8. Defenceless Muggles

'Very good, she told me to tell you.'

Hermione looked up from the papers strewn on her desk. It was deep in the night by then.

Standing in front of her, silent and motionless, was a dark-haired young woman, her vaguely oriental eyes black and mournful.

'Are you one of them?' Hermione asked coolly, getting up from her desk.

'Why else would I be here?'

'I asked to see a gate,' Hermione said. 'I'm ready to pay.'

'And I'm here to carry out the transaction,' replied the girl. 'And to pass on Lillian's best wishes. She enjoyed your little preemptive strike and congratulates you for it. She says that as usual you haven't disappointed her.'

'Why doesn't she come here and tell me herself?'

The girl smirked.

'Oh, I think she wants you to get to know all of us. See what a nice little group we are.'

'Will that persuade me to join you or something?'

'We'll see.'

Hermione eyed her coldly.

'I want to see that gate,' she reiterated.

'Fine, we'll get it over with quick,' said the girl, as she made her way slowly and deliberately around the room, smiling as she scrutinised the sketches on the walls and glanced over the papers on Hermione's desk. Hermione stood rooted to the spot, following her round the room with her gaze.

'The circle constricts so I may breathe,' said the girl, leaning over Hermione's desk and reading aloud from a page scattered there. 'That's a nice way of putting it.'

At last she completed her inspection.

'So it's true,' she said. 'You did work it all out on your own. I guess all the praise being heaped on you is deserved after all.'

'I don't know anything about any praise, and I'm not sure I want it anyway,' replied Hermione. 'But since you seem to know all about me already, maybe you might tell me your name. Just as a courtesy.'

The girl looked at her flatly.

'I could tell you any old name.'

'Are you afraid that we'll find you, out in the real world?' Hermione replied quickly. 'Maybe you're not so happy in your little group as you make out. Perhaps we'll bring you back.'

'Bring me back where?' said the girl.

'Back to normality,' replied Hermione.

'Like you, you mean?' remarked the girl with a snigger.

'Point taken.'

'As far as I understand,' continued the girl in a sardonic tone, as she advanced towards Hermione with a syringe suddenly visible in her hand, 'you wizards want to stop us so you can remain hidden. That hardly seems fair. Why should you get to stay hidden?'

'I don't have any justification for it. But we're not going to let you bring down the walls just for entertainment.'

'You use your magic so blithely,' said the girl. 'You take it for granted, just like the protection around you.'

'You're only half right,' Hermione replied. 'If you treat it like that, you'll never control it properly. Such a person would only ever be half a wizard.'

The girl smirked.

'You're not speaking from your own experience, of course.'

'No, I'm not.'

'And now you think you've mastered our little art as well.'

'I'm getting there. Now I know how hard you worked to attain it.'

Suddenly the girl shot out her free hand and grabbed Hermione by the arm. Her hand was cold and her grasp firm. She drew closer to Hermione, scrutinising her features.

'I can see the circle around you already. But at the same time, it's terribly far away from you. If you truly close it, then your eyes will be fully opened.'

'And then I can be one of you, is that it?' replied Hermione in a low voice, throwing off her grasp.

'You can try.'

Hermione stared at her defiantly, reaching for her gaze.

'I'm not interested.'

The girl smiled again. Hermione felt her almost physically pushing away her gaze.

'You say that,' said the girl. 'But I'm here tonight because you're so desperate that you're prepared to sell your own blood to us.'

'I'm just following the rules of the game.'

'Well, we'll have to see how well you play.'

There seemed to be no more point in continuing the conversation.

'In that case we'd better get on with it,' Hermione said.

'Good,' said the girl. 'Lie down then.'

Hermione obeyed, stretching herself out on the floor. The girl kneeled down over her, syringe in hand. The syringe was connected to an empty blood bag that lay next to her on the floor.

'Ready?' she said.

Hermione nodded. The girl took up the syringe and punctured Hermione's arm. The act was almost painless, and Hermione lay on the floor and closed her eyes, waiting as her blood flowed out. She opened her eyes briefly at intervals, glancing across at the gradually filling blood bag and up at the girl's impassive face. She kept her eyes closed until finally she heard the girl whisper it's done. She opened her eyes and lifted her head slightly. To her surprise, she felt no weakness or disorientation. The girl stood over her, the syringe and the blood bag gone. She reached out her hands and Hermione allowed her to pull her to her feet.

'Have you taken full payment?' asked Hermione.

'Yes,' replied the girl nonchalantly. 'Are you ready to see the second gate?'

