Her skin was cold and clammy when she awoke. The bedsheets on her bed were a tangled mess. Hair clung to her forehead and neck. Sweat drenched her pyjamas. Moonlight streamed through the single square window of her room, offering a dim view of the building next door's brick wall.
The scar on her chest hurt.
Hermione pulled up the top of her pyjamas and bared her chest to the cold air of her room, her heart still racing. Biting her lip, she looked down at ugly mark marring the pale expanse of skin. It was barely any better than it had been whilst healing. It was still starkly visible, its jagged edges and strange, purple colour an ugly and terrifying reminder of the events which had taken place at the end of her fifth year in Hogwarts.
A sudden dip in her mattress saw Hermione reaching sideways to pick up the large body of her cat. Meowing softly, Crookshanks curled up atop her bare skin. Hermione gently scratched one of his ears, allowing herself to sink back into her pillows. Drawing in another shaky breath, she ran a hand through her hair, attempting to straighten it.
She wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, not after this.
Moving Crookshanks, she pulled herself up from the bed. Strapping the wand holster at her bedside table onto her forearm, she grabbed her wand and made her way to her kitchen. Turning on the lights leading up to the small, outdated room she opened a series of cupboards and began to prepare herself a mug of coffee.
Minutes later Hermione leant back into her sofa. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to take in the sheer quiet and peace of the room, attempting to dispel the lingering flashes and images of her dream. It had been the second one this week. The latest in what now was a longstanding pattern.
It had felt terrifyingly real, it always did. The dark corridors of the Department of Mysteries, twisting and turning strangely as she ran through them. The smell of magic, heavy and charged. The distant sounds of shouts and screams mixing in with that of her own gasping breaths. She had been alone, just like she always was when she tried to escape the dark shadow of an enemy following behind. Glimpses of a silver mask and dark, heavy robes the only things in sight.
Reopening her eyes, Hermione pushed herself up and reached for the dark book which the man responsible for the scar on her chest had given her. Its title glistening temptingly under the electrical light of her living room.
The Full History, Cases, Applications, and Variants of the Memory Charm had proven to be as interesting upon a second read as it had in her first one, if not more so. The rare volume was better than the small collection on memory charms she had amassed since the war's end. It had proved to be, if dark, more detailed and informative than anything she had seen. How Dolohov had known to give it to her was anyone's guess, but the meaning of the gesture was clear even through the sheer oddity of their encounter. If she wanted to heal her parents, she'd need his help no matter what she thought of his price.
Clenching her jaw, Hermione slammed the book shut and set it to her side. Springing up from the sofa, she walked towards one of the bookshelves encircling the room's walls. She had bought most, if not all, of the specialized section on Memory Charms offered at Flourish and Blotts, as well as much of the catalogue Obscurus Books and The Ministry Press had sent her. Her research project had taken her through various commentaries and treatises on the working of memory charms and countercharms. If there was someone that knew about the subject beyond what the healers of St. Mungo's knew it was her.
Hermione huffed out, frustrated, and drew out two titles she had found useful in understanding the scope of what she had done in order to save her parents—Waffling's Advanced Magical Theory and the more dubious-sounding Curses and Counter-Curses. Once they were secure under her arm, she picked up the folder Alix MacMillan had given her a days ago and walked to the circular dining table set in a corner of the living room. Taking a seat, she placed the books on the table and opened the folder, flicking through the numerous pages and reports on her parents' treatment quickly.
Though her parents had been allowed to reside outside of the hospital over their being able to function normally in society, the sheer number of countercharms and potions that had been attempted by the healers at St. Mungo's was a startling sight. The most commonly known countercharms and potions had been the first to be used, as shown within the first pages inside of the folder, to little effect. The experimental and rarer cures which had followed after them, though more promising, had not managed to make much of a difference. Her parents remained, for better or worse, in the same state in which she had found them.
Flattening her lips, Hermione shut the folder. Whether she wanted to admit it or not she was stuck. The folder which Healer MacMillan had given her only really served as a compendium of what hadn't worked until now, much like her collection of books.
If she wanted to heal her parents she'd have to research far beyond what the healers at St. Mungo's had attempted, but where could she start?
