A/N: I have a three act plan for this story. Apologies if you find it slow moving... and warning that although I intend to make this a HEA story for our main characters, that doesn't mean that there won't be death, injury, and angst along the way.
Edited: 7/31/2022, spelling/grammar, added detail about Hermione's office and about Pansy's studio and internship
TW: Graphic description of a dead body toward the end if the chapter.
Wednesday, November 24, 1999
"Good morning, Melinda!" Hermione chirped at her department's admin as she walked into her office. She was in a fantastic mood. Today was a day that she expected to recieve good news. She was hoping for minimal comments back from her department head on her proposal for the House-Elf Labor Provisions Act. She'd been working on it for months--her first major project--and she had lofty dreams for the impact that the HELP Act could make for such a vulnerable population.
Not even seeing the graffiti defacement of her office placard could dampen her spirits. (Someone had painted an extra 'L' on the sign so it now read H.E.L.L. Division.)
Walking into her office, she sipped her cappuccino and kicked the door shut behind her before hanging up her coat and scarf on the wooden rack in the corner. She eyed her inbox with excitement and wondered which of the stack of envelopes would contain her boss's redlines. Eagerly, she dropped into her chair and started sorting through her mail.
The letter on the top of the pile was just a request from the Werewolf Commission to consult on updating the Registry of Sentient Beasts and Beings together. She'd reply to that one later. The second was an invitation from Pansy to attend her 20th birthday gala on New Year's Eve. She quickly rsvp'd 'will attend', resealed the envelope, and set it in her outbox, which magically vanished the missive to send it to the Ministry's owlery. Finally, she found what she'd been looking for, spying the personal wax seal of her boss on the back of a dull grey envelope.
Ripping it open immediately, she started to read. With each line though her face fell further. It wasn't good news at all. The amount of red ink covering the black of her original script nearly covered the pages entirely. Was there anything at all that Macnair had left unedited? She scanned the pages once more. No, he'd even corrected her title in her signature line from 'Assistant Manager for House-Elf Liberation' to 'Assistant to the Manager for House-Elf Liberation', which was just petty. She was the only employee working in HEL, so who else was meant to be the Manager if not her?
Hermione was grateful that Kingsley had helped her create this division within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but she had severely underestimated the bureaucratic nightmare that was the DRCMC. She had little autonomy to make decisions beyond what colors of ink to stock (she'd decided on black, blue, and purple). That privelege was held exclusively by Walden Macnair. As the head of the DRCMC he oversaw the Beasts and Beings Branch, which smaller groups like the Veela Bureau, the Werewolf Commission, and Hermione's own HEL Division reported into.
It boggled the mind how the former Lead Executioner for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures (a disgusting team that ought to be disbanded in this more enlightened age, in Hermione's humble opinion) could be seen as a suitable leader for a department whose mission was intended to be the protection of and advocacy for magical creatures. Furthermore, though there was no question that he'd been a Death Eater during both the First and Second Wizarding Wars, he'd somehow escaped Azkaban without even a slap on the wrist. For heaven's sake, even child soldiers like Draco Malfoy had recieved greater punishment from the Wizengamot (though she'd testified alongside Harry to ensure that justice was served in that case).
On top of Macnair's general sheen of malintent, he seemed to harbor a special reserve of hatred for Hermione. She was certain it was because she was a mudblood. The Mudblood, in fact. Her working in his department after contributing to the fall of his Dark Lord must really chafe, but it was no excuse for being such an impediment to even the smallest amount of progress from her division. It was a dereliction of duty! And she had half a mind to report him to Human Resources.
If she could be certain that Human Resources wasn't corrupt and filled with pureblood-sympathizers that would never side with a muggleborn over one of their own, she really would. But... that wasn't the world she lived in unfortunately. The childish notion that good could triumph over evil in a single battle had been well and truly dispelled from her in the months following the war. The violence and bloodshed was over, and blood-purist comments weren't made out in the open anymore, but Hermione wasn't naive enough to believe that reprehensible things weren't still discussed behind closed doors. It would take time to change the hearts and minds of the general population.
Hermione groaned as she assimilated the realization that she'd be staying late at work again today to work through all of Macnair's edits. Picking up her wand, she gave it a deft flick and her shimmering otter patronus burst forth. "For Ginny Weasley: I'm going to be held up at work today for a bit. Head over to Pansy's studio without me and I'll meet you there." The otter did a quick backflip and then swam through the air and out the window (fake, of course, she was on basement level four and had an interior office to boot) to seek its intended recipient.
