A/N: I know it's been ages since I last posted–March and April is my busiest time at work, so hopefully I'll have more time to write come May. I'm definitely not giving up on this story, and actually have a good chunk of it written (and all of it planned), so I will be finishing it even if it's a bit slow going.
With that said, please enjoy my longest chapter to date!
CHAPTER SEVEN
The kitchen at number 12 Grimmauld Place was much brighter and tidier than it had been when it housed the Order of the Phoenix. In fact, the entirety of Grimmauld Place was far more pleasant since Harry and Ron had moved in after the war, and it was only improved with the addition of Hermione and then Ginny as occupants. Though Ron and Hermione had moved out almost three years ago, they kept the original wards that he and Ron had placed in 1998, which gave them unrestricted access to the floo upstairs. They were the only two included besides Ginny and himself, as he trusted them not to show up unannounced. And it meant that any time they wanted to come round, Harry didn't have to bother bringing them in or undoing all the complicated protective enchantments around the place, which was quite a headache and one reason why he didn't often entertain company besides his two best mates. Now in the stage of pregnancy where she was becoming physically limited by the expanse of her belly and therefore annoyed by absolutely everything, Ginny loathed the protective enchantments. It was this familiar complaint that she'd taken up once again as they waited for Ron and Hermione to arrive for dinner.
"No wonder Sirius hated it here," Ginny said. "I'm going mad, and it's much nicer than it was when he was on house arrest. Plus Kreacher is far more pleasant now, remember how vile he was back then? It must have been an absolute nightmare." She shuddered.
"You can go outside as well," Harry pointed out.
"Barely," she scoffed. "This place has got more enchantments round it than bloody Hogwarts."
Harry knew how uncomfortable and frustrated Ginny was after going from playing professional Quidditch all across the country to suddenly spending most of the day at a desk and not being able to put on shoes without help. Though she had been the one to suggest a career change when they decided to start a family, it was still a big adjustment to make. Pregnancy was a whole other adjustment. Harry knew that Ginny, who had always been thin and willowy (and for the last four years was in peak physical fitness), was struggling with the changes to her body. The past month had seen a rapid expansion of her stomach and along came any number of aches and pains, not to mention the bizarre solutions she'd come up with to accommodate her inability to complete certain normal tasks. She'd gotten excellent at nonverbal summoning charms, and though Harry had always had good reflexes, he became similarly skilled at dodging all manner of flying objects. It had become a routine occurrence to see household items zooming up the stairs or to flatten himself against a wall so he didn't get knocked out by her massive handbag which seemed to expand alongside her stomach. He couldn't imagine what muggle women did during pregnancy without magic to assist them. How did they bend over? Or reach anything more than six inches away from them? Even now, Harry had a hard time embracing Ginny with the swell of her stomach between them, and he found himself wavering between wanting to press himself as close to her as he possibly could while also not wanting to flatten the baby in the process.
"It's the same enchantments we've always had. It's only you can't remember how to undo them anymore," Harry said, grinning. She glared.
"And whose fault is that? If I didn't have your bloody kid taking all my energy and keeping me up half the night, I wouldn't have that problem!"
"Sorry," he said, not sounding the least bit sorry. Ginny huffed.
"You try remembering anything when you've got something living off you like a parasite. My hair's even started falling out, look at this!" Ginny ran a hand through her long hair, coming away with several strands wrapped around her fingers. Harry covered the pot of bolognese sauce he'd been stirring in response, having no desire to add any of it to his food.
"Y'know, I did notice you've been shedding more than usual. I woke up to about twenty long red hairs on my pillow this morning."
"It's rubbish," she complained.
"Just imagine what it'll be like when Ron and Hermione have a kid," Harry said. "She's got about five times as much hair as you do. Between her and Crookshanks there'll be hairballs all over their flat, like tumbleweeds." Ginny wrinkled her nose.
"Lovely. You're going to make me vomit if you keep up."
"I thought you weren't getting sick anymore?" he said.
"Not usually, but I might make an exception for you." He snorted.
"Really turning on the charm tonight, yeah?" he teased. She smirked at him, but before she could respond, there was a loud crash from upstairs. Harry and Ginny both looked up towards the ceiling.
"Buggering fuck!" Ron's voice carried through the open kitchen door.
"Careful, Ron!" they heard Hermione cry, then silence till their footsteps sounded on the stairs as they made their way down to the kitchen.
"Thank Merlin we finally got that bloody harpy off the wall," Ron said as he appeared in the doorway, having walked past the place where Walburga Black's portrait used to hang and screech at them. Harry repressed a shudder at the memory. "What the hell are you doing with the den? There's rubbish everywhere. I nearly broke my neck tripping over all of it when I got out of the fireplace."
"We're cleaning out Hermione's old room to make into the nursery, so we're storing everything in there till it's finished," Harry said. Ron was rubbing his elbow, which he must have banged when he fell.
"Plus all the dodgy magical objects still lying around that I don't particularly want my infant getting hold of," Ginny said. "We're trying to figure out what to do with all of it."
"Well, Ron knocked over quite a lot of it," Hermione said. Harry sighed, knowing he'd have to deal with the mess later.
"Don't worry, I cleared it up," she said, as if reading his thoughts.
"It was right in front of the fireplace! I didn't realize I'd be stepping into an obstacle course first thing."
