Chapter 44: Secrets

[January 20th, 1996]

Romilda slipped down the stairs, keeping her tread soft. She needed to make sure not to wake anyone, especially the ghosts. They were tattletales of the worst sort, always heading straight to McGonagall.

No one must know she was leaving Hogwarts. It was finally time. She was going to meet him.

[Draco couldn't help but chuckle at her excitement. He couldn't tell if it was her elation, or his own, that made his heart race with anticipation.]

Creeping through the dark, she passed the Great Hall and opened the door. She slipped out into the winter night, tasting freedom. The snow crunched beneath her feet, her excitement and nervousness building with each step. He'd promised to meet her at the edge of the forest, but she was just now realizing how vast the forest was. She didn't know where to go.

So, she wandered, up and down the tree line, rubbing her hands. The Weasley gloves spread warmth through her fingers at the friction.

Once she spied the dark figure ahead of her, she stopped short.

Up to now, her letters had been harmless, but this was crossing a line into uncharted territory. She'd studied journalism, which meant she'd read plenty of news articles, seen the horror stories that made the front page. Young girls going missing in the middle of the night, killed by predators, human or worse.

After several slow breaths, she forced her feet to continue walking. She knew there was risk—just like every opportunity in life—but she'd assessed all that before she'd agreed to this meeting. The truth was if she didn't go now, she would always wonder if this was the opportunity she'd thrown away. She couldn't live with that regret.

Still, she wouldn't go in unprepared. Romilda cast a whispered protection spell, made sure the darkness powder was still in her pocket. It would be enough to get her away if things went wrong.

She walked towards the dark figure, who stood under a tree's shadow. When she was a few feet away, his face came into focus. Boris Krum, the Triwizard tournament contestant.

Romilda stopped short.

No, no, no. He was her Albino Prince?

"Come closer," he asked.

She took the smallest of steps forwards, then folded her arms. He took a couple long strides in her direction, and Romilda's hands grasped for her wand as he gripped her chin and stared deep into her eyes. "Hmm. Have you been studying Legilimency?"

"Since I was nine," she replied, tartly.

"So young. Who taught you?"

Romilda could feel him trying to enter her mind, forced him back with a disgusted mental shove. He didn't need to know who her teacher was. Romilda had never liked Boris, something always felt off about him. If it turned out he was her Albino Prince, she was walking right back inside and trashing her letters.

"She will do," Boris said, releasing her and taking a step back. He raised his voice. "Her mind is strong and clear of outside influence."

"Excellent," a second man replied, stepping from the shadows. He gave her a calculating once over, and then said, in impeccable English. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Romilda Vane. I am Mr. Black."

His hair was a muddy, inconspicuous brown, his skin lightly tanned. She would have bet all her money it was a glamour. Polyjuice, perhaps, though she'd heard of spells that could do the same thing. Apart from the anonymity a disguise offered, she suspected the real Mr. Black would have much more memorable features.

[Draco could feel her excitement, her immediate attraction to him, and felt a sharp joy that was laced with pain. His emotions were too muddled with hers to figure out what it meant, although he resolved then and there to never use the influence potion on her again.]

Mr. Black offered his gloved hand, and she shook it. "You've passed the preliminary screenings. Are you ready to begin your final test, Romilda?"

She nodded eagerly. She felt she should be afraid of the man who was hiding his identity, but strangely she wasn't. Already she could sense his intelligence, the sense of honour and depth that won her over in his letters. Even with barely any information to go on, she still liked him better than Boris Krum.

Mr. Black drew his wand. "First things first. Somnium."

When Romilda awakened, she was blind.

She tried to speak—she made no sound. She could not move either.

"Do not be afraid," said Mr. Black, closing her trembling hands in his. "The enchantment will only last for a few minutes. This is your final test. Can you tell me where you are?"

It took a few moments for Romilda's panic to settle down. If Mr. Black was a dark wizard, at least he hadn't really hurt her yet. She needed time to find her way out of this, and solving the puzzle seemed to be the most likely avenue of escape.

She could not speak, but she could listen. All senses were available to her, except for sight. It was cold, and she felt wind. She could hear the crunch of snow, but otherwise it was quiet. No forest sounds.

