Grimmauld Place sat empty that morning except for Kreacher busily tidying up the kitchen after a rather quiet breakfast.
The somber group had woken much earlier than normal, eaten, and gone back to their rooms to prepare for the day's mission, and then reconvened in the foyer of the dim, grim house.
With the Polyjuice Potion finished at last, Hemione had spent the better part of a half-hour carefully making sure it was truly ready and then divided it into equal portions across four vials she then stored in her bag. Draco had watched silently and helped her clean the cauldron when it was done. They had met Harry and Ron afterward, and after going over their plan, which was painfully sparse, made sure they had their charmed sickles for communicating, and then Apparated away in pairs.
They arrived a block away from the terminal where Harry and Draco had hunted for samples of stranger's hair.
There they had positioned themselves around the station by the loos at the exit and waited. Hermione had caught sight of her target first, and pretended to trip and spill a coffee on the unsuspecting woman's cloak. The woman had not been cross, but bemoaned her bad luck and while Hermione had apologized, purposefully clumsy in her attempts to repair the cloak, leading the woman into the large public bathroom amidst a crowd of other witches on their way to the portal to the Ministry.
Only the woman emerged from the loo a few moments later, her cloak clean and an inconspicuous smile on her face. Hermione was nowhere to be seen. The woman caught Harry's eye and nodded, then found Draco leaning against a wall nearby and joined him. He looked at her carefully and her smile was nervous but she opened her palm to reveal a Galleon that read, it's me, and he relaxed.
"I know," he said, and took her hand.
One by one, the others found their respective targets, lured them away to Stun and hide them, then took their Polyjuice and rejoined the others, transforming into strangers.
It was a stressful wait. As the flux of the constant throng of people coming in and out of the Ministry continued, the constant noise and bustle of the strange tunnel bore down on her nerves. She felt overstimulated out of sheer anxiousness and the bustle. Hermione tapped her fingers against the wall behind her as she waited, hoping they would have enough time to complete their objective and flee the Ministry before the strangers were found unconscious in the maintenance closets or their Polyjuice ran out. They had brewed enough Polyjuice that there was enough for each of them to take two doses and top up if need be, so they were likely set for the day, but she still worried it wasn't enough. Bad luck tended to spring on them when things were going well, and she worried they were overdue.
Once they were all ready and their targets neutralized, they split up. Draco joined Harry and Ron, and Hermione entered the loo on her own, entered one of the many bathroom stalls and tapped its wall with her wand to reveal the portal that would take her through to the Ministry. It opened silently, swirling at its edges with an odd sort of mist, and she stared through it into the Ministry itself, where she could make out hundreds of people walking about.
She held her breath and went through, stepping trough another sort of cubicle that poured her out into the never-ending throng of activity at the Ministry. Her heart was already pounding—she looked around quickly for the others and saw Harry just as he was exiting, and Ron and Draco joining him. She made her way over to them, relieved.
The main floor of the Ministry had great glass walls that were tinted a faint green. It was a strange, complex structure that seemed not to make sense in certain respects, mainly the fact that it was an underground location that somehow received plenty of sunlight through its glass walls, enough so that it needed no artificial (or magical) lighting during the daylight hours. Hermione supposed it must have employed the same spells that Hogwarts' Great Hall employed in order to show the sky inside the building.
The floors were a glossy black ceramic tile—she wobbled a bit on taking it all in, not having worn heels in some time. Martha Grovesner, the woman she was currently impersonating, had a well-curated outfit that Hermione had taken pains to duplicate and change into rather than take her clothes outright. It was bad enough that she was stealing her identity for the day and would have been quite rude to add onto that so Hermione had transfigured her own clothes into a copy of Martha's, down to turning her trainers into some black heels that she had been wary of. She'd reminded the others to do the same before they'd left.
When they had all found each other they spent a brief and precious moment standing together.
"We each take our own path," Hermione said, fighting the impulse to frown at the sound of Martha's voice coming out rather than her own. "Take any chance to go looking for Umbridge but don't draw attention to yourselves."
They nodded.
"If you've found her or need help, send word through the coin, and we'll come. Work quickly. If it takes all day, we'll stay all day. But we don't want to have to come a second time."
"And if we're caught or there's any form of trouble, get out as fast as you can," Harry concluded. "And we'll meet back at base."
"Right," Ron said. Under the Polyjuice, he had a neat black mustache and well-oiled hair. It gleamed brightly as he looked around warily. "In and out. No problem. It'll be fine."
"Take care," Draco said.
They took one extra second to try to give each other reassuring looks, but it had little effect. Calm was the last thing any of them felt.
They split up wordlessly. Harry and Ron went in one direction, and as Hermione watched, they split into two different directions at a fork in the corridor. Voices rang out from every direction. A bell chimed somewhere overhead. The smell of coffee was rather strong—she spied a vendor with a large cart that boasted a very long line.
"Ready?" Draco asked from beside her.
No.
"Let's go."
She glanced down at her official Ministry of Magic name tag—a neat, gold little plaque affixed to her jacket underneath her cloak, peeking out above its neckline. She wished they'd had more time to investigate the people they were impersonating. She had no idea what Martha was like, or which department she worked in. She'd expressed such thoughts to Harry but at that point the Polyjuice was nearly completed and he was insistent they move as quickly as possible. There had been no argument—she understood they didn't have the luxury of time considering the task at hand, but it would have helped to be more prepared than they currently were.
They walked in one direction. She had been inside the Ministry of Magic once—not that long ago—but circumstances had been different. Well, maybe not that different. She was still technically breaking in. Again, to steal something.
Funny how the past repeats itself. The thought left her uneasy.
She hadn't had the time to really take in her surroundings then, and this occasion seemed no different. She chanced a look at Draco and he appeared calm, but his hand was tight around hers as they stepped into a nearby lift with a few other people.
Had he been to the Ministry before? Likely so. There was a sort of uninterested air in his demeanor as he looked around, like he had seen it all before dozens of times. She hadn't thought to ask before they'd left. Well, if he was the most familiar with it, it would work to his advantage, hopefully.
The doors closed and the lift jerked upwards and then moved more smoothly.
"Good morning, Martha," a tall witch said from Draco's left. "Morning, Noel."
"Morning," Hermione said, trying not to sound surprised, her heart pounding.
"What brings you two into the same lift?" The witch asked, eyeing first Hermione then Draco with great interest. "I thought you two couldn't bear to be within feet of each other. Have you reconciled at last?"
Erm.
Wordlessly, and with the utmost discretion, she and Draco freed their hands from their joined grasp. His palm was damp. She wished she could see his face so he could help calm her. Why was she so afraid? She had done things much more frightening than this.