"Aren't you supposed to be prepared for anything as an Auror?" Ginny asked dryly.
"Yeah, if I'm going out into the field, not to my sister and best mate's house where I used to live."
"Maybe if you watched where you were going instead of blundering around with your great bloody feet–" Ron interrupted Ginny with a groan. These days Ginny was quicker to anger than anyone Harry had ever seen, which was saying something as all of the Weasleys and Harry himself had terrible tempers.
"Can you get off my bloody case? You sound like Mum," Ron griped. He put on a high voice. "Pay attention, Ronald, you'll do yourself an injury!' Next thing you know you'll be nagging Harry to stop leaving his broomstick laying about." Ginny glared at him.
"What, and risk something happening to it? It's a Firebolt, mate, I'd never leave it out," Harry protested, which Ginny ignored. Hermione looked like she was resisting a laugh.
"Say I'm like Mum again and I'll hex you," Ginny threatened, looking very much like she meant it. "Besides, it's my stuff I'm worried about, not you. You can pitch yourself off a bloody cliff as far as I'm concerned."
"Oh, thanks," Ron said. Hermione caught Harry's eye as Ron and Ginny glared at one another.
"Ginny, how do you like The Prophet?" Hermione asked quickly. Harry sent her a grateful look.
"Oh, it's alright, mostly I'm writing profiles on the new players and making predictions about the league lineup. I'm sure it'll be more exciting once the season starts. And maybe by then Rita Skeeter will stop pestering me every five seconds to give her an exclusive interview for her new book about Harry." Hermione smiled sympathetically.
"I doubt it, but I'm happy to threaten her again if you like," she said cheerfully. Every so often, Hermione paid Rita Skeeter a visit that Harry was sure was less than friendly. He noticed these visits always happened to coincide with Skeeter announcing the release of a new book. Ron sidled up next to Harry, who had taken up stirring the simmering bolognese sauce.
"She alright? Bit stroppy, yeah?" Ron asked, eyes darting to Ginny. Harry followed his gaze and was pleased to see her smiling and chatting animatedly to Hermione. It was a departure from her usual somber disposition these days. Harry felt a pang in his chest at the realization that he hadn't seen her look so happy in a while–he couldn't remember the last time, in fact. Ginny had always been vivacious; what was it that dulled the inherent brightness that was shining across her face right now? Was it simply the discomfort of pregnancy, the growing pains from her new job, or was it something deeper?
Ron was watching Harry expectantly, and he shook away his worries.
"Yeah, she's been in a bad temper lately," Harry said out of the corner of his mouth. "Most days I reckon she's as like to hex me as she is to kiss me, and I can't ever tell which one it'll be. But if you tell her I said that, I'll deny it."
"Don't blame you, mate," Ron said. "I'd pick a Death Eater any day over one of Ginny's hexes."
They grinned at each other.
"She's alright though?" Ron repeated, looking earnestly at Harry.
"Y'know, you could ask her yourself," he suggested.
"Yeah, right," Ron said. "She's already in a foul mood, I don't wanna get told off for implying she's not alright or being overprotective or whatever rubbish she'll find to take issue with." Harry grinned.
"She's alright, I think, just uncomfortable and getting sick of looking at this place. Can't blame her for that," he said. Ron nodded.
"Oi!" Ginny called. "Is the bolognese ready yet? I'm starving."
As they tucked into dinner, the conversation turned to the party Molly was throwing for Ginny next week.
"Aren't you looking forward to it?" Hermione asked when Ginny seemed less than excited at the prospect.
"Hardly. It's like the bloody wedding all over again with her harassing me at all hours of the day. You two are lucky that I'm up the duff, Mum's too busy obsessing over me to micromanage your wedding."
"What else is new," Ron muttered with a roll of his eyes. Ginny turned to glare at him.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron opened his mouth, but Hermione cut over him.
"Honestly, we've both been so busy at work, we haven't done anything at all for the wedding yet. My parents have offered to throw us a muggle wedding, and if we keep leaving it off so late, we might have to take them up on it," Hermione said. Ginny laughed.
"Can you imagine Aunt Muriel at a muggle wedding?" she asked, and they all had a chuckle at this mental image.
"Arthur would love it though," Harry pointed out. "I can hear it now. 'A dee-jay, you say? Marvelous!"
"God, yeah, don't mention it to Dad or he'll want to be involved in the planning," Ron said. "He'll never leave your parents alone. I reckon after a few days of that, your parents might call the whole thing off and tell you that you can't marry into such an annoying family."
"Rubbish," Hermione insisted, smiling. "My parents love your family! They feel left out of the magical world sometimes, so I think they're really pleased with how fascinated your dad is with muggles. It makes them feel less out of place. They can relate to Arthur, because the way he feels about the muggle world is the way they feel about magic. It's a nice change for them, I think, to be answering the questions instead of asking them."
"Speaking of," Ron said. "Did I tell you Dad's picked up a GameBoy? He hasn't got any games though, so next time we're in London, I said I'd get him some." Hermione grinned excitedly.
"Oh, he'll love that!"
"Dudley had one of those," Harry said. "He spent a whole summer driving me mad playing Donkey Kong with the sound all the way up. I can still hear the music." He feigned shuddering.
"Right, so we won't get that one then, Mum'll kill us," Ron said.