Hermione nodded. The girl led her to the door of the room. She opened the door and they stepped through, not onto the landing of Hermione's house, but onto grass. Hermione looked around and found herself before a farmhouse that stood in isolation on a forested hill. The wind whipped through the trees that almost surrounded the house, which was accessed only by a narrow lane that snaked down the hill, overgrown on either side. In the distance she could see a series of bracken-covered hills rising ever higher, the tallest capped with snow. Some of the hills looked familiar to her. The house seemed deserted, but the grounds were churned up by vehicle tracks, and trenches had been dug in random places around the building, attesting to recent activity. A nameplate was mounted by the side of the semi-rotten front door. It read Pendle House.

'Until recently this was even more of a ruin,' said the girl, who was watching as Hermione scanned the desolate, ramshackle building before them. 'No one has lived in it for years. Not that many people would want to live in a place so isolated, especially one built on a spot local people associate with witchcraft.'

'And this is the second gate?' said Hermione.

'We're nearly there.'

She led her to the back of the house, to an area where straggly, wind-bowed trees descended down a steep incline. Between two trees with tangled branches, a narrow, rutted path was just visible winding its way down the slope. Hermione went up to one of the trees marking the entrance to the path. Carved into the bark she could just make out some runes. They read: This is where witches walk.

'The path leads through the mountains,' said the girl. 'The local name for it is Witches' March. It's funny: you'd think superstition has no foundation in fact. But sometimes, old wives tales remember what even wizards forget. Do you know where it leads to?'

Hermione looked again at the runes and the path that led away under the trees.

'All the passages into Hogwarts have been identified,' she said finally.

'You're right,' replied the girl, 'but this is a passage that leads eventually through the forest and from there into the grounds of Hogwarts. It's very scenic, but quite treacherous, especially when the weather's bad, which it usually is in these hills. It's much easier to follow when you're out of your own body, so to speak.'

'It seems unlikely that Muggles would use it to enter the wizarding world, then, ' remarked Hermione.

'I wouldn't assume anything if I were you,' replied the girl.

As she spoke, the hillside and the farmhouse disappeared. They were back in Hermione's room.

'You'll feel the effects of the blood loss when you wake up in your physical body,' said the girl in a matter-of-fact voice, as if she had carried out countless such operations.

'Yes,' Hermione remarked drily, 'this much fun always comes at a price. Am I supposed to say thank you or something?'

'It hardly matters,' said the girl. 'Anyway, like you said, this is a game and we're still playing. You can say thank you when the game ends, if you like. Congratulate the victors or something like that. If you're still alive.'

'I thought you were supposed to be against complacency,' Hermione replied.

'You're complacent if you think you can resist us. To stand a better chance you need to lose your innocence. You're rife with it.'

'But by coincidence that would make me nothing more than one of you.'

'Oh yes, so it would.'

The girl laughed. Is she laughing to try and conceal something?

Hermione shook her head, tiring of the conversation.

'You've learned your lesson well,' she replied finally. 'What is it that you did to get inside the Circle?'

The girl smiled bleakly.

'More to the point,' she replied, 'what are you going to have to do to keep up with us?

The next moment she was gone, leaving Hermione alone in her room. As soon as she stepped out of the circle she felt dizzy and weak. She struggled across the room, making for the sofa bed. Just moving her limbs was an effort, so she gave up and sat down untidily on the floor. She felt drained of much more than just a pint of her blood. It's kind of like a contest. Will I last long enough to see all of the gates, or will my body give out? Her head still reeling and her limbs aching, she lay down on her side. She remembered her visit to Harry earlier that night. Her attempts to give Harry a simulation of Lillian Herrick impersonating her struck her as vaguely ridiculous. But she felt more confident nevertheless. We're not finished yet. She closed her eyes. This time only sleep awaited her.

When she opened her eyes Ron was standing over her, a grim expression on his face. A dull ache coursed through her head when she raised it so she allowed it to sink back to the floor. As she looked to the side, she saw a smallish bloodstain on the carpet next to her. Another messy stain decorated her sleeve. She looked up at Ron, who continued to stare at her.

'What are you doing?' he said at last in a choked-off voice.

'I must have fallen asleep,' she replied, trying to sit up but failing.

'On the floor?'

'It was… umm… a difficult night.'

She tried again to pull herself up into a sitting position, and this time managed it. She sat on the floor for a few moments, until the feeling of lightheadedness began to abate. Ron reached out his arm to her, but she was already struggling to her feet.

'Are you ill? Or did you injure yourself?'

She went stiffly over to the table, picked up her wand, and cast an enchantment that made the blood stain on the floor shrink and disappear. Then she did the same for the stain on her sleeve.

'That's nothing. Just a bit of a scratch.'

'You could just have come to bed, you know,' he said, leaning against her desk and looking at her circumspectly. 'You don't have to work until you pass out.'

She tried to look at him but found that she couldn't. She looked around her office. She felt elated, she realised, despite the lightheadedness, and despite the feeling of guilt that had gripped her as soon as she saw Ron. I can do it.