Wishing for just a few minutes of distraction from the sisyphean task ahead of her, Hermione set aside the HELP Act and read through the rest of her inbox. Some junk, mostly interdepartmental memos (which she vanished quickly after reading because the fluttering wings were distracting), and one folded sheet of parchment with no seal, sender, or return address.
"You're next, Mudblood." It read, but next for what? Hermione snorted. This wasn't the first ominous threat she'd recieved after all, and this one just seemed lazy. She gave it a 2 out of 10 on her internal Threat Creativity Scale. (Given the volume of hate-mail she'd been recieving since her fourth year at Hogwarts, she'd had to find some way of entertaining herself with them.) The two points was generous, but there was a wonky little skull and crossbones drawn in the corner that seemed vaguely menacing.
The parchment disappeared in a puff of red smoke with a snap of Hermione's fingers and she pushed it from her mind. She had work to do.
"Stop twitching, Weasley!" Pansy barked, frustratedly resetting the camera once again.
"You try having a baby acromantula crawling on your face and see whether you twitch!" Ginny snapped back irritably. "Whose insane idea was this anyway? When Hermione asked me to model for you I was envisioning something more glamorous."
"This is art. It's not my fault you're too plebeian to appreciate the genius of Madame Marion. Do the fainting thing again. I recast the cushioning charm."
At least the gown was beautiful. Ginny was swathed in yards of flowing, blue acromantula silk, woven into a pattern that closely resembled an abstract interpretation of a spiderweb. It felt like cool liquid against Ginny's skin and she kind of never wanted to take it off. Hoping that her obedience might make Pansy inclined to let her borrow this dress in the future, she took a deep breath and fell backwards from the platform, hand raised to her forehead delicately in a gesture remniscent of an American Southern Belle with a case of the vapors. She floated elegantly down into a nest of white sheets that were gently billowing in a faux wind thanks to the applications of a few clever charms.
"And scene," Pansy stated triumpantly as Ginny's back hit the floor with a muffled thump. "Take fifty-seven. Finally. You can put the acromantula back in its cage now. I want to try a few without it."
A sudden gust of the frigid November air whipped through the studio as Hermione walked through the door.
"Oi! Shut that door quick, won't you? This dress leaves a lot of skin exposed," Ginny grumbled. Not that she was complaining about the aesthetic of the design. She'd been pleasantly surprised at the modern muggle inspiration clearly behind the studio's winter line of clothes. Turns out Pansy's boss was a half-blood. Ginny wondered how Pansy felt about that, but based on her limited observations so far, Pansy seemed to love her job and had nothing but positive things to say about Madame Marion.
Pansy had given Ginny a pinched look when she'd shown up at the sudio without Hermione, explaining she'd been held up at work, but valiently attempted to remain civil with Ginny while they got started. Of course, Pansy's idea of civility was to keep up a nonstop running commentary on her boss's vision for wizarding fashion, the history of the studio, and all of the ways that Ginny had the perfect body but was rubbish at posing. Reading between the lines, Pansy was anxious to make the photo shoot go well. Apparently, she wouldn't have ordinarily been trusted to take the photos, but Madame Marion's staff photographer had contracted dragon pox and 'fashion waits for no man'.
"You can put that fur stole on now. That'll warm you up. Granger, come over here and cast some of those blue flames you're good at," Pansy ordered in lieu of a greeting. "I think a blue tint from their flickering light would be a nice complement to the hues in the dress."
"So bossy," Ginny grumped, though she donned the black fur gratefully and climbed the rope ladder up to the platform again, careful not to tread on the hem of the gown. Hermione just giggled and greeted Pansy with an awkward pat to the shoulder. "How did you two become friends again?"
Pansy's growled answer of 'none of your business' came at the same time that Hermione replied more genuinely, "That Hufflepuff party, remember? I think you'd already gone back to Gryffindor tower to snog Harry, and Pansy and I got to talking."
"What did you even have to talk about? You have nothing in common."
Pansy and Hermione shared a look, seeming to communicate volumes without a word. Ginny bristled. She fancied herself as being Hermione's best female friend--this was...new. She didn't like feeling out of the loop.