If my senses are correct, I'm still outside. But where?

It took her a few more seconds to decide. She nodded stiffly, and felt a force probing her mind. She projected the image of her answer.

"The Hogwarts Lake. How do you know?" Mr. Black asked.

"Three reasons," her brain responded, the information cascading faster than she could speak. "First, students aren't allowed the leave the grounds without permission during the semester, or the wards will alert the Aurors. You're not looking to draw that kind of attention, which means we're probably still near Hogwarts. Secondly, very powerful wards prevent unsanctioned visitors from entering the property, and there are only two sections with borders that cross the boundary line: the Hogwarts Lake and the Forbidden Forest. Third and finally, the Hogwarts lake had its wards recently adjusted for the upcoming competition, but building wards on top of wards leads to cracks. I suspect you're exploiting a loophole in our defences to allow us both to be in the same location."

There was a pause of several seconds, where the blood thundered in her ears.

[Draco remembered those five seconds. Sheer surprise.]

"Well done, Romilda. You passed."

She exhaled, and felt herself smile, waiting for her vision and voice to return to her. It was another few moments before she realized they would not. Her panic rose as she struggled against her bonds, found them immovable.

"Stay still," Draco said. "There are things to prepare."

She heard the dim murmur of a spell, felt the ambient rush of magic fill the air. It was electric and oppressively strong, making her hair stand on end. Romilda knew that power like that typically only came from a ritual, and those were, nine times out of ten, the product of dark magic.

Romilda's mouth went dry. She'd asked her mother once why dark magic was forbidden, and she'd said because it warped the true nature of magic, corrupting your soul. Romilda imagined that casting it felt dark, slimy, wrong. But this magic hummed beneath her skin—warm, real, alive. Merlin help her, she liked the feeling, and didn't see how it could be wrong.

Her heart thundered like a drum as Mr. Black spoke. "Your mission is to gather evidence for me, and you will do so using a powerful form of Legilimency. To use it, you need an observant mind as well as discretion. You will follow my instructions to the letter. Anything you learn must be shared only with me and me only. If you find valuable information, you will be rewarded. If you cannot, or if you break these rules, you will be Obliviated and discharged from service. Do you agree to these terms?"

She nodded slowly. Did she even have another choice?

"Now—I'm going to take off your right glove."

He did so, and her hand was exposed to the cold night air. She heard a soft rustling, and the hum of magic grew unbelievably strong. If she hadn't been bound, she might have fallen to her knees.

"I'm going to guide your hand," he said. "You will touch a metal object, but only for a moment. It may be painful, but it will not hurt you."

Trembling against the pressure on her entire body, Romilda raised her hand.

Something metallic and hard touched her finger, but she only had the briefest sensation of that, before it was eclipsed by a wave of power. It was glitter exploding and shooting stars and a first kiss and flying on a broom and adventures in another dimension and everything she could have ever imagined or dreamed was possible, all at once shooting up from within her one finger.

The rush of power and possibility overwhelmed her senses, and she felt a part of her mind open up that had never existed before. It was hungry for more. Information, knowledge, all could be hers if she merely sought it…

In a cold instant, it was gone.

No!

She lunged, her hand grasping, and then Mr. Black cried out. "Stop!"

Romilda fell back hard against the snow, her head swimming, heart pounding, wanting to cry and laugh forever at the same time.

And then this faded, too, replaced by a growing sense of finality.

[Draco, fingers gripping the table, could barely keep his thoughts straight. Merlin's balls, he'd never felt anything like that when in contact with the ring.]

Her vision slowly began to clear, darkness turning to shades of grey. She saw Mr. Black frantically scanning the ground with his wand. "It's everywhere!" he cried. "I can't dispel it!"

She saw him flicking his wand, drawing sparks and pops of energy to explode in the air. It was bright and loud, like a small firework shooting off. Romilda felt a wave of prickling heat, stinging her eyes and making her hair stand on end. It smelled of static energy, the build up of a lightning strike.

The power must have entered the ground. They were sitting on a bomb.

Everything was already so strange that Romilda could hardly figure out where reality ended and began, when suddenly she heard a voice that completely shattered her suspension of disbelief.

