A/N: For those who want to hear the Parseltongue as Harry did, queue up NIN, The Greater Good and when you get to reading his translation give it a listen. Hats off to Trent Reznor for embodying Voldermort.
After Harry's exit, Kingsley turned, looking across the expanse of the amphitheatre at the impressive archway on the raised platform. From this angle, only a wisp of the Veil could be seen fluttering occasionally past the rough cut granite. "Tell me, Bilm. How often has Albus appeared?"
Bilm opened his mouth once then shut it, blinking several times and tilted his head, "Well, um, Minister sirs, I'm not sures how to answer that exactly." Drawing Kingsley's attention, Pitts stepped forward, arm extending towards the Veil, "Dumbleydoo is there right now if you wants to go sees, he's just shifty and can't speak until he stops...um, well, shifty-ing." Three sets of human eyebrows raised to their fullest height.
"I gotta see this," Angelina said, hopping down the steep steps, braids bouncing. Neville and Kingsely followed her to the bottom of the deep trench, rounding to the front of the platform before ascending once more. The elves were already standing before the Veil as the three hefted themselves onto the dias.
"Sweet Merlin," Neville said under his breath. Just beyond the undulating gauzy curtain, the visage of Albus Dumbledore was indeed shifting, as if through time. The smooth morphing facial features of a youthful Albus, probably no older than thirty, were ageing backwards. Within two blinks, they saw Albus as a lanky teenager sporting a knowing smirk upon his face, stature shrinking still, until a boy no more than three waved merrily at them. Continuing to contract, soon a babe lay on the floor, hands in fists, legs kicking.
"I hates this part," said Pitts with a sigh as he pinned his big ears to his head with his long knobby fingers. A loud cry of a newborn baby rang out, echoing within the Chamber of Death.
May 30, 1998
(One month after the battle, Two weeks after the first Order meeting)
Bent over a book on server protocols, sipping her second cup of coffee, Hermione felt warmth in her pocket. Pulling out her Order coin, her eyes widened at Minerva's message.
Meet me at Downing Street at half-past eleven. Kingsley is requesting our presence for the meeting with the Prime Minister.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, noting it quarter-past ten, she sent her confirmation and hopped up from the table and made haste to her room. Thankfully, she had just refreshed her muggle wardrobe when she had taken Harry shopping last week at a subtle request from Kingsley. She smiled at the memory of her friend suited up in Tom Ford, staring incredulously at himself in the mirror.
"You clean up nice, Harry," Hermione said as she ruffled his hair. Blushing and adjusting his glasses, "Uh, thanks Mione." Sensing something was bothering him, she stood in front of him, breaking his mirror-gaze. "What is it? Do you not like the suit? We can try a different style if you prefer. It's important to feel comfortable and confident in what you wear, especially around the Prime Minister and the like." Taking a deep breath, Harry visibly deflated a bit, "That's just it, I'm not sure how to feel comfortable in a suit." Sighing, "I guess, I'm just not used to properly fitting muggle clothes. I feel most like myself in robes." Hermione nodded and moved to stand next to him, so they both faced the mirror. "It's perfectly normal to feel that way, Harry. Everyone goes through a bit of imposter syndrome at some point in their life, whether it's about clothes or something else. But look at you, you are not that boy at the Dursleys anymore, you are a strapping young man, Harry. That said, I think we should try on a few more styles so you can get a sense of the subtleties of the different cuts. Muggle fashion can be quite fun once you understand the fundamentals and discover what complements your body and personality." Giving her a nod and a half smile, "Okay, I'll try. Thanks, Mione."
