4
Hermione had fallen asleep over her papers sometime after 2:00 am but before 5:00 Tuesday morning. She woke to creases on her cheek and documents scattered haphazardly over her desk.
The team that had been monitoring Draco was dead.
Cornelius Fudge was missing in action.
The ministry--and the uneasy peace they had been nursing--had been shattered.
All these things would have been the case even had it not been for her odd dual encounter in Knockturn alley, but the heads up the ministry received about them would have come days, if not weeks, later.
She had been trying to sort things out; so many details that had been handled by so many different employees, in different offices. Was it any wonder than something could slip through the cracks? Perhaps it was a wonder that so many things -hadn't.-
Now Draco was lost. Hermione bit through her lip and tasted blood, hoping desperately that he was the only one.No such luck. There were 56 names on suspicion. 49 case files. That meant that seven people who the ministry by all rights should have been tailing day or night were wandering around doing God-knows-what, God-knows-where. *To God-knows-who,* added her subconcious.
Great.
Hermione sent her new information to every office, but it was five o'clock in the morning, and unlikely to be received. She made a quick list of the most important, most efficient Ministry workers and Colette sent owls to rap on windows.
The lights were still on; no one in the office had gone home. She could almost taste the panic.
Don't cry, Granger, don't cry, don't cry!
Colette was crying, just outside Hermione's office. Hermione steeled herself. By the sound of it, the French girl was hyperventilating, too.
Hermione held Colette closely, murmured soothing noises, and told her to get off home. Colette wiped her face with a sleeve, smoothed her blonde hair and tried valiantly to look resolved. No, she said firmly. She wouldn't go home. Not if there was any chance that she could help.
Perhaps Fudge had simply taken a long weekend. He did that not infrequently.
At 10:30, when he still hadn't come in, and no owls were responded to, a small attaché was sent to his flat.
He wasn't there, and the place was a shambles. Either someone had robbed it, or someone had packed in an awfully big hurry.
At 3:00 pm, Hermione was still sending owls out, from the secretary's desk. Colette was sleeping in her office.Someone had given her a cup of coffee that morning, and that was her nutrition for the day, and for several days to come.
Had it been only the night before that she'd been sleeping on a dead man's couch?
She still had bruises on her wrist. But what better way to have it banished from her mind than a sudden expose on Ministry ineptness and for the Minister of Magic to go missing.
She had started screaming for the first time in her life. Not out of panic, of course; "Murphy! Have we got the files on Avery?! ROWAN! Has anybody seen her? Why hasn't the team checked in?" Her voice was a little husky, unused to being quite so loud, but it did the trick.
Hermione wasn't exactly conscious of taking over, only vaguely aware that nobody else was doing it.
By 5:00, the aurors were checking in, getting new, slapdash assignments (usually their codes were dozens of pages long to ensure that they didn't toe any laws. Now, they were lines like "Don't let Rosier out of your sight" in Colette's hasty scrawl.)
Locating spells failed completely to find the Minister. Or Draco Malfoy, for that matter.
"Ma'am," said somebody timidly. "What about Lucius?"
Hermione shuffled a few papers.
"Don't worry about Lucius," she said absently."But he's listed!" he protested. "And it's in all the notes for a decade, that he's a danger."
No, he's dead, she wanted to say, but bit back the words. Why? Because he was drained of all blood by our old potion's teacher, remember him?
"Think about it. Draco simply wouldn't be in charge if Lucius was still in power," she said, trying to sound authoritative. *Please let the overstressed and inexperienced young Auror believe that.* The overstressed and inexperienced young Auror nodded and got on with whatever he was
doing.
Colette woke after a scant few hours and got back to work.
The office was slightly quieter after so many people went out into the field.
Hermione was pale and her eyes were ringed with shadow. Her chapped lips were constantly bloodied.
There was a constant shuffling of parchment on her desk--Colette's desk rather; although her friend was awake, Hermione remained at the more accessible spot. She did not immediately notice the letter.
It bore no name and no address, but she recognized the handwriting. She had been used to seeing it in red ink on her essays.
So the ministry's incompetence is finally brought to light?
Rosier is dead, killed by his own allies.
Brace is living in France and is no threat.
Davenport is still a danger. Try Knockturn. Tell your people to take care. There are tracking spells in wide use, but they are simple and easily blocked.
There are no meetings in person, but that does not mean no contact takes place. As always, the younger generation have grown up in the shadows they were born into, with a few exceptions. I assume you will be familiar with many of the names. Contact Dumbledore if you have not already. You've stumbled into the breeding of a new war. Cut it off at the pass, if you can, Miss Granger.
And that was all; little information, but it was precious enough.
War.
Again.
When did it become her job to choreograph all of this? Why was this on her shoulders? (Said shoulders shuddered a little.)
