchfinders bring down the wizarding world is intended to keep you interested in her, to make you miserable, Hermione. In that she's succeeded, I would say.'

She smiled in spite of herself and chewed her lower lip again. The same thought had occurred to her many times. Around the Ministry, people already thought she had lost the plot. And a pre-emptive strike on witchfinders would be sheer insanity, as it would only serve to confirm what the witchfinders had always claimed.

'I … I wouldn't say I'm miserable,' she replied, her voice faltering slightly. She had pretty given up trying to convince people that she was fine. She fell silent and tried to smile at Mr Weasley in a placatory manner. But the smile didn't last long and she ended up staring down into her lap, squeezing her nails into the palms of her hand.

Mr Weasley looked at her with a rather crest-fallen expression then pulled his chair a little closer to hers.

'How does it work?' he said, in a slightly conspiratorial voice. She looked up.

'Do you really want to know?' she asked. She wasn't sure if he was humouring her, but she wanted to tell him anyway.

'Yes.'

'It's all about words really,' she said. Suddenly the gnawing doubts were giving way to enthusiasm. 'Through the simple manipulation of words, the user can gain access to powers to manipulate objects in space, in time and within the mind. When The Testament of Sie was first written down, over 2,500 years ago,' she continued, gesturing to the scattering of pages on the table, 'writing was something new to the world. Very few people had access to it. It must have seemed like magic.'

She looked up at Mr Weasley again. He was following her closely, seemingly in anticipation of what was to follow. But suddenly his concentration was broken.

'Arthur!' came a booming voice from behind him and a large hand came down squarely on Mr Weasley's shoulder. Mr Weasley jumped slightly and swivelled around in his seat. A tall, vigorous, middle-aged man with a mop of wiry, grey-brown hair was standing over their table. He wore a battered brown jacket and a thick green pullover and carried a stack of files under one arm. He had a round, red face with pronounced laughter lines and sharp grey eyes.

'Mortimer,' said Mr Weasley politely, standing up and shaking the man's hand.

'Hello Mr Knott,' said Hermione politely.

'Hermione,' said Mr Knott, nodding curtly to her. Then he turned back to Mr Weasley.

'I'm sorry to take you away from your little tête-à-tête here, but there's something rather urgent I have to discuss with you, in private if you don't mind.'

'That's all right Mortimer,' said Mr Weasley, withdrawing his hand rather gingerly from Mortimer Knott's firm handshake. 'Was there anything else you wanted to tell me, Hermione?' he said, turning back to Hermione.

'No,' she replied quietly, and started to gather up the pages on the table.

Still looming over the table, Mr Knott peered suspiciously at the pages she was collecting together. Suddenly he thrust out a large hand and scooped up one of them. She began to stand up, but then sat down again, saying nothing. Mr Knott read the first few lines and began to frown.

'Still on the Urartians, are we?' he boomed.

Apart from being Undersecretary for Muggle Relations, Mortimer Knott was known around the Ministry as a formidable Classical scholar.

'I am,' she replied stiffly.

'Tell me,' he said in a lower voice, 'how many languages did this text pass through before reaching English?'

'Four or five, depending on which version you read.'

'Conclusion?' said Mr Knott briskly, an almost military cadence to his voice.

'Umm, I'm sorry?' she stammered.

'What, Hermione, can we glean from this?'

'Perhaps you'd better tell me, sir.'

Mr Knott's chin wobbled slightly.

'The conclusion, Hermione, is that whatever meaning this text ever had has almost certainly been lost in translation,' said Mr Knott, his voice more booming than ever.

'The English translation works well enough.'

Her reply was greeted with a snort of derision.

'Induces hallucinations, does it?' Mr Knott demanded.

'That's not exactly how I would put it.'

'Unblinkers the mind, I suppose,' he continued. 'Doors of perception opening and all that. You feel as if you're being enlightened.'

Hermione looked up at Mr Knott and nodded slightly. Mr Knott's mouth tightened in response. He leaned further over, so that his face was close to hers.

'But how do you know that the place it takes you is the right one?' he said in a lower voice. 'One word in the wrong place, one little mistranslation, and the path leads not to enlightenment, but to madness.'

Hermione looked away. The golden light over London continued to gleam in the background, seemingly falling over the city like a slow, fine rain.

'You're playing around with something potentially very messy,' he went on. His voice was more earnest; there was almost a sort of kindness about it.

'I understand the risk,' she replied, her eyes wide and dark. Mr Knott nodded and stood up to his full height.

'Arthur, if you wouldn't mind,' he said, turning with a flourish to Mr Weasley.

'Perhaps I'll see you at the press conference,' said Mr Weasley to Hermione as he turned away.

'Oh, I don't know if I'm going,' she began, but Mr Weasley was already out of earshot.

She was alone. She began to gather up her papers again, her hands shaking slightly. She glanced once more at the view from the gallery, but the image now seemed flat and unreal. She stood up and hurried away down the echoing metallic steps that connected the galley to the cafeteria below.