"Honestly, I'd be glad of the distraction, then maybe I'd get some peace and quiet. Mum calls round every other day to nag me about something to do with the baby. You'd think I was about to deliver with the way she goes on about it," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
"Yeah, she asked me whether we've picked godparents when we went round the other day." Ginny huffed, dropping her fork with a clatter.
"I've told her a hundred times that I don't want to plan a christening before the baby's even born yet, but will she leave it alone? Of course not. If she had it her way we'd do the christening in the delivery room the moment I've pushed it out!"
Ron pulled a face, which Ginny ignored.
"She's got everything on some bloody timetable. I've half a mind not to even have a christening. It would serve her right." Ginny twirled spaghetti onto her fork with such force that specks of sauce went flying. She didn't seem to notice. Hermione caught Harry's eye across the table, her expression anxious. He shrugged a shoulder, hoping Hermione would take the hint and leave it alone, though she so rarely did.
"Y'know," Ron said suddenly. "I reckon the Cannons have actually got a chance at winning the league this year. Have you seen their new keeper, Hornback?"
"He is good," Ginny relented, looking less surly. "But their seeker's a disaster. Johnson couldn't catch the snitch if it was the size of a pumpkin and three feet in front of his broom."
"Reckon it would be hard to catch anything the size of a pumpkin when you're flying fifty feet in the air," Harry said fairly. The topic of Quidditch continued through the rest of dinner, beginning as a discussion about who would win the league–Ron loyally defending the Cannons, while Harry and Ginny debated the various strengths of the Hornets and the Magpies–and then bemoaning the current Harpies team, who had a spectacular losing streak last season.
"It's honestly embarrassing," Ginny was saying, as they cleared the dishes. "Callie is a phenomenal seeker, but I've always said that a team is as only strong as its chasers, and two out of three of the Harpies' are rubbish."
Hermione was levitating dishes into the sink when suddenly a screeching owl flew into the basement window and straight through the sudsy water. It skidded across the counter, shaking its wings dry and holding out its leg towards Ginny. The ink bearing Ginny's name and the logo for the International Quidditch League was smeared from the spray of water and the envelope was dotted with suds.
"Course Ginny would say the chaser's the most important part of the team now that she's retired, yeah? Reckon she blamed every loss the Harpies ever had on somebody else back when she was still playing," Ron murmured under his breath to Harry while Ginny was distracted. He and Harry grinned at each other.
"Damn," she said, after she pulled the scroll free and began to read. "Hutchins has fallen from his broom in a skirmish against Greece. He won't be able to play this season." Ron, who looked as if he was going to comment on this egregious hit to England's team, fell silent when Hermione elbowed him meaningfully in the ribs.
"I've got to floo my editor," Ginny announced, still clutching the letter. "Won't take a moment, you lot have a drink without me so I don't feel left out when I'm back."
"Let's go up to the study, shall we?" Harry asked, jerking his head towards the door. After grabbing three bottles of butterbeer, they followed him up a flight of stairs and ducked into his study behind him. For a moment, no one spoke. Harry took a deep swig of his butterbeer, enjoying the lingering sweetness of butterscotch before moving on to something much more distasteful. But before he could broach the topic he was sure was on all of their minds, Ron beat him to it.
"What are we going to do about this business with Malfoy?"
"We'll go to Georgina first thing Monday," Harry said. "See what she thinks about this witch and her ancient bloody magic–"
"Blood magic," Hermione suggested as if she were helpfully supplying an answer during Charms lesson. Harry continued.
"–Then I reckon we ought to pay Credence Bulstrode a visit, see if we can get anything else out of him."
"Doubt he'll tell us anything he wouldn't tell Malfoy," Ron said, scoffing.
"Probably not," Harry agreed. "But we need more intel before we can take any real action, so we might as well start there."
"I think you ought to start with the Malfoys," Hermione suggested. Ron's eyebrows shot up. "Speak to Credence Bulstrode as well, but I doubt he knows any more than he let on in his letter."
"You're joking. Don't you think they've already told Draco Malfoy everything they know?" Harry said.
"No, I don't. In fact, I think it's best if you don't mention him. Don't let on that he's come to see you or that you know he's involved with Astoria. It's better if the Malfoys think they've got the upper hand. Besides, if they think there's any possibility that it will reflect badly on Draco, they're not likely to tell you anything." Harry considered this, taking a swig of his butterbeer.
"I suppose that makes sense. But what makes you think they know anything?"
"They're about the biggest traitors to Voldemort's cause there is," Ron pointed out. "Who'd be stupid enough to tell them about another dark wizard?"
"I doubt anyone's sent them a letter directly spelling it out," Hermione admitted. "But the Malfoys aren't stupid. They're actually quite clever, unfortunately. Even if no one has told them point blank, they still run in the same circles as anyone who might be supporting this witch, and they're bound to overhear some things. I think it's entirely possible they've picked up a lot more than we might guess."
"Yeah, but don't you think Draco Malfoy's probably heard it all too?" Harry asked. Hermione shook her head.
"I really doubt Draco has the sort of connections his parents do. You've got to remember, Harry, Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater for years before his son was even born. He was in Voldemort's inner circle during the First and Second Wizarding Wars. His betrayal is far easier to forgive than Draco's, who had barely even come of age when he sold out all his Death Eater friends. He was only really in with the Death Eaters for a couple of years, and his commitment was always rather lukewarm. Dumbledore himself said that Voldemort was only using Draco as a means to punish his father. He never demonstrated the kind of loyalty that Lucius Malfoy did, and I'm sure Voldemort's supporters remember that."