Leaning back into the chair, she glanced backwards, at the book the Russian wizard had given her. A rush of anger ran through her at the sight of its cover. Why was it that it was the single most useful thing in her possession, a full five years after the war's end? What did the Death Eater know about that she had missed?
Clenching her teeth, Hermione opened one of her books again and began to flick through its pages in search of something, anything that could be of use.
Nothing.
Shutting it forcibly, she pushed it away, trying to resist the temptation that was Dolohov's book. She didn't want to consider the offer he had made, but she couldn't deny that she had very little to work with at the moment. Particularly given the news she had gotten from St. Mungo's.
Hermione bit her lip. What information does he even want in return?
She didn't have access to anything beyond sensitive information related to the war and the Order of the Phoenix, and the Death Eater had to know that she'd never willingly give those away. It had to be something else—but what?
Hermione rose from the seat and walked to a nearby bookshelf. Absentmindedly, she ran a finger over the spines of the various books held within the warped shelves. She didn't like how little she knew at all, particularly given everything that was going on, but it was clear that the Death Eater wouldn't be forthcoming unless she accepted his offer.
I have no guarantee that he will actually cure my parents, she reasoned, mentally running through the different options laid before her. Nor that the information he wants in return won't harm my friends.
The last part was what raised the biggest problems. Dolohov was bound to be involved in the events Harry had told her about. The open Gringotts accounts, Pyrites' disappearance, and Pigwidgeon's death couldn't be isolated events. Still, he had hit the nail in the head when he had said she was stuck. The book he had given her proved that amply.
Unbidden, a thought ran through her mind. Harry wouldn't like it, but, perhaps, this was an opportunity to gain information on Dolohov and the other escaped Death Eaters. Any help gained on her parent's case would be a boon—so long as he didn't attack them, she had nothing to lose. As for whatever information Dolohov were to demand of her, she could always refuse to hand anything overly damaging or lie.
Clenching her jaw again, Hermione picked up another book and returned to the table. The least she could do was think about it. Even Harry would have to agree on the value of the opportunity laying before her.
Marietta was at the department's entrance when Hermione arrived in the early morning. Not bothering to greet her, the older girl stood still as she stared at the middle-aged witch waiting in front of Ricbert Fawley's office, as did a few other employees distracted by the same thing.
Hermione remained silent as the older woman was greeted by Fawley. It was hard not to recognise her, not with the near-constant reports the Daily Prophet ran on her longstanding campaign—Fausta Thicknesse, the wartime Minister for Magic. She looked younger in person than in the Daily Prophet's cover pictures, though the grey hair mottling her dark hair and the wrinkles left no questions as to her age.
Marietta huffed and shook her head. Her lips quirked up into a sneer. "There she goes again. It's like she never gets tired."
Hermione looked at her boss. She was wearing slightly less makeup than the first time she had seen her, allowing a clearer view of the scars on her face. "Does she come here often?" she asked.
"Does she come here often?" Marietta repeated. Her sneer deepened. "Of course she does. Just this month alone she has dropped by Fawley's office five times." Her face twisted as Fawley allowed Mrs Thicknesse into his office. "She keeps insisting that her husband was under the imperius curse throughout the entirety of the war, as if her guilt hadn't been proven in the trials amply enough. All those witnesses—. Getting in the way of everyone's jobs—."
Huffing again, the older girl turned to face her. "Which reminds me about the fact that you should be in the archives, Granger," she said tersely. "There are new arrivals awaiting sorting."
Hermione clenched her jaw. "Of course. In the reception area?"
Marietta smiled. "Where else?"
Hermione walked across the reception area. She smiled at the few co-workers she had met on her first day on the job, ignoring the feeling of frustration welling up inside of her, and began to make her way towards the Ministerial archives.
It was only after five minutes of navigating the twisting set of corridors that she reached the ornate double doors of the archives. Dark and carefully polished, they had a prominent set of charms and wards layered atop them which prevented access from anyone without a permit.