Pulling her new YSL suit from her wardrobe, she unzipped the protective cover and laid each piece on her bed. Moving to her drawer, she withdrew the La Perla Dreamcatcher bra and panty set she had also splurged on. She hadn't intended on buying anything other than her tried-and-true cotton, but once she felt the whisper-soft lycra and Leavers lace on the mannequin at Harrods, she had to have it. Tying her hair back and wandlessly banishing her robes and undergarments, Hermione stepped in front of the floor-length mirror and took herself in. It had only been a month since their return from being on the run, but having regular meals and proper rest had done wonders for regaining a healthy complexion. Tracking her eyes from her now healed ankle, which still looked a bit swollen but didn't hurt anymore at least, up her legs, where the kaleidoscope of ugly bruises had completely vanished. Twisting a bit, she took in the sight of her ass. Her right hand slid from her hip to caress one ample cheek, giving it a squeeze. Still got it. Smiling at herself, she brought her eyes and hands to her breasts. They looked full and were starting to blush under the attention. Cupping and gently lifting them, as if to serve them to her mirrored self, she brushed her thumbs over her nipples and watched as she felt the once smooth areolas contract and wrinkle, pushing her nipples erect. Gasping, she threw her head back and pinched them firmly. Unable to remember the last time she had pleasured herself, and never having done so in a mirror, she mentally permitted herself five minutes to see this through. Breathing into that decision, she brought her head forward and met hungry eyes in the mirror. Taking in her facial features, she noted, not for the first time, that though still youthful and familiar, she bore that unnameable quality that only being through war brings. At the thought, her eyes landed on her left forearm and she resisted looking away. It's completely concealed. No one will ever have to know. Now I just have to work on forgetting it's there myself. Meeting her own eyes defiantly in the mirror, she squeezed her breasts roughly and tugged again on her aching nipples; before bringing both hands down between her legs. Moving her feet apart, she pushed her hips forward to see her reflection better. With her left thumb and forefinger she parted herself, pulling the now slick auburn hairs out of the way as she the slid the first two fingers of her right hand down her mons and between her labia, pushing down rhythmically with the tips. The internal response was immediate, muscles contracting uncontrollably, making her legs suddenly shaky and weak. Removing her left hand with a sigh, she grasped the bedpost and leaned heavily as she grazed up her frenulum to tease the begging glans of her clitoris. "Oh fuck, yes." Smiling in the mirror at the unexpected outburst, she felt her heart swell with affection for herself. I needed this. Fingertips moving down, lubricating themselves fully before returning to make fast circles around and on unhooded pearl. "Ung, oh fuck, Goddess that feels good." Hearing and seeing herself heighted the eroticism tenfold, as she yearned to please this panting beautiful creature in the mirror. I won't need the full five minutes. Bursting out in a laugh, she pressed her clit down and came with a protracted groan. Legs giving out, she slid to the floor. The cool wood on her bare bum felt the perfect counterpoint to her warm pulsing mound. Resting her head on the bedpost, she closed her eyes as she caught her breath. Opening her eyes, she took in her freshly fucked, relaxed state; legs splayed, one knee bent, spine curving her torso, the whole effect a sitting version of contrapposto. She looked ravishing. I need to love myself more often. The thought brought a wave of emotion, like a balm to a healing wound. Eyes tearing up, but not spilling over, she brought her right hand from her inner thigh to caress her left forearm. She had avoided touching the spot since sealing the corporeal charm. One day at a time. Taking a cleansing breath and releasing the thought. Okay, Granger, get your ass up and dressed, for Merlin's sake. Huffing out a laugh and rolling her eyes in the mirror, she stood and went to take a quick cold shower.
Minerva emerged from The Cenotaph and walked to the corner of Downing to await Hermione. She had been surprised when Kingsley fire-called asking for them to join, then abruptly disappeared without explanation. Left to mull over the reason as she put her day in order, she kept returning to the memory of Kingsley happening upon her and Hermione's first computer lesson the week prior. He had taken a keen interest in Hermione's technical aptitude, and asked more questions than she thought simple curiosity would inspire. Yes, I'd bet ten galleons that they'll try to recruit Hermione for something computer related. She felt her hackles rise. Well, at least he had the wherewithal to include me in this. So lost in her musings, Minerva did not see the subject of her thoughts approaching.
Hermione spotted Minerva, her lean form resting on one of the tall lampposts outside the gates to Downing, gazing distractedly upwards. Wow, okay, I may have underestimated this woman. Before her was not the down-to-business Professor uncomfortable in muggle clothes that she expected to meet. No, this woman looked as though she should reside at Downing and was just out getting a bit of air. Men and women alike ran their eyes across her form as they passed. Hermione grinned as she did the same. Minerva's hair was styled differently, looser, in an elegant twist. Her handsome face was dappled in sunlight and adorned with eye and lip colour. Sporting a distinctive black Prada single-breasted blazer, the satin strip of her tailored tuxedo pants matched the verdant green of her silk blouse that was unbuttoned enough to reveal just a hint of cleavage. Just wow.
