Chapter Seven: Speculations and Direction
Hermione was jolted out of the text she was reading, Wizarding Symbols and Their Meanings: The Power of Seven, by the distinct clatter of wings and claws as an owl arrived on her windowsill. She had moved onto some of her old Ancient Runes texts, checking through the significance of the letters as well as numbers, but it was very dense reading.
She squinted at her watch and came to the tired realisation that it was nearly three in the morning. She regarded the owl as she moved to let it in, hoping Malfoy might have made some sort of breakthrough, but she could tell from a glance that the creature didn't belong to him. It was sleek and well-fed, but didn't have the air of superiority she was sure an owl of Malfoy's would have.
She took the thin letter it clutched in its beak, offered it a dish of water, and pulled off the purple wax seal. It was from Harry. His familiar untidy scrawl was rendered nearly incomprehensible with haste.
Hermione,
We're assuming the seven are connected to our case. The Squad have done all the tests possible and it's not the same kind of magic as the torture curses, but it's close enough. It's very Dark stuff. Whatever spell was used on the seven was worse than the torture curses. You mentioned horcruxes earlier – the torture curses are a step down from that, but whatever drained the blood out of the victims was definitely on par with horcruxes. We need to see if we can find out what it was. I have a nasty feeling about this, Hermione.
It's a hunch, but we've got nothing else to go on, so we're going to be prepared for the seventh day since our group murder happened. Including today (good morning, you should go to sleep) we have three days until the next murder happens – if we're right. As the killings happened sometime on Sunday evening, we're going to assume the same.
If we're right, it's probably going to be another group murder. Two or more, I don't know. So be vigilant, and stay safe.
Harry
Hermione's outgoing breath shook, and the parchment trembled in her hand as she moved backwards to sit back in her desk chair. On par with horcruxes… What kind of Dark magic was it that required the blood of seven adult humans? Thirty-five litres. Her stomach churned, ready to bring up her dinner, but she'd eaten hours ago and there was little more than bile.
Forcing a glass of water down, she hastily scribbled a reminder for herself.
Look into blood sacrifices & spells regarding the same. Ask Malfoy about Potions for likewise.
She dropped the quill back in the inkpot, pushing herself away from her desk, and tottered out of her study and down the hall to her bedroom, summoning a potion for dreamless sleep from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. She didn't usually take anything to sleep, but thoughts of gallons of blood and torture curses were revolving around her mind, and Bellatrix's laughter kept echoing on and on like some sort of horrendous travesty of a song stuck on repeat that, try as she might, she just couldn't stop.
Crookshanks had been asleep on her bed, but gave a sleepy rumble as she came in, eyes opening very slightly. She gave him a quick stroke, but couldn't be bothered trying to get changed or even to transfigure her clothes into her pyjamas, simply stripping off and flopping into bed. She pulled the covers over her, clutching them bunched tight around her neck like a comforting heavy shawl, Crookshanks snaking over to wind around over the top, purring as she screwed up her eyes, trying to blot out Bellatrix's laugh. It rang on, however, so Hermione unstoppered the purple potion and gulped it down in an instant.
Warmth flooded her chilled body, bringing with it a sensation of utmost contentment and drowsiness. The cackling laughter was silenced, her thoughts of the case banished. She retained her presence of mind just long enough to stopper the bottle once more, but her arm didn't make it all the way to her bedside cabinet with the bottle. Her mind at last calmed, Hermione allowed the potion to cloak her in easeful sleep.
The next morning, Hermione rose out of sleep feeling refreshed and perfectly ready for the new day. A glance towards the rather charming bronze disc of her floating wizarding alarm clock dispelled her calm contentment however as she saw it was pushing eleven o'clock.