"Still wouldn't call Lucius Malfoy loyal. He's a slimy git, just like his son," Ron said.
"No," Hermione agreed. "But more loyal than Draco is. He failed at the first and only task that Voldemort set for him, which was to kill Dumbledore. Draco never had the capacity for that kind of evil, and if it was obvious even to us, it was obvious to everyone on Voldemort's side. Remember that there were loads of Death Eaters on the Astronomy Tower who saw Malfoy fail to kill Dumbledore, and that was before the war had even really begun."
"And what about his mum? Everyone in the country knows she lied to Voldemort's face to keep me alive. That's about the biggest betrayal there is," Harry said.
It had made headlines for ages, the witch in Voldemort's inner circle, Bellatrix Lestrange's sister, who had saved Harry Potter's life hours before he defeated Voldemort. The Malfoys' trial had already been a hot topic, with stories written even before it began speculating the dirt that would be uncovered on the Death Eater family and (accurately) portraying Draco and Harry as school rivals turned enemies on the battlefield. After Hermione's testimony on what transpired at Malfoy Manor and Harry and Ron's corresponding statements, the Wizarding World was in uproar. The next three days' hearings were canceled, and the ministry spent them disbanding the corresponding riots that cropped up around London. The torture of one of its three war heroes had seemed to be the breaking point for the public, and all of the fear and rage and grief they'd felt over the past three years—the past twenty years, really—finally broke with Hermione's clear voice describing her suffering at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Sitting through her retelling of the torture had been nearly as difficult as the actual experience, in Harry's opinion. It had hit him just how young they were when he saw the crowd of adult onlookers in the audience, fixated on the words of three teenagers. Arthur had been a temporary member of the Wizengamot for most of the high profile trials after the war ended, but he'd recused himself for the Malfoys' after Ron had asked him to. He and Molly had come the day of Hermione's testimony, but had forbidden the rest of their children from attending, save for Bill. Like Arthur, he'd been serving on the Wizengamot for some trials, though not for the Malfoys'. Only a few minutes in, Molly had left in a flood of tears, and when Harry saw her outside the chamber after it was over, she was whiter than he could remember seeing her before or since. She'd clung to Hermione for a long time, stroking her bushy hair and not saying anything while Ron hovered anxiously over their shoulders. Afterwards, Hermione and Ron had locked themselves in his room at Grimmauld Place, and Harry didn't see them for the rest of the night.
The following week, Draco Malfoy was questioned about Hermione's torture and his involvement in it. Ron begged Hermione to stay at home that day (which culminated in a massive row the morning of which Harry pretended not to hear), but she insisted on coming. When they came downstairs later, it was obvious they'd both been crying. While Ron had been red with rage the entire time, and Harry suspected he would've stepped out more than once had it not been for Hermione at his side, she kept a stony expression and stared straight at Draco Malfoy throughout his questioning. She'd declined to come for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's testimonies, but Harry felt it was far less personal hearing from them than it was to listen to Draco Malfoy's voice trembling with fear as he recounted watching one of his old school mates' torture.
Once the details of what happened at Malfoy Manor were made public, witches and wizards from all over were all too happy to use the Malfoys as scapegoats for their own suffering during the war. Even the tamest letters to the editor called for the Malfoys' lifelong imprisonment, including the seventeen year old Draco who'd merely been a witness. Many more said much worse, and the Malfoys' were assigned two Aurors for their protection, even after Hermione issued a statement asking the public to let them face justice through the proper channels. But Harry's testimony inspired an absolute uproar. For days after, the ministry prepared for the worst. They closed the trial to the public and kept the schedule confidential in an attempt to avoid large crowds congregating outside the ministry or riots erupting again.
The morning Harry testified about what had happened in the forest, he and Ron had had one of their worst rows yet. It was second only perhaps to that in the tent before Ron left, though Harry didn't really count that, as he suspected Ron wouldn't have said any of it were it not for the locket. But his anger at this was genuine. Ron was livid that Harry was defending any of the Malfoys after what had happened to Hermione, and no amount of assurance that Harry believed they belonged in Azkaban made it anything less than a betrayal in Ron's eyes. When the Malfoys' trial began, Harry had taken Hermione aside and told her in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't tell the Wizengamot about what Narcissa had done in the forest if she didn't want him to. Hermione, being the champion for justice that she was, had told him not to lie on her behalf. Harry, who still harbored resentment for the ministry even under Kingsley's new leadership, didn't think he owed the ministry anything after how useless they'd been in the fight against Voldemort. He owed the Malfoys even less than that. But he decided that Hermione was right, and he supposed even if they didn't deserve the truth, the rest of the Wizarding World did.
Ron was not at all pleased with this decision.
"So you're really going through with it then?" Ron had demanded disgustedly the morning before the trial. Harry wasn't one to back down from a challenge, and he was heartily sick of Ron's never ending self-righteousness about this particular topic.
"Yeah," he answered, perhaps a bit angrier than he'd intended. "Yeah, I am."
"So letting a known supporter of Voldemort go free is more important to you than Hermione?"
"Of course not," Harry snapped. "I want Narcissa Malfoy punished as much as you do, but I'm not going to lie about it. If she ends up walking free, it'll be due to the Wizengamot, not me."
