Chapter 2
Paradox
par· a· dox | \ ˈper-ə-ˌdäks
: a seemingly absurd or self-contradictory statement or proposition that when investigated or explained may prove to be well founded or true
The halls of the Ministry were bustling in the early morning hours. The public Floo Network in the Atrium in a constant glow of green light against the marble floors. Chatter came from all directions as witches and wizards in department colour-coded robes packed into the lifts like sardines in a tin. Airplanes made of parchment zipped through the air, leaving a faint whistling sound behind as they weaved around the heads of supervisors and visitors alike.
Hermione took to the stairwell when she arrived. The quiet was always appreciated when her mind was constantly whirring with thoughts. The metal of the railing cool against her palm as she climbed flight after flight up to level two. The click of her modest heels against each step set a steady rhythm to her thoughts. A steadying metronome amongst the cold chaos of the corporate symphony that sung beyond the staircases.
She did not wait for permission upon entering Harry's office. She didn't knock or send an interdepartmental memo to alert him that she would be coming. Instead, she gripped the knob and wrenched the door open, slamming it closed behind her and flicking her wand to cast a locking and silencing spell simultaneously.
Harry jolted, staring up at her from his desk, eyes wide. A croissant hung in the air, halfway to his mouth, leaving a dusting of flaky crumbs across the disarray of paperwork. He coughed hard, slamming a hand on his chest to dislodge the pastry as he reached for a steaming paper cup.
"'Mi-'Mione," he choked out, taking a swig of coffee and setting the croissant aside to pat his mouth with a napkin. "Fuck, you scared me half to death. What's wrong? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she murmured, perching herself in the chair across from him. She eyed the mess of papers—crime activity logs, written statements to be used in trials, field reports—and squashed the urge to tut. When her eyes met Harry's, he at least had the sense to look sheepish for the state of his office.
"Haven't got around to filing this stuff yet," he mumbled, discarding the croissant altogether and picking up stacks to tap against the desk in a feeble attempt to straighten them.
"Clearly."
"Is there a reason you came in? I mean, besides making an attempt on my life with my own breakfast and give me that look because of my desk?" Harry said, a smile playing on his lips.
Hermione rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder, double checking that no one was standing outside the door.
She turned back toward Harry and leaned closer to him, "It's Remus," she whispered.
Harry stared at her, his brows pulled together in confusion. He shook his head, "What are you on about?"
Hermione huffed and lowered her voice again, "Remus," she began. "Remus is the one executing the wanted Death Eaters."
He blinked twice before bursting into laughter, "Remus Lupin? On his worst days, he had the disposition of a disgruntled kitten!"
Hermione did not share his laughter. Instead, she pressed her lips in a tight line and stared Harry down, waiting for him to realize she wasn't kidding.
Finally, after a few more gasping chuckles, Harry sighed. "Hermione, he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, yes. But, he also drank chamomile tea regularly and nearly went into a sugar shock from consuming chocolate. I mean, you remember those ridiculous cardigans he used to wear! I know he was a fierce dueller but, I highly doubt he's ruthless enough to be murdering people."
"Oh?" Hermione's brows shot into her hairline, "The same Remus who told you that we should be using deadly force if necessary, that night we all polyjuiced into you? The same Remus who took out a battalion of Death Eaters and Snatchers by himself at the last battle? The one who stunned you into a wall at Grimmauld Place...that Remus? Or, do you only remember him as a tea drinking professor?"
Harry's mouth opened and then shut. His eyes flickered back and forth before he leaned back in his chair, pulling his glasses off and tossing them onto the desk. His hands came up to scrub his face before shoving the frames back on.
"He was brilliant and vicious in a duel. He spent years tracking werewolves and other Dark creatures to bring them to our side." She continued on, her tone even and matter-of-fact as she continued to tick off what they knew about their former professor. "He is skillful and proved that he could be dangerous with the right motivation. Are you going to continue to ignore those qualities of his, as well?"
"Shit."
