Chapter Two
Patience
--
Hermione was feeling tired, antagonized, and confused enough for the combination to have her teeth gritted and fuming as she stalked out of the room with Harry. She didn't care for the heads turning as she made her way down the cubicles on Level Two of the Ministry of Magic, but she made no moves to prevent it. She hated coming here.
Some faces she recognized, but most others she didn't. All of them, however, had complete, undisguised curiosity on their faces as they blatantly stared at her. Hermione had the urge to snarl and hex a few for examples, but decided that would be more fuel for the fire of gossip. That and she also realized they were on the same side. So she continued to ignore them as she reached her cubicle at the far right, end of the room.
Didn't she expect this? This was always what happened when an Auror is rarely seen. And she rarely, if ever used her cubicle when some Aurors were practically chained to theirs with paperwork and reports. She knew it was bad enough for some to have placed bets on whether or not she was still alive.
Sure enough, when she glanced from under her eyelashes, she saw money exchange hands.
Not surprised but still disgusted, Hermione yanked out her chair and dropped into it more then sat. She could've laughed, or she could've sucked it up for her big, bad Auror ego, but the combination she had, along with the mountain of a knot in her shoulders had decided otherwise for her. Scowling, she stared at her clean, dust-free desk. She noted the precisely lined up quill holder, name plate, communicator, and picture frame, and wondered who got stuck with cleaning her desk.
Picking up the single quill in the holder, she idly twirled it between her fingers. For no reason at all, it reminded her how much she hated paperwork. Regulations, regulations… It was a bloody waste of time. Couldn't they see there was a war? That the place was crawling with Death Eaters? Right, along with sad, wanna-be Death Eaters posing in hopes the Dark Lord spares them when he comes out the victor.
As her mind spiralled into the rant with her eyes fixed on the twirling white feather of the quill, she knew she was stalling. There was no paperwork to do because she figured the Ministry finally learned and stopped trying to push it on her, so she was just sitting and sulking at her cubicle with people whispering behind their hands at her back.
Because she knew she was stalling, she knew she was letting herself, and that just made it all worse then it actually was. Clamping down on what she saw as weak, she glanced up from the twirling quill, and froze when her gaze landed on the empty picture frame.
Long ago, a friend had enchanted it to show the photograph she had in mind, and gave it to her as a gift. She said it was so she could have a bunch of photographs to look at instead of just one.
Lines raced across the blank canvass now, colour just as quickly seeping in. Then it was a picture of Ron, Harry, and her, bundled up and laughing while hurling snow at one another. She could only think they looked so young and innocent in their seventh year when melancholy hit her. Like they didn't know everything was already falling apart.
The quill snapped in her hand.
With a hiss, she set the frame face down with a snap.
She didn't notice another quill magically appear in the holder.
Grabbing the small black box with a square monitor jutting from the top, Hermione placed the tip of her wand on a white patch as she spoke.
"Level Five. Fred and George."
The white patch pulsed red as it magically scanned her wand, voice, and 'magical print', then faded to an orange when everything was correctly linked to her identification.
"Fred and George have been notified on Level Four," a smooth voice stated tonelessly.
She took her wand off her communicator, and patch remaining orange. She sat back, fidgeted with her wand, shifted her feet, and then realized how twitchy she suddenly got. Sitting straighter, Hermione tucked her wand away in one of the folds in her robe, crossed her arms, and carefully smoothed her face into a blank expression.
The only things she needed to do now were remember her mission, and what she needed to ask of Fred and George. She stared at the blank screen. And wait. Now she needed to wait.
--
"Fred! Bloody hell, would you get the MC!"
George Weasley hunched over a long, industrious looking table, every inch of which was covered in what looked like toys. All around him, things whirled, winked, screeched, blinked, lit up, or just stayed absolutely still. And there was his wand nearly burning a hold in his pocket while he was elbow deep in Tracking Goo with the black communicator ominously watching him across the room.
Disgusted with the lack of a response, George was getting up, a clear slime covering his forearms, when there was a flush and the appearance of Fred.
"MC… bloody Ministry Communicators. Do you realize how bleeding uncomfortable it is to use the john when your wand started heating up your robe pockets?"
