7. The missing person

It's far too far from here to the door.

Harry Potter reached out his hand, contemplated it rather uselessly then dropped it back down on the desk. Beyond the edge of the desk nearly all of the office was filled with empty space. This is such a ridiculously large office. He shook his head for no particular reason and set about putting his signature to the first of a pile of documents. The signature wrote itself on the page simply enough, but the charm that performed the act still had to be cast each time. A rhythm quickly imposed itself.

He had been through perhaps twenty when the sensation hit him. First the quill pen dropped lifelessly onto the desk, the charm no longer powering it. The next moment he scarcely saw the desk, or even the office. But he wasn't plunged into darkness. This was no loss of consciousness, seizure or hallucination. No headache either. Instead there was only clarity. An ashen clarity. Cold and slightly damp, and a taste of earth in his mouth. Although he couldn't see them, he felt that there must be trees around him and the sky above him. Don't let me leave here.

But the sensation passed, quickly he supposed, as they never seemed to last long. He sat perfectly still at his desk and listened. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, passing unseen from right to left then dwindling to silence.

A tautness returned to his body and he sprang to his feet. I must speak to Kingsley. The walk from the Auror Office to the Minister's office was short: ministers of magic had always wanted Aurors close to them, as if they were some kind of personal bodyguard. He was soon off his corridor and crossing the interstitial area that served as a kind of waiting room for the Minister's precincts. At present the sofas were empty: the Minister apparently had no appointments waiting.

The Ministerial corridor was short, with the Minister's office wrapping around the end of it. The Minister did not employ a private office; the only person in his staff, so to speak, was Vantricia, his assistant. It would be necessary to pass by her before dropping in on the Minister.

'Good morning, Harry,' she said, glancing up from her desk. 'If you want to speak to the Minister he has no one with him at the moment.'

Vantricia Bellu sat rather regally on her high-backed, intricately carved wooden chair that was famous around the Ministry. She wore a long, sweeping red dress and her long, centre-parted grey-flecked hair hung down in two waves on either side of her long face. She was thought to be somewhere between 50 and 60, but she had allegedly been in that age range for decades. I feel quite certain that everything will run smoothly while Vantricia is around, Kingsley had told him, not long after he had brought her into the Ministry to be his assistant. I know her from way back, he had said. She has no time for politics and she keeps a frighteningly efficient office.

'You will need to be quick, however,' she added in her husky voice, her black eyes scrutinising Harry. 'I expect Myra Tremayne within the next quarter of an hour.'

'I'll be quick,' he concurred from his station at the door. 'How are you, by the way, Vantricia?'

She rolled her eyes and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. 'The usual, Harry.'

'Oh good. Pleased to hear it.'

'I wouldn't waste your fifteen minutes talking to me, my dear,' she added, the hint of a smile on her lips.

'Fair enough. Sorry,' Harry replied, ducking out of Vantricia's office.

'Is this to say welcome back?'

Kingsley was up quickly from behind his desk, but crossed the office rather stiffly as he came over to greet Harry.

'Two days early too,' Harry replied as he shook Kingsley's hand.

'I know,' said Kingsley, smiling. 'I expect Myra shortly to tell me off for rushing back to work.'

'Well, I won't keep you,' said Harry. 'There's just one thing I wanted to talk to you about. I'll make it quick.'

'You don't have to make it so quick as that, Harry,' Kingsley replied, gesturing to him to take a chair and returning behind his desk. 'First of all, how are the prisoners?'

'Quiet,' Harry replied. 'Not very responsive.'

'They're being treated humanely though, I hope? The Dementors kept at a distance?'

'Yes, the charms holding them in place are all working fine.'

'And the latest arrival?'

'Acting like he was on some sort of holiday, so I hear. Behaving almost like he's …'

'Innocent, Harry?'

'Yeah, something like that. There wasn't enough evidence to charge him, but it doesn't mean he's innocent. I mean I can't believe he didn't know what was going on. He knows everything that goes on in his organisation.'