"Yeah, right," Ron scoffed, his expression twisted in derision. "Like anyone would convict someone who helped save the savior of the wizarding world. Who cares if she shares the blame for Hermione's torture as long as Harry Potter was saved." His tone dripped with sarcasm and condescension. Harry felt his rage rising; who the hell did Ron think he was, insinuating that Harry didn't care about Hermione? As if he hadn't also suffered at the hands of the Malfoys and people like them?
"You aren't the only one who cares about Hermione," Harry said, trying to keep his temper in check. He knew Ron was only lashing out at him out of fear, but it was difficult to care at the moment. "I'm not doing this to hurt her, and she knows that, so I don't know what you're so bloody upset about! What do you want me to say? Narcissa Malfoy is despicable, alright? The whole family is, and we'd be better off if the lot of them was locked up. But it doesn't change what she did in the end."
"She wanted to get to the castle!" Ron exploded. "Do you think she would have lied for you if you'd said Draco Malfoy was dead? Of course not! She wasn't making some noble sacrifice, she did it to save her and her son's skins and that's it. If it wasn't for that, she would have turned you in without a second thought."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Harry yelled back. "But you know what? She didn't! We've all got choices to make, and she made a helluva lot of bad ones, but that time she made the right one. I'm not saying that erases all the evil stuff she did, but it's a part of what happened and the Wizengamot needs to hear it." Ron had glared at Harry so fiercely, he nearly took a step back.
"So there's no changing your mind then?" he asked, no longer yelling but speaking in that dangerously quiet tone that Harry rarely heard from Ron. He shook his head.
"No." Without another word, Ron turned and stomped up the stairs. He didn't speak to Harry for ages after, and he only lifted his silent treatment because Hermione was so upset. Even then, he was coldly civil to Harry till they left for Auror training. Luckily for their friendship, Auror training was brutal. As was always the case, Harry and Ron needed each other to get through times of adversity, and training was no different.
Harry's testimony and the Malfoys' willingness to provide the ministry with information to prosecute other Death Eaters had kept them from Azkaban. They'd been charged with hefty reparations, but none spent any time behind bars. With Bellatrix's death and the lenient sentencing of the Malfoys, no one would answer for Hermione's torture. Harry still wondered if he did the right thing or if he would do things differently if he could go back.
Hermione's voice disrupted his reverie, jerking him from his memory of the dark days right after the war. The Hermione who sat before him now was much healthier, happier and more secure than she had been then, and the Ron at her side was returned to his easy going self from before the war. Harry resisted a shudder at how difficult it had been to put back the pieces they'd been left with, a whole other war in itself.
"Narcissa Malfoy is a Black, one of the most respectable wizard families in the eyes of blood supremacists. She's got a reputation that even actual Death Eaters like Lucius Malfoy can't live up to. Why do you think she was part of Voldemort's inner circle without ever having to be a fully fledged member of the Death Eaters? Because she didn't have to be. She's got the sort of social capital that's valuable to blood supremacists, regardless of what she did during the war. And anyways, it's much easier for people to understand a mother acting in defense of her son in a moment of desperation than it is to excuse a calculated betrayal. A mother's unparalleled love is compelling, even to blood supremacists. They aren't all like Voldemort, most of them have got the capacity to love, and the love between mother and child is universal to good and evil alike."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, considering this.
"What about Astoria? Think they know anything about her?" Ron asked.
"I don't know. Draco told us his parents didn't approve of her. It's certainly possible they might have heard something and chose not to tell him. They're despicable enough to do something like that if they thought he was better off without her," Hermione said, her mouth curling in disgust.
"That makes me wonder," Ron began. "If the Malfoys have got something to do with her disappearance."
"What? Like they ordered a hit on her?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. But Ron nodded.
"Yeah. You said it yourself, they're capable of just about anything, especially where their son's concerned. I reckon he's about the only thing that's important to them, and if he's serious enough about Astoria Greengrass to have a falling out with them over her, then maybe they think it would be best if she was out of the way." Hermione stared at him.
"You know," she said. "I think you could be right, Ron. It makes the most sense of any theory we've had so far."
"Which would mean she didn't seek out this enchanted hag of her own free will."
"Even more reason to question the Malfoys. Who knows what they might know."
"The only thing is," Ron muttered, seemingly speaking more to himself than Harry or Hermione. "We've got to catch them unawares, not show our hand too early. I thought we might go in asking them about Astoria's disappearance, make them think that's all we're interested in so they might be more likely to let something slip. But if we think they might be behind her disappearance…"
"I'm sure we can come up with some pretense. And besides," Harry said. "It doesn't really matter whether Astoria Greengrass went willingly or not. It's the source of the spreading dark magic, this enchantress or whoever the hell she is, that's important. It might be that we find Astoria with her, which would be brilliant, but I'm less concerned about the disappearance of one witch under dodgy circumstances than I am about a rise in dark magic. We can keep investigating Astoria's disappearance after we catch this witch." Hermione and Ron nodded their agreement.
"The two of you speak to your Death Eater contacts, starting with the Malfoys. They're vile, but they're the most likely to have information. I'll see what I can dig up from my contacts. There are a couple of werewolves I worked with last year who have connections in Wales… and the Welsh centaurs, though I'm not sure where the herd is now…" Hermione trailed off thoughtfully.