"No," she replied at last. "No reconciliation. I didn't want to have to wait for the next lift, is all."
She found herself wondering why Martha and Noel apparently hated each other.
"Very well," the strange witch said, sighing. "We all hoped you two would have moved on. It's a blessing to work in separate departments now, isn't it?"
"Very much so," Draco replied in Noel's voice. "I can finally get work done."
"Well I hope you've got someone making sure you do it correctly this time around," she said.
She felt a brief press on her hand as if Draco was trying to reassure her. She squeezed it back quickly.
It's all pretend.
She was too aware.
The doors opened and the tall witch stepped out. Hermione wanted to sigh with relief, but she looked back expectantly at her. An obvious cue.
We really should have studied these people before jumping into this, Hermione thought again as she followed suit and stepped off the lift. She glanced back at Draco and gave him a meaningful look: be careful.
He nodded and watched her leave, worry etched into his expression before the lift doors closed and carried him away.
"Quiet as ever, that Noel," the witch was saying. "It's a wonder you two never got along—when he started working here I figured you two were best suited to become friends. Alas. How was your weekend?"
"Unremarkable," Hermione said. "Yours?"
How do I get away from this woman? We're friends, apparently, but where are we going?
"It was all fine until I got the memo this morning about Umbridge's meeting," the witch said amiably. She had a prominent nose and long dark hair that was coiled into a thick braid that rested over one shoulder, and her eyes were sharp and dark but cheerfully looking around as they walked. She held a leather satchel in one hand that had a neat little pocket on its side that contained her wand.
Hermione glanced around, trying to place where she might be, but there were too many people and she and the witch were moving too quickly.
Someone bumped her as they passed. Hermione looked around in surprise.
"Sorry, love!" The guilty witch called, but kept moving.
"Be more careful, Patty!" Hermione's new friend chided, then sighed.
"Always on the run, her. I feel like running myself, don't you? I'd rather be put to scrub the chamber pots Muggle fashion than have to listen to Umbridge go on and on again. I'm nearly at my wit's end."
"Morning, Jane," a heavyset wizard said as he walked past briskly. "Morning, Martha."
"Morning," they said in unison. Jane laughed. Hermione cracked a weak smile. They continued to walk.
"And she always wants her seminars first thing in the morning, too!" Jane said. "Don't even have time to grab a bloody coffee since she'll just stand there and wait for everyone to arrive before she begins. When they first started I was ten minutes late to one of them because poor Brucie got his hand stuck on his toy cauldron and everyone was ready to beat me with their brooms the moment I walked in."
"I'd walk willingly into Devil's Snare just to avoid another one," Hermione said, and Jane laughed again.
"Oh, that's excellent," she said. "I'll use that later." Her expression turned dark. "I just don't see why we're being made to attend these if we don't even work in her department."
"She loves having as big an audience as possible," Hermione replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if she keeps pulling more departments in one by one."
Jane looked at her, frowning. "I think that's exactly what she's going for. Merlin, Martha, you're spot on today."
In the meantime, Draco was roaming the upper levels once he had come off the lift at the seventh floor. He was no stranger to the insides of the Ministry: he had accompanied his father there on several occasions when he had been younger. Most of those visits had not been paid as social courtesies—his father had made several of those specifically to pose bribes or threats for one reason or another. Draco could hardly remember now but he very much did at least recall how proud he had felt to see his father flex his power. He had been bidden to silence on each of those visits: touch nothing, say nothing. Simply observe and learn. And he had drank it all in eagerly and found himself wanting to be just like his father.
Still, the Ministry and its happenings within never failed to fascinate him. Owls flew about. Elaborately folded pieces of parchment that were charmed, sealed, and carrying touch-sensitive messages hovered lower down, flying to and fro to deliver their contents. Beneath that layer of bustle were the humans, the cogs of the Ministry itself. Magical folk flowed in every direction, talking amongst themselves. Reporters and their obnoxious cameras darted between the fray, seeking another official to bother, a quote for an article, a relevant photograph or perhaps a bit of gossip.
The wide windows allowed for plenty of light—Draco knew from his father that every window inside the building was so thickly warded and impenetrable that even an earthquake could not scratch their surface. Bronze statues were placed here and there, mainly in the more open areas he walked through. He recognized some of the depicted figures as friends of his father's, or remembered having seen them at some point at some of the various events his mother used to hold at the Malfoy manor.
How long ago that seemed now.
As he walked he took pains to walk slowly and scan the crowd indifferently—he had a feeling he wouldn't find Umbridge as easily as this but supposed he might hear something about her whereabouts.
Suppose I just walk around and run into her. That'd save me a nice bit of time.
Alas, unlikely.
All he knew about his fake skin was that the man whose identity he'd stolen was named Noel Harwick. That, and apparently he and Martha didn't get along, notably enough that he must have requested a transfer to a different department. He wondered about the full backstory between them.
After having spent so much of his life at a height of six foot two, he found now what a difference it made to be inches shorter. He felt normal. Like he could blend in more easily among a crowd.
I plan to.
Though there was the lack of plan that bothered him. Hermione had raised the very valid concern of them not having one earlier, and Potter hadn't quite listened. He remembered Hermione's confessed frustration over that from some weeks ago and now saw exactly what she meant. Granted, he'd always known Potter had a tendency to act impulsively but he'd expected that with the stakes being what they were now, he'd tread more carefully.
He didn't know what Noel's job was—where he was expected, at what times, and what he did—and more importantly, where he could and couldn't go. The name tag he'd copied off the real Noel wasn't much help either unless there was a trick to it he didn't know about. Perhaps it held some sort of tracker, or a sensor within? He doubted it. The Ministry had a history of misusing its funds, and from what his father had told him, they weren't the sort to really care about spending money to bolster their security until something really bad happened.
Not that it wasn't complex enough already. There were several levels of security clearance within the Ministry, and depending on your role here there was a long list of places that would be absolutely off limits to the lower levels. Draco had learned that on his first trip to the Ministry with his father, who had requested a meeting with the Minister himself for some reason or other and had explained to Draco some of the essential rules of the Ministry on the long elevator ride up.
Still—he picked a direction and walked on, making sure to look confident. If he looked like he knew what he was doing, he was less likely to be disturbed—unless he hit a clearance level.
He made sure to keep his ears receptive and ready for any useful bit of information as he walked, casually scanning the walls now and then for signs that might point him somewhere of interest.
No such luck.
Infirmary.
Storage closet.
Department of Magical Law.
And so on.
A poster caught his eye—he glanced at it and his thoughts faltered. His pace immediately slowed to a crawl.