Kingsley leaned back in his chair.

'He certainly does. And there's really no way of getting him out of there?'

'Strangely enough, no.'

'Well I suppose he's happy for the time being. We'll have to interrogate them very soon.'

'We were just waiting for you to get back.'

'Thanks Harry, but I'm sure you would have done fine on your own.'

Harry shook his head instinctively.

'Maybe after a while in Azkaban he'll get sick of playing the innocent.'

'Maybe. He's not a well man, and I'm sure he has no intention of dying there.'

Kingsley paused, a pained expression on his face. He raised his hand to his head then quickly put it back down and looked again at Harry, the previous expression gone.

'You alright?' asked Harry.

'Absolutely,' replied Kingsley. '80% back to normal. That's not too bad, and certainly well enough to be back in the office. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?'

'It's just a strange thing I witnessed the other day.'

'What was that?' asked Kingsley, leaning forward in his chair.

'A wizard selling his wand. To a Muggle I mean.'

Kingsley's expression was hard to read.

'And did the Muggle know he was getting the genuine article?'

Harry hesitated. He had to be careful not to implicate Armin.

'I didn't see the final buyer. I just saw the seller and the intermediary. But the intermediary was trying to sell it to interested Muggles. I got the impression that the interest in it was because it was genuine.'

'And the seller, why was he selling his wand?'

'Said he wasn't any good at magic and didn't need it.'

'So rather than hand it in, he preferred to sell it?'

'That's right. Declared it as lost.'

'Have you spoken to Mortimer Knott about this?'

Mortimer Knott won't take this seriously.

'He might think it should just be reported to wand collection.'

'He might at that. And if you have the wizard's name, they'll be in a small amount of trouble for falsely declaring their wand lost. So what in particular worries you about this?'

'The potential violation of secrecy for one thing.'

'Did you see a wizard giving a demonstration of magic to prove the wand was authentic?'

'No. I didn't.'

Kingsley smiled.

'You don't mind me playing devil's advocate, do you, Harry? I can see this incident bothers you. I just can't quite see why yet, though I admit it is rather strange. And, I'm afraid, a little bit a sign of the times.'

'I know,' said Harry. 'That part of it worries me the most.'

'It's going to be difficult heading off that problem,' said Kingsley. 'To be honest we don't have a strategy yet. Till now it never occurred to me that a wizard would just lose interest in magic.'

I know someone it occurred to, but no one's listening to her anymore.

'Mortimer does have someone working on it,' Kingsley continued. 'I asked him to myself. But I fear it's going to be a long …'

Suddenly the door opened. Harry wheeled round in his seat, just in time to see Myra Tremayne breezing across the office floor, heading for Kingsley's desk.

'Kingsley, so good to have you back!' she exclaimed. 'I feel like we're back on course already … Hello Harry, how are you?'

'Fine thanks, Myra,' Harry replied, getting to his feet and starting to vacate his chair.

'Oh I'm sorry, I'm interrupting something,' Myra continued, looking contritely at Harry. 'Harry, please don't get up on my behalf. I just wanted to welcome Kingsley back.'

'That's all Harry was doing, Myra,' said Kingsley, smiling broadly.

'Yes, well I would have come sooner, but I had to give a statement to the press,' Myra replied breezily. 'We have to get Gondulph Belhaine out of Azkaban. Someone from the Prophet just asked me if I think he's a political prisoner.'

She looked slightly askance at Harry.

'Or else the Auror Office needs to find evidence so that we can officially charge him.'

'We're not there yet,' Harry began.

'Do you really think he wasn't involved, Harry?' Myra asked. Her tone remained friendly, but with a trace of annoyance in it.

'I don't know. But we're working on it.'

'Is it really not possible for you to go over to Azkaban and drag him out of there?'

He almost smiled at the oddness of the situation.

