Chapter Eight: Put to Rest

Harry stood by the gates to the Little Hangleton graveyard. He hadn't mentioned his intention to visit the site of Voldemort's resurrection to Hermione because he knew she'd want to come, and that if she didn't she'd worry about him until he returned. Only Kingsley knew where he was. Ginny would be furious if she found out.

Harry sighed as he thought of his fiery fiancée. This was for her. He had to know. He had to know that things were safe for them, for her. He'd pushed her away once before when Voldemort had returned for her own good. He knew she'd never let him do it again.

Pursing his lips, he put a hand to the gates, pushing the cold metal bars apart, and striding in.

The Ministry had sent Aurors to the spot after he'd returned with Cedric's body and the Triwizard Cup. They'd scoured the area for Death Eaters and clues, but there hadn't been a single trace of their presence – not even a scorch mark on the grass from the cauldron or a destroyed stone cherub. Voldemort and his followers had been meticulous in covering their tracks after the botched attempt to kill him. Not that it would have made much difference with Fudge as Minister. They probably could have set up a welcoming committee with tea and cakes and Fudge would still have disbelieved it, he thought sourly.

He halted on the edge of the clearing where he'd duelled Lord Voldemort for the first time – where he'd spoken to his parents for the first time. There was nothing visible to show their battle, but Harry could feel the crackle of magic in the air as though the duel was happening around him. That kind of magic marked a place, like Dumbledore had said. What had happened there was burned into the makeup of the spot.

Slowly, he crossed the area, as though he truly was walking between his younger self and his enemy mid-battle, and stopped before the gravestone of Tom Riddle Senior. The cracked stone had been repaired, but a simple spell of Hermione's devising, that acted in the same way as an X-ray, told him that the skeleton below had not been touched recently. A fissure in one femur showed where Pettigrew had extracted the powder to resurrect his master, the bone cracked nearly all the way through, but all else remained untouched.

Harry cancelled the spell and let out the breath he hadn't been aware of holding. Blood of any enemy of Voldemort's could be substituted in place of his own, but the bone had to be from Riddle's father. They were safe. He wasn't back. There was no other way for Voldemort to return. Collecting himself, and trying not to let his relief make him incautious, Harry raised his wand to begin casting warding spells that would tell him of the presence of any witch or wizard coming into the vicinity, and sealing the stone bier with spells of protection that would trigger an alarm the moment they were broken.

Satisfied, Harry made for the gate. He's dead. He's dead and he's not coming back. We're safe. He squared his shoulders. Now to catch our nutter.


Harry returned to the office from his secret expedition with the information that the Kingsley was deeply unsettled by their current theory, and not to disclose any further details of it beyond their group of three until it was proven.

Hermione gave her friend an odd look. He seemed different, as though some weight had been lifted off his chest, although she very much doubted Kingsley would have had much to say that could have effected such a transformation. She dismissed the matter however; there were more important concerns to worry about than Harry discovering an effective means of stress-relief.

She and Malfoy were growing increasingly frustrated in their search for information about Dark magic and anything to do with blood magic or sacrifices. There was a great deal to be read on the latter, the spells and potions disturbing in the extreme, and they had sourced texts from the Ministry archives from other countries, but there was nothing yet that matched the case. What was more, although there was plenty to be said on Dark magic, there were very few books that had the actual practitioner's details required to perform the spells and curses (which was a very slight relief despite the inconvenience of it), and even fewer detailing the old magic they'd found evidence of.

Harry, his seemingly cheerful mood still about him, settled down to help their search.


Hermione eventually managed to dig up a tenth century text of medieval torture curses that was unfortunately bound in preserved human skin, and they were at last able to identify most of the curses that the Forensics Squad had listed. Unfortunately, the book was not particularly academic, which would have more than suited their purposes, and its thousand-year-old pages were musty, spotted with mildew and other, less innocuous stains. The excess of information allowed them to imagine just how brutally the two men had been murdered however, as the effects of the spells had been written out by the author who, it seemed, revelled in inscribing every gory detail, and it had galvanised their flagging efforts. None of them wanted anyone else to have to die in such a horrendous manner.