His own face stared back at him.
MISSING, said the text underneath his image.
Somebody walked into him from the side—Draco lost his balance and barely recovered, moved to stand closer to the wall. The other person hadn't even apologized and merely moved on. Draco didn't care—he could only focus on the poster.
The photograph of him was from the year before—he barely remembered having it taken, but he'd clearly not been in a good mood. He stared coldly at the camera, almost sneering.
He almost didn't recognize himself. He ripped his eyes away from the photograph and read the text below.
Draco Abraxas Malfoy, age 17. 6'2. Weight unknown. Blond hair. Grey eyes. Last seen inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Only child of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy and heir to Malfoy fortune. Presumed to be hostage of the Order of the Phoenix, a suspicious underground group known for plotting against the Ministry.
If you have information on his whereabouts or can lead us to his remains, contact the Missing Persons department. Information provided below.
His heart ached.
Wouldn't it have been easier for you to believe I died in the Fiendfyre?
Had his parents been behind this? Or was this the dark lord's doing?
Was it real or just a publicity stunt to pretend they cared? Or were they actually invested in recovering him?
Remember, he told himself, they don't know you've betrayed them yet. They expected you to fail. None of them would have cried for you except for your mother.
"Nasty business, isn't it."
Draco jolted and turned to find a wizard beside him staring at the poster, too.
"Yes," Draco said, feeling quite outside of himself. "Nasty indeed."
"Word is the Parkinsons also lost their only child," the man said. "She's smiling in her photo, at least. I can't imagine anybody missing a brat that looks at you like that." He jerked his chin at Draco's photograph. "That's the sort of temperament only a mother would miss."
Draco had to repress the urge to shoot back an insult, but the stranger was right. Even he didn't miss that former version of himself.
"I don't keep up with the news," Draco said. "This here says they were last seen at Hogwarts. How could they have gone missing from there?"
"Rumor had it for a bit that the Malfoy boy's the one who murdered Dumbledore," the man said, shrugging. "The Ministry's been fighting hard to keep word on the whole thing silent but a lot happened there that night, and there's so many different accounts no one really knows the truth. The Prophet reported he and the Parkinson girl were the only two dead that night though no one's found their bodies."
"What do you think?" Draco asked.
The stranger shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest. I think the posters are the whims of grieving parents. Looking at that face" he gestured to Draco's photograph again, "I see a lot of anger there, but what do I know? He was only 17. Just a boy. For all we know Voldemort slipped inside the castle himself and caused chaos to distract everyone while he killed Dumbledore. Either way, neither of us is likely to know the truth for a long time, if ever." He glanced at his watch. "Got a meeting to get to."
"Wait," Draco said hurriedly, "Has there been word on the Malfoys since?"
The man shrugged again. "No idea. I reckon with their son missing, they're not likely to be out and about as usual." He waved and left.
Draco turned back to the poster.
Get moving, you've wasted enough time.
He did, but not before discretely taking out his wand and tapping the poster. As he walked away, the poster slipped off the wall and scrunched itself into a ball. Nobody noticed.
Not even ten steps later, he stopped dead again in his tracks, and this time the others walking in his near proximity just formed paths around him to keep moving. Within the span of a second he realized he was standing in the middle of the corridor and moved to stand closer to the wall again, but his gaze had been ensnared once more by more posters, and these new ones bore not only his but Potter's, Pansy's, Weasley's, and Hermione's photographs.
There were so many of them, and they stretched down the length of the long corridor. There were more of Potter's, Weasley's, and Hermione's posters than of his and Pansy's.
The other major difference was that their posters said WANTED.
Hermione looked behind her, lost, trying to think of a way to wiggle out of her current predicament. She and Jane had walked for a bit until they'd reached their offices. Jane had left her cloak and satchel at her desk while Hermione stood waiting awkwardly, staring at a desk that bore her name but wasn't hers.
Someone rapped at the open door and stuck their head in. Hermione jumped.
"How much time, Sara?" Jane asked the stranger, reaching for a tissue from the box on her desk.
"Doom in five minutes," Sara said glumly. "Did you bring your tranquilizers?"
"Oh, wouldn't that be handy," Jane said, snorting. "Thanks. We'll see you there."
Sara left, and Jane led Hermione out their shared office and through a series of turns and short hallways until they reached a double door that seemed to open into a large lecture hall.
Hermione had stopped short, suddenly nervous again. Jane had said Umbridge would be hosting this meeting. Was she already inside waiting? Or could Hermione find and intercept her, take the locket and escape before anyone caught on?
Not without a Time Turner.
Everyone else was going in, and judging by their expressions, most of them seemed as unhappy as she felt about sitting through a lecture with Umbridge. And Hermione knew better than to keep calling it a meeting, because any meeting with Umbridge inevitably turned into a lecture. However long this would take, she was sure she would enjoy absolutely none of it.
Jane had caught her hand and tugged.
"I've just realized I forgot something," Hermione said. "I"ll run and be right back."
"Martha, are you serious? It's about to start, you've got to come in!" Jane said. "She'll punish us all if someone isn't there without good reason!"
"I've got to pee," Hermione whispered, thinking fast. She dared not cross the threshold into the lecture hall. "I don't think I can hold it."
"You should have gone earlier," Jane hissed though she looked sympathetic. "Can't you hold it a bit longer?"
From past the doors and deep within the lecture hall there was a smart rapping at what Hermione could only guess was a podium. It sounded so hauntingly familiar she hated the shiver that crawled up her spine, and she found her eyes fixed on the back of her right hand, seeking a scar that was hidden by a skin that wasn't hers.
"Hem hem. Please be seated!" A sickeningly familiar voice called from within, magically amplified. "Today's meeting will begin shortly."
"Look, we're already here, we've got to go in," Jane said in a resigned tone and pulled Hermione through the doors.
Twenty minutes in and she'd had enough. Her stomach had felt queasy at the start and by now it was rioting within her, spurned on by her anxiety and anger.
Umbridge loved having an audience. She was very much like Lockhart in that manner, but Lockhart had the benefit of his farfetched stories to make him more interesting to listen to. His looks hadn't hurt, either.
It didn't matter to Umbridge if they didn't all like her. Hermione remembered her too vividly standing before the Hogwarts student body, almost fueled by their hatred of her. She just liked to talk and enforce her views, and she was certainly going for it now. She looked extremely pleased with herself, and had posters that very much reminded Hermione of her High Inquisitor decrees displayed behind her.
The Dangers of prolonged Muggleborn integration in Magical Society.