'Even if we could,' Harry replied, reigning in the smile, 'it could get very nasty. He's got some sort of connection to the Dementors'

'And anyway, there's nothing in the wizarding statute that would allow it,' Kingsley remarked.

'I know there's nothing in there,' Myra replied. 'Our legal team has been through every last piece of wizarding law since the time of Godric Gryffindor himself. Belhaine obviously knew there was nothing there either.'

'And he knows we can hardly pass a new law just for his benefit,' Kingsley added.

'Do you really think anyone would care in the long run, Kingsley?' murmured Myra.

'I won't allow it,' Kingsley replied.

Myra smiled resignedly but Harry could hear her tapping her foot.

'Is there anything else, Myra?' Kingsley asked. He's having to make an effort to stay calm. Who can blame him?

'Just to mention the backlog of postponed meetings and Wizengamot hearings. Can we reschedule for this week?'

'Yes, that's fine,' said Kingsley, rubbing his neck and wincing slightly.

'Wonderful,' Myra replied, briskly twirling a long, curled strand of blonde hair. 'The assistants can work out the details.'

'I'll speak to Vantricia in just a moment.'

'Um … I'd better be going,' said Harry, finally grasping his chance to re-enter the conversation long enough to get out of it and get back to work.

'Thanks, Harry,' Myra replied, all sweetness again, then quickly turning back to Kingsley.

'Uh, let me know what you think about that … thing I mentioned earlier,' Harry said.

'I will, Harry, I will,' Kingsley replied. But his voice sounded distracted and his hand was at his temple again.

On his way back to his office he was accosted by Will Gash, Mortimer Knott's assistant, who insisted on accompanying him to the Auror Office. Harry humoured Gash's conversation about quidditch results and the activities of the old Gryffindorians society, of which he was treasurer and Mortimer Knott chairman. As they turned a corner, he caught sight of Hermione down the far end of the corridor. She was standing by the entrance to a stairwell, listening gravely to Argenta Coyle, who was holding open the stairwell door as she explained something to her. Harry paused for a moment. As he did, Hermione turned her head and glanced his way, before quickly turning back to Argenta.

'Shame about her,' muttered Will Gash.

'What do you mean, shame?' Harry asked.

'You don't mind me speaking frankly, do you Harry?' said Gash in his usual chummy manner.

'Not at all.'

'I have great respect for her,' Gash continued. 'And you know far better than I do how important a role she played in defeating Voldemort.'

'I do,' Harry concurred.

'But she seems to have lost some of her previously excellent judgement. And it doesn't seem to be a temporary thing, I'm sorry to say.'

'No, it's not a temporary thing,' Harry replied in a guarded tone.

'I think I had the impression that the two of you aren't so close any more,' Gash continued.

'Well …' Harry began. 'Things have changed …'

Gash wisely chose not to dig any deeper on that point.

'Still, maybe you have more influence on her than others.'

'Influence her?' asked Harry. 'What about?'

'I'm sure you know what I mean,' said Gash, lowering his voice. 'This business with witchfinders, with Muggles being out to get wizards. It really goes down very badly over in Muggle Relations. Even now, there she is, with Argenta Coyle. I'm sorry to say this, but she's partly responsible for the popularity of Citadel. Some people still take her seriously.'

Harry listened in silence, looking at Gash with a furrowed brow. Keep on like that and I may have to knock your teeth out. Old Gryffindorian or otherwise.

Finally he gave Gash a bleak, resigned sort of look.

'I don't think I'd be able to exert that kind of influence, Will.'

Gash squinted at Harry, apparently weighing up his last statement.

'Like I said, I'm sorry to mention it,' he replied. 'I just wish she was fighting the right battles. We need people with her intellectual prowess on our side. What with this attack on the Minister, we're in worrying times.'

Harry nodded stiffly. The stairwell door was closed and Hermione and Argenta had gone from it.