'There's a logical explanation for all this,' she said finally.

'Right,' said Ron. 'Can we discuss this somewhere other than under the spider's web?' he added, pointing balefully at the rendering of the Seven-Pointed Circle on the wall.

'Let's go downstairs then,' she replied evenly. 'No spiders there.'

She followed Ron out of the office, along the landing and down the stairs. She had to hold onto the banisters as she went down the stairs. She paused for a moment then went on, hoping he didn't see her hand was shaking.

When they reached the living room she dropped down onto the sofa. Ron sat down on an armchair, looking at her suspiciously.

'You look a right state,' he said. 'You're as white as a vampire.'

She laid her head on the back of the sofa and looked up at the ceiling. How much should I tell him?

'Ron,' she began, lowering her head and looking back at him, 'It's starting. I entered the Circle and spoke to her.'

'Her?' said Ron. 'You've been in contact with that Lillian Herrick?'

She nodded.

'Things have been put in motion. She's going to try and expose us. Just for the fun of it.'

Ron looked doubtful.

'How?'

'There are lost entrances to the wizarding world. Chinks in the wall. We've forgotten them but she knows where they are.'

Ron looked at her with a pained expression.

'And you want us to go chasing around the country looking for them?'

'Thanks for the offer, but that's actually sort of the easy part. She's going to show them to me.'

'Oh that's good of her. If only Voldemort could have handed us all the Horcruxes, perhaps we could have defeated him sooner.'

She found herself glaring at him.

'You talk about that as if it was the easiest thing in the world.'

'You know that's not what I mean. I'm just stating the obvious: if Lillian Herrick's going to show you how she's going to get into our world, what's left for you to do?'

It was a fair question. One she couldn't answer satisfactorily.

'Play her game, for the time being.'

'Play her game? Did those bloodstains have anything to do with playing her game, by any chance?'

'In a manner of speaking,' replied Hermione. 'I've reached a sort of agreement with her.'

'What does that mean?'

'Well …,' she began hesitantly. I know how this will sound. 'If I want to see one of these lost entrances, I have to give her a pint of my blood. There are seven gates in all.'

'What?!' Ron shrieked, leaping to his feet. 'Have you lost it completely?'

She stayed in her seat.

'Ron, I wouldn't be doing this if I had a choice. Anything I can do to give us a clue of what we're up against, that gives us a chance of defending ourselves, must be worth it.'

I know I'm clutching at straws.

'Even if that's true, and supposing this Lillian Herrick really is a threat,' replied Ron, and Hermione rolled her eyes in response, 'no listen to me, how come you're making a pact with the enemy? How can that be a good idea?'

She chewed her lower lip.

'It isn't a good idea,' she said plaintively. 'But it's the only idea I've got. Otherwise we're just sleepwalking to oblivion.'

This time it was Ron who was rolling his eyes.

'Here we go again …'

Now Hermione was on her feet too.

'I really can't see why you won't take this threat seriously.'

'I did,' he said in a tone of quiet exasperation. 'We all did. We investigated. Remember? That was two years ago. Do you want us to reopen the investigation? Do you want to have Aurors guard these entrances to our world? If you do, we're going to need some evidence. And some pretty concrete evidence, as we'd have to move people off other cases.'

She folded her arms and contemplated him quietly. Is this how it works, Lillian? Are you making sure he keeps on feeling important for as long as possible?

'Well, I'll be sure to make an appointment with the Auror Office when I have some evidence that's good enough for you.'

There was a foggy kind of look about him.

'Evidence that you're buying with your own blood.'

'Yes.'

'But if she's that clever, she could just invent the evidence too,' he remarked.

'That's possible,' she agreed. It was possible. 'But it's a risk worth taking.'

'You risk her making a fool of you,' Ron replied. 'I never thought anyone would make a fool of you.'

She shivered for a moment. She realised how cold she felt.

'I'm prepared to be a fool,' she replied in a low voice. 'In front of you … and Harry … and Kingsley. And the rest of the Ministry. I often feel like one anyway. But tell me one thing: do you really believe I'm making this up?'

Ron seemed to squint, as if he was probing the air in front of his nose for something.

'I believe that there's such a person as Lillian Herrick,' he replied. 'Although I've never seen her. And I'm sure she is a complete lunatic. But other than that, she's apparently tapped into some kind of feeble pseudo-magic and now imagines that she's some sort of amazing witch. And what worries me is that you're encouraging her by taking her seriously.'

She listened quietly, an expression of defeat etched onto her face.

'Try trusting me,' she said finally.

He looked at her.

'I want to,' he replied in a calmer voice.