Pushing open the doors, she stepped into the massive hallway that served as the general collection of the Ministry's archives. It was completely different from the rest of the department. It was cold, far colder than any other level of the Ministry she had been at. There were no windows. Its walls, painted a dull grey, were almost completely covered with rows and rows of compact metallic shelving. The lights, all fixed to the ceiling, barely shone brightly enough to distinguish clearly the labels on the files. A strange scent akin to ozone lingered in the air, likely due to the heavy wards protecting the rooms.
Hermione walked across the edges of the room and crossed the open archway that led into different sets of rooms dedicated to documents of various security classifications. Some, particularly those which contained documents with the highest security level, had files locked under charms and wards of their own.
She breathed in easily once she reached the very end of the corridor. Pushing open a simpler-looking door, she entered the small room that served as the arrivals area for new files. It was sparsely decorated, containing only a large set of shelving units designed to hold new arrivals. The destination of each of these files was differentiated only by the parchment magically stuck to their sides, indicating the security level of the file and its official title.
Kneeling down, Hermione quickly began to pick up the files already lined up within the shelves. Though there weren't as many as on her first day there were still a fair few, a number of them containing the newly filed records from the Wizengamot. She was about to pick a few of them up when a charmed paper airplane flew through her peripheral vision. Unfolding itself in front of her, she quickly recognized the looped handwriting of Marietta.
Fawley wanted to see her.
Breathing out heavily, Hermione stood back up and made her way to Fawley's office. The door was open when she arrived, with no sign of the woman she had seen entering previously.
The kindly wizard who had welcomed her on her first day addressed her quickly. "Ah, Miss Granger. Yes, I wanted to talk to you."
Hermione smiled. There were a number of parchments stacked on his desk, along with a sealed letter. "Is there a document you want me to retrieve, Sir?"
The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot nodded. "There are a few files in the archives I need to access. This falls outside of normal procedure, but it is quite urgent."
"What files would they be?" she asked. Organisation system aside, it shouldn't take her too long to find anything that the Head of the Department might need.
"I need to read Pius Thicknesse's records again. You should be able to find them at the fourth level of the archives, within his trial files." The wizard steepled his hands and rested his chin on them. Leaning forwards, he met her eyes. He seemed oddly serious. "Please bring them to my office as soon as you find them, Miss Granger. Access shouldn't be a problem but do be careful."
"Of course, I'll bring them back as soon as I can."
"Thank you for your help, Miss Granger. Some new information will likely make them relevant again, thus their sudden need," the man said cheerily. "How have your first few days in our department been? Not too bad, I hope?"
"I'll admit that I didn't quite expect the archives to be organised quite in the way they are. Why alphabetically?"
The corners of Fawley's lips quirked up. "You wouldn't believe how many problems we can sometimes find with retrieval—the sorting system isn't quite the best, but it's been organised like that for decades," he said. "How has your supervisor, Marietta, been? I understand you were both classmates in Hogwarts?"
"Not as well as I hoped," Hermione said, grimacing. What could she say about how the ex-Ravenclaw had treated her? "We don't always see eye to eye."
"I'm sure you will both figure things out." The Chief Warlock smiled apologetically. "If things don't improve as time goes by, come to me and I will make sure to talk to her. You are a valued employee of the Department, Miss Granger."
The memory of Dolohov flashed through her mind, and Hermione looked away from the older man guiltily. She hadn't reported the man's appearance, but she certainly should have. "Thank you," she said.
A soft knock on the office's heavy wooden doors sounded throughout the room. "Ricbert, a moment?" a wizard said loudly. "I need to leave for Scotland to oversee the plan concerning Greyback's old pack before the morning is over."
Hermione turned to find Oeric Abbot at the door. His shoulders were raised and stiff as he clutched what unmistakably was the same silver pocket watch he had been wearing on her first day in the Department. It was open this time, if just barely, allowing a glimpse of the photograph within the cover's underside. Hermione couldn't recognise the smiling woman, but the identities of the other two people beside her were clear—the girl who had been her classmate, Hannah Abbott, and Oeric himself.
"Of course, Oeric," Fawley said. He smiled at Hermione again. "Sorry, Hermione. It seems our meeting will be cut slightly short again."