'You're right about that,' he replied.

The quill jumped impatiently off his desk and back into the air, seemingly reproaching him for the lack of progress on the paperwork. He sat down at his desk and put the quill back to work, to its apparent satisfaction. We've done what we set out to do. Half the Ministry knows. Fifteen documents in he let go of the quill and looked away into space. But why did I get the easy job?

They had taken up their roles as quickly as they could after the return to the Burrow, but at a pace that would make the change imperceptible to the others. There was no bust-up, no specific reason for it, just an ever increasing immersion in each other's own life. Just two people growing apart as they grow up, was how Hermione had phrased it.

Ginny had been the first to notice. About three months had passed and things were nearly back to normal. Had something happened? Not at all: he had just been putting his priorities straight. And it was true, or rather, that was almost all of it. Apart from that one little thing, which never went away. And the more that silence filled the gap, the more convincing the gap appeared, in particular to the two of them. It really had been one look a year. And increasingly there were no circumstances in which there could be anything else.

He remembered one particular moment, about a year earlier as it happened, not long after she and Ron had moved to Chase End. The normal pattern was already in place: Hermione alone in her office, he and Ron knocking about the house, which was a bit too big for two people anyway. Ron had gone out to the garage to look for something; Harry had drifted up the stairs, lingering on the landing, unsure whether to knock on her door or scuttle back downstairs.

'Can I come in?' he said.

'Of course,' she replied in a low, sedated sort of voice. She was sitting at her desk, scribbling on one of the many sheets of paper spread out there. He went up to her.

'It must be really hard,' he said, gesturing at her work.

Her gaze was piercing.

'It's much harder than I ever thought.'

He paused, trying to decide which way to turn the conversation.

'You're putting yourself in danger.' He knew something of the risks she was taking. He reached out his hand and touched her on the arm. 'And I just stand back and do nothing.'

Still looking at him, she put her hand on his. Her skin felt cold.

'You're just keeping your side of the pact.'

'If I'm keeping my side of the pact how come I feel like I'm cheating you?'

The next moment she was up out of her chair and throwing her arms around him.

'I can't bear this,' he whispered as he wrapped her arms around her.

She pulled out of the embrace, taking her arms from around his neck and grabbing hold of his hand instead, guiding it to her left wrist. Her hand closed around his, pressing it against her skin.

'I never take it off,' she whispered into his ear. 'So don't say you're not doing anything.'

Ron's voice seemed to carry up the stairs, calling for Harry. Harry glanced round at the door.

'Go, go,' said Hermione, backing away behind her desk. He stood still, unable to move.

'Please close the door when you leave,' she said, in as mundane a tone as he had ever heard. 'I'm going to cry now, Harry, and I don't want anyone to hear me.'

The only light in the living room came from the television. A teenaged girl stared at them from the screen, the pale outline of a church tower in the dark behind her. Her hair was blowing in the wind and her eyes gleamed with anger and concentration. She raised her hand in front of her, her fingers outstretched. A ball of fire glowed in her palm and shot forward in the darkness. The camera cut to a suburban house, probably North American, just at the moment when the fireball struck it, blasting out the windows and immediately setting the house on fire. The girl stared at the burning house, a look of studied menace on her face. 'Now they'll notice me,' she said in a low, sulky voice, evidently satisfied at the destruction she had caused.

'Oh no! She's a witch!' Ron Weasley shouted, rocking back in his seat and laughing.

'That'll teach them to mess with one of us,' Ginny added from the sofa, an amused grin on her face too.

Harry smiled to himself and shook his head. Friday night had become film night at Ron's house. His preferred film choices were fantasy films, particularly films involving magic. Harry had to admit that there was a kind of appeal to seeing magic in the numerous forms imagined for it by Muggles.

'Actually, Hermione can do that spell rather well,' Ron added, stuffing his hand into a bowl of crisps.