'Well good for you,' she replied, swaying away from the sofa and heading for the stairs. 'Let me know when you manage it.'

Ron watched her grimly as she made her way slowly up the stairs.

Hermione crossed Clerkenwell Road and headed onto Hatton Garden. Isaac has some information for you, Argenta had told her. How soon can you get to his office? Receiving a summons to Isaac's office was rare. She rearranged her work as best she could so that she could slip out of the Ministry. It was nearly noon, and people were spilling out of their offices and into the neighbourhood cafes and bars. Isaac wouldn't be lunching out. It wasn't the sort of thing he did.

She had met Isaac Edwards for the first time about a month before the first sighting of Harry. At that point it had just been to hand over the examples of anti-wizarding graffiti she had been seeing more and more often. No one else was interested in them.

Isaac's office was in a nondescript four-storey building on a side street. She was buzzed in faster than she had expected, and when she reached the door to his office on the top floor it was already open. The room that served as Isaac's office proper lay at the end of a narrow corridor; off to the right was an additional room known as the 'waiting room', though she didn't have the impression that a lot of waiting went on in there. Setting off down the corridor, she was surprised to see the door to the waiting room open as well. Argenta Coyle was sitting inside on the green leatherette sofa put at the disposal of 'clients', a rather glazed expression on her face. She was one of those people who seemed to forever be changing their appearance. The rather severe look she had been wearing the last time they had met had been replaced by a green polo neck jumper and small oval glasses, while her hair swept dramatically down either side of her face and dangled half-way down her chest. With her hair loose, it was clear just how long it actually was. Her mouth was small and her lips pale. They had a perpetual look of deadpan irony about them. But today she looked somehow gentler.

'Hello, what are you doing here?' Hermione asked from the doorway.

Argenta looked across in surprise, her attention apparently distracted from something on the wall behind the door.

'Just admiring my handiwork,' she replied, pointing up at the wall. Hermione leaned round the door to look. Pinned to the wall was a large map of the British Isles, covered with clustered and scattered dots of various colours.

'What is all that?'

'Para-magical occurrences and witchfinder activity,' Argenta replied. 'They're colour-coded for ease of reference.'

'Is there that much para-magical activity in Britain?'

She hoped she didn't sound like she was humouring her. But Argenta gave no sign that she had detected anything in Hermione's tone.

'The red dots stand for real events,' she continued. 'The blue for imaginary ones.'

There were certainly a lot more blue dots than red ones on the map. Hermione's gaze honed in on a cluster of dots seemingly located in the middle of Dorset.

'What happened in Dorset?' she asked.

'Witch hunts.'

'Witch hunts? How many?'

'Six so far. But five out of six have been false alarms.'

'You mean they weren't real wizards being hunted.'

'Exactly.'

'Still, it must have been dreadful for the people on the receiving end.'

'Yes, they may think twice next time before playing at being witches.'

'That doesn't sound very sympathetic.'

Argenta's expression was unchanged.

'I am sympathetic to them. They're unlucky enough to be in Mr Marchelow's sector.'

Hermione shivered at the recollection.

'He's expecting you, by the way,' Argenta added, firing an inscrutable look in the direction of Isaac's office.

'So you've been collecting anti-wizarding graffiti. Why?'

Those had been Isaac Edwards' first words to her the first time they met, as he sat behind his ancient looking desk, the shelves behind him rammed with an assortment of books, folders and ring binders, all gathering dust.

'I don't know exactly,' she replied, sitting down on one of the two chairs in front of the desk without being invited to. 'It bothers me when I see it and I seem to see it more and more often.'

She had laid down her folder on the desk. He quickly took it and started looking through.

'Some of these I've seen myself,' he remarked. There was something immeasurably grave about him. Up close he didn't seem to be more than about forty, and he was even quite handsome, in a worn-out sort of way. His eyes seemed to suggest both great weariness and fierce concentration. She had expected him to be rather shabby and dusty, but in fact he was rather smartly dressed, in an old fashioned brown suit with a waistcoat. 'They bother me too,' he said finally.

'And this is your field, protecting wizards against this?' she ventured.

He looked up from her folder.

'It's part of it. Only wizards tend not to think they need protecting against this kind of stuff.'

'Why do they call you a witchfinder then?'

This drew something between a grimace and a smile. To most wizards, a witchfinder was a ludicrous figure of fun. She couldn't quite see it that way.

'My field is everything outside your world that intersects with it. That means non-magical people with an interest in magic and the occult; people who believe in magic and fear it, including people who style themselves as witchfinders; but also every kind of magic other than the kind you wield.'

'I've heard that there are other kinds,' she remarked, trying to get more comfortable on the hard wooden chair. 'But I get the impression they're somewhere more dissipated, more inconsistent, harder to wield.'