Most Common Physical Traits to Identify Muggleborns
Muggleborn Crime Rates In Recent Years On the Rise
She wanted to go up and tear each one down. Had nobody bothered to fact-check any of this before making these? She doubted any of it was true.
Just as Jane had warned, Umbridge had stood at the podium and waited for every seat to be filled before she began. Hermione had heard somebody remark with relief that nobody had been late that day so they could get this over with.
Umbridge had begun, and it was fascinatingly horrifying to see how impassioned her speech was considering the topic. Hermione's hairs on her arms had stood on end for several minutes straight as she listened with increasing dread, feeling such a strong sense of deja-vu that she'd pinched herself on the arm so hard it drew blood.
It was everything she had expected and so much worse.
By coming so close to the starting time they had scored seats way in the back of the hall. It seemed these seats were rather popular since Jane had barreled her way down the aisle and pulled Hermione into some of the last few available seats in the farthest back row. Another wizard had made a go for the seats as well, but upon seeing them reach it first, conceded with a grim nod and touched his cap, as if saying, well fought.
"If you can't hold it in anymore, you can try making a run for the loo," Jane had whispered to Hermione, pointing to an exit door behind them. "Umbridge might not even notice."
Hermione had a feeling she would. Or somebody else would, and word would spread, and then Martha Grovesner would be pulled aside and too-casually asked why she had slipped out, and she would have no memory of it.
She had briefly considered it, just walking out. It was no hair on her head, and she didn't know how long this would last, after all. She was wasting time and could at that moment be waiting in Umbridge's office to ambush her the moment this was over.
She scanned the auditorium and saw Ron, recognizing him by his alias' mustache but he couldn't see her. She wondered where Harry and Draco had wound up. Where they here too? Had Ron noticed her yet? He was seated in the middle of the auditorium, looking very sleepy and pale as he listened to Umbridge's words.
Discretely, she pulled out the sickle from her pocket.
At meeting with Umbridge. Can't leave. She has locket. Will try to grab after.
She watched as he jolted in his seat a little and reached into his pocket, then glanced at the sickle. He frowned, then glanced behind him quickly. She had stared at him intently, trying to catch his eye but it passed over her. Very well then. She would collect him when this was done and they would approach Umbridge together.
The coin went hot in her hand. She glanced at Jane, who sat perfectly upright but her eyes had closed. Hermione glanced at the coin.
Where are you? We'll join.
Hermione sent them her location quickly, stashed the sickle back in her pocket, and then nudged Jane awake with her elbow. In doing so, she noticed the man sat to Jane's left had a small sketchbook out and was in the process of drawing an extremely unflattering caricature of Umbridge. He caught her eye and winked, then continued to draw.
Jane sighed exasperatedly, shifting in her seat. "I swear these get longer every week," she muttered.
"It's almost over, I think," Hermione whispered.
"Don't jinx it," the man whispered.
"Muggleborns pose more of a danger to us than we realize," Umbridge was saying. "We have allowed it for too long. The truth is that the crime rates will continue to rise among them, and we will suffer for it if we do not take action now. Muggleborns have advanced Muggle technology that may put them at an advantage over us. The ancient Pureblood families that have fueled our society are dying and lesser in number, which will give the Muggleborns the opportunity to act against those who are purer of blood than them. Their population numbers have been rising rapidly—what will happen when they overtake the rest?"
"What a crock of dung," Jane muttered.
Hermione could only listen, frozen with dread.
"I have taught for many years and seen for myself how the Muggleborn students at our great institutions have more violent and insidious tendencies than their peers," Umbridge said. "Some of these students may hide behind excellent marks and records, but show their true natures inevitably."
Hermione could only guess as to who she was alluding to.
You kept backing me into a corner and provoking me for months and then called me monster for fighting back. For wanting to be treated fairly.
She rubbed at the back of her hand where her detention scar would have been had she not been under Polyjuice. She didn't want to hear any more. She wanted to leave. The exit door was mere feet away.
She forced herself not to move.
"The nature of my department's inquiry into Muggleborns is to review their records and histories to make sure they do not pose a threat to current society. We are using a fine-toothed comb, figuratively speaking, to ensure we are doing the best job we can and that we do not inconvenience any lives. We could not have done this without the approval of the Minister, who wholeheartedly supports my—ahem—our vision."
Hermione snorted loudly before she could help herself. A few people turned to look at her and lightning fast, she morphed the snort into a convincing fake sneeze, wiped at her nose for emphasis. The heads turned away. Someone offered a quiet "gesundheit".
Umbridge had not noticed.
"In our proceedings we have found three Muggleborns employed here at the Ministry who had counts of violence in their records of school or previous employment and therefore may have posed threat here. During their questioning they proved to be easily agitated and unstable, so after careful consultation with higher administration and the Minister, they were let go."
At this, Umbridge smiled as if she had made a very good point. Hermione seethed.
"We consider these successes as proof we are needed to continue our efforts. For the bettering of our communities and the safety of our society. We will review every Muggleborn no matter how long it takes and ensure our work is not in vain."
Umbridge paused and to Hermione's horror, a smattering of applause began around the auditorium. She looked around, her heart sinking. Jane too surveyed the spectacle with disgust.
"Why has no one gone up against her yet?" Hermione asked, making sure to keep her voice low. "Surely not everyone here believes her."
"There's plants among us," the man said quietly. "And if they hear someone's asking too many questions, they'll keep an eye on you. Don't you remember what happened to Helen?"
Hermione flushed. "Yes," she lied, looking away. "Of course."
"They said she got transferred to the States," Jane muttered, rolling her eyes. "Who ransacks their own home and leaves without saying goodbye after they've been transferred? You know Helen. She would have announced it weeks before. Hell, she'd have thrown herself a goodbye party if it had been her own doing."
So this was what was going on in the Ministry. Hermione had to fight the urge to sprint out of her seat to go find the others. How long had this been going on? Clearly Umbridge's crusade was not like to wear out any time soon. Her vision was well underway and picking up steam, and that thought frightened her.
How many others have been silenced? What else is going on here that the Prophet won't report?
"Remember when Stephen from the Fraud and Forgery Department stood up and started shouting at her during another one of her speeches last month?" Jane whispered. "You were on assignment somewhere else for that one, Martha. But he got escorted out and I heard he was let go because of it. Lucy from payroll tried to visit him the next day and his house was torn apart, too, like there'd been a fight inside. We haven't heard from Stephen since."
"Perhaps he was given a promotion, too," the man muttered as Umbridge continued to speak. "Poor soul."
"How can we stop this?" Hermione asked, dismayed.