They heard a crashing of plates from downstairs, and Hermione jumped at the sudden noise.
"Look," Ron sighed. "I'm gonna go help Ginny with the washing up. I'll do whatever it is you two decide on." Then, without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and left. Harry and Hermione listened to his heavy footsteps as he trudged down the stairs, not saying anything till they finally faded.
"He's frightened," Hermione finally said, still looking at Harry's study door. "And resentful. I can't blame him. I'm frightened and resentful too, for that matter."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Me too. But I reckon we don't have a choice."
"No," Hermione said, sounding sad. "We don't. It seems like we never do." She looked up, finally meeting Harry's eyes, and gave him a small smile.
"You know I wish they'd been sent to Azkaban, right?" Harry said suddenly, desperate for Hermione to know this. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows at him.
"Yes, of course. I do too. I don't blame you, Harry, you didn't do anything but tell the truth."
"Ron does," Harry said. Hermione shook her head.
"He doesn't. He knows as well as I do that it isn't your fault. He blames the Malfoys. And anyways," Hermione sighed. "I don't like Draco Malfoy anymore than you do, but I don't really believe he deserves to waste away in Azkaban. He was afraid, and we were just kids. None of us should have had to do what we did."
"We were afraid too, but we didn't join up with the Death Eaters," Harry said. "That night on the Astronomy Tower, Dumbledore told Malfoy he'd help him, that there was another way. He made his choice." Hermione nodded.
"Yes, I suppose you're right. Still, I don't know that I want Malfoy's imprisonment on my conscience."
"It's not your fault, what they did to you," Harry said quietly. "If Malfoy had gone to Azkaban, that would have been his own doing."
"I know it isn't," said Hermione. "I just wonder…" She got that far away, pensive look he remembered so well from school.
"What?"
"I've been studying wands lately. For the proposal that I'm working on for the Wizengamot on expanding wand rights," Hermione said abruptly. "And it's reminded me of Draco Malfoy's wand." Harry's eyebrows shot up. Of all the things he might've expected her to say, it certainly wasn't that.
"His wand?" Harry repeated.
"His first wand," she clarified. "The one he lost to you at Malfoy Manor. Remember what Ollivander said? That Malfoy's wand had switched allegiance?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "Because I took it from him."
"Well, yes. And also no. Wands aren't any ordinary magical object. They're what harnesses magic in the first place, and they're capable of quite a lot more than other magical objects. Any wand won't work the same for just any wizard. Circumstance and characteristics have to be met for different sorts of wands or else the magic is weak. Remember the blackthorn wand? There was a reason it didn't work for you as well as Malfoy's wand, though I didn't realize it at the time."
"You sound like Ollivander," Harry said, thinking this was just another way of saying the wand chooses the wizard.
"That's because I've learned a lot about wandlore and Ollivander knew what he was talking about. It's no coincidence that Neville became suddenly a much more powerful wizard in sixth year, and it isn't because of the D.A. Well," Hermione amended. "Not entirely because of it. It's because his grandmother bought him his own wand after the Department of Mysteries, remember? He wasn't using his father's old one anymore, which obviously didn't suit him." Harry, who had barely taken notice of Neville's sudden improvement until the Battle of Hogwarts, let alone considered what had been the cause besides the necessity of Voldemort's reign, was dumbfounded. It had never occurred to him how significant a wand was to the quality of magic produced, in spite of the numerous wands he'd used himself over the years.
"So what's that got to do with Malfoy?" Harry asked.
"Malfoy's wand was made of hawthorn and unicorn hair. Unicorns are one of the purest magical creatures there are. They haven't got a shred of evil in them. It's really strange that Malfoy should have that for his wand core, as they aren't suited for dark magic. The unicorn hair will die if its wand performs too many dark spells. But something about Malfoy's deeper nature must've been suited to a unicorn hair core if that's the wand which chose him. Of course, there's no question why his wand was made of hawthorn. It's partial to wizards experiencing conflict either internal or external, so it makes sense why that substance would choose Malfoy and why it would also be suited to you." She paused, seeming to hesitate on the verge of a revelation.
"The strange thing is that unicorn hair is the most loyal quality in a wand. Even if its owner isn't adept at magic, even if it carries out dark spells, still, a unicorn core wand won't bend to another's will. It's why Ron's got a unicorn hair core, and I doubt he'll ever have a wand that doesn't. It senses his loyalty. The fact that Malfoy's wand recognized you as its new master straight away… well, it means something." She was looking at Harry intently, as if she expected him to know exactly what she was referring to.
"Yeah," he said. "It means that it knew I was master of the Elder Wand, so it answered to me." Hermione shook her head.
"No, I don't think so. Not just that, at least. I'm sure that was part of it, but I think it had to do with Malfoy. I think his wand could sense his indecision. His loyalty to Voldemort's cause was wavering quite a lot by then, which we know because he didn't turn us in when we got to Malfoy Manor. If he'd been dedicated to the Death Eaters, he would've told them straight away it was you. His wand wasn't suited for the dark arts in the first place. It was already inclined to switch sides, both because of its nature and because of the way Malfoy handled it. Remember what Ollivander told us? 'The wand learns from the wizard, the wizard from the wand.' Malfoy's wand knew that he was wavering, that he was questioning the magic he was performing. It knew that his heart wasn't in the dark arts. Just like Malfoy, his wand saw the kind of evil that dark magic created, and it wanted no part in it either." Harry had a sudden flashback to being crumpled in agony on the floor at Grimmauld Place years ago, an image in his mind's eye of Malfoy performing the Cruciatus Curse at Voldemort's demand. Harry wondered what was happening at his wand's core in that moment as he cast a curse as shaky as his hand.