The best part was that the book gave them a time period to look for the blood magic, but surviving books were rare, not simply because of their age, but because many grimoires of Dark magic had been destroyed throughout the ages, and with good reason. Almost every century had had a period where the wizards of the day had instigated a mass purge on Dark magic, but their adversaries had been cunning enough to hide their tomes whenever prohibitions on evil books had occurred so that sufficient texts remained. Unfortunately, the present guardians of such books were less than likely to come forward with them to aid a Ministry case, particularly as they would probably face charges for possessing such books in the first place. Investigation into owners as leads therefore was a moot point.

Hermione was simultaneously trying to continue her research into methods of removing the Mark, Malfoy having provided her with a list that was essentially a book of what he'd tried and what had happened each time.

Her desk was the most cluttered of the three, divided into a section on Dark Marks, a section on blood magic, a section on ancient Dark magic, a section on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes where she was searching for any symbols or numbers that might relate to the case, and a section on missing persons from Britain and Bulgaria. A number of books and scrolls of parchment extended beyond the edges of her desk, held aloft in mid-air by an intricate network of charms so that she was surrounded by a literal wall of paper. She was somehow managing to work on all five simultaneously, flitting between each area with no apparent rhyme or reason. It was an astonishing sight to behold, and one that both captivated and astounded Draco, who had never watched Hermione studying during their schooling.

Harry was used to her methods, although her flustered and frustrated expression and the growing stacks of books and scrolls around her reminded him of sixth year when she and Ron hadn't been speaking to one another. This time, of course, she was not burying herself in work as a distraction, but he worried that her stress levels were approaching those she had reached at that time. It concerned him, although he was mildly relieved to see she was sharing some of the Arithmancy and Rune work with Malfoy – he didn't have the luxury of time to worry about whether she was going to start working herself into the ground. He was still under the pump, dealing with reports coming in from his Hit Wizards, as well as the investigation teams he had sent out to scour the crime scenes for trails that might lead them to clues if not the murderer.

Specific to the case, he was handling looking into the significance of the letters, searching for individuals and organisations with the letters E.W. or W.E., regardless of their affiliations. His head was beginning to ache as the list grew in length, and it was with no small amount of relief that he constantly reminded himself that he could later delegate the actual investigations into what he found. The Forensics Squad seemed to have at last finished, and he was mildly grateful not to have to deal with any more incoming reports from them, but there was still the rest of the Auror Office to manage. Simply because he was heading a case did not mean that he was excused from running his department, and there were a dozen other ongoing cases that required his occasional involvement.

If he hadn't been so busy himself, Draco might have felt sorry for the amount of work Granger had taken on. Even though Potter looked harrowed, and he himself was feeling more stress than he had in a long time, it was clear that neither of them were taxing themselves as much as Granger, and he could see it beginning to wear on her. He appeared the least flustered of them, however. It was the Malfoy way. He calmly went through book after book on resurrection potions and potions involved in Dark magic, making notes when he deemed it appropriate, cross-referencing and narrowing down the list with the information Granger was providing him about the significant numbers and symbols she found.

In between, he scribbled down speculations about the list of unaccounted for Death Eaters Potter had given him yesterday, wracking his brains for details of those on the blood prejudices list, and sending owls to those of his acquaintances who might know more. He'd tried subtly questioning his father for information the previous day, but Lucius had been in an atrocious mood as Narcissa had insisted that he revised what he'd learned in his re-education class on Thursday, and Draco had guessed there was little point in continuing his endeavour.

His mother had not been able to shed much light on most of the people on the list, having spent the majority of her time amongst the Death Eaters regarding the rest of them with condescension, as great number of them had come from lesser families with poorer fortunes and less refined manners. It was possible for her to look beyond inheritances, but etiquette was something Narcissa was famed for being a stickler about.

The only information she remembered about any of them was her distaste for them and paltry details regarding potential weak points where an advantage might be gained – neither of which were particularly useful. She'd accepted that he was acting as a consultant on a confidential case for the Ministry, used to her son's terse explanations when it came to questions regarding his work with the Ministry, and had summoned a house elf who brought a list of the Lestrange residences, but that had been as far as her help had gone. He knew the Ministry had already sent Aurors around all the houses, however, so his investigations in that area had ground to a halt.