George snorted as they crossed the floor of their shared office together, equally annoyed.
"We ought to design a new one."
"Ministry'll never accept it," George scoffed.
"Then lets strike. It's not like they've got us doing anything interesting down here."
"We'd be sacked first."
"They can't do that!" Fred protested. Their dialogue was lightening fast. "We're the best."
They dodged a pile of enchanted objects, the sheer clutter nearly twisting George's ankle as they sidestepped it.
"Then we ought to get another room for all this junk," George muttered.
Fred laughed. "Yes, because I suppose the entire half of Level Five isn't nearly room enough."
And answering grin tugged at George's lips. "They ought to just give us the whole bloody floor."
By the time they reached the MC, both twins were feeling considerably better. Drawing their wands at the same time, they initiated contact without bothering to ask who was contacting them.
George heard Fred's sharp intake before recognizing the face that filled the screen.
"You two get connected at the waist yet?" Hermione asked in lieu of a greeting.
Fred and George exchanged a look that meant more then words could say.
"Hermione," George started slowly. "We haven't seen you in ages."
Catching George's sharp, warning glance, Fred checked his next question. A muscle twitched in his jaw before he nodded in agreement. "We nearly put in a bet."
Hermione seemed to catch the look, but didn't comment on it. She surprised them when she asked, "Which side did you bet on?"
"Against death."
"We've seen you cast spells, you know," Fred put in.
When Hermione nodded, even with a ghost of a smile, both twins could see playtime was over.
"So what brings you to our humble abode?" George asked, trying to ignore the awkward feelings hanging in the air. Fred felt the same way. He was trying not to scuff or shuffle his feet.
"Did you get the body I sent up earlier?"
"Yeah," Fred gave up his battle and tapped his toes against the floor. "I heard it come in while I was in the john. Strange thing when you hear a dead body hit the metal."
"All right. I need him look at, and I don't want lackeys doing it. How soon can you two do it?"
George leaned a hip against the desk and tucked his tongue into his cheek. "Just what's so special about this Death Eater? One eyed? One legged? Charmed smile?"
"Amateur," Hermione replied, deadpan.
Fred let out an ever perfectly timed low whistle. George grinned, not surprised but still disappointed when Hermione's expression didn't change.
"What else?"
Fred grinned, matching George's grin. "Yeah. What else?"
"A potion."
The twins turned to each other crying, "A potion!"
Hermione's lips tugged. "Honestly. How soon can you look at it?"
"Oh, we can look at it," Fred started, "But what are we looking for?"
She shifted, and the twins could see the light Aurors got in their eyes when they pick up a trail. They found it unnerving.
"Anything. I need to know what it does. Everything it does. And if you can do it, I want to know what it's made of, and how to make it. Will you do it?"
George shook his head with a wistful sigh. "Dear Hermione, we can do everything."
"Yes, must you ask?"
"I was asking if you would do it."
"Still. Must you really ask?"
If they weren't watching so carefully, neither would've caught the flash of nerves, and knew she had thought of Ron.
"Yes."
"Well," Fred moved aside so she could see the roomful of 'potentially enchanted and dangerous objects of the dark arts' they had not yet inspected. "I suppose we can fit you in somewhere on our ever monotonous schedule."
"Check objects? Sod it. We'd much rather look at the corpse of a Death Eater."
"And a potion," Fred quickly added.
"I'll send it up then."
"How soon do you need it done?" George asked.
Hermione glanced around the room, distaste plain on her face. "As soon as possible."
Both twins responded as one. "You got it."
--
When the transmission ended with a promise of speed, Hermione buried her face in her hands. Her eyes felt dry and grainy from the hours she'd been awake. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a moments rest, much less a minute of sleep. Snuffling a yawn, she squelched the urge to lay her head down on her desk and sleep.
What now? Hermione asked herself. She had to get authorization to further investigate, but she couldn't think straight. She must've done this a thousand times before but… Her eyes drooped.
"Hi! Hermione, right?"
Her eyes snapped open at the high-pitched, perky greeting. She glanced up to see a bubbly blonde peering over the wall that separated the cubicles.