"But you've just said that hawthorn wands like a conflicted nature. So wouldn't that make it more dedicated to Malfoy, especially considering the unicorn hair?" he asked. Hermione sighed, but it was affectionate rather than frustrated.
"After all this time, even after winning the Elder Wand, you still don't understand it. The wand characteristics are just one factor. If it was only up to the wand and not the wizard wielding it, then Dumbledore would have never defeated Grindelwald. Grindelwald had the Elder Wand, yet Dumbledore still defeated him with his own ordinary wand. You beat Voldemort because you're the better wizard, Harry. The Elder Wand helped, certainly, but it was your actions that night that sealed it; you said it yourself, your sacrifice during the final battle is what saved us all from serious harm because that is always more powerful than any wand, even some supposed all powerful one."
"What exactly are you saying, then? That Malfoy's wand answered to me because it knew I was on the right side?"
"Maybe," Hermione said. "I think it's more likely that it had become disenchanted with him. He'd been wrestling with himself at least two years by that point, maybe more. And it was impacting his magic, remember when attacked you in the bathroom? Trying to use an Unforgivable Curse on you at Hogwarts was reckless at best. And then his failed attempt at killing Dumbledore, not to mention what other magic we never knew about. It was all reckless, unsophisticated, and half heartedly cast, and his wand certainly knew that. Then we got to Malfoy Manor, we were about this close to being killed, and you physically wrestled the wand from Malfoy's arms. Ollivander said that a wizard in turmoil is best suited to hawthorn. We were desperate to get away, I'd already been tortured, and we were without a doubt going to be killed if we hadn't escaped when we did. Malfoy's hawthorn wand would have recognized your desperation then, and its unicorn hair core would want to assist you in fighting the dark magic that was all over the place. Remember what Ollivander told us in Shell Cottage: the manner of taking a wand matters to win its allegiance. And wands learn from the wizards that wield them.
"Besides that, hawthorn is difficult to wield. It requires a powerful hand to produce consistent magic, and whatever his natural ability, Malfoy's heart wasn't in the magic he was doing then. Not really. And you're a really powerful wizard, Harry. You didn't win the wand through magic: you took it from Malfoy. But the wand didn't need to see you perform magic, you didn't have to prove that you were a superior wizard, because you're so powerful that it could sense it. Remember, the wand chooses the wizard." Harry knew Hermione wasn't trying to be complimentary so much as she was simply explaining, but he found himself looking away, shifting his weight in discomfort. Even years after defeating the most powerful dark wizard of a generation, he still never knew what to say to those sorts of things. She didn't seem dissuaded by this though and continued speaking.
"The same thing that destroyed Voldemort also destroyed Grindelwald: love. Dumbledore loved justice more than he loved Grindelwald. He said he didn't want to face Grindelwald because of what had happened between them, but he overcame that because doing what was right was more important to him than doing what was easy. And I would guess that Grindelwald loved Dumbledore as well, and that made it difficult to take up a wand against him. He wouldn't tell Voldemort about the Elder Wand, either because of his love for Dumbledore or because he truly did feel remorse like Dumbledore told you. Maybe even both. Either way, it goes to show that he was more capable than Voldemort of understanding power beyond magical ability.
"Voldemort was obsessed with getting the Elder Wand because he couldn't comprehend that there was something about you that made you so powerful. He was sure it had to be up to the strength of your wand. But of course it is you. You're brave and selfless and good, above all else. That's what makes you the better wizard. It's what made Malfoy's wand answer to you. And it's why you defeated Voldemort. Even if he had won the Elder Wand, he couldn't have defeated you. The Elder Wand isn't infallible, we know it's changed masters hundreds of times. But even sixteen years on, your mum's sacrifice remained so strong that it protected you from Voldemort's curse again. Your sacrifice for everyone else that night, not just the people you knew and loved but the strangers who fought on your behalf, would have overpowered him. He couldn't have won."
Harry considered this. A memory from another lifetime surfaced: him, at eleven years old, stretched out in a hospital bed while Dumbledore explained why Voldemort had been unable to touch him. A love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark, he had told him. To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. At the time, the words had seemed hard to believe, even fanciful. That something as abstract as love, which eleven year old Harry didn't have much experience with, could destroy such a powerful dark wizard was incomprehensible. But he had seen quite a lot in the past twelve years, and he knew there were all sorts of magic beyond what could be manifested by a wand.
Forever. It seemed daunting, difficult to comprehend. That anything could last forever was something Harry had a hard time imagining. It seemed as if everything in his life was transient, so many things he'd once held so close having slipped away from him. But Hermione was right. His mother's sixteen year old sacrifice had been more powerful than Voldemort's killing curse at its strongest. He didn't need this final act of sacrifice to prove it to him: he had known since she appeared before him in the forest that her love would encircle him till he took his last breath, no matter how far off it was. Till the very end. There was no enchantment or curse powerful enough to break it.