War.
Hermione had fallen asleep over her papers sometime after 2:00 am but before 5:00 Tuesday morning. She woke to creases on her cheek and documents scattered haphazardly over her desk.
The team that had been monitoring Draco was dead.
Cornelius Fudge was missing in action.
The ministry--and the uneasy peace they had been nursing--had been shattered.
All these things would have been the case even had it not been for her odd dual encounter in Knockturn alley, but the heads up the ministry received about them would have come days, if not weeks, later.
She had been trying to sort things out; so many details that had been handled by so many different employees, in different offices. Was it any wonder than something could slip through the cracks? Perhaps it was a wonder that so many things -hadn't.-
Now Draco was lost. Hermione bit through her lip and tasted blood, hoping desperately that he was the only one.No such luck. There were 56 names on suspicion. 49 case files. That meant that seven people who the ministry by all rights should have been tailing day or night were wandering around doing God-knows-what, God-knows-where. *To God-knows-who,* added her subconcious.
Great.
Hermione sent her new information to every office, but it was five o'clock in the morning, and unlikely to be received. She made a quick list of the most important, most efficient Ministry workers and Colette sent owls to rap on windows.
The lights were still on; no one in the office had gone home. She could almost taste the panic.
Don't cry, Granger, don't cry, don't cry!
Colette was crying, just outside Hermione's office. Hermione steeled herself. By the sound of it, the French girl was hyperventilating, too.
Hermione held Colette closely, murmured soothing noises, and told her to get off home. Colette wiped her face with a sleeve, smoothed her blonde hair and tried valiantly to look resolved. No, she said firmly. She wouldn't go home. Not if there was any chance that she could help.
Perhaps Fudge had simply taken a long weekend. He did that not infrequently.
At 10:30, when he still hadn't come in, and no owls were responded to, a small attaché was sent to his flat.
He wasn't there, and the place was a shambles. Either someone had robbed it, or someone had packed in an awfully big hurry.
At 3:00 pm, Hermione was still sending owls out, from the secretary's desk. Colette was sleeping in her office.Someone had given her a cup of coffee that morning, and that was her nutrition for the day, and for several days to come.
Had it been only the night before that she'd been sleeping on a dead man's couch?
She still had bruises on her wrist. But what better way to have it banished from her mind than a sudden expose on Ministry ineptness and for the Minister of Magic to go missing.
She had started screaming for the first time in her life. Not out of panic, of course; "Murphy! Have we got the files on Avery?! ROWAN! Has anybody seen her? Why hasn't the team checked in?" Her voice was a little husky, unused to being quite so loud, but it did the trick.
Hermione wasn't exactly conscious of taking over, only vaguely aware that nobody else was doing it.
By 5:00, the aurors were checking in, getting new, slapdash assignments (usually their codes were dozens of pages long to ensure that they didn't toe any laws. Now, they were lines like "Don't let Rosier out of your sight" in Colette's hasty scrawl.)
Locating spells failed completely to find the Minister. Or Draco Malfoy, for that matter.
"Ma'am," said somebody timidly. "What about Lucius?"
Hermione shuffled a few papers.
"Don't worry about Lucius," she said absently."But he's listed!" he protested. "And it's in all the notes for a decade, that he's a danger."
No, he's dead, she wanted to say, but bit back the words. Why? Because he was drained of all blood by our old potion's teacher, remember him?
"Think about it. Draco simply wouldn't be in charge if Lucius was still in power," she said, trying to sound authoritative. *Please let the overstressed and inexperienced young Auror believe that.* The overstressed and inexperienced young Auror nodded and got on with whatever he was
doing.
Colette woke after a scant few hours and got back to work.
The office was slightly quieter after so many people went out into the field.
Hermione was pale and her eyes were ringed with shadow. Her chapped lips were constantly bloodied.
There was a constant shuffling of parchment on her desk--Colette's desk rather; although her friend was awake, Hermione remained at the more accessible spot. She did not immediately notice the letter.
It bore no name and no address, but she recognized the handwriting. She had been used to seeing it in red ink on her essays.
So the ministry's incompetence is finally brought to light?
Rosier is dead, killed by his own allies.
Brace is living in France and is no threat.
Davenport is still a danger. Try Knockturn. Tell your people to take care. There are tracking spells in wide use, but they are simple and easily blocked.
There are no meetings in person, but that does not mean no contact takes place. As always, the younger generation have grown up in the shadows they were born into, with a few exceptions. I assume you will be familiar with many of the names. Contact Dumbledore if you have not already. You've stumbled into the breeding of a new war. Cut it off at the pass, if you can, Miss Granger.
And that was all; little information, but it was precious enough.
War.
Again.
When did it become her job to choreograph all of this? Why was this on her shoulders? (Said shoulders shuddered a little.)
War.