"Yoo hoo!" Romilda saw a vague floating shape approaching, white as a sheet. Moaning Myrtle. "Long time, no see. After you abandoned our school, I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I've so missed our little chats." She paused a long moment. "But what are you doing here, Draco?"

Romilda blinked. Draco? Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin son of the Death Eater who left after his first year?

[Draco fell into a moment of stunned silence. He hadn't realized at the time Romilda heard his real name, hadn't even registered it had been spoken in all the chaos. The one consolation he could glean was that it didn't seem like she hated him for being a Malfoy.]

"Greetings, Myrtle. It's just a bit of plotting, that's all," Draco Malfoy explained, and by now her vision had cleared up enough to see him sweating. "I mean to sabotage the other contenders for the next task, and let Hogwarts take the lead."

Myrtle didn't speak for a few moments, hovering hesitantly. "You know…" she started slowly. "I suppose I shouldn't judge. I've been trying to help Angelica myself, even pulled a few mischievous tricks for her, but…that is a lot of power you have there. And also..." She frowned, examining his brown robes. "Why are you helping Hogwarts?"

"Well, Myrtle," he said with airy nonchalance. "You know I'm a Slytherin at heart. But let's keep this between us, okay? I don't want to spoil the surprise."

Another long pause. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can—"

Romilda heard a hiss, saw an explosion of green light. The ghost stood completely still.

"What the—" Draco's voice rose. "Did you just cast Imperio on a ghost?"

"Yes." Boris shrugged, not taking his eyes off her. "Imprint of a living creature is still a creature. I can control her."

Draco cursed, ran a sweaty hand through his hair. "She won't stay under your power forever, and we can't kill a ghost or wipe her memories. She'll talk eventually."

Carefully, hands on her knees, Romilda lifted herself up to a sitting position, and then gingerly stood. She saw Myrtle, floating three feet in the air, her eyes vacant and her face placid.

"I have a plan," said Boris. "Do not worry. Myrtle, look at me."

The ghost blinked, glancing at Boris.

"Go into the school and pass through the common rooms. Make yourself seen. Act natural, but don't answer any questions in detail. Then, come back here and plunge yourself into the water, staying there for three days. After that, go the Forbidden forest and never come out."

With a vacant smile, Myrtle floated away.

"I see," said Draco. "Ghosts cannot be killed, but a high dose of explosive energy could fry her brain. What will you do if it doesn't work?"

Boris was about to say something, but Romilda responded, "I'll be on the look out for her. If necessary, I'll Imperius her again. I'll make sure she isn't a problem."

Both Draco and Boris turned to her with a look of frank disbelief. She shrugged, the pounding in her heart urging her on. "This is my fault. It's not Boris's responsibility to clean up my mess, so I'll do what needs to be done. You can trust me."

They won't hire me if I'm not reliable, and then I'll never see Draco Malfoy, never get to stand by his side, feel his magic coursing through me…

Draco hesitated a long moment, and then he nodded sharply. "She is your responsibility. Find a solution."

She felt elation mingled with relief. She'd prove her worthiness, even if it took everything she had.

[Draco's heart slowly calmed down as the memory faded. He exhaled, and leaned back against Durmstrang's couch. Then, fingers shaking, he started taking notes.]


There were quite a few things Hermione liked about having an almost-boyfriend. The first thing was that she could bother him whenever she wanted for hugs. The second thing was laughing at each other's jokes. And the third, so far, was that he seemed to love spending time with her. Hogsmeade trips, eating dinner together, staying out late on watch—she never had to ask twice.

Yet, while these were all wonderful things, they didn't seem like valid enough reasons to make him an actual boyfriend. Even so, she already knew she liked him. Maybe once they spent more time together, her feelings would deepen and grow. She really hoped so; he seemed like the kind of boy who would make an amazing boyfriend.

Still, she couldn't spend all her time with Dean. She wasn't going to be one of those girls who forgot her friends existed as soon as a boy appeared. So, she took a free half-hour before dinner to go see Harry.

Hermione entered his lab, hoping she'd find him there. He neglected his Auror mirror these days, or she would have called him.

The lab was empty. She called his name, and heard no answer.

