"The audacity of these people!" Pansy exclaims later that afternoon as they're counting the names that they gathered at the Ministry. "How arrogant do you have to be to wear the symbol of your secret society on your sleeve like that? They clearly don't think anyone is going to investigate them."
"I suppose it's so they can recognize each other," McLaggen says. "Or perhaps it's a way of showing which people are loyal to their cause?"
"And in all fairness," Draco says. "The embroideries are tiny. I'm not sure I would have caught them without the Reliquary's help."
"The more I learn about this Reliquary," McLaggen says. "The more I wish I had one."
"It's not a walk in the park," Draco snaps. "I wish someone else did have it in their head. Then you wouldn't need me and I could go back to my normal life."
"Oh, come off it, Draco," Pansy says. "It's not all bad. You are dating the wizarding world's most eligible bachelor and your secret high school crush."
"Fair," Draco admits.
"Secret high school crush?" McLaggen asks. Because of course McLaggen asks that.
"What of it?" Draco asks, trying, but not quite able, to keep the irritation out of his voice.
"Nothing. It's just… interesting." He wanders away from where Draco and Pansy are recording names and over to where Harry is staring blankly at the laptop perched on his knees where he sits on the other side of the room. He leans down to peer at the screen and Harry jumps.
"Fuck," Harry says, nearly dropping the laptop. "I didn't hear you."
"Sorry. Anything yet?" Harry shakes his head.
"She's still at the Ministry." He slumps back down in his chair.
"It'll come."
"I know. I'm just worried about her."
"We all are," Pansy says from across the room. Harry looks over and smiles at her before going back to staring at the laptop.
He had been surprised that the laptop worked in the Cooler, but Draco had explained that it was one of Ernie's hybrid models. He idly wondered it Ernie would be able to modify some of the bugs to run on magic, thereby making them usable in the Ministry. But then they would have to disclose the technology to the Ministry and it would be useless for tracking the Simurgh Society.
They are running out of time before Christmas, and it's gnawing at Harry. How can he and Draco go to Christmas dinner at the Burrow and look Ron and the rest of the Weasleys in the eye if they haven't found the real Hermione? But what else can they do but wait?
Though Christmas at the Burrow is in fact a thing that is happening and Harry is both excited and terrified. They're going to lunch at Malfoy Manor - another terrifying prospect - and then staying Christmas night at the Burrow. He's not sure where they're going to sleep or what Draco will say about whatever room they're sleeping in, but the prospect of Christmas with all of Harry's chosen family is a thrilling prospect.
Or at least, it will be once they find Hermione.
He looks back at the laptop screen and his heart leaps. There's a dot on a map and it's moving. He gestures for McLaggen to come over and the other man does.
"What do we do now?" McLaggen asks.
"We watch."
"Seriously?"
"Yes. What did you think we were going to do?"
"Tail her." Harry frowns, thinking.
"We could. We could take my invisibility cloak."
"Invisibility cloak? But you're not on the registered list."
"It's not a Ministry cloak," Harry says. "It was my dad's."
"What?" McLaggen is clearly confused. Of course he is. Normal invisibility cloaks lose their ability to stay invisible over time, but as Harry's cloak is one of the Deathly Hallows, it never will. He explains as much. "I'm sorry. What?" McLaggen seems, if anything, more confused than before.
"You know the Deathly Hallows?"
"From that Beedle the Bard story?"
"Yes."
"Of course," McLaggen says. "Who doesn't?" Harry doesn't point out that Muggle children don't. What's the point of saying that now?
"Well, I am the owner of Death's invisibility cloak," Harry says. McLaggen stares at him, so Harry adds "And with it, I mastered death."
"The fuck?"
"You know how the owner of the-"
"-Stone, the wand and the cloak. Yes. But these things are real?"
"How else did you think I defeated Voldemort?" Even all these years later, McLaggen flinches.
"I don't know. How did you defeat him?" McLaggen asks. On the other side of the room, Pansy perks up.
"How do you not know?"
"I presumed it was luck."
"Oh, you did, did you?"
"Was it not?"
"Fuck you. No, it wasn't." Draco and Pansy are both now watching their conversation with interest; the Simurgh Society is momentarily forgotten.
"Sorry," McLaggen says, throwing up his hands in surrender. "You weren't a great student, so I always wondered."
"That's rich," Harry says. "Coming from the person who repeated their seventh year."
"Oh, fuck you, Potter. I was only asking how you defeated the most terrifying wizard in a century with your mediocre academic performance. It's an honest question."
"Fine," Harry snaps. "You really want to know? I'll fucking show you. Where do we keep the pensieve?"