"My name's Cindy! I've had this cubicle for a while. It's nice to meet you! You've never been at your cubicle since I've got this one."
Hermione propped her elbow on the desk and leaned her temple into her fingers.
"What happened to Kingsley?"
"Oh, Kingsley doesn't use this cubicle anymore! Haven't you heard? Kingsley was promoted to the Head of Aurors!"
Hermione wondered if the exclamations were just naturally built into her speech, and then fleetingly wondered if those perky tones could make her head explode.
"Oh yes?" she asked as politely as she could. "When was this?"
"Well…" Cindy pursed her bright pink lips and tapped a coral tipped finger on it while she thought. "Rufus Scrimgeuor was elected to Minister of Magic! Then there was Baltzer. He was terrible! After they sacked him, the brought in Rolen! He was caught by Death Eaters. Charles had a breakdown, Artemis took an early retirement, and Hobbes was caught and sentenced for treason!"
Hermione felt the headache building with the whirlwind of facts, all stated with perk and cheer.
"Kenneth. It was Kenneth last time I was here."
"Oh! Kenneth! Nobody knows for sure where he went. I hear he cracked from the pressure! Kingsley is head now! He's good!" There was a momentary pause before Cindy continued. "You know… You're not as bad as people say! They think you're ill-tempered, easily annoyed and-"
"That's because," Hermione stated, cutting her off. "I'm only wondering why the Ministry is passing bubble-gum bimbos into the Auror department."
Cindy shrank back, the smile beginning to look slightly frightened.
"I mostly do paperwork," she finally replied in a small voice.
Hermione bared her teeth in a mock smile. "That explains a lot. Get back to riding your desk, Cindy. I have work to do."
Her head was gone before Hermione finished her sentence. Feeling slightly better now without anymore incessant chatter aimed her way, Hermione pushed away from her desk to seek out the new Head of Aurors.
--
Fred snapped on the thin, near transparent gloves that completed his sterile, protective suit. George was across the room, dressed much in the same way but looking at the mysterious potion. Fred sighed as he approached the body of the Death Eater.
He didn't mind wearing the protective suits over his robes too much. Not really. He appreciated the fact that it would disarm any nasty curses lingering on the body. It was discovered that you could be cursed should you mess around with some corpses. Yes, it's possible to hex a dead body to curse someone else.
It was better safe than sorry, right? Fred just wanted to know why they had to look so bloody silly.
Running his wand over the body, Fred muttered the standard spell they did first, every time. Colours would light up curses on the body, and from there, they could go onto finding what those curses were. On this particular Death Eater, there were some vicious slashes of colour on his desecrated throat, and a spread of black across his chest.
Fred took a closer look at the throat and sighed. This one would need to be inspected from the inside out. Raising his wand, he delved into the work.
He didn't know how much time passed before he heard George call his name. Raising bleary eyes, he squinted at George.
"What?"
"Tracking Goo illuminates the steps or path taken by the thing being tracked, right?"
Fred raised his hand to rub his eyes before he remembered the various substances he probably didn't want touching his face.
"Yeah. So?"
George corked the bottle with a speculative gaze. "So, this potion isn't… what I was expecting."
With a shake of his head, Fred was turning back to the neck for a second look when a faint grey smudge caught the corner of his eye. That was strange. He rolled up the Death Eater's sleeve carefully, muttering under breath.
His eyes narrowed at the sight. Then his eyebrow shot up when he recognized the shape.
"Uh, George? Come take a look at this."
--
When Fred and George decide to go find Hermione, she wasn't going to be difficult to find. Hermione fumed over her desk as she hunched over the fresh parchment on her desk. Grabbing a quill, she began scribbling her report down.
Paperwork, she thought in disgust. She went to see Kingsley on following up her lead, but the bloody secretary wouldn't let her in without first having a written report. She remembered a time when she wouldn't have minded, in fact, she would've loved to write up a report. It took her mind off personal feelings, let her align her thoughts and plan. Now it just infuriated her that she had to stay at her desk writing a report instead of going out and actually looking for the bloody Death Eater.