His eyes flicked across Hermione's face, twisted in that expression she got when she was explaining something important. Distantly, he could hear Ginny and Ron talking and the clink of dishes zooming around in the kitchen below. In this moment, it was the easiest thing in the world to imagine how lasting, how powerful love was. He could feel it tingling just beneath his skin, saw it carved in the worried pucker between Hermione's brows, heard it lilting in Ron and Ginny's voices as they spoke. It penetrated every crevice of his existence. Some days, Harry thought he might burst with the strength of it.
"What I'm saying is that there's quite a lot more at stake than simply the qualities of a wand," Hermione continued. "A wizard's power is more than just his magical ability. Of course there are more powerful wands than others, but they're more a vehicle for its user's magic. Wands tell us more about who wields them than anything else, and I don't believe that the Elder Wand would have ever truly worked for Voldemort, let alone Malfoy."
Harry didn't say anything for several moments as he absorbed all of this. Finally, something registered.
"So," he said slowly. "You think all this is proof that Malfoy's got a good heart?"
"No, not good. I mean, he's still Malfoy. But I don't believe he's evil, not in the way his father is or Bellatrix was. And perhaps there's more to him than we realize."
Harry considered this. He and Hermione stood in silence for quite a long time before he spoke again.
"Do you… d'you really think Grindelwald lost because he loved Dumbledore?" he asked.
"I don't know." Hermione admitted. "But I think it's possible. Dumbledore told you himself that he and Grindelwald were nearly matched in their magical abilities. Grindelwald did so many really evil things… but he seemed to believe what he was doing was for the best, or at least he was able to convince himself of that. But I don't think there's any way he could have justified killing Dumbledore."
"For the greater good," Harry murmured. She nodded.
"Yes. And there would be nothing good about destroying the man he loved, especially a man like Dumbledore. I suspect there was some hesitance on Grindelwald's part, even if he didn't realize it, and that paired with Dumbledore being a bit more skilled made it inevitable that he would be defeated. It's quite poetic really, if you think about it."
Harry didn't find it poetic, and he certainly didn't want to think about it any harder than he already was. He found it confusing and inconsistent and fragmented. He felt as if Hermione had just told him nearly nothing considering how much information she'd just explained to him. He pushed his glasses up his forehead and rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"Are you alright, Harry? You…" Hermione trailed off hesitantly. "It isn't your scar… is it?" Harry quickly dropped his head, realizing he'd been massaging the familiar spanse of forehead. Though it hadn't bothered him in years, it was a force of habit in stressful situations to reach for his scar.
"No, course not," he said, and Hermione visibly relieved. "It's just a lot to take in, and the timing of all this couldn't be worse."
But Hermione was still peering at him with that worried look, and he could see the gears in her mind turning as she took in his strained expression. Having no desire to discuss all of his suffocating worries at the moment, he spoke.
"We should go back down, yeah? See if Ron and Ginny need any help. Or at least make sure they haven't murdered each other."
Ron and Hermione left not long after, obviously wanting to continue the discussion they'd been having in Harry's study without having to hold back from Ginny. Harry was relieved; as much as this case was weighing on his mind, he wanted a few minutes of respite to pretend nothing was amiss. He preferred to spend his time at home worrying about more domestic pursuits, like whether or not he was going to be a rubbish father.
"What was all that about in your office?" Ginny asked as soon as they heard the floo dying down. Harry sat at the kitchen table, shuffling through his paperwork and trying to work out which case files were overdue.
"Oh, nothing, just work stuff," he said nonchalantly, wanting nothing more than to put it out of his mind for the evening. "So how bad off is Hutchins? What do you reckon England's chances are without him?"
"I hate when you do that," Ginny snapped. Surprised, Harry glanced up at her. She was glaring at him, arms folded, and Harry blinked at her. He sifted through possible responses, choosing his words carefully. She was so easily upset these days, it wasn't unusual for him to be taken unawares by her sudden rage.
"Hate what?"
"Oh, don't play stupid," Ginny said. "I hate when you try to put me off like that. It makes me feel about twelve years old, with you still keeping secrets with Ron and Hermione and never including the rest of us."
"Gin," Harry said, attempting a reasonable tone and trying not to look as astounded as he felt. "You know I can't always tell you about work stuff. It's not like we're intentionally keeping you out." Though Harry certainly wouldn't have told Ginny anything even if he felt he could—he did everything he possibly could to avoid upsetting her more than she already was these days.
"Oh, really? Has Hermione become an Auror and you neglected to tell me? I wouldn't at all be surprised."
"We all work for the same department!" Harry cried incredulously.
"Oh, come off it. Was this a business dinner? Or was it the three of you running round and whispering amongst yourselves as usual? Because Georgina and Selwyn were conveniently absent."
"Don't be ridiculous," Harry snapped, unable to control his temper. Ginny's eyes flared and her face flushed with anger.
"Oh, I'm the ridiculous one, am I? I'm so sick of you always running straight to Ron and Hermione and never confiding in me! I'm your wife." Her face had gone splotchy like it did before she burst into tears or devolved into screaming. Harry wasn't sure which reaction he was more afraid of.
"For Christ's sake, Ginny, it's only work. I promise, you don't want to know anyways!"
"D'you know what, Harry?" She said in a suddenly much icier tone. "You're right, I don't want to hear anything you have to say. In fact, I don't want to see you at all."
With that, she turned on her heel and left Harry alone, wondering just what exactly had happened.