'The other forms are wilder. They don't have their own ministry, or schools, or shops, or any of the other trappings of society,' he replied. 'So you're right in that sense. They're on the margins. And not very visible either. Easily confused with hoaxes and frauds. But some are no less powerful. And they attract would-be followers. And witchfinders.'

'And you're helping protect us against them too?'

'In their pursuit of false magic, they may from time to time come across the real thing.' He handed the folder back to her. 'And when I look at the contents of that folder,' he added, 'I can't help feeling that some of them might be quite close to knocking on the door.'

He was sitting behind his large, time-scoured mahogany desk, copying the contents of a pamphlet into an old black ledger using a ballpoint pen. No magically assisted administration here, no signs of magic or any indication that he might have anything to do with the paranormal: just a dusty, cramped and cluttered office. It could almost be the office of an accountant.

For once he wasn't alone: sitting rather uncomfortably in front of his desk was a pale, gentle-looking boy of about eighteen, silently twirling an unruly lock of brown hair and looking very deliberately at a random point on Isaac's desk.

'My cousin, once removed,' said Isaac, looking up briefly from his ledger and pointing to the youth.

'Pleased to meet you,' said Hermione, unphased by the abrupt manner in which the appointment had begun.

She held out her hand and the youth shook it quickly.

'Pleased to meet you.'

'Simeon Edwards,' Isaac added, putting down his pen and looking deliberately at his cousin once removed. Hermione nodded to them both and sat down on the spare chair.

'Simeon has something to tell you,' Isaac continued, looking at Hermione. His gaze swivelled back onto his cousin once removed. 'Do you want to tell her or shall I?'

'You can,' Simeon replied.

Isaac looked searchingly at him.

'I may get the details wrong.'

'Oh I'm sure you won't,' Simeon replied.

'Nevertheless,' said Isaac in a more commanding tone. 'This is your story, you should at least have a go at telling it.'

'Ok then,' said Simeon rather glumly. He jerked his head round to look at Hermione, not quite meeting her gaze.

'A friend of mine has gone missing,' he said.

'Oh,' Hermione replied. 'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'By the way,' Isaac put in. 'Simeon's a wizard. Only he attends an ordinary school and has private magic lessons.'

'Ok,' said Hermione.

'Tell Hermione the name of the teacher you said you had last year,' Isaac continued, gently prompting Simeon.

'Oh yes,' said Simeon. 'Miss Herrick.'

'Herrick?!' Hermione exclaimed. 'Do you know her first name?'

'No,' said Simeon. 'Just that she was Miss L. Herrick. That's all I know. She left at the end of the year. Anyway, this friend of mine, Iona, the one who's gone missing, or run away in fact, because she left a note, she really liked Miss Herrick. Found her really inspirational.'

'Inspirational, you say?' Hermione asked, her gaze now burning into his.

'Yes. She did have a sort of air about her.'

'Did she have dark hair and green eyes?' asked Hermione.

'Yes,' he replied. 'Her eyes were green. They really stood out.'

'And what did she teach?'

'Oh … err … psychology.'

'Psychology,' Hermione echoed crisply, flashing Isaac a sardonic look. How appropriate.

'Anyway,' Simeon continued. 'Iona was really into magic. That's really why I came to see Isaac. I mean she was really into the idea of magic, even though she err.. can't do it. She was convinced that magic really exists. Although I never told her that it does. I sort of wish I had now. See, the funny thing was that once, a few years ago, we found a wand. A real wand. It had been abandoned under some trees in the park near where we live. Along with a Hogwarts cloak. I let Iona keep it. Anyway, when she ran away, the wand disappeared.'

'How do you know?' Hermione asked.

'I tried a summoning spell, but it didn't work. I even searched her room myself. She must have taken it with her. She said in the note that she was going away to improve herself.'

'Improve herself?'

'Yes.'

'And the night she went missing, I had a strange sort of dream. I dreamed I went back to the place where we found the wand and the cloak. A witch was waiting there for me. She said the wand belonged to her, but she didn't need it anymore because she had discovered some other kind of magic that was much more powerful. She said Iona was with her.'

'What did she look like, this witch?' Hermione exclaimed, leaning forward excitedly.

'Red straggly hair, a rough sort of face.'

Hermione looked again at Isaac, a frown stiffening her lips.

'Does that mean anything to you?' Isaac asked Hermione.

'No, but it doesn't matter,' Hermione replied. 'She could take any form she chooses.'

She turned back to Simeon.

'Can you show me a picture of your friend?'

He nodded and produced a photo from his pocket. The picture showed a pale, pretty girl with long blonde hair. She had an open, gentle smile that gave Hermione a pang of sadness. She didn't look like what she imagined an acolyte of Lillian Herrick would look like. How naive of me. The girl who had taken a pint of her blood hadn't struck her as being particularly nice or innocent. But then again, perhaps she had been too before getting involved with the Seven-Pointed Circle.