With a shriek, she leapt out of bed, goose bumps covering her as the cool air of her bedroom struck her utterly bare skin. Shivering, she summoned her clothes from the wardrobe and let them dress her as she snatched the potion bottle from the floor where it had rolled off her bed. It was completely empty. With a slight moan as her silk blouse pulled its sleeves up her arms and buttoned itself up at her neck, she set the bottle back down on her bedside table and rushed to the bathroom, her skirt hopping up her body as she went, jacket trailing along behind as pins stuck themselves into her hair, transforming her wild bed-head mane into a rather large, but attractively untidy up do. She'd drunk the entire bottle, too tired and distracted to take notice of the proper dosage, and now she was the latest she'd ever been in her life. Her alarm clock had probably rung progressively louder until it woke the neighbours.
In the bathroom, she set her toothbrush to brushing her teeth with a flick of her wand. She washed her face with a flannel, hastily applying some moisturiser and a bit of eyeliner while it worked on her teeth, and sent a spell down the hall to the study where her papers and books whipped up into the air, rearranging themselves neatly into stacks and slipping into folders before all diving into regimented order in her bag.
Three minutes later she was ready and downstairs, summoning her shoes from the rack by the front door and thrusting her feet into them before she ran out the back door into her hedged garden, her heels punching holes in the lawn. She made her way to the bird table in the far corner, standing on a precise brick, and twisted on the spot.
"I'm sorry I'm so late!" Hermione cried as she rushed into Harry's office, a croissant and pat of jam still clutched in one hand and a tea in the other. "I slept in." She flushed and determinedly avoided meeting Malfoy's gaze, sure he would make a comment.
"That has to be a world first," Harry grinned genially. "Don't worry, Hermione. At least it's only a Friday. Loads of Ministry workers have half-days on Fridays."
Hermione gave him an embarrassed half smile that morphed into a frown. "Friday or not, it's no excuse," she said primly. Then she seemed to notice the room. "Harry?"
The office had been enlarged and two more desks installed. Harry's remained to the left of the door, Malfoy sat behind one that faced the door, and the other to her right, facing Harry, seemed to be for her.
"It seemed simplest if you two each had your own area to do your research while you're here, and it means at the end of the day you can just leave it all where it is," Harry explained.
Hermione frowned. "But I have my own office."
Harry nodded. "I know it's a bit inconvenient for you to have to split your time between here and there, but given that most of your departmental work has been delegated until we finish this, this way at least you can separate your work more efficiently."
Hermione glanced at the desk that was meant for her, and had to admit the idea had definite merits. She smiled. "Thanks, Harry."
"Don't thank me – Malfoy came up with the idea."
Hermione turned to notice Malfoy properly for the first time. His desk was already covered with opened books and sheaves of notes, but he had been watching her since she entered, his expression unreadable but intense. For no particular reason, it made her cheeks warm, and she suddenly felt very aware of the trailing curls of her hair. She didn't usually spend much time on her appearance. A brief glance in the mirror to ensure she was presentable was generally sufficient preening for her of a morning. She did like to be well turned out, especially for work, but there was something about Malfoy's gaze that made her a little self-conscious, and she had no idea how she actually looked today. No doubt in her haste she'd muddled the spell and her buttons hadn't been done up properly or her skirt was inside out. She flushed deeper pink at the thought, and restrained herself from anxiously checking. "Thank you, Malfoy. It's a good idea."
He nodded curtly, then returned to his work.
Hermione cast Harry a confused glance, one eyebrow raised, but Harry just shrugged with a faint smile as though to say 'that's just Malfoy'.
Shaking her head slightly, Hermione went to her desk, taking the opportunity to relieve herself of her fears and discover that she was utterly presentable. Clearly Malfoy had a problem with her outfit itself. He could probably tell from a glance that she didn't wear designer clothing. She rolled her eyes. Tough.
Draco, contrary to Hermione's speculations, was trying very hard not to let his mind focus on the fact that she actually looked rather attractive, flushed and discomposed. It was a similar look to the one she had when she got cross, only then it was accompanied by the fiery spark in her eyes and a crackle in her persona. This tousled Granger was different. Innocent, somehow. It certainly bore out the idea that she had only just woken up. And there was something endearing about how flustered she looked.