She ran a finger along a dusty counter, considering her options. There was a back room he often secluded himself in, so she turned towards the steps to check, but hesitated when she saw an open notebook on his desk.

Hermione bit her lip. This was an invasion of privacy, and she knew it, but she got so…well…curious. Obviously, she couldn't look through the entire book, that would be bad, but the journal was already open to a page…

As if it made it less wrong, she peeked over the table to see it at an angle.

Harry's plan for not being a complete jerk

Step 1: How to talk to people

1) Nod and say something encouraging when they're talking. Options include: That's interesting. Can you tell me more about that? Or, ask a specific question to show interest.

2) Rephrase what they said to show understanding before stating your own opinion (like Hermione does).

3) Smile more.

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth, battling a conflicting mix of emotions. She hadn't realized he needed to plan out how to use social skills, but it made sense that he would. It was so sincere, so Harry that she couldn't help thinking it was completely adorable.

Now that she thought about it, he did seem to be more patient with people these days. He'd even held a conversation with Ron a few weeks ago. She noticed he'd scribbled little notes in the margins about new social skills he could try.

Umm, hang on… interjected her brain. You're not actually attracted to this, are you? We're trying to get over Harry, and-

"See anything interesting?"

She flinched away from the notebook, the sudden movement flipping a few pages. Harry stood in the open doorway to his back room, watching her.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling her cheeks flaming.

He didn't say anything for a long moment, and then shrugged. "It's fine. You can look through my notebooks if you want, I'd just prefer that you ask first."

Harry took the notebook, flipped through it, a frown forming. "Hmm. Not a lot of equations in here. I suppose you want to know my deepest, darkest secrets?"

Her cheeks burned. "Maybe I do."

He stopped, blinking at her. Then he cleared his throat, putting the notebook away (somehow, without opening the drawer). "Perhaps someday you will, but reading this would be too easy."

Hermione cast about for something to say that wouldn't make things more awkward. "What are you working on right now?"

"A personal research project of sorts," he replied.

"Oh. Personal, does that…mean you can't tell me about it?"

He grimaced, rubbing a hand through his hair.

Her stomach dropped. There was a part of Hermione that always felt, deep inside, that Harry was hers. He would give her the shirt off his back if she asked him, battle dementors to save her, and go above and beyond to help her achieve her dreams. So the fact that he kept shutting her out, without even letting her know why, hurt worse than she'd thought it would.

What if she'd been wrong?

"Well, Harry?" she asked, when the silence stretched too long.

He sighed. "Very well. This might be a bit alarming, so just, umm…give me a chance to explain before you say anything, okay?"

With relief and a bit of curiosity, Hermione followed him into the back room. She passed through the doorway and stopped short, staring.

There were movies she'd seen that started like this, and usually it was the serial killer's hotel room. Every wall, every surface, was covered in newspapers and photographs, with lines connecting things, words circled and underlined. She took a step, and felt a newspaper crunching beneath her feet.

"What is this?" she asked, turning to observe everything. The headlines glared back at her. Amelia Bones Spins Web of Lies. Seer Prophesies on the End Times.

Harry stood, arms behind his back, like a general in his war room. "I'm trying to figure out what is going wrong in the Ministry."

###

Hermione drew her finger along the wall, trying to see where Harry made his connections. All the while, her heart was sinking.

This is big. Way, way bigger than I thought.

"Back in the hospital, I wanted to ask Remus and McGonagall about the bombings," said Harry. "But I realized the only reason they wouldn't have told me about this deeply personal issue already—attacks made against me—was if they were shutting me out on purpose. So I decided I had to investigate for myself."

Some of the newpapers were Daily Prophet, but most were Muggle—the Times, the Daily Sun. A few were even from other countries, clumsily translated in Harry's handwriting. "What did you find out so far?" she asked.

"Probably nothing you don't already know," said Harry. "I imagine you've heard everything from the Aurors."

"Well…try me," she said.

He examined the walls, gesturing to a section on the right. "There have been numerous attempted bombings around England. In Muggle newspapers, they've been attributed to different terrorist groups, but the reports are suspiciously vague on the details, or else the description sounds odd compared to what you'd normally read in a Muggle news report. It reeks of a magical cover up."