"What was that?" She said suspiciously.
Hermione ignored the question. "You and I don't have much in common either and we're best friends, aren't we?" She prompted with a small, tremulous smile. It soothed Ginny to hear her confirm the strength of their friendship aloud.
"Of course we are," she sighed. "Time for the next dive?"
"Give Granger a second to finish her spell, then on the count of three."
Hermione coughed as though she could clear the awkward air that way, and followed Pansy to set up her flames.
"One, two, three!" Ginny jumped. "By the way, Granger, did you know Theo's been asking after you?" Pansy teased in a sing-song voice.
"Who?" Hermione's head popped up from behind a pile of shoes she'd been digging through in a comical imitation of a groundhog.
"Theo Nott, darling. We went to school with him for seven years, ring a bell?" Pansy snarked.
"I guess," Hermione's nose scrunched up with the effort of remembering. "Isn't he gay? What's he interested in me for?"
"Nott? Gay? You must be joking! Even I know what a playboy that git is." Ginny added as she climbed back up to her perch to await her cue.
"I dunno, I usually have pretty good gaydar," Hermione added thoughtfully.
"What's gaydar?" Pansy and Ginny said at the same time, looking at each other in annoyance for the unintended synchronicity.
"You know, like radar... oh nevermind," Hermione huffed upon seeing the blank looks on her two pureblood friends' faces. "Well, what does he want?"
"I don't know actually," Pansy had climbed up on Ginny's platform to fuss over a fold at the bust of the dress. Ginny didn't appreciate the manhandling. "He was being really weird. He's just been asking whether you're healthy every time I see him and muttering to himself. He's invited to my birthday gala so I guess you can see him there and ask him yourself."
"Ouch!" Ginny yelped, batting away Pansy's hands. "Watch the pins!"
"Sorry," Pansy groused insincerely. "How tall are you Weasley? Something isn't laying right."
"5'7"? Maybe 5'8"?"
"Well, which is it? These things matter." Pansy waved her wand and summoned a role of measuring tape from a drawer. It stretched unsupported from the top of Ginny's head to the bottom of her feet. "5'8"! Perfect!"
"Speaking of weirdos, have you heard from Ron lately, Hermione?" It was as though she'd set off a stinkbomb if you determined by the level of reaction this innocent question garnered from Pansy.
Her face twisted into a dark scowl, and she replied sharply on Hermione's behalf, "Hermione doesn't speak to your toerag of a brother anymore, and I won't tolerate you speaking his name in my studio. If you try to bring him to my party there will be consequences. Don't make me regret trying to be your friend."
"Merlin, Pansy. If this is you trying to be friends, I'd hate to see how you'd treat me if we were still enemies."
"One, two, three!" Pansy snarled, prompting Ginny to once again launch herself into the air.
Upon landing, she attempted reconciliation--for Hermione's sake. "You've nothing to worry about from me on that front. I couldn't bring Ron even if I wanted to, which I don't, because he's been missing for weeks. Harry opened up an official inquiry, but it's as though he disappeared into thin air."
"Final warning, Weasley. No more mention of that tosser," Pansy had descended from the platform and closed her eyes as though gathering her patience. Hermione put a hand on her arm in warning? Reassurance? Ginny didn't understand.
"I'm sorry, Ginny. Are you worried?" Hermione whispered.
"Nah," Ginny flapped her arm dismissively as she extracted herself from the sheets that formed her landing pad. "You know Ron, he's probably just hiding so that he doesn't have to listen to George take the mickey out of him for failing out of Auror training."
The moment Ron's name had fallen from Ginny's lips again, Pansy stormed from the room. Hermione gave an apologetic grimace and followed shortly after. Luckily, Ginny had one of George's Extendable Ears tucked in her purse, which she quickly hopped over to fetch from where she'd stowed it on the workbench on the far side of the room.
Then, slowly, she crept towards the door behind which Pansy and Hermione had retreated and slipped the flesh-colored string beneath the bottom rail.
"--hear you apologize to her for a problem that idiot likely caused himself is maddening. She should be apologizing to you!"
Pansy's voice came in loud and clear, but Hermione's was a little more difficult to discern. These earlier versions of the Extendable Ears were a bit faulty with voices in a higher register.
"Ginny didn't do anything wrong. You can't take it out on her."