"That's the question no one's asked yet," the man said. His finished drawing had included several hands arranged around Umbridge giving her the bird. He signed it, tore it out quietly and offered it to Hermione, who hesitated and then accepted it with a grim smile.
Umbridge was now walking away from he podium, still speaking. Her voice was still amplified.
"In order to work to our best ability we need more upstanding and loyal folk to join us," Umbridge said, folding her hands in front of her.
Hermione exhaled sharply. "She can't possibly be—"
"I am aware we have Muggleborn folk working at the Ministry who are in fear of their future and employment," Umbridge said. "I speak to those of you now though I know not all of you are here in this room now. I promise you this: if you join me and agree to reform yourself and aid my mission you need not worry about yourself."
The auditorium was so quiet Hermione fancied she might have heard a Snitch's wings flutter from a mile away. She scanned the room and noticed that hers and Jane's expressions were not the only ones of barely repressed outrage.
"Reform?" Hermione asked in a voice that shook with anger.
The man beside Jane was equally shocked. "There's nothing to reform. It is not a crime to be Muggleborn. It shouldn't be."
"Not for much longer, if she gets her way," Jane muttered, and they stared in bleak horror as the lecture was mercifully ended and the mad scramble to get out of the auditorium began. The place cleared out quickly, but a sizable amount of people had stayed behind, talking amongst each other. Umbridge was standing there at the podium still, her beady eyes examining the remaining crowd in satisfaction.
Everyone was standing. Hermione hadn't realized she was, too. She didn't even remember getting out of her seat. Jane and the man were still talking in hushed voices. There were enough people around that Hermione was suddenly hyper aware of her wand in its pocket, tucked into her robe. It seemed almost to vibrate with the desire to be snatched out, aimed, and fired.
It seemed like an age ago now, the day that Pansy and Draco had first warned them of this happening. She had listened and believed them, but she had not thought it would happen so quickly. She had not believed it would really come true. Perhaps she had harbored a foolish and unsaid hope that reason and compassion would stop it in its tracks, and there would be no reason to truly fear. She had believed people would not take Umbridge seriously but as she watched, some people were approaching Umbridge as if to ask questions and others had gone to the table by the stage, and took some of the many pamphlets laid out there.
The room seemed to spin slowly around her. She feared she might be sick but her anger anchored her, rooted her eyes to Umbridge, who was speaking to those curious people now and smiling, handing them papers.
She found herself reaching quickly for her wand.
It was the perfect moment.
Jane and the man were not looking at her. She was half-hidden behind a pillar. There were still enough people around.
Nobody would know where it came from.
Before it was free from her pocket, a hand wrapped around her arm and turned her around.
Startled, Hermione reached out and shoved the offender away, her heart pounding, and then recognized Ron's Polyjuiced form.
"Woah," he said, holding his hands up. "Sorry Her—Martha. I didn't mean to scare you. I was just relieved to see you."
She let out a shaky sigh, rubbed at her temple. "Thank Merlin."
"Are you alright, Martha?"
Jane had noticed and came forward, put a protective hand on Hermione's arm.
"Who's this?"
"A friend," Hermione said. "I was just startled."
Jane stared at Ron.
"Dominic, from Spell Registry."
Ron's brows raised. "Yeah. Do I know you?"
Jane smiled. "I've seen you around. I'm Jane, also a friend of Martha's."
"Pleasure," Ron said, and they shook hands. He looked at Hermione. "Listen, Martha. Could I talk to you for a bit?"
"Sure," Hermione said. She turned to Jane, preparing to shake hands, but Jane hugged her tightly instead.
"If you need a bit of extra time to come back in, I'll cover for you," she whispered to Hermione. "I know how badly Umbridge affects you. Take your time."
"Yes—" Hermione said, and suddenly she was blinking back tears. "Thanks."
The man stepped forward when they pulled apart.
"Didn't get a chance to introduce myself," he said. "I'm Tom. Good to meet you."
"It was good to meet you, too," Hermione said, and shook his hand. "You're a good artist. Thank you for—" She patted her pocket where she had carefully tucked the small drawing.
"My doodling habit comes out strongest when I'm bored or anxious," he said, smiling, and then checked his watch. "Got to get going. Hope to see you around. I'm over in the art department if you ever want to give a shout, or want another caricature."
"Oh, excellent," Jane said. "We'll definitely come round."
They left, heading in opposite directions, and then it was just Ron and Hermione.
They exited the auditorium quickly. The corridors were streaming with people still and owls flying overhead. It was loud enough that she felt safe enough to talk at normal volume.
"Where's Harr—Vincent?" Hermione asked.
"He was sitting closer to the front. He left the meeting as soon as it was over to find Umbridge's office. I reckon he might've found it by now because I've got no bloody idea where to go. I don't even remember what floor we're on."
Hermione saw a directory nearby and pulled him over to it. The map was so intricate they spent a good minute trying to locate themselves before they found the section on floor 17 labelled Department of Magic Theft and Protection.
"Yeah, that sounds right," Ron said flatly. "Should've guessed."
"Let's go," Hermione said and started to move, but Ron stopped her before she even took a step.
"Wait," he said. "We just sat through an hour of Umbridge's bullshit. Are you okay?"
Hermione's mouth was a grim line. He stared at her, concerned.
"No," she admitted. "Far from it. But we can't waste time. I'll have time to process everything after. If we manage to get out of here."
"Okay," he said, nodding. He looked exhausted. "Okay."
Hermione looked around. "Where's Draco? Why haven't we heard from him?"
Ron's expression soured. "Dunno," he said, and turned, plunging back into the crowd, forcing Hermione to rush after him to not get separated.
Umbridge's office sat at the dead end of a short corridor. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. He felt like a fool for even attempting the basic Alohamora on it. It didn't work.
I should have known.
He wracked his brains, trying to remember any other unlocking spells he might know, if his father had ever taught him a better one. He'd tried so many already. Where was she? He'd likely been waiting for a half-hour already. And where were the others? There hadn't been a peep from them all this time—not that he'd bothered to check.
He swore and fished the sickle from his pocket but there was nothing on it. He was about to send something through when he felt something pass behind him and he whirled, expecting to have been found out by security. Had his Disillusionment spell worn off and he hadn't realized?
There was nobody there. Frowning, he scanned the area around him and was about to write it off when he heard a whisper coming from his right.
"Alohamora."
Nothing happened.
"Shit," the disembodied voice said.
Draco squinted.
"Who's there?"
There was a pause. Draco heard a foot step.
"Who's talking?"
Great. An invisible stand off. Could it be Potter? He didn't recognize the voice. If he called out his name and it wasn't him, he'd have given him away. Why hadn't they come up with some sort of code in case this sort of thing happened?