He pointed to another part of the wall. "And here, I have my foreign news section. It's a bit sparse at the moment, but it's clear they're worrying over the Factions more than either of Magical England's newspapers. Incidentally, this project is teaching me quite a bit about Wizarding politics. Britain is behind the times politically, but they hold a titanic amount of authority in Europe. The Factionists' terror attacks are on the front page of every single news outlet I can find, eclipsing all other stories by a wide margin."

He crossed the room, scanning. "Ahh, and here we have our Quibbler section. They keep prophesying the End of Times and the Death of Magic, as they do on a monthly basis. However, starting last September, the number of reports on Seer prophesies increased, in both the Quibbler and other newspapers as well. And stranger than anything else has been the rise in alien probings."

"Wait, what?"

"That's what the Quibbler and some fringe newspapers are calling it, anyway. People go missing. Sometimes they never return, but other times, they come back damaged. Memory loss, mental instability, or even total vegetative state. A few Muggle newspapers report there's a rise in animal attacks, people getting mauled to death. Around the same time, news reports from Spain state that the werewolves have declared support for the Factionists.

He crossed the floor to stand in the centre, near his world map. There were lots of pins strewn all over Europe, in multiple colours. "To sum it up, Muggles and wizards alike are being attacked by magical terrorists, the Factionists are recruiting powerful allies, and the rest of the world is terrified we're on the precipice of a third world war. You'd think this kind of news would make the front page of our papers, but no. The Daily Prophet is speculating on who's attending the Minister's Birthday Gala in a few weeks."

Hermione swallowed, feeling the truth of his connections sinking in. Their weekly Auror meetings had dwindled by half. Even though Madam Bones had said everything was under control, every meeting she seemed more and more on edge.

"So, am I on the right track so far?" asked Harry, his voice tight. "Or is there some kind of restrictive code in place? 'Don't tell Harry about the prophecies, he might get ideas.'"

Hermione turned to him, biting her lip. His fists were clenched tightly, green eyes blazing with hostility. He glanced away from her, his jaw working.

Her eyes never left him. She wasn't scared of his anger. This time, he had a right to be angry.

After a few seconds, he exhaled, the tension gone from his voice. "Forget it. I understand if you can't tell me anything. The Ministry probably swears you to secrecy, and who knows, maybe they'll find out I'm seeking information and Obliviate me. But I can't just…not be prepared, Hermione. If there's going to be a war, and I'm a part of it, then I need to know everything I can."

"Why would you think you're involved?" she asked.

He gave her a searching glance, and then turned to another side of the wall. "Read these."

She got closer and peered at the news headlines.

"Harry Potter is the antichrist," Factionists claim

Boy-Who-Lived destined to destroy the world?

Another statue of Harry Potter defaced in museum

There were more; pictures of Harry with his eyes cut out, political posters showing Dumbledore and Harry in compromising positions, and Harry gleefully rounding up wizard children into a death kennel.

"I had to search for these, but not for long," said Harry quietly. "It's not exactly hard to get a hold of the Factionist publications when you're invisible. They're not trying to hide."

Swallowing, Hermione turned away. She thought back to just after the Christmas bombings, and to the warnings not to tell Harry anything. Was it to protect him? Or to protect the Ministry from being associated with him?

What was the Ministry hiding?

"I…don't even know what to say, Harry," said Hermione. "The Aurors have told me hardly anything, but I'm inclined to believe you're right."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? All those Auror meetings, the endless work assignments, and you're still operating on a civilian's information? I thought they'd trust you more than that."

"I'm still not technically an Auror, so maybe they can't tell me. In any case, I agree with you. We need to be prepared. So…maybe I can help you with these," she said, pointing at his foreign news section. "I could gather more newspapers and translate them for you, at least from the Romance languages."

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and then his gaze jerked down to the table, as if studying it.

"While I would appreciate the help," he said. "Think carefully before you say yes. You've got an image to maintain, after all, and I'm the Dark Lord Potter. Even Madam Bones was scared to have me within five feet of her."

"If anyone cares," she said. "Screw them."