Hermione nodded. Turning around, she left the office and walked back to the archives, following the same path she had less than an hour ago. She bit her lip as ran through Oeric Abbott's apparent assignment in her mind. It was good that the issues concerning Fenrir Greyback's old pack were finally going to be addressed, given how the man had succeeded in evading capture so far. Still, the question of just what would happen to the werewolves involved—all men and women who had once been coerced by Greyback into joining his pack—didn't bode too well.
A shiver ran through her spine as she re-entered the archives. Turning left at the open archway, she entered the room that served as the storage point for files ranked at the fourth level of security. Flattening her lips as she crossed through the heavier wards set around the room, she stopped and scanned the room.
Just where will Pius Thicknesse's trial file be located at? she wondered. It was anyone's guess where it could have been placed under the alphabetical organisation system. Had it been classified under the man's own name, or under a different title, as a part of a larger group of files?
Hermione sighed and began to walk across the rows of shelving units, deciding to first search for the former Minister for Magic's name. When her search revealed nothing, she gradually began to look through the other rows of shelves, searching for his first name and previous positions. Eventually, a good number of minutes later, she finally came across a sizeable set of files at the end of the room. Though clearly labelled, the chosen title for the group of files—Second Wizarding War Trials—revealed nothing about their contents.
Kneeling down, Hermione picked up the first of the files in the set. She smiled as she saw Thicknesse' name. The file that the Chief Warlock wanted was within this collection, together with those of the other people who had been tried.
Picking up the first file, she read through the list of documents contained within. They were organised chronologically, with Thicknesse's at the very front. Following after him were Albert Runcorn's and Cornfoot's own father, along with a long list of Death Eaters and collaborators.
Flicking through the different sections of the heavy file, she soon found herself looking at the introductory notes of Pius Thicknesse's trial. Close to the top of the page, a picture from a Daily Prophet special headed the section. It was hard not to recognise it—the pale figure of the old Minister at the moment of his sentencing, when he had been condemned to the Dementor's Kiss.
Hermione swallowed and detached the section. It was all that the head of the department would need. Unbidden, however, her eyes fell on the titles of the sections following the old Minister's. The typewritten name of Dolohov stood out, along with that of other Death Eaters.
His files were quite close to Thicknesse's own, most likely due to the dates on which he and other Death Eaters had been called to stand trial. Though the surviving original members of the Knights of Walpurgis had been the first to be tried—Bedivere Avery, Livius Mulciber, and Thoros Nott—other big names had followed soon afterwards. Amongst these had been Death Eaters like Augustus Rookwood, Rabastan Lestrange—the brother of which had apparently died resisting arrest at the Battle of Hogwarts—and, finally, Dolohov himself.
Biting her lip, Hermione flicked quickly to Dolohov's file. It wasn't something she should so much as consider, but it was hard to resist the temptation. Any information on the man beyond what she already knew would be welcome, considering what he had offered.
The report heading the trial records, dated nineteen eighty-seven, appeared to be a summary of previous information on him. An extract taken from a Daily Prophet article from a year later appeared in bold underlining, with pictures of a serious-looking youth and a ragged-looking man dominating the page besides it.
ARKADIY DOLOHOV DIES
Authorities have confirmed that Arkadiy Fyodorovich Dolohov, one of the oldest known servants of You-Know-Who, has passed in Azkaban due to poor health. His son Antonin, who famously took part in Death Eater attacks despite his young age, has remained incarcerated within the same prison since the discovery of his crimes in 1987…
Hermione turned the page and began to read through what must have been one of the first reports on Antonin Dolohov. Just three years older than Bill Weasley, he had been under Ministry tutorship since the time of his father's arrest. He had been awarded a Mastery in Charms fresh out of Hogwarts due to research on warding, only to be arrested at Tintagel Island at the age of twenty.
As she read on, she found herself grimacing. His early induction into the Death Eaters at the age of fourteen or fifteen hadn't stopped him from actively participating in the war. The Russian wizard had instead managed to stand out as a brutal Death Eater with a penchant for spell creation. Over the course of the investigation following his arrest, his participation in Muggles attacks and use of illegal dark magic had been completely uncovered; with charges concerning the murders of Fabian and Gideon Prewett—corroborated by Igor Karkaroff in his own trial—and of his own Ministry-posted tutors being added later. Another turn of the page revealed an additional set of reports dated from after his capture at the Department of Ministries, together with a final set of documents presented as evidence in his trial following the Battle of Hogwarts. Unlike other witches and wizards tried at the time, he had never denied anything.