Yet she realized why they needed her to do it, and that she needed the results from Fred and George before she could actually do anything in the first place. So grudgingly resigned, she worked until the noise around her began to tune itself out.
"Hermione!"
Her hand jerked as she glanced up at the sound of her name. Fred and George's faces swam into focus.
"Bloody hell, woman. We've been calling your name for the past minute." You've been getting too into that report." Fred or George, she couldn't tell, looked over her shoulder at the 10 inch long parchment. He let out a low whistle. "All that and you haven't even gotten our report yet."
"All right." Hermione leaned back in her chair and ignored the urge to rub her eyes. "What've you got?"
"Okay." Both twins whipped chairs out of the air and sat down to form a cramped triangle, their knees bumping hers.
"This is what we found," whom she assumed to be George said as he pulled out a crumpled up parchment. He unrolled it to show a sketch of the potion with various labels and scribbles. "I got the potion, so I just whipped this up," he started, beginning to point as he spoke. "I was surprised after I got a look at it. It's different, but once you get down to it, it's really nothing but a crude Tracing potion. I like to call it goo, but it's not nearly as sophisticated." George shifted in his seat as he unrolled the parchment some more.
"See, tracing goo illuminates the tracks of the person they're following. You put it in one footprint, and it lights up the rest. It can be ingested and tracked that way as well. But this… I broke down the components and see that? It's nearly the same as Tracing Goo, but there are these ingredients in it that don't… make sense. Dragon eyes, goblin tendons, and traces of a hippogriff feather." George paused to let Hermione comment.
"Those are rare ingredients. That Death Eater couldn't have gotten access to that, not without someone higher up on the feeding chain. Someone a lot more powerful… not to mention someone much cleverer."
Thoughtfully, George tapped his nose. "We'll get to that. The potion is crude, but I don't think this Tracking potion needs to be consumed. I think its being tracked right now."
"This can't be in here then," Hermione quickly put in. About three years ago, a group of Death Eaters had apparated into the Ministry of Magic, killing several administrators, Aurors, and Hit Wizards before finally being contained. Since that catastrophe, the apparting enchantment had been put in, along with an enchantment that made the Ministry of Magic randomly apparate itself so it couldn't be tracked.
Fred leaned in, disregarding her remark. "Funny thing that Death Eater, though. He died a bloody, nasty death. Obviously you would've seen the muscles contracting and tearing, and then the bubbles from the burns. What you wouldn't have seen would be the burns from inside his throat. It was a wicked death with burns inside the tears. The one who cursed him really didn't want him to say a word about the potion. There's no proof that the Veritaserum caused it. We think it was triggered when he tried to tell you what it is."
Thinking back, Hermione nodded. "That makes sense. Nothing unusual happened when I gave him the Veritaserum. When he just started to tell me…"
Fred was already nodding in agreement. "Yes, but that's hardly the most interesting part. You see, I almost very nearly missed this last bit. He had a death mark on his left forearm, but it confirms your belief on his being an amateur. It wasn't real. Sure, it was burnt in handy dandy, but…"
Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Well? Come on."
"Please, don't rush me. I've been boring myself silly with 'potentially dangerous and enchanted objects of the dark arts' and new beginners that they expect me to train. Let me take my time."
Hermione gave him a second before he squirmed.
"Okay. There was poison in it! Whoever enchanted the mark for him did it with the intention of killing him in the end. The poison had already entered and circulating into his blood stream when he died. So I think-"
"It was a set-up," Hermione interrupted. Fred looked slightly annoyed. "I knew he looked too amateurish…"
"Hermione," Fred suddenly blurted. She glanced up at him, slightly surprised by the abrupt tone. He shoved the parchment in her hand and said the rest in a rush, obviously ignoring his twin's hard look. "Are you leaving for a mission again, after this report?"
She took the parchment, placing it on her desk without taking her eyes off Fred.
"Yes. If I get to investigate, then yes."
"Are you going to see Ron?"
Hermione felt the pressure start on her chest, and felt like a fool for it. The question was inevitable, it had to be asked.
"No."
Fred shifted uncomfortably, but he seemed determined enough to follow through. "But why?"