He quirked a smile. "Very well. Be careful of Legilimency, then. In fact, I'd be suspicious of anyone asking too many questions. The Factionists are recruiting from everywhere, and even some Aurors might be on their side. I suspect the Ministry won't be too happy if they find out what we're doing, either."

They spent a bit longer in the room, until all those images of bombings and propaganda became too depressing. Harry and Hermione made their way back into his lab classroom.

"So, enough about my problems," said Harry. "How have you been?"

"Good," she said lamely. It felt trite to mention her news with all of this going on.

They were silent again, as it seemed there was no more to say.

"So, I heard you're going to the Spring Formal with Dean Thomas," said Harry, a touch too fast. "That sounds exciting."

"It's nothing, really," she said. "It's just a dance."

"Oh, but I thought…well, I assumed you were…" Harry pondered a moment, then continued hesitantly. "So, perhaps it's like those times you take someone to a dance to maintain social status? Even someone you don't have the slightest romantic interest in? If so, don't be afraid to admit it, I've been tempted by the same notion myself once, but eventually decided it wasn't worth the effort."

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, I can't say there's no romantic interest, but we're not officially dating, or anything."

"Oh," he said. "Well, umm…that makes sense. I suppose it's none of my business, but why him, Hermione? He doesn't seem like your…type."

His mouth twitched in some kind of spasm, and he turned away. Hermione blinked, trying to figure out what that meant. "I like a lot of things about Dean. He's smart, he's kind, and..." She hesitated. This didn't feel right. "He's a good guy."

Harry nodded. They were silent a long, uncomfortable moment. "But anyway," said Hermione. "Even if we are dating, I still plan on making time for my friends. You don't have to worry about me becoming one of those girls."

"Of course. And you don't have to worry about me being jealous, either."

She stopped short. What?

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair, but he didn't elaborate. He seemed unsure what to do with himself. "Or angry," he added, with a half-hearted shrug. "I just…want you to be happy."

Her heart fluttered for a moment, her imagination running wild, before she shut it all down.

No. It can't be what it sounds like. Don't do this to yourself again, Hermione.

Even so, there was a part of her that reacted instinctively to his words, for reasons she couldn't entirely explain.

"Harry, I think I can translate a few newspapers tonight. Let's meet to discuss them tomorrow, okay?"

He blinked, stared at her. "Okay."

She turned to leave, then turned back. "Don't get distracted and forget."

"Don't worry. I won't."

"Good," she said, standing in the doorway. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to figure out what it was she was forgetting. "I'm umm…I'm happy we're working together."

He smiled, fondness spreading over his face. "Maybe I shouldn't be, but so am I. Now, are you going to stand in my doorway forever? Your fans are going to worry if you don't show up for supper."

She laughed. "Well, I'll see you later."


One cold morning in Godric's Hollow, an old wizard and his dog went for a brisk stroll through the woods. After a few minutes, he picked up the pace, jogging as fast as his dog could run.

Running was one way the wizard stayed in shape. If he was being honest, he was much healthier now than when he was younger. All he ever did back then was sit hunched over a desk, scouring resources from the archives, or stare at documents he could no longer remember.

Such was the life of one who worked in service for the Line of Merlin. Everything about their work was secret, and in their deaths they remembered little of their life, holes where memories should be. While the wizard could not remember much of his past, he knew he was happier now than he'd ever been then. In a way, losing the memories had been a blessing.

When a child appeared on his path, the man stopped. She was young, probably only about four years old, swallowed up by a coat too big for her. It didn't make sense for her to be out alone.

The dog growled, but the wizard pulled his leash to silence him. "Are you alright, little girl? Where are your mummy and daddy?"

She smiled, her teeth unexpectedly sharp. "Right behind you."

Two people dogpiled him, pinning him to the ground. He cried out, but knew it was hopeless when another man ran past inches away, oblivious. The yellow-eyed woman met his gaze, tore through his Occlumency barrier like tissue paper. "Your job was to study Time," she said. "You handled the Ancients' artefacts. What do you know about the seven rings?"

It took him awhile to figure out what she was talking about. When he did, his answer surprised even himself.

"They will…eat the world. Their curses create…power."

"Do you know how?"

He fought back, the force of it breaking something inside his mind.

"Yes."