Hermione shut the folder and breathed in shakily. Though the file seemed to lack the sadism Harry said was ever-present in the records of wizards like Greyback or MacNair, the clear descriptions of just what he had done were unnerving. Dolohov was, perhaps, one of the worst Death Eaters to have as an escapee. It was clear that he was dangerous, particularly due to the single-mindedness reports claimed he possessed and his magical expertise. Had he wanted to it was clear that he would have been able to kill her inside of her flat.
Why hadn't he? What could be valuable enough to risk approaching her as he had?
Placing the file back onto its shelf, Hermione stood up and pressed Thicknesse's records into her chest. Pointedly avoiding looking back at the trial records, she began walking back to Fawley's office. She had work to do.
o-o-o
Harry smiled at her as she approached him. "How was the morning, Hermione?"
Hermione smiled back. He was in his auror robes, she noticed, fingertips stained with ink. "Better than the first day, though Marietta doesn't want to make things easy for me," she said.
Her best friend frowned. "You shouldn't put up with it if she doesn't see reason."
"She still holds what happened at Hogwarts quite close to heart. If she doesn't stop, I'll tell Fawley about it." She sighed. "Same place, or are we going elsewhere today?"
Harry nodded, and soon they were walking through the hustle of ministry employees as they made their way to the Atrium's cafeteria. It was one in the afternoon, and, thus lunch break for the majority of employees.
The place proved to be as crowded as it always was when they got there, with a number of witches and wizards filling the rows of tables set across the bright, airy room. It didn't take them long to get to a table near the back. It was empty, much like it always was, and they took a seat just as a young wizard approached to take their orders.
Harry looked at her pointedly as soon as the wizard walked away. He leant forwards, lacing his fingers. "Is it true?" he asked. "How did they justify it?"
Hermione immediately knew what her friend was asking about. "It is. Alix MacMillan said it had to do with recent cuts in funding and changes in policy—only witches and wizards may be treated at St. Mungo's for longer than four years."
Harry's fingers tightened. "That's ridiculous!" he exclaimed. "Did she say nothing else? I thought the case was advancing well."
She pursed her lips. "So did I," she confessed, "but she said there was nothing to be done. She even implied I should count myself lucky to have them alive." Pausing, she looked around their table discreetly. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them. "I asked her if the case details had been shared with anyone, given, you know—," she continued saying, this time lower, "—but she said that that hadn't been the case at all."
Harry frowned and leaned back. He looked surprised. "I don't understand it. That they choose to close the case now is outrageous, no matter what the rules may say. Beyond that, some information has to have gotten out too, given…" He breathed out forcefully. "He knew about it."
"I know, but I don't think there's anything I can do beyond continuing the research myself."
"I know this upsets you, Hermione, but—." Harry's expression fell slightly. "Whether you manage to cure them or not, no matter what; you are like family to me and Ron. You know that, right? Always." He smiled. "If you need any help with the research, just tell me and I'll do my best to help out in any way I can."
Hermione smiled. "I know. Thank you, Harry." She leant forwards. "You'll disagree with me here, but I've been thinking that it may be in our best interests for me to accept the offer," she, voice barely above a whisper.
Harry's mouth twisted downwards. Eyes darting around, he drew his wand and cast a Muffliato charm. "Take it?" he said. "Of course not! You know the things he's done. He's most likely lying, and—."
"I know that, but you haven't seen my parent's file. The book he gave me, too…" Her hands shook. "I have no idea where it got it from, but it's better than almost everything I've read on the memory charm until now."
"Hermione," Harry said tersely. "He's a death eater."
"Exactly! Dolohov escaped together with other convicted death eaters years ago, and we still know nothing at all about what they may be doing. You know that better than anyone, Harry," Hermione insisted. "I don't like the thought of this either, but even ignoring what I'd discover in relation to my parent's case. How much information would I be able to get on what they're doing? We'd have to be able to meet somewhere. That alone will be valuable information."