"It's the ferret," he said, thinking rapidly. "The white bouncing one."
And then flushed at the humiliating memory.
Potter's Polyjuiced head appeared midair.
"Might've warned me you were here," he said, scowling. "Scared the shit out of me."
Suddenly Draco remembered the sickle in his pocket. "I've been busy. I forgot about the coin until now."
Potter shrugged. "Get in. Umbridge is on her way. I passed her on my way here."
The rest of his body appeared as he lifted the Invisibility Cloak to make room for Draco, who stepped under it warily.
The Cloak was of silky material. It felt like liquid over his skin. Draco marveled at it. He'd heard of these often growing up but they were so rare even his own father and mother had never been able to get hold of one despite their wealth and connections, and not for lack of trying. How on earth had Potter come by this one?
"How is it I always forget you've got one of these?" He asked, mildly annoyed. "Is it authentic?"
"It was my father's," was all Potter said.
There were footsteps suddenly coming around the corner at the fork in the corridor and then Harry and Draco hurriedly shuffled away from the door as Umbridge and an unfamiliar woman approached the office.
"The Minister has sent word to say he must reschedule today's meeting. Miss," the younger witch was saying. "He sends his apologies but says the only time he can spare today is at two pm."
"That's in ten minutes," Umbridge said, sounding displeased. "Go and tell him I will see him then. And see to it that we will not be disturbed this time by people with lesser concerns."
"Of course." The other witch left.
Umbridge opened her door and walked into her office. Potter had crept up behind her silently, as if meaning to squeak through before the door closed fully. Draco hurried to mirror him so he would not be left behind. In the end, there was no need. Umbridge was clearly in a rush and left the door wide open and so they easily crept through it and jammed themselves into a corner where she was least likely to bump into them.
She was distracted and had her back to them, searching through her desk drawers.
"What now?" Draco breathed.
Potter was raising his wand and aiming it at the door.
At that very second, two people walked into view.
Draco barely recognized Hermione and Weasley through their Polyjuiced forms.
They looked as shocked as he and Potter must have been. They probably hadn't anticipated the door being open.
Umbridge had found whatever she needed from her desk and straightened, caught sight of the strangers at her doorway. She seemed surprised too, and looked at them in annoyance.
"What?" She asked rudely. "Who are you? Identify yourselves at once."
They stepped inside the ugly office, looking very lost and unsure of what to do.
"We were at your meeting just now," Hermione/Martha said slowly.
"Yes," Ron/Dominic said. "We were erm—inspired by your words."
Umbridge relaxed. She looked mightily pleased.
"Have you come to join my campaign?" She asked, smiling her toadiest smile yet, as if about to extend a long tongue to wrap around them and eat them.
"Yes," Hermione/Martha said. "In return for immunity."
"Ah yes," Umbridge said, laughing lightly. "Of course you want to save yourselves. I'm glad to hear it."
She turned and waved her wand, summoned two sets of papers that flew out of a file cabinet on the other side of the room and then hovered in front of Ron and Hermione. While everybody had been focused on the papers, the door to the office had closed behind them. Only Harry and Draco saw it. Harry turned his wand onto Umbridge next.
"You'll need to fill out these first," Umbridge said. "An interview and background check is required before I consider granting you admission to my team. You will have to speak to my assistant to schedule a meeting. At least leave your names on those forms and I will have her get in touch with you later, as I am busy today."
Two quills appeared in front of them. Hermione and Ron wrote on the forms quickly. Umbridge summoned the papers, glanced at them, and set them down on her desk.
"I'm very glad you're joining this cause," Umbridge said. "There were four others today who volunteered after the meeting."
"That's incredible," Hermione/Martha said, sounding more sickened than impressed, but Umbridge didn't notice.
"Isn't it?" Umbridge asked, beaming. "One does not know they danger they pose until they are told so by somebody who knows better. In time, we will have amended that and our society will be safer."
"Amend this," Potter said, and pulled off the Cloak.
"Must you be so dramatic?" Draco muttered, but it went unheard.
Hermione and Ron's eyes were huge as they saw them. Draco caught Hermione's eyes at once—they looked over each other quickly to make sure they were alright.
Umbridge was agape, stared at them in confusion.
"And who are you?" She asked. "How long have you been in my office? What is the meaning of this?"
"You've got something we've been looking for," Potter said.
"Tell me your names at once! I'll have you thrown out and fired!" She drew out her wand and aimed at Harry but was disarmed almost instantly by Hermione, who caught her wand and stowed it in her pocket.
"Guards!" Umbridge shouted, but upon noticing the door was shut, took a step back, glaring at them.
"Accio locket," Draco said, raising his wand. Nothing happened.
Umbridge was clutching it in her hand.
"This is what you are after?"
"Clearly," Draco replied.
"You can't have it," she hissed, backing away. "This is a priceless family heirloom and you have no right to steal it! It is worth more than you will ever make!"
Hermione advanced until she stood in front of Umbridge. "We know it isn't yours, and we know how you got it. Give it to us before we take it from you."
"Take my purse," Umbridge said quickly. "Take that instead. This is mine!"
"You mustn't tell lies, Dolores," Potter said, stepping forth.
Umbridge gaped at him, comprehending.
"You've got an awful lot of nerve, boy, breaking into the Ministry like this," she said. "Are these your little friends, too?"
She fixated on Hermione, who stared back coolly.
"Miss Granger," she said, smiling nastily. "You've ignored my summons. You're a wanted witch."
"This is the last time I'll ever be in an office of yours," Hermione replied.
"That's right, because you'll be in a cell next, and your wand will be in my custody," Umbridge said, laughing. "For such a clever girl, you've made some dreadful choices. Give me my wand back now or I will not hesitate to make an example of you for my program." She eyed her with pure malice. "I have thought in great detail how to repay you for your deception at Hogwarts."
"No," Hermione said boldly. "You deserved what you got."
"And you'll get your due too," Umbridge said in an uncharacteristically low voice. "Mark my words. I will correct you."
She turned to Ron.
"Weasley, isn't it? We've been keeping an eye on your family. They're worried sick about you. How could you leave them when they need you most?"
Ron said nothing, narrowing his eyes at her.
She turned to Draco. "And who is this?"
"You're outnumbered, Dolores," Potter said suddenly, catching her attention. "Give us the locket and we'll leave you alone."
There was a heavy pause as Umbridge seemed to weigh her options. At last, however, she gave in and took off the locket, and rather than hand it to anyone, let it drop to the floor.
"You won't escape the Ministry so easily," she said, looking first at Hermione, then Harry. "Getting out is harder than getting in. You should know." And her narrowed eyes landed on Draco.