Minerva smelt Hermione before she saw her and immediately felt herself relax. Slowly bringing her gaze down and turning her head a bit to the right, she caught the tail end of Hermione's intense perusal. Interesting. Before she could think too much about it however, she was swept up into her own intake of the stylish young witch's attire. Perfect choice. It looks like Yves had made it especially for her in mind. Smiling and pushing off the post, she extended a manicured hand to her Order partner as she neared. Hermione felt herself blush as she took the proffered hand and leaned in to faire la bise.
"Hi" Hermione said shyly into her ear. Minerva's grin widened as she squeezed Hermione's hand before releasing it. "Hello, my dear. May I say I'm very taken with your choice of outfit? It suits you perfectly."
"Thank you. I could say the same. Head to toe, Prada, yes?"
"Mm yes, good eye."
"I didn't know you were into muggle fashion."
Green eyes twinkling, "No, I don't suppose you would. Our time together, rather limited to school or wartime efforts, doesn't really afford much opportunity to dress up now does it?"
Before Hermione had a chance to formulate a response, a caravan of official cars drew up to gate. "Oh my," Minerva breathed out.
"What is it?"
"The Americans are here. This must be bigger than I imagined. Did Harry mention what this meeting was about before he left this morning?"
Hermione shook her head, "Not in particular, other than following up with intel from the previous incidents. Kingsley didn't give a reason?" Minerva sighed, "No, he did not."
The gates opened and as the cars rolled in two men in sunglasses approached, "Ms. McGonagall, Ms. Granger?" Minerva gave a sharp nod, standing slightly in front of Hermione. "If you'll follow me, please. Mr. Shacklebolt and Mr. Potter are already inside."
As they trailed behind the two servicemen, Hermione felt her pocket warm. Glancing at Minerva, who did not acknowledge her look, she subtly withdrew her coin. The message was indeed from her partner:
Do not surrender your wand under any circumstance. Transfigure it to a button on your cuff if you are able.
Transfigure my wand?! Feeling the familiar vinewood pressed on her right forearm in it's leather holster, she pulled her magic to her and bent her will for it to change it's form. She felt sharp resistance before it succumbed and appeared as a non-descript stud. Palming her Order coin to her left hand she transfigured it to be a matching stud on the other sleeve. As they slowed, Minerva muttered, "Impressive," glancing at Hermione with a half-smile. The man directly in front of her chuckled, assuming she was talking about the residence, "Just wait until you see the inside." Minerva rolled her eyes and Hermione nearly laughed out loud.
Sure enough, as they approached the door, they were greeted by two other agents, American this time. "Excuse me ladies, if you wouldn't mind emptying your pockets and presenting your pocket books, no objects of any kind may be carried past this point." They each nodded and handed over their clutches and proceeded through the body scanner. Waved through to the black-and-white chequerboard floor of the entrance hall, they took in the interior. It was nice, but certainly nothing compared to the grandeur of Hogwarts. Minerva seeming to read Hermione's thoughts, "Hmm, yes, very impressive." Her sarcasm lost on everyone but Hermione, who this time couldn't contain an audible chuckle. Minerva smiled a full grin in response and Hermione was temporarily stunned into awareness of the uniqueness of this moment. Never in her life would she have imagined herself standing in the Downing residence sharing a joke with the venerable Minerva McGonagall, who seemed more at ease than she'd ever seen her. And that smile, Sweet Merlin, she's beautiful. Minerva cocked an eyebrow at Hermione, knocking her out of her reverie. Hermione blushed and cleared her throat. Pull it together, Granger, that's the second time she's caught you staring. Minerva sensing her companion becoming self-conscious, spoke without really thinking, "After we're done here would you care to join me for a meal at Wiltons?" Hermione's eyes widened as her smile reappeared, "I'd love to, yes." Minerva's eyes sparkled as she gave a nod and leaned in adding, "Good. We musn't waste our outfits on these stuffy blokes." And for the second time since entering, Hermione let out a joyful laugh. Minerva smiled, more to herself, for getting Hermione back to being at ease.