...
"I thought he would come," says Voldemort. "I expected him to come." Nobody speaks. Harry pulls off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffs it beneath his robes. "I was, it seems . . . mistaken," says Voldemort.
"You weren't." memory-Harry says.
"Very dramatic," Pansy comments. Draco and Pansy had insisted on joining Harry and McLaggen in Harry's memories, so now Harry is being treated to play by play commentary by the peanut gallery.
…
Voldemort has raised his wand. His head is still tilted to one side. Memory-Harry looks back into the red eyes. Voldemort's mouth moves and there is a flash of green light, and the memory goes black.
"You died?" Draco asks.
"Just watch," Harry says.
…
"Is this a dream?" McLaggen asks, looking around the simulacrum of Kings Cross.
"Honestly," Harry says. "I still don't know."
"I let him kill me," says memory-Harry. "Didn't I?"
"You did," says Dumbledore, nodding. "Go on!"
"So the part of his soul that was in me . . ." Dumbledore nods still more enthusiastically, urging memory-Harry onward, a broad smile of encouragement on his face. ". . . has it gone?"
"Oh yes!" says Dumbledore. "Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole, and completely your own, Harry."
"What does that mean?" Pansy asks.
"I was a horcrux. Kind of. Just listen."
…
"He killed me with your wand."
"He failed to kill you with my wand," Dumbledore corrects memory-Harry. "I think we can agree that you are not dead."
"How are you not dead?" McLaggen asks. "Isn't this the afterlife? Wait. Is there an afterlife?"
"Shut up and watch." Harry is getting tired of saying this.
…
"You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying."
"Like finding out the guy you're fucking is into breeding puffskeins?" Pansy asks. Draco laughs.
"You have experience with that?" McLaggen asks.
"Fuck off."
…
"Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me! He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got there ahead of you, little boy — I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up. I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore's last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!"
"Who names a wand a Deathstick?" Pansy asks. "Men… Everything is about power and penises." She rolls her eyes. The others shush her.
…
"That wand still isn't working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore."
"He killed —"
"Aren't you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore's death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die undefeated, the wand's last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand's power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!"
For the first time in the pensieve excursion, the other three are rapt in attention. Their heads move in unison as they watch Harry and Voldemort's conversation. Harry is almost surprised they don't remember this, but then he realizes that none of them were there.
"But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!" Voldemort's voice shakes with malicious pleasure. "I stole the wand from its last master's tomb! I removed it against its last master's wishes! Its power is mine!"
"You still don't get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard. . . . The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance. . . ."
"Since when were you so learned in Wand Lore?"
"Since my life depended on it."
Voldemort's chest rises and falls rapidly.
"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy," memory-Harry says.
Blank shock shows in Voldemort's face for a moment, but then it is gone. The other three wear similar shocked expressions.
"But what does it matter?" Voldemort says softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone . . . and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy. . . ."
Draco flinches. Harry walks over until he is standing next to him and takes his hand.
"But you're too late," says memory-Harry. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him." Memory-Harry holds out the hawthorn wand.
"My wand," Draco whispers.
"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" whispers memory-Harry. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does . . . I am the true master of the Elder Wand."
A red-gold glow bursts suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appears over the sill of the nearest window. The light hits both combatants' faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's is suddenly a flaming blur. They hear the high voice shriek as memory-Harry too yells, pointing Draco's wand:
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Expelliarmus!"
The bang is like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupt between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, mark the point where the spells collide. Voldemort's green jet meets memory-Harry's spell and sends the Elder Wand flying high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling, spinning through the air. And memory-Harry catches the wand in his free hand as Voldemort falls backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hits the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort is dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and memory-Harry stands with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy's shell.
…
"So you let him kill you?" McLaggen asks.
"Oh goddamnit. Did you not learn anything from that?"
"I-"
"-Yes, I fucking sacrificed myself."
"Not knowing you were the master of death?"
"I guess I kind of hoped I was? But no, I didn't know."
"Fuck me," McLaggen says. "You're braver than I thought."
"I was the master of the Elder wand?" Draco asks.
"Briefly."
"Thank you for disarming me, I guess." Harry shrugs.
"I needed a wand."
"Charming." Draco walks over to Harry and kisses him on the cheek before walking back to the Simurgh Society papers he had been working on. McLaggen stares, bug-eyed.
"Are you two?" McLaggen points back and forth between Harry and Draco. "Actually dating?"
"Shit," Harry mutters. He laces his fingers behind his head, elbow sticking out to the side, and scrunches up his face. Draco looks up from the papers with an expression surprised guilt.
