Excerpt from 'Protocol for employees of the Division of Obscurial Elimination, 3rd Edition':
Locating and neutralizing threats
1. Any and all physical contact with an identified Obscurus will result in immediate death. During the observation trial, employees are required to keep enough distance for the Obscurus not to notice their presence, but close enough to keep them in eyesight at all times.
1.1 Failure to comply with the required distance measures will trigger the Obscurus and cause the death of many.
1.2 Obscurus attacks are proven to be triggered by any and all contact with any external magic, that is, close and/or physical proximity with a witch, wizard or conducted spells.
2. Once located, the two week long observation trial will begin. During this time, the employees will send detailed reports to the ministry via the local referee every two days.
2.1 Any and all inconsistencies with the Obscurial's behaviour must be reported (view "Obscurials, Obscurus' and the modern phenomenon of deadly beasts" by Earnest MacLeod, Chapter 5: "How to spot the beginning signs of an Obscurus attack, so you don't die" for further details and explanations)
3. Observation trial will be conducted over a few hours every single day.
3.1 It is recommended to identify a good viewing spot, as getting too close to the Obscurial will be lethal.
3.2 Observation must last for at least three hours every day.
3.3 Observation is defined by "looking out, watching and observing any odd magical occurrences and/or unusual happenings that may be related to magic". Anything that is in the least suspicious, must be reported.
When Hermione was young, she had never wanted children. Her mother – and pretty much every other adult in her life – told her that this would change at some point, because every woman was to be a mother. She didn't have the heart to tell them that she believed this not because she didn't think herself capable of being a mother – who did, at that age – but because she didn't like children. When she did gather the courage to say that, she was still waved off; because every woman eventually learned to like children. It was a kind of destiny.
By the time Hermione graduated top of her year from Hogwarts, giving a riveting speech about war and hope, she had already picked out children's names with Ron.
The next morning, Hermione woke with her imaginary children's names at the tip of her tongue. Rose. Hugo.
She had seldom thought about them since her and Ron broke up, but today was different. Today she woke up somewhere far away, in a foreign country; she woke alone, with only two walls separating her from Draco Malfoy. She woke up with last night's worries gathered at the back of her head, where they had transformed into a poignant headache.
The second name she thought of was Anette Knudsen.
Today was going to be a bad day. She got dressed quickly.
It was 7am, the sun had not risen yet, and after glancing at the Daily Prophet's headline, thrown at the kitchen window by an early owl – "Suspicious deaths of Muggles in Norway, India and Brazil all point towards Obscurus attacks" - she gulped down two glasses of water quickly, hunched over the kitchen counter, panting and staring at the clean sink.
After… whatever that was last night, she had retreated into her room until she went to bed. She'd heard Malfoy downstairs an hour later, banging pots and dishes in the kitchen, making himself dinner. The delicious smell had crept into her room through the slit under the door and made her even angrier. She would've never thought he could cook. He seemed like the type to snap his fingers and have the house elves carry platters of food to him.
And even worse, he'd washed the dishes after.
At least he's clean, she thought suddenly, and the ridiculousness made her laugh. She'd rather have him be a slob than whatever else he was doing.
His words had transformed into an incessant chant in her head. Every time she tried to make sense of them, in any way at all, whether they were to be truthful or just a way to play with her, they just got louder and louder. Could he possibly be right? Was there something wrong about her work? About what she knew of Obscurials?
His words suggested it, but she couldn't make sense of it. She'd visited dozens of places, met so many people on her travels. All of them dedicated to their work, dedicated to protect the public. It wasn't like they had any other choice than to do what they were doing. Obscurials were a danger, they were lethal, and there had yet to be an alternative to be discovered to extracting them from society indefinitely.
They couldn't possibly all have been wrong.
And after all, there was arguably no other person in Britain who had worked more with Obscurials than her – except maybe those working in Terminal Isolation – and she had never encountered any viable evidence to support what Malfoy was saying.
As she stood there, panting, water dribbling down her chin but still filling a third glass, something in her brain clicked, softly, and her shoulders sagged with relief.