'When exactly did she disappear?'

'Four days ago.'

'I suppose she might come back.'

'Do you think so?'

She didn't. Not if the girl was under the power of Lillian Herrick.

'Is there anything else you can tell us? About this Miss Herrick in particular?'

He shrugged.

'Not really. She was a good teacher. She gave interesting lessons and everyone used to behave themselves in her classes. Most people though she was quite cool. But just normal really. Apart from those eyes.'

'And you said she left at the end of the school year?'

'Yeah. I think she was only at my school for a year.'

There was nothing much else that Hermione could get out of Isaac's cousin, apart from a promise to contact them if he remembered anything else. Isaac had very little to say either. After a few very long moments, Hermione made her excuses and slipped out of the office. Argenta was still sitting in the waiting room, her gaze absent.

'I'm heading back to the Ministry now,' Hermione informed her.

'I'll join you, if you don't mind,' said Argenta, jumping up from the sofa.

'Sure.'

'More news of her?' Argenta asked as they went down the narrow stairs.

'Yes, more news of Lillian Herrick, the inspirational teacher,' Hermione couldn't help being sarcastic.

'Yeah, I heard some of it through the wall.'

'This one she caught with the lure of magic.'

Hermione pulled open the street door and they went outside.

'It's hard to imagine what it's like, glimpsing it from the outside,' Argenta remarked.

'That's true,' Hermione replied, looking around with wide, suspicious eyes. She must know we're investigating her. She's probably enjoying it. She may even be manipulating the evidence. She considered visiting Simeon's school, although she wasn't sure what justification she could come up with for trying to gain an interview with someone there. It would in principle be possible to investigate Simeon's memories to see whether the teacher really was Lillian Herrick; although she felt sure she was.

'Let's not talk about it out here,' she added, her gaze falling on a man walking past in paint-splattered overalls. She had to reign in her stare. Why am I even looking at him? Why on earth would I think he's got anything to do with any of this?

'No problem,' Argenta replied. 'By the way, do you have time for a quick coffee when we get back?'

'I don't know. I'm getting behind with other things. It's harder for me to keep on top of work these days.'

They hurried across Clerkenwell Road and started to head downhill, making for the nearest entrance to the Ministry.

'How's Demelza getting on?' Hermione asked. Demelza had managed to get an entry-level job in the Muggle Liaison Office, which made her a colleague of Argenta. One of the only concrete things to come out of Hermione's report on Mr Morley and Lillian Herrick had been an extra post for Muggle Relations, with specific duties in the area of witchfinder affairs. Which meant that Demelza got to help out Argenta whenever she needed it. She had even been invited to Isaac Edwards' office.

'She's getting on well enough,' Argenta replied, never one to overdo praise. 'It's nice to have an ally in the department though. I try to give the impression that she's not my ally of course. I wouldn't want her to be tainted by association. They're actually sorry for her. Sorry that she has to work with me and the witchfinder. That's what they call Isaac of course.'

Para-magical investigator was his official job title. They were coming near to the point where the street they were on passed under the main road. A battered, unobtrusive door was visible in the brick-vaulted underpass. It was the place where Argenta had first waited for Hermione two years earlier to take her to see Isaac. She recalled a tall figure in a black trench coat standing on the pavement just opposite the exit, dead-straight red hair splaying out onto her narrow shoulders, her arms crossed and the fingers of her right hand drumming against her upper arm.

It hadn't been clear to her why Argenta Coyle, a former head girl of Hogwarts, was the Ministry's Witchfinder Liaison Officer, a position regarded in Muggle Relations as a punishment. Perhaps she had annoyed the wrong people. Certainly, the deadpan scowl usually present on her face gave the impression that either she hated her job or that she had the kind of personality that endeared her to no one.

'Maybe I would have time for a quick coffee,' Hermione murmured as they lingered by the door. 'But let's not go to the main refectory.'

'What about the Portrait Room then?'

'The Portrait Room? Umm… ok.'

There were two large cafeterias in the Ministry: the Upper Cafeteria, located just beneath the viewing gallery at the very top of the Ministry, and the Lower Cafeteria, located numerous floors below in what was known as the Portrait Room. It was a cavernous circular room, lined on all sides by vast portraits of former Ministers of Magic. Hermione normally preferred the Upper Cafeteria: even though the daylight coming in from the viewing gallery was false, and she was more likely to have someone staring at her, she found it easier to think in there. By contrast, the Lower Cafeteria was dark and claustrophobic and there was something rather intimidating about having the Ministers' portraits staring at you while you took your tea break.