"Oops," he says."
"As in, it's not just a cover?" McLaggen asks.
"Um," Harry says, his hands still behind his head. He looks over at Pansy, begging her for help with his eyes.
"McLaggen," Pansy says. "I've already spoken with them about their relationship."
"But it's not allowed," he protests.
"And yet you keep trying to get me in bed," she says. That shuts him up and they get back to work.
…
Chester Davies, as far as Harry can tell, has no reason to be anti-Muggle. In fact, he has many reasons to be very pro-Muggle, and anti any Voldemort-like message.
His mother had been an Auror and had died during the First Wizarding War, the year before Chester started at Hogwarts. His father, the influential Rex Davies, had been so heartbroken from losing his wife that he had retired from wizarding life. He had lived as a recluse in a small Muggle village, not far from their family home. After a few years, he had fallen in love with a Muggle woman from the village and married her.
They had had two more children, Roger, who Harry remembers as having taken Fleur Delacour to the Yule ball, and Millie, who had been the year below Harry and Draco at Hogwarts. Meanwhile, Chester had graduated Hogwarts with multiple N.E.W.T.s and had gone on to work in the Ministry. He had slowly risen his way up the ranks to his current position as the Undersecretary for the Muggle Liaison Office.
From all accounts, Davies is very good at his job as Undersecretary. He recently championed Tusneem's "Be a light in the darkness for our magic free allies" poster campaign, insisting that the posters go up not only at the Ministry, but in all bastions of Wizarding life around Britain.
So what was he doing with a Simurgh Society embroidery on his sleeve?
Not for the first time, Harry thinks how useful it would be to have someone on the inside. Perhaps once they get Hermione back, he can run that idea past her. He's not sure who would go, but it would be handy to have someone there.
But first, they need to rescue Hermione.
He stares at the laptop screen again. So far the fake Hermione has gone to Marks and Spencer and to Waterstones. Neither of those places are suspicious and Harry is starting to feel restless, just sitting and staring as the dot moves.
So instead he goes back to researching Chester Davies in the hopes that the highest ranking member of the Ministry who is in the Simurgh Society will tell him something about them.
…
Once it is Monday, December 22nd, Harry starts to well and truly panic. The entire weekend has passed and the fake Hermione hasn't gone anywhere out of the ordinary from what he can tell. He had barely slept on Sunday night, tossing and turning as he had imagined what Ron's crestfallen face will look like if they can't find her in time. Draco had slept like a baby, which had been more than a little annoying. But Hermione is Harry's friend, not Draco's, so it stands to reason that Harry would be more worried about her.
Harry wonders, as he walks into the Cooler, if he should scout out all of the innocuous places fake Hermione had been, just in case they've missed something. He has nothing else on the schedule today, so he figures he might as well. Once he decides that is what he is going to do, his Auror training kicks in and his brain makes decisions about what to bring without him having to fully concentrate on it.
He moves through the Cooler, collecting what he might need and then checks the laptop one last time. There are no new locations since the last time he had checked (fifteen minutes ago), so Harry scribbles down the ones they have on a piece of parchment and stuffs it into his pocket. Then he makes his way back up to the Parlour. As he passes McLaggen, he asks the other man to tell him if they get any other location hits.
"Of course," McLaggen says. "Are you going to check out the ones we already have?"
"Yeah, I can't just sit here and do nothing," Harry says.
"I understand. Good luck. Ping me if you need me." McLaggen points to his watch. Harry nods and leaves.
He makes one last stop at his house to pick up his invisibility cloak. If he's going to be performing any magic in Muggle London, he wants to stay out of sight. And, he thinks, if the Simurgh Society are watching the location where Hermione is being held, he doesn't want to be seen.
And that's when the idea comes to him. If he finds Hermione, and he can get her out of wherever she is unseen, she can be the mole, as the Sim Soc will think she's still the fake-Hermione. He grins in spite of himself at the thought of turning their own plan against them. But first he has to find her.
With that thought, he looks again at the first location on his parchment, swings the invisibility cloak over himself and apparates away.
…
"You seem distracted," Greg says. He and Draco are restocking the cooking magic section of Flourish and Blotts and Draco is doing more staring into the distance than stocking of shelves. This is in part due to the fact that he is tired - he usually has Mondays off, but Big Dick called everyone into the store with only three days to go until Christmas - and in part due to the fact that he is, against all odds, worried about Granger.
"Thinking about Christmas," Draco mumbles.
"Are you bringing Harry to the Manor?"