"How can you be so calm? It's not fair. She should know what he did. Everyone should know, so that he's the one who's alone."
"I'm not alone. I have you as a friend now, don't I? And you can thank Helaer Davis for my newfound equanimity."
Ginny was shocked. She'd assumed Pansy had some personal vendetta against Ron, but instead she was angry for Hermione? She'd known that Ron and Hermione had a contentious break-up of course, but it sounded like more than that. Ron had done something. Something that required a Healer.
With a pale face and shaking hands, she pulled the string from her ear and yanked it back from the door. She had no desire to eavesdrop anymore.
At that moment, Harry's stag patronus galloped into view.
"Ginny, can you come to St. Mungo's? I'm not hurt, but I need your help." Harry's voice echoed eerily in the double-height space of the studio.
"Was that Harry?" Hermione questioned, reemerging without Pansy.
"Just his patronus. Look Hermione, I've got to go to St. Mungo's, sorry I have to split."
"Is everything okay?"
"I think so. Harry said he wasn't hurt anyway. I'll let you know if it's anything to worry about. Tell Pansy--er--the dress is gorgeous and I hope the photos come out well."
Ginny gently lifted the gown over her head and replaced it on an empty mannequin nearby. Quickly as she could, she stuffed herself into her jeans and jumper. Hermione had fetched her coat by the time she turned back around fully dressed and they embraced in a hasty goodbye.
"I'm here to see Harry Potter?" Ginny panted, slightly out of breath from having run from the apparition point. The Welcome Witch scanned several clipboards that must have contained lists of patients.
"Yes, he's with the other Aurors in the morgue. Basement level. The lifts are just there. Follow the signs."
The morgue? Ginny's heart beat faster in fear. Someone was dead. She jammed the button to call the lift several times but it was coming too slowly. Turning to the left she saw the door to the stairwell, and shouldered through it, taking the stairs two at a time to descend into the lowest level of the building.
She could hear hushed voices from a cracked door on the right and headed towards it. Harry must have heard her footsteps as he poked his head out of the doorway and walked out to meet her.
"Who is it?" Ginny demanded.
"We're not sure," Harry swiftly grabbed Ginny's arms, preventing her from marching into the room where the unidentified dead body must be waiting. "But we have a pretty good guess and I want to prepare you before you go in there."
"Who do you think it is then?" Ginny asked breathlessly, panting harder than she ever had after quidditch practice imagining everyone from her dad to Fleur lying on a cold, metal slab.
Harry gulped and said, "Ron. We think it's Ron. We found the body with his snapped wand nearby. We need you here to help identify the body. We can use your magical signature to make a family match."
"Did it have to be me?" Ginny whimpered, turning pleading eyes toward Harry and suddenly much less keen to walk into that room.
Harry stroked her arms with pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry Ginny. If I could do it myself--if I could save you from this, I would. Arthur and the boys are at work, and Molly... I'd hoped to spare her from seeing another one of her sons... like this."
Ginny nodded and steeled herself. She didn't want her mum to go through that again either. It would hurt her to do this, but she'd carry the pain for her mother.
"What will I need to do?"
"The Healers just need a strand of your hair," he said reassuringly.
"Do I need to...do I have to look at him?"
"No," he rushed to reply. "Not if you don't want to. The test will be enough and I can take your hair now, out here, and bring it in for them."
Ginny didn't know what she wanted, but ultimately she decided that she needed to look. She didn't know why, she just did.
"Let's go inside."
Ginny followed Harry beyond the door. A dozen Aurors and Healers were gathered around a table, blocking its surface from view. The gentle click of the door latch closing behind Harry as he stepped fully into the room, however, drew their attention to Ginny. The crowd parted for her, and she saw him. Or what was left of him.
The body laid out on the table was more skeleton than man. It was naked, had no hair, no flesh nor muscle on its face or the entire left side of its body, and she could see...bite marks on the bones. And the smell. She knew that this body wasn't fresh. This person had died long ago and the tissue that remained was black and necrotic.
But still, she could see, on the bottom of his intact right foot...a birthmark.
It was Ron.
A/N: I did warn you I was using this fic to work through some stuff right? Unfortunately, the man who attacked me is living a very comfortable and (by all appearances) happy life, so I just wanted to explore a world where karma comes down with the force of a sledgehammer.