Hermione and Draco headed down to the Training Facility after a few hours so Hermione could test Draco's ability at stealth, tracking, concealment and disguise. To both it was a welcome reprieve.

All the areas seemed to be natural Slytherin qualities, and he excelled in each, showing a particular aptitude for all things sneaky, although his self-transfiguration spellwork left something to be desired.

"You don't mess with a masterpiece," he complained as Hermione tutted at his third effort to alter his features.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "You still look too much like yourself," she critiqued. "The point isn't to make yourself look better or worse, it's to make you look not like yourself. You don't want to be recognised."

"Yes, thank you, Granger, I do know what 'disguise' means."

"Well you're not acting like it," she retorted.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, internally amused by her exasperation. "Fine."

He turned back to the mirror, waving and prodding his wand by turns, and when he finally turned back to her Hermione saw a man who could well be her taller twin brother, if she had one.

Draco had made his hair longer, shaggier, with a distinctly bouncy curl to it, and a little darker than Granger's. A curling fringe flopped annoyingly across his vision, and his front teeth had been marginally elongated, the feeling quite strange, and the pointedness of his features softened and rounded out more to mimic hers, the line of his jaw brought out more strongly to compensate for it. He'd even gone so far as to change his silver eyes to brown, and he'd slightly altered his skin tone to bring more warmth into it. He raised a thickened dark eyebrow. "Well?"

Hermione blinked. It was a distinctly odd sensation looking at a male approximation of herself, and even stranger to hear Malfoy's voice coming from it. "Not bad." She frowned. "You missed my freckles, though."

Draco squinted narrowly at the bridge of her nose, suddenly leaning in quite close for his inspection, then turned back to the mirror, muttered something, and faced her with an identical smattering of the pale brown spots.

Hermione ignored the flip-flop his brief proximity had caused in her chest, her face an impassive mask. "Passable."

Draco rolled her eyes. "Do you ever give a full compliment, Granger?"

Hermione grinned. "When it's warranted, yes."

Draco turned away, muttering darkly to himself about her standards.

"Right," Hermione flicked her wand and the full-length mirror disappeared, the S.T.E. materialising around them, this time providing a potentially treacherous moor covered with thorny gorse and flowering heather. "We'll have a spar, and then get back to the office."

Draco grinned. He'd been looking forward to testing his abilities against her again. He'd done a little practice in secret at home, brushing up on his spells, and very much hoped to surprise her and maybe catch her off guard.

"You're not going to fight me looking like that, are you?"

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow, his signature smirk looking very odd on his transfigured face. "You said this is about thinking creatively. If it's a distraction to you, yes; I'll fight looking like this."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You must think I'm easily distracted then," she muttered, and brandished her wand.


Despite wanting to continue working through lunch, Hermione obeyed the vocal grumbling of her stomach, and left the office a few hours after she'd returned with Malfoy.

The sparring session had been good, although the gorse had given them scores of tiny scratches and both of them had risked breaking their ankles in rabbit holes as they leapt and dodged about through the shrubs, but then that had been the point. Malfoy definitely seemed to be improving, successfully transfiguring a boulder into a huge bear that raced after her, roaring threateningly. Afterwards Hermione had altered the spell to make the bear more amenable, and they'd watched it bumbling around in the heather, tiny purple flowers catching in its coat, before Hermione had dropped the simulation.

Unfortunately, the exertion had increased her appetite. The other two had brought packed meals with them, Harry's done by Kreacher (which made her envious), and Malfoy's by his house elf (which made her glare at him), so stayed behind, and Hermione took the opportunity to resurface, clear her mind, and take a break.

As a treat, and because a croissant and cup of tea really had been deeply insufficient as breakfast, she left the Ministry for Muggle London, leaving her robes behind in the office and going out in her Muggle office attire. She blended in perfectly. It was delicious to get above ground and simply be surrounded by people for whom magic was just a word that belonged to fantasy stories and nursery rhymes, where the threat of a Dark Lord rising again was inconceivable, and their daily concerns were taken up with hoping that the Tube wouldn't be packed and how much they wished it was Friday.