He briefly contemplated what the sight of Granger sleep fuddled would be like, the corner of his mouth lifting, then caught himself. He shook his head, stuffing the thoughts into a very dark drawer at the back of his mind. He did not need to start thinking like this. He sighed. He blamed it on those ridiculous Muggle training outfits.
It took a trip back to her own departmental office to gather up the other books and notes she'd collected for the case before Hermione was truly ready to work, sending the lot over to her new desk in Harry's office before following them.
Harry had brought her up to speed on the information he had already appraised Malfoy of that morning – mainly yesterday's findings in slightly more detail, and the fact that he'd dispatched Hit Wizard teams to each of the locations of the previous seven murders, as well as one to the group murder. It was extremely unlikely that the murderer would come back to that same spot within a week, but he had no desire to take chances. The teams were to remain in position, monitoring for any signs of suspicious behaviour on the off chance that they might make an easy capture and end the grisly business before it went any further. All three of them were silently cynical about the chances of things being so easy, but it didn't do to voice their doubts, so they each maintained an optimistic façade after their own fashion.
Hermione discovered the note she'd written to herself that morning slipped neatly into one of her files, and shared the contents with Harry and Malfoy, the pair of them paling at the consideration of the sheer amount of blood taken from the bodies.
"It reminds me of Voldemort's resurrection ritual – in the graveyard," Harry said slowly, unwillingly, a grimace crossing his face. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son. Flesh of the servant willingly given, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy forcibly taken…you will resurrect your foe." He'd never mentioned the full ritual to anyone except Dumbledore and Sirius after it had happened, but the words had haunted him for years. "If it only took a few drops of my blood to bring him back, what in Merlin's name will thirty-five litres do?"
Draco's already pale face looked grey. "Anyone know how to make Inferi?"
Harry shook his head. "Spell, not a potion. This has to be a potion again…if it's anything at all, that is," he added quickly.
Hermione's hand had shifted to cover her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "Oh, Harry…you don't – you don't think...?"
Harry sighed deeply, resting his forehead in his hands. He'd said they would need to be open-minded in trying to solve the case, but he had hoped, so hard, that he wouldn't have to entertain this particular outcome. "I don't know. I wish I did. I wish I could say that there isn't the slightest chance of that being what's happened – but I don't know enough about that sort of magic. We know the curse that killed the victims was Dark, and ancient. That resurrection ritual probably was too, with a bit of a spin on it from Voldemort. How can we know for certain?"
"We go to the Tomb."
It was Draco who had spoken. His voice was emotionless and he still looked sick, but his face was set with resolve.
The Tomb was more of a catacomb than anything else. After Voldemort's downfall, there had been a great deal of debate what to do with his body and those of the fallen Death Eaters. Many had argued against burial, stating they didn't deserve the respect of the ceremony and ought to be burned, their ashes dispersed. But eventually it had been decided by Kingsley that the bodies ought to be preserved and entombed, more so that the location of their remains would be known in the event that such knowledge might be important in the future. A black cavern had been cut out of a rock at sea, of similar remoteness to Azkaban for the protection of Muggles and the peace of mind of Wizards, and the bodies entombed there marked with simple inscriptions bearing the name of the occupant and the dates of their birth and death. The spells protecting it were powerful, too. Many had tried to desecrate the graves to no avail, until Kingsley finally had to step in and begin issuing official punishments for attempting to do so.
"There's no point, Malfoy," Harry explained tiredly. "Even if Voldemort had made a horcrux and was trying to come back again he wouldn't need his old body – or what's left of it. Going there would tell us nothing."
Draco nodded. "All the same, I think I'll go."
Harry shrugged. It was Malfoy's choice. They all had to do things that helped them get through the night.
"If it is some sort of…ritual," Hermione hesitated to say 'resurrection', "then that would certainly explain why there were seven bodies, one killed every seven days. It's got the right kind of rhythm of repetition to it."
The other two nodded. As much as none of them liked the idea, it was the only theory thus far that actually explained the previous murders as well as tying in with what little evidence they had to go on.