This was what Malfoy did. What he'd always done. Find people's weak spots, poke around and pry until they broke apart like shells, so he could wallow in their misery. He merely didn't do it as obnoxiously as he used to.
It was nothing but a ploy. The emotion in his voice when he screamed her name, 'Anette Knudsen, Anette Knudsen is her name!' was fake; so was the tremor in his shoulders, the disappointment in his words. This was what he'd come here for. Come crashing into her life, turn it upside down, make her question everything, and leave again. He sowed nothing but chaos and misery. It followed him.
He didn't even have any proof for what he'd said.
Satisfied with her clever conclusion, Hermione finished the third glass and turned towards the fridge.
Malfoy stood in the kitchen opening, and Hermione screamed. His small, tired eyes peered at her suspiciously, wild hair to accompany the plain pajama clothes that hung loosely on his shoulders.
"Merlin, Malfoy, couldn't even make a sound?!" she squealed, sinking back against the counter, hand pressed over her suddenly pounding heart.
"No, I like the element of surprise," he replied in a dull tone, moving to retrieve another glass from a cupboard to her right. "Thought I should get some water before you drink the entire faucet."
She crossed her arms, staring at his profile as he tipped his head back and drank possibly even faster than her, Adam's apple bobbing with every gulp. His pale hair was in utter disarray, standing in all directions, and it looked almost comforting; to see that he was just a normal human being who could wake up with a bedhead. Especially considering the slicked back hairstyle he wore for most of their years at Hogwarts.
He set down the empty glass with a satisfied, post-drink sigh, and Hermione pushed herself off the counter, walking away. But of course, he wouldn't let her leave without another snide remark.
"It's not even 8am. Did you sleep in that?" he said, and when she turned back towards him, his gaze was sweeping up and down her body slowly. It made Hermione shudder, suddenly very conscious of her work suit.
"Yes, Malfoy, obviously. My work clothes are magically glued to my body. That's why they change colour overnight."
He scoffed and turned back towards the faucet again. "Whatever."
She sneered at his back and was just about to walk away again, when a thought came to her mind. It was impossible to ignore, too sweet a temptation, too grand a revelation to neglect, not to rub in his face.
She crossed her arms and leaned against one of the cupboards framing the kitchen opening.
"I know what you're trying to do, by the way."
The faucet opened, water sloshed, and closed again.
"I seriously doubt that. Please enlighten me," he said, with an annoyed tone, and it made her veins burn with fire.
"Try to make me doubt everything. Come here and sow chaos, some kind of sick mindplay, like I don't know what's going on. When – when you don't even have any proof!" she laughed, "It's not going to work."
His shoulders had begun to shake as she spoke, stronger and stronger with every one of her words, and when he turned to face her, she saw that he was laughing. He was laughing at her.
As if to hide his mean grin he wiped his mouth, sounds of delight escaping through his fingers. Ugly, taunting hiccups. Oh, how she hated the way his glee rung in the air.
"No proof, you mean?" he snorted.
"Yes, no bloody proof! You just say utter nonsense with zero proof to throw me off! I'm not falling for it!" Hermione snapped.
He was so ludicrous, so utterly idiotic; the thought alone made her fluster, how dare he do this, act as if he knew something she didn't, she was the best of the best! Employee of the month, every month! She'd never gotten into any kind of danger before, and he was taking her credit away-
"Alright then. No proof, you say. I accept defeat," he interrupted her thoughts, raising both his palms to face her and chuckling, trailing past her with long, relaxed strides. Hermione stuttered, flushed, not a single, full word coming out. She had him, so why was he laughing at her?!
"I'll let you hatch that egg. I'm going to go wash up and get dressed," he threw over his shoulder while she was still gasping for air, and he dashed up the stairs.
She stood rooted into the carpet, open-mouthed, desperate for words, for at least another minute. When her lips finally closed, she returned to the kitchen to make angry coffee.