"If you'd follow me, they are ready for you in the Cabinet Room," a serious voice called from the staircase. Heading up the curved stairwell, they passed photos of the previous Prime Ministers framed upon the painted yellow plaster. Passing one halfway up, Hermione could have sworn the man within the frame winked at her. What now? Was a wizard PM at one point? I don't remember learning that. Entering the room, they appeared to be the last guests to be seated at the long central table. Their escort announced their arrival, "Introducing Headmistress of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall and Ms. Hermione Granger." Everyone round the table stood at their arrival, Harry and Kingsley smiling with a look of relief upon their faces.
"Good of you two to join, thank you," said PM Wilkenson. He was easily the tallest man in the room, however, with quite the nervous disposition and poor posture even at the head seat, he seemed to take up the least amount of space in the room. "May I introduce you to the President of the United States, William Wallace; his Chief of Staff, Thomas Blackwell; NSA Director Natasha Bells; and their Minister of Magic equivalent, Seraphina Picquery. Also present is the CEO of the global telecom company LiteCom, Alexander Wiley, and my Chief of Staff, Mary Wilson. Let's take our seats and get started, shall we?"
Minerva and Seraphina shared a long look as they sat. Hermione noticed and filed it away to ask about later. As they were all shuffling their chairs in, Hermione quietly asked Seraphina, who looked not a day over fifty for someone who was nearly one-hundred, "Forgive me, I thought you had retired and the American Magical Congress disbanded over fifty years ago. Have you and it been reinstated?" Seraphina looked taken aback by the direct question. Silently assessing Hermione with one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised, she seemed to make a decision, and in a southern accent dipped in honey, "I think I like you, Hermione Granger, but that information is classified. I hear you know your way around a computer network?"
It was Hermione's turn to be taken aback, "Well, yes, I wouldn't consider myself an expert, but I'm proficient." Harry chimed in, "Hermione's proficient is expert level for normal people." Hermione blushed as she gave Harry an exasperated look as she noticed they had the attention of the whole table. "Well thank heavens," exclaimed the loud American President, slapping the table with an open palm and turning his head to the PM. "We need to get to the bottom of this, Wilkenson, the American people are getting edgy. There's been a steady uptick in anarchist movements since this transmission began and my sources say it's coming from your backyard. If this Herminony young lady holds the keys to making it stop then..." "It's Hermione, Mister President," came the quiet commanding voice of once Professor McGonagall. "I beg your pardon Ma'am," came the reply of a man not used to being interrupted. "I said, sir, that her name is Hermione, Her-my-oh-nee. And if she indeed holds the solution to your problem, the least you can do is make an effort to say her name properly. Wouldn't you agree, William?" Neck reddening around the collar, the man nodded once, "Very well then." Looking to Harry now, "And you, young man, Harry is it? You think you can tell us what this noise is indoctrinating into our people?" Harry's mouth still agape from his former professor correcting the President of the United States, faltered before answering, "Uh, yes, sir. Well, that is, if it's indeed in Parseltongue, uh, I mean, snake language..."
Seraphina interrupted, "And how is it that you are a Parselmouth exactly?" Kingsley leaned forward and spoke his first words of the session, "That's classified." Seraphina's throaty laugh had a dangerous quality to it that made all the muggles shift in their seats. "Mmm, very well then. Let's see if he can translate."
Alexander Wiley, after receiving nods from both the PM and the President, opened his laptop and after a few seconds, "Alright, I'll play them in order of transmission. Here we go." And the room filled with a long slow hiss followed by two short ones then two more identical length ones before it repeated the same variation over before shifting into a new cadence. It was rather hypnotic in its rhythmic quality, yet very unsettling. Harry had gone pale, eyes shut tight, and even though no one could see, Hermione knew he was clutching his thighs so tight there would be finger-shaped bruises later. Minerva also noting the affect on Harry, spoke up, "Enough, turn it off please, Mister Wiley." Seeming to come out of a trance, Alexander slammed his thumb down on the spacebar and the silence felt loud in the absence.