"I'll have a look at potions requiring that sort of cycle," Malfoy murmured, shifting a stack of books with a thud of dust, and reaching for one at the bottom, Phased Potions for the Unfazed Potion-maker.
Harry stood. "I'm going to speak with Kingsley." His face was drawn, and although his eyes were determined Hermione could see the fear in them. Voldemort returning was Harry's worst nightmare. Ginny had told her about the night terrors that still seized Harry sometimes. The rest of the wizarding community didn't fear the Dark Lord's return – as far as they were concerned he was finally dead and gone, and the Ministry were rounding up the last remaining Death Eaters: they could sleep soundly in their beds. But Harry had been put through too much at Voldemort's hands. That particular shadow would never leave his mind, only recede as time passed.
Hermione offered her friend a sad smile, trying to comfort him more than anything else, but Harry only nodded, his expression sad.
Draco watched the exchange curiously. Despite not being fond of emotional displays himself he was always interested to see them exhibited by others. They made people too easy to read, but it was fascinating all the same.
He waited a few minutes after Potter had left until he was sure the Auror wouldn't suddenly come back in, then turned to Granger. She had returned to her work, trawling through books for information on blood rituals and sacrifices, and seemed so deeply engrossed in her task that she didn't feel his eyes on her.
"Do you think it's Him?"
Hermione's head jerked up to meet Malfoy's eyes. He seemed guarded, but that was different to impassive. When he was guarded, she could tell he felt something, and right now she was pretty sure it was the same fear that had settled in her heart.
She shrugged, leaning back in her chair away from the book with a sigh.
"I don't know. I don't know what to think. It could be that we've got completely the wrong end of the stick – maybe there's some other Dark wizard on the rise, or maybe someone's just trying to scare everyone with a stupid idea and Dark magic."
"But you don't really think that, do you?" he pressed shrewdly.
Hermione sighed heavily, casting about for the best way to phrase her thoughts. "It doesn't seem likely," she answered eventually.
"Which is tantamount to saying you do think it was a ritual of some sort."
Hermione closed her eyes. Did Malfoy have to be right all the time? "It's the only explanation that even comes close to holding water at the moment," she replied reluctantly. "It even potentially explains the month-long gap after the initial seven killings. If they succeeded in doing whatever it is, they didn't need to kill anyone else. And now they're ready – that's what this group murder was about. They're sending a message – to fear them, to panic. They're not interested in being subtle or being insidious. They want to announce their entrance."
Draco nodded. Her thoughts had followed the same path as his.
"But it's not Voldemort."
He frowned at the conviction in her tone. "Blindly wishing it isn't Him won't help the case, Granger. Potter's already doing that, although he seems to be coming around to the idea that it may be what's happened."
"It's not wishful thinking, Malfoy," Hermione replied crossly. "You heard what Harry said – this isn't Voldemort's style. He was dramatic, he liked the theatre of it, to create a spectacle – but not barely a month after he'd returned. Last time he bided his time; regrouped his followers. If it was him, he would plan it out, quietly gather his Death Eaters, reform ranks and then announce, when he was strong and sure of victory, that he was back to the wizarding world. And that would take even longer this time because so many former Death Eaters are now dead or in prison. He wouldn't try to take on the might of wizarding Britain with five followers – he'd at least try to break Dolohov and the others out of Azkaban.
"I know Voldemort returning seems to fit – it even might explain why our guys had fresh Marks on them if he was recruiting, and maybe found out they weren't fully committed. But this isn't him. It's too different. It's someone new. Someone who wants to command the attention instantly. Someone rash."
Draco frowned in thought. Granger had a point. Even he had to admit, after spending his summer holiday with the Dark Lord, this wasn't in keeping with his methods. "Then who?"
Hermione shook her head. "I have no answer to that, Malfoy. Your guess is as good as mine."
They both sighed, and returned to their work.
I said I'd post again soon!
So I know this chapter kind of generates more questions than it answers, but this is a murder mystery! Hopefully it's being mysterious enough. Theories and speculations are most welcome!
Hope you enjoyed it! :D
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