The drive to the orphanage was quiet and horrid. Malfoy had chosen a book over gloating or annoying her, reading or watching Norway's seas and mountains as they drove past. The silence did not quell the hot red pounding in Hermione's head.
She was so done with him and his antics. Nothing about his behaviour made sense. Absolutely nothing. And she decided that she was okay with not knowing, because every bit of information she got from him just sent her spiraling more and more. Everything he said made less sense than what he said before; every word had a thousand implications, and she was tired of trying to match them together.
So she decided that now, she was truly, fully, done with him. She was not going to say a single word more than necessary. May he choke on it.
Nordkjosbotn was only an hour drive, and the 'Det lille liv barnehjem', Norwegian for 'The Little Life Orphanage', stood proud on the outskirts of the small town, a sturdy white building with the name engraved into the stone awning above the imposing doors. There was a public park next to it, and as Hermione parked the car on the curb, she leaned over to see that through the trees and bushes that the orphanages' large backyard turned playground was visible from the park. Children of all ages were running around, screaming and yelling, playing catch and pushing each other on the swings.
"How do we find her now?" Malfoy asked over the faraway commotion as they walked into the park, past the large front gates and the high fence that surrounded the entire property.
"We'll see if she's outside right now with a locating spell, and if not, we have to go in and ask for her."
"And be led to the 'ticking time bomb'?"
She didn't need to look to know that he had made air quotations again. She huffed.
"No. After we see her from a distance and can identify her, we'll come back outside and start observation."
Malfoy didn't reply anymore to that, and they walked in sweet silence, until they came to a bench in the park. It offered a perfect view of the orphanages' backyard.
There were fewer children than Hermione had concluded from the noise; just a handful of elementary aged kids climbing up slides and chasing one another, all in mismatched clothes, shoes dirty from the grass, screaming in Norwegian and sometimes a word of English here and there.
Malfoy sat down and watched as Hermione pulled out her wand and performed the locating spell discreetly, with the bit of information she had.
Anette Knudsen. Female. Nine years old.
A bright thread of light shot from the tip of her wand out into the air, twisting through the fence and looping around children's legs, into the backdoor of the orphanage. Hermione sighed.
"Well?" Malfoy asked, unable to see the string.
"She's inside. We'll have to go ask."
He was already on his feet and several paces away, forcing Hermione to catch up with a short jog. Insults lay at the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them down. She was not going to entertain his antics anymore, she remembered.
The orphanage's high wooden doors opened into a stuffy, gloomy entrance room with waiting chairs lining the left and a small reception desk on the right, where an old woman with reading glasses and tightened shoulders was typing away on a computer, the tip of her tongue caught in between her lips.
"Hello, we're here to see Anette Knudsen and question her about what happened. Could you show us the way?" Malfoy asked before Hermione had even closed the door and he flashed the empty badge Roberts had given them. Hermione cursed under her breath. He couldn't just barge in and take charge like this, she was supposed to do the talking–
The old woman squinted at the badge for a few seconds, then at him, and nodded, waving her hand over her shoulder, rounding the desk towards the door next to the stairs at the back of the room.
"She's in here, reading time," the woman said with a pleasant Norwegian accent, and she pushed open one of two double doors leading into a room at the back. Hermione had to stand on her tip toes to lurk over Malfoy's shoulder.
It was a large playing room, floor covered with various toys, shelves lined with books in between the high and generous windows that faced the backyard. Children were on the ground, pushing toy trains, speaking with dolls, playing board games with one another and at the very back, where a few beanbags and small armchairs stood in a vague constellation, some of the older children were reading studiously, using the sun's warm light to their advantage.
Hermione followed the woman's finger and her gaze fell onto a girl on the most outer edges of the armchair's placement.
She looked her age, but the armchair was too big for her, and her feet dangled just a bit above the ground. Her pale blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, probably to keep wisps of it from falling into her face as she read one of the bigger books of the bunch. She looked completely serene among the quiet yet ever-present noise that hung in the room.
As if she could not even hear it.