Speaking softly and wishing she didn't have to do this in front of everyone, "Harry, it's me, 'Mione. Harry, he's gone, he can't hurt you anymore. It's ok, you're ok. Breathe, Harry, come back to me." Watching his shoulders relax, she knew he'd be alright, if not very embarrassed. Deciding to draw the attention away from her friend as he came back to himself, she turned to the NSA Director, "Ms. Bells, the President mentioned this came from London, do you have more specific information you can share?"
Glancing at the President first, who gave a dramatic sweeping gesture to share, the no-nonsense looking woman spoke over her glasses, "Yes, Ms Granger, I'd appreciate your lens on this data set." Passing down a laptop, Hermione opened it and started scanning the information.
Her eyes snapped up when she heard Harry's voice, "May I have a pen and paper for me to write this down?"
The PM's Chief of Staff, Mary, slid her notebook and fountain pen across the table to him, with a gentle smile. Meeting her kind eyes, "Thanks, Ms. Wilson" "Of course, dear, thank you."
Harry bent over the notebook and Hermione went back to scrolling, eyes lighting up as a pattern emerged. "Ms. Bells, I think I've found something. May I add my comments directly to this or would you prefer I use paper?" "Direct is fine, Ms Granger, and please call me Natasha." Hermione looked above the screen and smiled, "And please call me Hermione." The woman nodded with quirk of her lips that reminded Hermione of Minerva. Glancing in her Order partner's direction, she met Minerva's captivating green eyes that bore an expression she couldn't place. "Take a look at this with me, Minerva, will you?" Minerva didn't respond for a moment, still seeming to contemplate something before smiling softly and leaning in, "Yes, of course."
Harry put the pen down and slid the notebook to Kingsley and stood, "I need some air. Would you all mind if I step out for ten minutes?"
"You want company, Harry?" Hermione asked searching his eyes. He shook his head. Nodding she pointed to the screen and murmured something to Minerva who adjusted her glasses and leaned forward. An agent opened the door and escorted Harry from the room. "Right this way to the garden, sir."
Kingsley sighed heavily and passed the notebook to Minerva. She hadn't seen him look so defeated since they had seen Harry limp in Hagrid's arms the night of the battle. Girding herself, she took a deep breath. In Potter's loose scrawl she read:
"Breathe
Us in
Slowly
Slowly
Breathe
Us in
Slowly
Everything you do
Everywhere you go
Anything we want
Anything
Everything you do
Everywhere you go
Anything we want
Anything
Persuasion (breathe)
Coercion (us in)
Submission (slowly)
Passive ovation (slowly)
Persuasion (breathe)
Coercion (us in)
Submission (slowly)
Passive ovation (slowly)"*
It's his voice.
"Well, what the hell does it say?! You both look like you've seen a ghost. Out with it!" demanded the President. Hermione, having read it over Minerva's shoulder, took the book gently from her partner's hands and passed it to Mary, who read it out loud in her calm soft tones.
The PM perked up at the last bit Harry wrote and pinning Kingsley with a glare, "You assured me he was dead."
Kingsley leaned forward, "He is dead. That doesn't mean what he stood for and his followers are rolling over. He must have recorded this months ago."
The President piped up face purpling, "So what's this mean exactly? Are your kind trying to seize global power? Trying to subjugate us with this brainwashing?! I won't stand for it!" Fist slamming on the table.
Minerva raised her hands, "William, I implore you to use reason here, we have kept peace with Muggles for millennia despite being routinely ostracised, hunted, and executed. A small faction of magical folk has extremist ideas, yes. No different than your extremist groups, I assure you."
"No difference? You can move things with your mind and plant thoughts in our heads!"
"Yes, and you, sir, could kill us all by pushing a button in the suitcase at that gentleman's feet," pointing to an agent sitting unmoving in the corner of the room. "Let's join forces on this, Mister President. The people in this room and the greater magical community don't want this any more than you do."
Feeling the need to break the tension, Hermione piped in, "I think I know how they are transmitting this and it should be a pretty easy fix, I think, if we use a bit of defensive magic along the fibre pipe. A web of sorts that can detect dark magic and trap it, preventing it from influencing the optical traffic patterns." That did the trick. Everyone sat back in their wooden and leather chairs and took a much needed breath. Minerva gave William a poignant look above her frames.
"Uh, thank you, Hermione."
Glancing at Minerva, Hermione smiled and shook her head, "You're most welcome, Mister President."