Ron bent down to gather the locket. Faster than they thought possible, Umbridge moved as if to kick him.
"Repulso!" Hermione hissed, and Umbridge let out a coarse yell as she was pushed roughly backward into her desk, which was knocked askew by the spell. Umbridge landed on the floor heavily.
Ron stowed the locket in his pocket.
"Thanks," he said.
"Let's go," Potter said. "She's got a meeting and they'll be looking for her soon."
He and Weasley moved toward the door.
"Hang on," Draco said, and they stopped. "We're Obliviating her, right? We can't just leave her like this."
Umbridge was moving feebly, trying to get up.
Potter frowned. "I don't like doing that sort of thing."
Draco approached him quickly, his eyes urgent.
"It's not about liking things, Potter. It's about necessity. She knows who you are and what we came here for. She'll squawk to the Aurors the second we leave this room, and they'll come down hard on us before we've even managed to leave the floor."
"He's right, Harry," Hermione said.
"This is so fucked," Ron muttered. "But I agree."
"Who's going to do it, then?" Harry asked. "Because I won't."
Draco went over to Umbridge and crouched. She recoiled.
He pointed his wand at her forehead.
"Obliviate."
"We should clean that up," Potter said, pointing to the mess they'd made.
"No," Weasley said, who had positioned himself at the door. "Someone's coming."
The others fell silent, listening. Footsteps registered in the corridor, coming toward them rapidly.
Draco swore under his breath.
There was a quiet rustle as Potter unfurled his cloak. Weasley and Hermione automatically rushed underneath it. They disappeared from view.
The footsteps were coming closer. Draco looked back at Umbridge, heart pounding, wondering if he had time to wake her, because she was still on the floor unconscious and the scene clearly suggested something foul had happened here, which would raise alarms.
A hand grabbed and pulled him along and out the door—he nearly stumbled and felt Potter's invisibility cloak fall over him, and suddenly he could see the trio again, tense and hurriedly going down the corridor. Hermione released her hold of his robes and looked back at him briefly to make sure he was not falling behind. He fell into stride beside her.
They had just turned the corner of the corridor her office was housed in when Harry and Draco saw the young witch they'd seen earlier coming in the direction they'd just abandoned.
"She's never been late before," the witch was saying. "I reckon she get held up by another volunteer."
Another voice said something but they were past range of hearing.
"Go, go, go," Ron hissed and they walked faster, nearly running to the lifts, which were mercifully opening just as they reached it, and with nobody else needing it, they raced inside and closed the door. They took off the cloak, which Harry shrank and stored in his pocket.
The lift to the main floor was mostly silent. They were luckily the only ones on it the whole way down.
Hermione and Harry stood on one side, Ron and Draco on the other. They all faced each other.
"You've got it?" Harry asked Ron.
Ron's hand had been in his pocket the whole ride, clutching the locket as though he were afraid of losing it. His face was pale, sweating.
"Yeah," he said.
When the doors finally opened, calamity was well underway.
"A MINISTRY OFFICIAL HAS BEEN ATTACKED. ALL PERSONNEL TO LOCK THEMSELVES INSIDE THEIR WORKSPACES UNTIL TOLD IT IS SAFE TO EXIT," A voice boomed on a loop overhead. "ACCOUNT FOR EVERY WORKER. BEWARE SUSPICIOUS PERSONS."
Draco stopped a wizard walking past.
"What's happened?"
"Dunno," the man said. "I heard someone say a bunch of unconscious people were found in a closet on the base level. Traces of Polyjuice were found with them. Reckon it's an intruder alert, and now there's news some higher up was attacked. Better follow orders." He walked away quickly.
So the real Martha, Dominic, Vincent and Noel had been found. It had been inevitable. A Stupefy's effects did not last forever. He was somewhat consoled by the fact they'd managed to get the locket. Still, frustration bit at him. They'd been sloppy.
"Let's go," Potter hissed.
They maneuvered through the thinning crowds as everyone else was quickly filtering into their respective workplaces. Hermione tripped over a woman on the ground who had spilled everything in her purse and was scrambling to pick it back up. Potter helped her up.
The voice continued to boom overhead.
They were nearing the exit portals.
"What if they've blocked them all off?" Hermione asked, panting as they ran. "They said 'initiate lockdown'!"
"Don't jinx us," Potter said and they all skidded to a stop. The portals were flickering to a stop one by one like a wave. The long row of stalls guttered out quickly, careening toward them.
The man who had commenced the shutting down of the portals saw them and raised his wand.
"You there! Stop!" He shouted. "Nobody's allowed out!"
"GO!" Harry roared.
They dove for the nearest stalls. Harry and Draco made it through first. Draco turned back and reached for Hermione to help her through. The blocking was almost upon the last portals. The man had run towards them.
"Stop! Stupefy!"
"Grab my hand!" Draco shouted. The Polyjuice had finally begun to wear off and his eyes had reverted first. She felt her own features shifting. Hermione reached for him and then flinched as the man's subsequent spell blasted a chunk of her stall door off, nearly hitting her as it flew off so she had to dodge it by leaping backward.
It missed Ron by an inch as he jumped through the portal which promptly guttered out a second after. Hermione had looked back in fear, heart pounding—the man was aiming his wand at her now and she lost her footing and nearly fell as Draco's hand caught her wrist and yanked her through the portal with so much force that they stumbled backward, almost falling into a heap.
The sudden silence around them was almost overwhelming. The loo smelled of mold. There was no one there but them.
Hermione gasped for breath. Draco's hand was still tight around her wrist. She put her free hand over it and looked at him, silently conveying her thanks. His grip gentled.
They all stared at each other, too aware of what they'd just done.
After a moment, Harry sighed and took a few steps forward.
"Let's go," he said. "We're not out of it, yet. They'll be sending people round here to look for us."
They arrived back at Grimmauld Place shortly after, exhausted but victorious. By then the Polyjuice had worn off on them all.
Ron took the locket out of his pocket quickly and handed it to Harry.
"That thing feels wrong," he said, staring at it uneasily.
Harry frowned, looked down at it in his palm. Draco moved closer, wanting to compare it to its useless double.
Potter offered it to him and he held it in his hand, stared down at it with a muted fascination.
It was an ugly piece of jewelry, silver all around and with the serpent embossed onto its front. When he turned it over, there was a fat inlaid jewel the color of dehydrated piss glinting dully at him.
He didn't know why he'd expected it to be different, even when knowing the one they'd given to Kreacher was a replica. The dark lord and Umbridge had coveted this ugly thing?