Hermione was not in the room. She was undoubtedly upstairs in what tended to get called her 'office', surrounded by a mass of papers and old manuscripts. She had come down for about ten minutes when Harry and Ginny had arrived and made a little conversation, but had politely declined the invitation to watch the film Ron was proposing for the evening's entertainment.

Mrs Weasley didn't allow television at the Burrow, but once Ron had set himself up in his own house, he had been free to install a wide-screen television in his living room. He had also brought the old Muggle games console from the Burrow. Harry sometimes received an invite to join him and George for Saturday afternoon gaming sessions.

'Get us another beer, would you, Harry?' said Ron as he pointed the remote control at the television.

'Sure,' Harry replied, getting up.

'Do you want a beer too?' he asked Ginny.

'No thanks,' she replied. 'But I think I saw some cranberry juice in the fridge.'

'Gotcha,' he replied. He walked out of the living room and through the open door into the kitchen.

As he reached into the fridge he heard footsteps beyond him. Instinctively he wheeled around, drawing his wand, even though the chances of being attacked in Ron's house were ridiculously low. He found himself staring at Hermione. Her face was serious and pale in the half-light.

'Good to know your instincts are just as sharp as always,' she commented in the distant tone he had been used to hearing for the past two years.

'Well, I don't like to get complacent,' he replied, immediately adopting the same tone.

'Quite right.' She spoke clearly and deliberately, easily loud enough to be heard in the other room.

He was sure he saw a flicker of something in her eyes and the ghost of a smile flash across her face.

'Sure you don't want to come and watch this film?' he asked, his gaze flitting onto the open door.

'No thank you.'

'Why not?' Probably not a good idea to ask, but still …

Her eyes narrowed slightly. It could be that he was taking this a bit far.

'Maybe they're a kind of escapism for you,' she replied. 'But they put me on edge.'

'Ah, they're just a bit of harmless fun.'

'I'm glad that's how they are to you.'

'We could always find something else to watch.'

She shot him a brief, uncomprehending look.

'That won't be necessary.'

The can of beer was making his hand very cold. He quickly switched it with the carton of cranberry juice in his other hand.

For a moment her gaze was unswerving and unchanged. Then she looked away.

'Enjoy the film,' she added nonchalantly, before backing away and heading quickly back to the stairs.

He remained in the still dark kitchen for a few moments, his heart suddenly beating fast.

'Harry, have you got those drinks?' Ron's voice came booming through from the living room.

'Yeah, I've got them.'

They lived in different counties: Harry and Ginny closer to London, Ron and Hermione further west, although distance was hardly a barrier to their meeting.

The flat in London held memories that neither Harry nor Ginny wanted to revisit. Moving back to Grimmauld Place had never seemed like an option, so instead they had taken on a large house on the edge of a small market town. Hermione and Ron were renting a house in a secluded Muggle hamlet. Ron had become increasingly expert at blending in with Muggle society and made scarcely any faux pas when interacting with his neighbours. Harry would often meet Ron in his local, an ancient coaching inn a mile or so away in the next village. They would walk back by night along country lanes to Ron's house, their raised voices and laughter carrying into the silence that surrounded them. Sometimes Harry would apparate home from Ron's front door, other times he would come in for a last drink. But Hermione was rarely to be seen on such occasions. Sometimes she doesn't even notice when I go in there, he remembered Ron saying. She's just staring at a point on the wall, like she's in a trance or something.

'Did Hermione come down?' asked Ron. 'Thought I heard her in the kitchen talking to you.'

'Yeah, she came down,' he replied, looking straight at him. 'I asked her if she wanted to watch the film. She didn't.'

'No surprise there,' said Ron glumly.

He sat down next to Ginny and put their drinks down on the coffee table in front of them. Then he threw a can of beer over the table to Ron, who caught it effortlessly and cracked it open with a flourish. Then he settled down next to Ginny. As Ron restarted the film, he slipped his arm around her.