It was late autumn, but the day had graced the population of London with a rare bout of warmth, and Hermione allowed herself to bask in the autumnal sunlight, refreshing herself after being underground for so much of the day. Her own office had a large bay window with a window seat that she sometimes read on at lunch, but Harry did not have space for such frivolities, and every inch of his wall space was taken up with information about cases. She sighed, swinging her arms, and letting the tension roll out of her shoulders.

Most of the cafés and restaurants in Whitehall were quite expensive, but she'd found a nice little wizarding café, Ralston's and Hayworth's, tucked away on a side street that managed to cater to both Muggles and the magical community. They had a special licence from the Ministry which meant that they had to abide by all Muggle laws and food regulations to ensure they didn't break the Statute of Secrecy, but they were mainly frequented by witches and wizards who were canny enough fit in with Muggle dress codes. It had been set up by a squib called Castor Ralston who'd married Muggle-born witch, Penny Hayworth, and they were particularly proud of their record of hiring squibs and witches or wizards who were capable of operating Muggle paraphernalia. They were the only wizarding establishment to hire Muggle employees in the whole of the British Isles, although there were not many, and all totally unaware of their employers' magical connections.

Hermione strolled in, ordered one of their excellent chicken and leek pies, and a pumpkin one to take away, thinking she might save herself the trouble of cooking and eat it with a salad for dinner. She nodded to a couple of Ministry workers she recognised from the Muggle Liaison Office in a far corner, taking a seat at a round table by the window, sighing in the scent of the flowers in the colourful window box and spinning hanging baskets that adorned the eaves outside.

It was a relief to cast off the burden of the case, even if it was only for a few minutes.


Partway through the chips and salad that accompanied her meal, one of the waiters approached.

"Your coffee, ma'am," he said, placing a cup and saucer on her table with a pointed glance before leaving.

Hermione was well used to the protocol and glanced down at the froth. The dusting of hot chocolate powder reformed itself from the café's logo into a message.

An owl's arrived for you.

Hermione frowned, but nodded faintly at the cup, and the powder returned to its previous state, erasing the message.

She stood, crossing to the back of the café and heading for the saloon doors to the bathrooms, murmuring, "Bubonem," as she passed through them.

The doors opened onto a courtyard rather than the little square room with the toilet doors that had been visible before, and an owl stood on a perch in a corner, drinking and nibbling on some owl treats. At the sight of her its calm demeanour vanished and it flapped its wings agitatedly.

Hermione hurried over, the owl ceasing its urgent communications so she could take the scroll tied to its leg.

She unrolled it and read the brief message, her expression darkening as she did so.

"I don't believe this!"

She rounded on her heel as the owl took off behind her, the letter crushed in her palm as she stalked back towards the doors, spitting the password to let her back into the café, and scooping up the rest of her unfinished lunch, which the staff had already packed into a container for her, along with the pie for her dinner, she hurried out into the street.


FINALLY AN UPDATE!
So I am now doing my post-grad in SCOTLAND. WHOOHOO. I am basically at Hogwarts. 'nuff said.

Bit of a short one, I'm afraid. Lots of setting up what they've got to do to solve the case, so I hope you like that sort of thing. And with Harry's fears allayed, WHO COULD THE MURDERER BE?
I had good fun with Hermione and Draco's training session #sassy XD
Also, doing a bit of world building with the cafe was great fun. I like the idea of Muggles and Wizards actually getting along to the point of integration of sorts.

Hope you enjoyed it! And I'll try to remember to post the next chapter soon!

Please do review and/or favourite :) Tell me what you like or don't like :) Questions and speculations are always welcome :D As is incomprehensible flailing if that's what you go in for :)

If you want to get access to sneak previews to chapters before they're posted, you can like me on Facebook (JZJ Tomkins) or follow me on Twitter ( jtomkinsauthor) or Tumblr (jzj-tomkins):)