It was heavy, its chain thick. He knew without a doubt the dark lord himself had never worn it.
There was a sort of vibe to it he didn't like, but it was faint. It was warm against his skin but he supposed that must have come from it being in Weasley's pocket for so long.
He felt something odd and his hand twitched almost imperceptibly at it. Unseen and unfelt, his dark mark writhed suddenly, as if it could sense the piece of its master nearby.
Draco stared at the locket, brows furrowed.
Was it…pulsing?
"So we destroy it now, yeah?" Weasley asked.
Hermione summoned her purse.
"Accio fang."
They watched as one of the fangs floated out of the purse and flew into her open hand. It dwarfed it entirely.
"Shall we do it in here?" She asked.
"No," Harry said. "Outside. I don't know why—but it shouldn't be in here."
They had felt the same and so followed him outside into the smallish grounds behind Grimmauld place. Distantly, just where the wards protecting the property ended, they could see the figures of two Death Eaters stationed there.
Draco set the locket down on the ground.
"Who wants to do it?" Hermione asked.
"I will," Harry said. "That thing's part of the reason Dumbledore's dead."
Draco looked away.
Hermione handed Harry the fang and he approached the locket slowly, grasping the huge tooth by the stem, just as he had done years ago.
Draco watched the locket and frowned. Had it just twitched?
The space around them had turned cold. Daylight was fading fast. He was just starting to realize how tired he was. What time was it? How long had they taken in the Ministry?
Harry knelt down in front of the locket.
Before he could stab it, it opened. Hermione, Draco and Ron stepped back in surprise.
An eye stared up at them. It was dark and had a malicious glint, a slight red tint. Harry recognized it as the eye of Tom Riddle, who had still been human when they had met through the diary.
A cold, smooth voice poured from the locket.
"I have a new owner, it would seem."
"What the fuuuuck," Ron whispered, wide-eyed.
Harry could only stare back at the eye, which studied him intently.
"You again," came Riddle's voice. "I remember you. You destroyed the other piece of me—how did you get this one?"
"That doesn't matter, Riddle," Harry said. "Because I'm going to destroy this one, too."
Riddle's laughter surrounded them. Draco flinched. He had heard it before too many times, but not like this. The dark lord's laugh must have lost its human quality before he was born, but somehow this human version was just as bad.
"Try it, then," Riddle taunted. "You won't accomplish much. There are more pieces, and you'll have a harder time finding them let alone destroying them. This mission of yours is ill-fated, Harry Potter."
Harry frowned.
The eye looked around at the others. First Ron, then Hermione, then Draco. It appeared almost gleeful when it landed on him.
"All of you are ill-fated," Riddle said. "I see your misfortunes around you like shrouds. Give up now before my physical form finds you out and makes them reality."
"You're just a bloody eye, what do you know?" Ron asked it angrily, stepping closer.
"I can taste your dissatisfaction, boy," Riddle said, his voice a cold, ghostly slither. "It will warp you before long. I know the anger you hide. At who." The eye slid to Draco. "And why."
"Stop it," Hermione hissed. "Harry, do it!"
Harry raised the fang again but there was a violent flash of light from the locket that blinded him. He swore and dropped the fang, rubbed at his eyes.
"No," Riddle hissed. "I am not finished."
The eye swiveled to Hermione and hardened with hate.
"You are running from more than one thing. Your doubts are true, Mudblood witch. Shall I tell you which ones specifically? Or shall I let you find out for yourself?"
"Be quiet," she replied stiffly, staring into that hateful eye.
"So brave," Riddle said mockingly. "This world does not need you. Go back to your Muggle hovel and corrupt your own society. This is a warning. Stay here and you will regret it. Worse fates will meet you in this world than if you stayed with the Muggles."
"Nobody gets to tell me where I belong," she said through grit teeth. "I'm sick of it."
"Leave her alone," Draco hissed. "Potter, kill it already!"
The eye turned on him now and narrowed. Draco only knew his former master's eye as entirely blood-red, even the sclera, but as the locket spoke to him he recognized the dark Lord's voice. His mark was hot on his arm and he grit his teeth together to keep from hissing in pain.
"Traitor," it hissed quietly, studying him with disgust. "Failure. You will pay, too. You think you might have found a sliver of happiness. I will take it away. Everything you have left, I will take. I will bleed you dry, boy."
Draco's throat had gone dry. Potter was trying to stab the locket again but it was putting up a fight—there seemed to be a force around it that he couldn't penetrate. He seemed to grapple with the air.
"You took an oath," Riddle continued. "You swore your life to me. It is still mine by right. I will rip it from you. You cannot walk away from your Master."
It looked away from him and finally settled back on Harry.
"Give up now, Harry Potter," Riddle said. "You may have gotten this far but you will regret going further. You think you have lost so much already. Look at all you have left—I will take that from you, too. The trail of corpses behind you will only grow."
The eye lingered on him as if to gloat then blinked, and the resistance was gone—bracing himself, Harry lunged forward, drove the fang into it.
It glanced right off.
He stared down at it in shock, then tried again.
Nothing happened.
Riddle's eye stared back at him coolly, still intact.
Harry turned the fang over in his hand and inspected it, not quite knowing what to look for.
"It worked before—" he said, shaking his head in confusion. Why was it not working now?
"Here—" Hermione had gotten the other tooth from her bag and handed it to him.
Harry tried it again to no effect.
Riddle's cruel laughter surrounded them again but he said no more.
Ron rushed forward, scooped up the locket and shut it forcefully, then threw it back on the ground.
"I knew this felt too easy," he said angrily. "I knew it." He kicked the locket, viciously sending it several feet away. "Why didn't it work?"
"There might not have been any venom on it, or it might have dried up…the basilisk's been dead for years…" Hermione said, worrying at her hair. "I don't know. I thought it would be strong enough to work. It should have been."
"Maybe we got the wrong teeth," Harry said numbly.
"No," Hermione said firmly. "Those were the right ones."
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted. He was badly shaken. They all were, judging by their expressions. The day had gone on too long.
"Well what now?" He asked.
Potter got up from the grind swiftly and picked up the locket. He stalked toward Grimmauld place.
"We keep trying. We'll find a way."
The door slammed loudly behind him.
A/N: it's 2 am and i'm dead tired but was adamant on updating once editing was done so apologies if there are any mistakes i didn't correct! my eyes are tired.
also remember that the sliver of spirit inside the Horcruxes are omniscient but not tied to Voldemort's conscious. so the horcrux knows about draaco's betrayal but voldemort himself doesn't, just like in the books he didn't know his horcruxes were being picked off one by one until it was obvious