'I have to speak to you.'

The words woke him immediately. He sat up in bed and looked around him, his eyes blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the dim light there. Hermione. Sitting edgily on the red armchair in the corner of the bedroom, legs and arms crossed. She was dressed all in black, as if she actually wanted to look like a burglar.

Her face was deathly serious.

'I know I shouldn't be doing this.'

He glanced down at the place next to him in bed. Ginny was asleep on her side, facing away from him, her red hair splayed over her pillow and partly onto his.

'Don't worry, she won't wake up,' said Hermione. 'This is a dream you're having, to all intents and purposes.'

'A dream you've conjured up. Using the Circle,' he replied, his voice still low, as if he still feared waking Ginny.

'Yes,' said Hermione.

'So you've mastered it.'

Her eyes flashed in the dark.

'Yes. More or less.'

'Is this really a good idea?' he asked.

'No,' she replied. 'I already said it isn't. But this is too important. She's moving. There's no more time to lose. It's time to break our pact.'

He exhaled deeply. Is it wrong to be happy about this?

'Yes, it is wrong,' she replied, apparently reading his thoughts. 'But I'm happy about it too.'

The words made him smile. He could see her trying not to smile back at him.

'So Lillian Herrick's ready?' he asked.

She nodded.

'Only now she has helpers too. Others who can use the Circle.'

He thought back to what had happened two years earlier.

'A lot of people are going to have their barriers removed.'

'Yes, a lot of people are going to be helped to have what they want. If people want to wallow in complacency, let them. If they want to spend all their time worrying about Gondulph Belhaine and none of it worrying about Messrs Morley and Marchelow, let them.' She paused for a moment to draw breath before continuing. 'If they want to cheat on their friends, let them.'

He looked at her more closely. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes opaque, her mouth taut.

'What is it you want us to do?'

'I don't know yet. I don't know enough about anything yet. All I know so far is that there are weaknesses in the magical protection that keeps wizards hidden, weaknesses that she plans to exploit. There are seven of them, apparently, if she's to be believed.'

'Weaknesses?' said Harry.

'Holes,' replied Hermione. 'But she's going to show them to me.'

'Show them to you?'

'Does that surprise you, Harry? Don't you remember she likes playing games more than anything else? Especially games that involve me. And you, for that matter.'

He could swear that her eyes glinted in the dark as she spoke.

'You've been through too much on your own,' he said.

'I know,' she replied, almost amused at the idea. 'It shows on my face.'

'I don't think so.'

'You needn't go soft on me, Harry. I know I look more like my heroin chic evil twin every day And the fact that I'm here in your room is possibly already a sign that I've crossed some lines that shouldn't be crossed.'

'You are behaving a bit odd,' he said, half regretting the disclosure. 'It's like you're tempting me and warning me not to trust you at the same time.'

'It's for your own good. You have to stay on your toes from now on. You never know who might be listening, or trying to meddle.'

I want to believe it's really Hermione. I suppose that makes me vulnerable.

'What's that over there?' she said, suddenly leaning forward, her gaze pointed at a spot to his left. He looked around, following her gaze. She was looking at his bedside cabinet, more specifically at the little pile of books that sat there. Something thin and white was poking out from between the last and second to last books in the pile. Almost without thinking, he reached over and pulled out whatever was wedged between the books. An envelope slid into his hands. It was addressed To Harry. In Hermione's handwriting.

'Careful, Harry, doesn't that strike you as suspicious?' she said, her face inscrutable. 'Doesn't it remind you of something I once did?'

'Yes it does,' he replied. 'But would she know about that?'

'She knows about it,' Hermione confirmed grimly. 'Even though memories are harder to unlock than emotions and desires.'

'You think I should destroy this?' he asked.

'I don't know. But I think it's more likely to be something that's meant for you to read, whether what's in there is meant to do good or to do harm. Put it this way: I don't think it's going to explode or anything.'