"He doesn't need to see me."
"You really think that?"
She jerked a shoulder. "He could come to me."
"He won't even know you've been here."
"Then your question is irrelevant."
Fred ignored the daggers George was aiming in his direction and ploughed on. "Could you be that cold?"
"Yes."
"Then you're not our Hermione."
George stood suddenly, grasping Fred's elbow. The chairs vanished.
"We're going. Now."
"That's a good idea," Hermione said stiffly.
"George," Fred started.
"No." George gave her a cut nod and turned away. Fred grudgingly followed.
As they left she could still hear their words in whispers and hisses.
"You didn't need to do that."
"He's our brother."
--
"My report," Hermione stated as she slapped the parchment down on Kingsley's desk. He looked up wearily from behind the stacks of paper neatly organized on his desk. It was the only organization in the entire room. Everywhere else looked as if a hurricane had just blown through.
Everything included Kingsley himself. He was a tall, black, well-spoken wizard who'd aged well. He still wore a silver hoop through his ear. But now, he looked worn with fatigue, the evidence under his eyes.
"This couldn't have waited until the next morning, Hermione?"
"No, I'd like to move fast on this one."
Kingsley laughed. "I get the feeling you want to just get the hell out of this place."
"I'd rather just be doing something," she replied stiffly.
"Oh, relax. It was just an observation. What sort of evidence have you got for me?"
"It was a set-up." Hermione began to outline each highlight Fred and George had touched on. "The dark mark makes me think there's someone higher up pulling the strings. He meant for the Death Eater to die."
Kingsley was eyeing the parchment when he shrugged. "So? What do you plan on doing about it?"
Hermione tapped her fingernails on his desk as she leaned towards him. "I want to turn the set-up around. The Death Eater doesn't know I know what the potion does."
"Or he does know."
She disregarded it with a wave of her hand. "So? He'll come after me anyways, and I'll be prepared for it."
"That's high risk."
"I could capture a Death Eater that actually knows something."
Kingsley leaned back in his chair as he studied her over steepled fingers. "What makes you think this?"
"Just a feeling, sir."
He shook his head, ruefully. "You used to actually listen to authority when you first started. Now I get the feeling it won't matter what I say. You'll still investigate this, won't you?"
"It'll be on my mind."
Kingsley sighed as he waved his wand over the parchment. His signature scribbled on, approving her report. "All right, go. Don't do anything stupid. If there's too many trouble, get out, get back-up."
"I'm not green," she replied stonily. "I know how to handle myself."
With a flick of his wrist, the parchment filed itself away.
"I know. You're just a little rash nowadays, and I don't want one of my best Aurors killed by scum."
She nodded, and headed for the door without another word.
"Another observation, Hermione?" she turned back. "You look dead on your feet. Get some sleep. I don't want you killed by exhaustion either."
"I'd much rather leave."
"Where are you going to go?"
Hermione shrugged. She was well aware her home had been destroyed in the last Death Eater raid, and then she wasn't anywhere near London enough afterwards to establish a new home.
"Just go sleep in one of the rooms."
She had no other choice, and knew he was right.
She nodded, and left the room.
--
He walked among the darkness as just another shadow. Scaling buildings to the skies, creeping along the edges of sidewalks and buildings, riding among the shadows cast by Muggles, he travelled unnoticed to his destination to which he'd been called.
In a dank, industrious building, long abandoned by Muggle-kind, he recognized his master's presence. Flowing along the shadows, slipping under the crack in the doors, he returned to his natural form. Rising, bones crackling, he started up the stairs to where his master waited.
"It's been done," he said with a deep bow when he met his master at the top of the stairs. He stayed steps below.
There was a click on the railings where long, skeletal fingers tapped. The rest of the figure was enveloped in a billowy black robe.
"You're certain?"
The man withdrew the green vial to show as proof.
"And Alastair?"
The man gave a lazy shrug, yet still managed to look respectful.
"Dead? It doesn't matter. I will hunt tomorrow."
There was a nearly indiscernible nod. "Then go."
Stuck in the middle, no one's making a move
I'm looking in and I got nothing to lose
--Foo Fighters