"Doesn't seem so far-fetched now, does it?"
"Shit," Harry repeated. "What happened to him after? Have you talked to him? I've written to him a few times but they always come back, unopened…" Harry opened the drawer of his desk, rummaging through it for something before letting out a small "Aha!" and slamming a silver medal onto the surface. "He was awarded an Order of Merlin, you remember?"
Hermione nodded, the memory of the ceremony fuzzy but tangible enough to remember that Remus hadn't been present.
"I sent him the medal, and the gold he was awarded with it. The medal was returned with no note or anything, but the gold wasn't. Do you know where he's living now?"
"I was hoping you could answer that," she said. "I may have had a hunch—"
"A hunch…"
Hermione shrugged, "No one seemed concerned about the killings—"
"Because they've only been wanted Dark wizards and—"
"Regardless," Hermione cut over him, raising her voice slightly. "After the first one, I've been paying attention to them."
"You've been...you're the one who keeps breaking into my office?!"
Hermione bit into her bottom lip and looked off above his shoulder, staring intently at the plaque that hung on the wall behind his chair.
Harry J. Potter
Auror
Junior Sergeant
It hung gleaming between his Order of Merlin: First Class and a picture of his parents.
"Hermione? Are you breaking into my office?"
"Well, you've made it rather easy—"
"Dammit! I fucking knew it had to be someone I knew. Ron told me I was being paranoid but I knew it! You've made it so I can't enable an alarm!"
"I can fix that."
"You bloody will!"
She smirked, "I will. After you listen to me about this."
Harry motioned toward her to continue, digging in his desk again and discarding a handful of broken quills before finding a new one and pulling out a piece of parchment.
"You can't...Harry, you can't take notes."
"Hermione, if Remus is out there killing people—"
"He isn't killing normal people, you said so yourself. He's collecting the most wanted, the ones your office has given up looking for because he's doing your job for you. I'm not turning him in! I just have some questions."
Harry sighed, ruffling the back of his hair as he tried to figure out what to say. A few minutes passed and finally he spoke. "Fine. Fine. But you can't talk about this with anyone else. No one else can know Hermione. Not Ron, not Ginny, no one."
Hermione stuck out her hand and Harry grasped it giving a hard shake. "Deal."
"Okay then, what do you know?"
"I'm not here to tell you everything I've uncovered," Hermione clarified.
"Then why are you here?" Harry asked, exasperated.
"Have you heard anything about Remus since the battle? Do you know where he might be living, who he's staying with, where he's working? Anything about him? I need to find him again and I don't think he'll return to where I found him last night. Not now that he knows his location is compromised."
"Last night? Last night? What are you—"
A knock sounded on the door and Hermione quickly dropped the silencing and locking charms.
"Come in," Harry said, in a tight voice.
"Hi, Auror Potter," A young man with auburn hair and dark eyes stepped through the doorway. He was wearing training robes and his face looked ashen. "We uh—we got another one…" He held up a cloth bag. "Bones and a wand."
Harry stared at Hermione for three long seconds, his eyes narrowed accusingly at her, before motioning to the man. "Alright, Davis. I'll get it sent down to the lab. Thanks, mate."
"S-sure, Auror Potter." The man—Davis—stammered. He set the bag on Harry's desk before giving a sharp nod and retreating, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click.
"Who's in this bag?" Harry asked.
"Edward Jugson," Hermione answered. "I think."
"You think?" Harry let out a puff of mirthless laughter. "Fan-fucking-tastic."
Hermione looked down, shaking her robe off her wrist to check the time. She stood and turned on her heel, headed to the door. "Thanks, Harry."
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder, "You've got flakes of croissant on your robes, did you know?"
He glared, swiping his hand over the front of his robes with more force than was strictly necessary as she smirked and opened the door. As it began to close and she made her way back down the hall she heard Harry call out to her.
"Fix my wards, Hermione!"
Hermione laughed and shook her head, stopping to wave her wand in a few swift patterns to undo the charmwork that had been placed.