'That's probably true,' he replied. After pausing for another moment, he tore open the envelope. Inside were two things: a note and a small metal object. He tipped the envelope over and the object fell out onto the bedside cabinet with a dull metallic thump. It was a simple silver ring. Not taking his eyes off the ring, he slipped the note out of the envelope and opened it. The note was in Hermione's handwriting. But I suppose that could easily be forged.

'What does it say?' she asked in a low voice, her voice cracking slightly.

He began to read out loud.

'Dear Harry, by now you should be pretty suspicious. Would I really be so brazen as to sneak into your bedroom at night while Ginny's asleep and tell you I want to break our pact?'

He looked up at her.

'Well, would I?' she asked plaintively, her eyes burning into him.

He continued to read.

'The fact that Lillian Herrick is moving against us should now be indisputably clear, proven either by my telling you so in person or else by someone going to the trouble of impersonating me. Either way, you have every reason to be suspicious, including of the person sitting across from you in your bedroom.'

Instinctively he looked up. She seemed quite unperturbed.

'Please keep reading,' was all she said.

'Nevertheless, I have to try and prove to you that I'm genuine. The real Hermione wrote this letter and the real Hermione is sitting just across from you, taking a terrible liberty in doing so, which I'm really sorry about. I'm sorry to you and sorry to Ginny. It won't happen again. By now I will have asked you to break our pact, but that was a simulation of what Lillian Herrick might have said if she was the one who arranged all this. I may have come across as slightly deranged tonight, as if two years spent studying the Seven-Pointed Circle has driven me mad. But I'm not mad, Harry, not yet at least! Most of what I will have told you up to the point where I reveal this letter to you has been an attempt to show you what it might be like for Lillian to try and impersonate me in order to speak to you. She didn't, but it's all too possible that she's watching, and possibly enjoying the spectacle. Please don't try and speak to me in the waking world. It wouldn't be right. Even now. Isn't it obvious to you that Lillian Herrick wants us to break the pact, even for the noble aim of fighting her?'

By the way, you probably still shouldn't be convinced that I'm genuine.'

He looked up, almost in vain, he thought. Hermione's expression gave nothing away.

'Let me tell you about that ring. Of all the suspicious things done tonight, that must be the most flagrant. What wizard wouldn't be suspicious of a ring sent to them in an envelope? Even though I'm telling you now that it belonged to my grandmother, that still shouldn't be enough to convince you. Memories are hard to get at, but not impossible, and certainly not for her. But I think there's one thing I can tell you to convince that it's really me speaking to you. Here goes: keep the ring for me, Harry. It makes us even. I think you take my meaning.

All my love, Hermione

PS that stuff I told you about holes in the separation between the magical and non-magical worlds is true.'

He looked up slowly. She looked nervously at him. It was a look he recognised. He smiled at her and she smiled back at him.

'The next time you see me,' she said, 'it would be useful if you could find some way of showing the ring to me. Just for an instant. Then I'll know that I successfully managed to pass it to you through the Circle.'

He nodded.

'I have one question: is the Seven-Pointed Circle more powerful than our magic, do you think?'

'I don't know. I never thought about it that way. But in the hands of Lillian Herrick and her helpers, it's particularly dangerous.'

'And we still can't work together on this?'

She shook her head vigorously.

'She wants us to work together. Connivance, that's what she would call it. But quite apart from that, it would be wrong. I've muddied the waters enough just by coming here tonight and doing this.'

'I understand,' he said sadly. 'But isn't it possible this is all too paranoid? It's going to come to an open fight sooner or later.'

She nodded then chewed on her lower lip.

'It will when it has to. Goodnight, Harry.'

The next instant she was gone, the letter and the envelope too. He looked down at his bedside cabinet. The silver ring still lay there. He picked it up and held it up to the light between his forefinger and thumb. Then he reached down and slid it into the cabinet drawer, safely beneath a piece of paper.