Her friend's expression darkened, but he didn't argue. "Still. He said he wanted information in return, didn't he?"
"He did, but if he's offering me a deal it can't be anything I'd be immediately opposed to. Besides, I can always give him watered down information if it comes to that, or even half-lies."
"I don't like this, Hermione, but I'll trust you if you decide to go ahead." Harry sighed. "Just keep me updated on what you do, alright?"
"I will, thank you," Hermione said, smiling. "I don't know what I would do without you."
"Of course," Harry said, lips quirking up. "Onto another pressing issue, though. You must have heard already about the preparations for the commemoration of the war's end are advancing."
Hermione nodded. How could she not—it was the only thing the Daily Prophet had been reporting throughout the week. "The fifth-year anniversary. Kingsley wants you there?"
"Yes, he asked me officially this morning, though he'd already warned me about it in advance." He breathed out shakily. "I don't like it—you know I don't—but after all the things we had to go through… If I can help to pacify things for Kingsley now that he's in office I won't complain, especially if it helps to bring some more change to the Ministry."
"I know." She sighed. "I'll be there too. I don't think I could avoid doing so, even if it's mostly a society event." Opening her mouth, she was about to continue when a series of loud cracking noises reverberated throughout the cafeteria. Her head whipped up in the direction the sounds had come from. She drew her wand. "What was that?"
Harry stood up, holly and phoenix feather wand ready in his hand. Around them, nervous murmurs filled the room. "I don't know." He said stiffly. "It came from outside here—from the atrium."
The loud cracks reverberated within the room again, noticeably louder. A second of silence passed before the tell-tale sound of wards crashing down filled the air, followed by screams. Harry started to run in the direction of the atrium before she could say a word, auror training obvious in the way he cut through the crowd of people. It didn't take long for Hermione to follow him. Evidence of spell damage grew the more she advanced, with most of it seeming to have come from the collapse of the wards rather than a direct attack.
It was too late by the time she got to the Atrium, though the scene that greeted her revealed more than aptly what had happened. Bright and virulent flames were licking up the fountain of the magical brethren, ready to expand further despite the ongoing attempts to contain them. The throng of people which would have normally filled the hall was nowhere to be seen. To a side, Harry was arguing with a group of aurors she didn't recognise. A few others, amongst them Stephen Cornfoot and Marcus Flint, were patrolling the perimeter.
Clenching her jaw, she searched for an indication of just what had happened. Someone had to have broken into the Ministry, but how? Not just anyone could get into the Ministry anymore. Not with the wards and security measures which had been put place after the war.
It was only once she had walked past a few straggling wizards that she saw it. A corpse, hanging from the front of the fountain of magical brethren.
Hermione felt herself grow pale. Her lower lip trembled as she walked towards the fountain. It was a man—a wizard—clothed in the distinctive robes which had been used by Death Eaters, broken mask hung from his neck. His face and features had been etched into her mind ever since the role he had played in the trials that had followed the second wizarding war. Light hair, pale complexion… there was no mistaking it.
Festus Pyrites was dead.
A/N: I'd like to thank all of the people that have reviewed and enjoyed this story so far, it means a lot to see comments with people's thoughts! I hope that this chapter was enjoyable. My apologies for posting it so late. I was aiming to have it fully edited a full three or two weeks ago, but with everything that's been going on the amount of work I had to do for university suddenly skyrocketed. It's finally properly done, though (and the next one shouldn't take nearly as long).
For anyone wondering, I imagine it won't be too much of a surprise-killer to say that Dolohov, along with certain other characters, will be appearing again very, very soon. This chapter marks the near end of the first part of the story, and the plot as it is properly understood will be picking up pace very soon.
In establishing the post-First Wizarding War timeline, you'll notice that I took certain liberties with the dates in which events took place and the ages of certain characters (Dolohov for now, though this'll feed into the ages of certain other characters). This isn't simply gratuitous changing, and I can promise that this all leads somewhere. As a bit of an incidental detail, my giving the full name of Dolohov's father establishes his own full name completely too.
Update #1: Text revised and edited as of 29/12/2020.