They sat down at a table adjacent to a bare expanse of wall, where space remained for the portraits of future Ministers of Magic. The most recent portrait to be hung was that of Cornelius Fudge, who looked out grimly from the wall in a smart black suit. It wasn't known whether Rufus Scrimgeour had wanted his portrait done or not. A portrait of Pius Thicknesse had hung next to Fudge for a while, until it had been torn down. There was no portrait of the incumbent Minister of Magic, even though Kingsley had the right to commission one.

Argenta bought espressos while Hermione chose an out of the way table.

'Did you hear what Isaac's cousin said?'

'His cousin once removed?' Argenta replied. 'I caught bits of it.'

'I think it's really significant,' said Hermione. 'It must have been her.'

'I suppose it can give you a clue about what sort of people Lillian Herrick likes to recruit. Apart from you, of course.'

'Not funny,' Hermione replied.

'Well, maybe she hasn't recruited you yet. But you can't deny that she wants to.'

Hermione shot Argenta a grin of bleak defiance.

'Oh yes, she wants to.'

'Still,' Argenta continued, 'given this bargain you've struck with Lillian Herrick, you might have ended up meeting this girl anyway when she came to collect your blood.'

'That's true,' Hermione replied. 'But if I do see her, I'll know something about her. And these little traces of Lillian's real life, they're very encouraging.'

'Did you find out any more about that article?' Argenta asked.

'No, not yet,' Hermione replied quickly. To her shame she realised she hadn't given it much thought. Though it's not as if I've been wasting my time these last few days.

For a few moments they sat opposite one another before any other topic of conversation presented itself. Hermione felt that she'd rather lost the knack of making small talk.

'You know what I never asked you?' she began. 'How did you end up working here?'

'Even you think it's strange?'.

'Not at all, you seem to fit in very well,' said Hermione. 'It's just not the sort of job that you would have been expected to go for. You were Head Girl at Hogwarts. I've heard Professor McGonagall say that you're one of the most talented witches she's taught. And here you are working in a job where you're mostly working on things that aren't magic at all. Although I can't imagine anyone else doing your job.'

Argenta seemed pleased by Hermione's comments.

'I love doing magic,' she replied. 'But the less I do it, at least for day-to-day things, the more I appreciate it. Everyone was horrified when I said I was going to work with Isaac. The most ridiculous job in the entire Ministry, that's what my mother called it. A job guaranteed to sabotage my career.'

'Working with witchfinders, that's how they see it?' Hermione asked.

'Yes. Even though it isn't, really.'

'So does Isaac sometimes do…'

'I didn't just take the job to annoy everyone,' Argenta continued in a louder tone. 'Contrary to popular belief, it's a lot more interesting than most jobs in Muggle Relations.'

'I wouldn't let Mortimer Knott hear you say that.'

Argenta rolled her eyes in reply.

'Most of Muggle Relations is all about being condescending towards Muggles. All the more so after Voldemort.'

That was sort of true. The view within the Ministry that Muggles needed its protection had only grown stronger over the years. But so had the idea put forward by the Citadel movement that Muggles were a powerful threat to wizarding society.

'So working on witchfinders is an antidote to all that,' said Hermione.

'You're working on the outside,' Argenta replied. 'Literally. You get the chance to see how non-magical people see magic. It's different for you. It must be interesting to have Muggle parents.'

Hermione smiled wistfully.

'Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to be born into a wizarding family.'

'My family is about as wizard-ish as you can get,' said Argenta pointedly. 'You can barely find a Muggle in our family tree. I grew up on magic, morning, day and night, ever since I was born. We're even related to the Black family.'

'Really?' said Hermione.

'Yes, my mother is something like a third cousin to Sirius Black. On his father's side, I should mention,' she added. 'We have nothing to do with the Lestranges and the Malfoys.'

Argenta looked away for a moment, as if something had caught her gaze. Her eyes narrowed and something like a scowl broke out on her lips.

'Oh no,' she said, almost under her breath. Hermione turned and looked in the direction of her gaze. Striding across the cafeteria was a young man in a rather shiny suit. Hermione recognised him as Will Gash, a rising star in Muggle Relations.

'He was in my year at Hogwarts,' hissed Argenta. 'Insufferable Gryffindor. No offence, of course.'

Hermione smiled.

'Is that what you think of us in Ravenclaw?'

Argenta smirked.

'Come on, you know you're a bit full of yourselves.'

Will Gash positioned himself in front of their table and thrust a brochure down in front of Argenta.

'What do you have to say about this?' he demanded. Argenta scowled at the brochure. It was a copy of The Night Watch, the Citadel's official newspaper. Three quarters of the way down the page a sentence had been magically highlighted in red. 'Proof that witchfinder activity is not only increasing, but is becoming more invasive and aggressive, comes from the fact that the Ministry of Magic's Muggle Relations Service recently expanded its operations in the witchfinder field.'