"Thank you," Hermione said to the woman with a smile, but she just shrugged and left. Hermione stepped into her place and faced Malfoy. They could leave and begin observation already, but she felt a scolding was necessary after all.
"Malfoy, you can't just barge in and take over like this. I'm the senior employee-"
"You said I don't have proof, right?" he interrupted her, and just then Hermione noticed the way he was looking at Anette from across the room. It was something akin to hunger, fascination and curiosity all at once, but none of them strong enough not to be overshadowed by something bigger. Hope.
Or glee.
Hermione's mind went into overdrive at his words, the look in his eyes, and she tensed up immediately. She surged forward and grabbed his arm.
"Malfoy, whatever you plan on doing, don't you dare do something stupid just to prove a point-"
"You said I don't have proof. Let me give you proof," he said, eyes never leaving Anette, and he yanked his arm from her grip with ease. Hermione flailed to snag the back of his jacket, but he was out of reach already, walking into the room with long, confident strides. And Hermione felt the earth slow down beneath her feet.
He was a lunatic. He was going to kill them to prove a point. If he touched Anette, skin on skin, made the Obscurus come in contact with another person's magic, it would lash out and kill the entire orphanage.
They were all going to die.
Panic struck her voice, and she opened her mouth, screaming, but nothing came out. She could only watch as he walked, fast, so fast.
Nothing to slow him down, like observing a car speed head-on into a wall with no possibility of stopping.
Staring with unbridled horror as he rounded the reading corner. As he stopped beside the armchair and perched down beside Anette.
He was too close. He spoke words she couldn't hear. The girl turned towards him, speaking back. And then he lifted his hand with a smile.
If they touched –
Hermione couldn't even use her magic to stupefy him, because that would trigger the Obscurus too. No, she could only stare in utter disbelief when Anette let go of the book.
She took his hand with her much smaller one.
They shook.
Their hands separated.
And the world kept turning.
She coughed, breath staggering, her heart pounding fast enough to power an engine. The lightheadedness took over for a second and left just as fast. Nothing happened. How did nothing happen?
Malfoy said something to Anette and then turned his head, listening to her reply, and stared right at Hermione. Slowly raising one eyebrow.
See?
She sat on the bench in silence for five minutes before Hermione found her voice. Malfoy had followed her outside after two minutes. The children were still playing and providing an uncomfortable background noise. The smugness was radiating off of him. Her mind was cotton numb.
"How?" she finally whispered, glassy eyed, watching the kids. She felt defeated. A kind of exhaustion where you had nothing left to do but cry.
"The ministry lied to you. To everyone."
His voice was relaxed, even, as though he was telling a goodnight story. Completely at peace, while she was laying in shambles next to him.
"But why would they do that?" she asked, looking at him. She was so desperate for answers, and it tore something inside her to have to seek them from him.
His eyes were following a young boy tearing through the playground, yelling and yodeling.
"Look at them, Granger. They're children."
They both watched the boy run past the fence, close enough to see the wide smile on his face.
"It's impossible to justify imprisoning and probably killing a child. As if the term 'Terminal Isolation' hides anything. But they managed it. The newspapers are in on it. They made you believe that they're some beasts. Even you, of all people. It was either this, or openly admitting that they can't control the Obscurials. And the Ministry needs the public's support and trust more than ever."
His words were heavy with disappointment for the ministry, the public, for her. Shame spread in her chest like a hot, scorching wildfire. She could not explain the feeling.
"I- I never-," she began stuttering.
Her words collapsed between them and the ruins weighed heavy in her lap. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, pressing her palms into her forehead, heels of her hands pushed into her eyes.
"The war must have fucked you up bad, Granger, because I really didn't think that you were going to be the one to turn out like this. Used to advocate for house elves with that vomit campaign, and now… what do you even do this for?"
The shame crept into her neck, shoulders, back, paving a blazing path. Her breath staggered.
"The promotion," she whispered, no energy to make up an excuse. Nothing else came to mind anymore. It seemed so juvenile now, the promotion; it could prove nothing to no one anymore.