"Do you think Mother would allow me to go elsewhere for Christmas lunch?" Draco asks. In truth, he is a little concerned about Christmas lunch with his parents, but if their tea turned gin afternoon was anything to go off of, it should be civil at the very least.
"Are you nervous?"
"Not really. Harry's met my parents before."
"Right," Greg says, nodding. "When you brought him home to meet them after your first date. Blimey that was fast."
"I'm dating Harry Sodding Potter," Draco says. "Our relationship is highly public. I had to tell them before they saw it in the papers and disowned me."
"Yeah," Greg says. "But you were dating Oliver Wood for months and no one was any the wiser." Draco pauses to consider how best to address this. Of course, he and Harry had gone "public" with their relationship to establish his cover story in the Ministry, not because of their actual closeness and he can't tell Greg that.
"Did you really think that Harry would be able to keep a relationship private?" is what he finally comes up with. Greg shrugs.
"I dunno," he says. "But I know you could. It just seemed fast is all."
"Sometimes you just know." That seems to shut Greg up. Just for good measure Draco adds, "How are you and Pansy doing by the way?"
"Fine," Greg mumbles, turning red. Draco doesn't want to push it. It's not that he doesn't want to know how his friends' relationship is going - but he also very much doesn't want to know how it's going… He wants it to be going well - but at the same time, he doesn't want to know how either of them feel about it, in case it goes pear shaped and he gets caught in the middle. He wonders if Pansy will be reassigned as his handler if she and Greg break up and not for the first time he is surprised that she thought the relationship was a good idea in the first place.
"Just fine?" Draco asks in spite of himself. Greg shrugs.
"We don't really do anything together."
"Circe, Greg. I don't need to know about your sex life," Draco says, pressing his hands over his ears.
"I wasn't even talking about that. Our sex life is the good part of our relationship."
"What part of 'I don't need to know' didn't get through?" He puts a book on the shelf.
"Sorry," Greg says. He stares at his feet. "But you asked." And it seems that Greg has just been waiting for someone to talk to about it. Draco sighs.
"I did," he says. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Can we?"
"Of course," Draco relents. "What did you want to talk about?"
The answer, as it turns out, is everything.
…
The first three locations that Harry scouts turn up empty. Or, rather, they are full of things that are mundane and are not Hermione. Harry is comforted by the fact that there is nothing untoward about Marks and Spencers. He likes their prepared meals more than he wants to admit.
He is now onto the fourth location, which is a laundromat. He is immediately suspicious because Harry knows Ron and Hermione have a washer and dryer. When they had moved in, Ron had excitedly showed Harry how all the buttons worked while Hermione had looked on and rolled her eyes. On top of that, the laundromat is much closer to Wizarding London than any of the previous places and it's also a dingier street than any of the others. Not that dingy necessarily means there are bad things going on, but it seems to be the kind of place where a stray yell or loud noise would not be amiss.
Harry takes a deep breath and starts to cast his detection spells.
He's not really sure what he's looking for. He just hopes he will know it when he sees it. And so he casts everything he can think of, just as he had in the previous three places. The fact that he has to try so many spells is the reason it's already edging past noon and he's only on the fourth location. But he started with all the spells and he's damned if he's going to miss anything by cutting corners.
He is starting to become discouraged when one of his spells finds something. He nearly yells aloud in triumph but manages to stop himself, which is good, because the spell he has detected is a surveillance spell.
For a moment, Harry allows himself to hope. Then he gets to work. He follows the surveillance spell back to its origin, which brings him to a grimy window. He sighs. It is, of course, on the third floor of the building. But he's prepared for this. He reaches into his undetectably extended bag and pulls out his Firebolt.
Flying while under the invisibility cloak is never ideal, but he's only going to the third floor. He straddles his broom, then reaches down and bunches the bottom of the cloak together and holds it in one hand so that he won't be seen from below. In this incredibly uncomfortable position, he kicks gently off of the ground and rises up to the window.
He gets nothing for his efforts as the curtains are drawn, but he since he is up there, he holds the broom steady between his knees and pulls out his wand again. More diagnostic tests reveal that the room is heavily warded.
Hope flares in Harry's chest again as he drifts back to the ground. This has to be where they're keeping her. He is about to message McLaggen when it occurs to him that if he tells McLaggen, McLaggen is going to apparate over and give away the rescue plot, which would ruin Harry's plans of Hermione spying for them. So, perhaps against his better judgement - and certainly against protocol - he says nothing and instead starts to figure out how best to get into the building.
I know this is incredibly late. My brain has been all over the place recently.
Also the Stanley Cup Playoffs are on. Don't you dare root for my team to lose so I'll write more. :P it's one of the few things bringing me joy right now.