'So what?' said Argenta. 'It's true, isn't it?'

'What's that got to do with it? Anyway, I never signed off on it. And anything like this has to go through the Spokesman for Muggle Affairs: i.e. through me.'

'What, do you think Isaac or I issued a press release?'

'Would that you issued such benign things as press releases,' retorted Gash. 'More likely you and Isaac Edwards had a chat down the pub with a chum from the Citadel.'

'Anyone who knows Isaac would know that he's the last person you'd see having a chat with anyone down the pub.'

'So how do you explain the fact that this information was leaked?'

'I don't know. But why do you assume that it must have come from me or Isaac? There might be half a dozen Citadel members in Muggle Relations.'

'I very much doubt that,' Gash snorted. 'Muggle Relations is the last place such people would be working. No, at best you let the information slip inadvertently. That would be mere incompetence. Or it was deliberate, because of some sort of symbiotic relationship between witchfinder liaison and the Citadel.'

'Oh, you must be right,' replied Argenta sweetly. 'Would you like to see my Citadel membership card?'

'This isn't a joke,' said Gash. 'I will be taking it up with Mortimer. I'm not interested in what your political sympathies are. You could be Voldemort's lovechild for all I care. That's your personal business. But a Ministry department cannot be seen to have an ambivalent view on an issue as important as Muggle rights.'

Hermione couldn't keep quiet any longer.

'I suppose you have some proper evidence that they have an ambivalent attitude on Muggle rights,' she remarked tersely. 'Because you can't seriously be making such claims on the basis of third-hand information in Citadel propaganda.'

'I base myself on what comes out of Argenta's mouth,' replied Gash tersely. 'Isaac Edwards might be a monosyllabic misery, but Argenta's got quite a mouth on her.'

From the corner of her eye Hermione could see Argenta's mouth contracting with anger. She could swear she was reaching for her wand too. I'd better keep talking.

'But you have no evidence that they've been making public statements on this subject,' said Hermione calmly.

Gash's mouth curled up in scorn.

'First of all,' he said in a clipped tone, 'you're not part of Muggle Relations, so you shouldn't be commenting on this issue. If you want to discuss this matter further, I suggest you apply to join witchfinder liaison. From what I've heard, their work would suit you down to the ground. But if you want my general view, as if we were discussing this as a matter of principle, I'll give it to you: you're another of these Belhaine apologists. And it's more serious in your case, because you're someone whose opinion and reputation carry, or carried, some clout around here. I'm sorry to have to say it to a fellow Gryffindor, particularly to someone I very much admired in the past. I can very well imagine what you would have said to someone who was ambivalent about Voldemort.'

'I would have said this,' replied Hermione. 'There was nothing to be ambivalent about.'

And at that she rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm: the word Mudblood was still visible in scar tissue.

'Like I said,' replied Gash, looking away from her outstretched arm. 'I'm sorry that I had to say it. It's painful when one's idol falls.'

'I didn't ask to be anyone's idol,' said Hermione.

They looked at each other in silence.

'One of the Ministry's most important tasks is to protect non-magical people,' said Gash.

'And it's right to do so,' replied Hermione. 'But the Ministry of today has one thing in common with the Death Eaters: it thinks of Muggles as weak, defenceless, ignorant sheep. But we're not.'

A curious smile slid out of Gash's mouth. Hermione glanced at Argenta and noticed that she too was looking at her in surprise.

'You're not a Muggle,' said Gash after a few moments. 'You're a brilliant witch, or at least you used to be. If you want to be a Muggle, you'd better turn in your wand and join them.'

He turned to Argenta.

'You'll be hearing from Mortimer about this, once I've made my report.'

Argenta said nothing. Her expression had calmed to one of serene contempt.

At that Gash nodded curtly, turned on his heels and walked away.

At first they said nothing. Hermione looked into her coffee cup, angry that Gash's disappointment at his fallen idol actually bothered her.

'Sorry if I just made it worse,' she said, looking up.

'Ah forget it,' said Argenta. 'It's nothing new anyway. It's good to have someone on our side.'

'Even someone like me?' said Hermione.

'Oh come on, Hermione, you don't need me to tell you what we think of you.'

'Thanks,' said Hermione. 'Sorry, that was a bit pathetic of me.'

'It would be strange to be a Muggle,' said Argenta, her gaze drifting off in another direction. 'I don't think I could do it. I'm too deeply bound up in magic.'

'You know, I almost reckon I could,' replied Hermione emphatically.

Argenta looked back at her. Her expression was more serious.

'Well, if what we think is going to happen does happen, then you and I, and everyone else will have the chance to see what it's really like.'