Malfoy chuckled, dry, unamused, an ugly sound. His joyful gloating was gone, turned into something more sinister, darkened around the edges, like a shark waiting to bite.
"Not 'To save the children'. Not even that. Just a worthless promotion."
She had no answer. There was none.
"Why?" she asked instead. Why, did you come in and destroy everything I know? Why me, of all people? What am I supposed to do now? When everything that's been expected of me turns out to be nothing but lies?
"Because you're the worst of them all, Granger. Because you're exactly what they wanted you to be. Because you couldn't even pretend to care."
Her head was swirling with a thousand thoughts, blurry with unanswered questions and her life as she'd imagined it coming apart at the seams.
Had she truly forgotten what this was about? Had she stopped caring about what she was doing? Had she been utterly blinded with everything the ministry had told her?
How could this have happened to her, of all people?
"The Hermione Granger I once knew would never have let herself be turned into this," Malfoy added, a twist of the knife, digging deeper into her stomach. There was a thread in her head that she didn't know existed, until it snapped just now.
"Oh, shut up, you don't know me! You have no idea who I am! You have absolutely no idea!" she cried, desperation clawing out of her, pushing past her lips, needing any kind of explanation, excuse or anything. She was crying at herself, hunched over, into her own misery.
"And yet you're exactly what I expected," he replied calmly, and when Hermione turned her head towards him, she found that he didn't even look angry. He looked at her with a dull expression, like one would look at an animal that needed to be put down. Pitiful.
He never lied. Whatever doubts he had been spewing since they arrived, they had not been spurned by a plan to confound and confuse her. He had been telling the truth all along.
How did he know?
Thoughts swirling like a whirlpool.
"How do you know?"
For once, he didn't have an immediate, smug answer. One second, two, three, four, silence.
"I just know."
Hermione sat up, revived with his hesitance. Digging her feet deep, holding on.
"No. Tell me. How do you know? Why did you really come here?"
Her challenge hung in the air, and they stared at each other, unrelenting. Ice cold, stone hard eyes boring into hers. A dare to make the other give up.
Hermione won.
"I did three years of research into dark magic. Of course I know some things you don't, Granger."
It wasn't satisfying in the slightest.
"And why did you come here?" she shot back immediately.
The children had gone back inside the orphanage and they had taken their noise with them. It was dead silent around them now, except for the wind whispering through the dead bushes and trees, whisking snow off the branches. His silence was poignant, his intense eyes flickering over her face as if she could give him an answer to satisfy her.
His mouth opened slowly when he spoke.
"To save children, Granger, which you've forgotten."
"I don't believe you. Three years in isolation and suddenly you care about the children? I don't buy it," she spat. Finally, he tensed up, shoulders straightening.
"You know nothing about me, Granger," he hissed, voice low and laced with venomous poison, and the grey in his eyes stormed furiously. Like spikes of ice shooting at her.
"I don't know what you're here for, but I'm going to find out. Whatever you have planned, I'm not going to allow it. Whatever you know about dark magic, I won't let you use it on that child."
"Oh, so suddenly you care about the children? The promotion is forgotten?"
"I care about whatever you have planned, because I know it can't be good! Don't try and convince me that you have pure intentions, I know you!"
Amongst their climbing voices, they had grown closer, gravitating towards each other until their faces were less than an arm's length from each other. Hermione was heaving, chest constricting with all that bloody anger and confusion and more anger –
"You know nothing about me, Granger, so just stay out of my way!" he shouted and sprung to his feet like a cranked-up jack-in-a-box.
"Get out of your way?! You don't get to play mind games with me and then just expect me to take it and not question you, you absolute arse! Whatever you know about Obscurials, I'll find out! I won't leave until I do!"
She'd jumped up screaming, the cold air carrying her voice strong, but he was walking away, out of the park.
"Fuck you, Granger!" he yelled just almost out of earshot and then he crossed into the street and disappeared down the pavement.
Hermione stood there, shaking and panting. When she dropped back onto the bench she folded over, face buried in her knees, hugging her legs, trembling.
Fuck.