***c/w for a panic/anxiety attack in the first section***
Hermione woke with a gasp, her ears ringing, her chest tight, her stomach in her throat, and realized that there was a hand on her arm. A warm, rough touch that she hadn't felt in years.
"Hermione?" came a voice, seemingly from a great distance through the dark. The word bounced around in her mind as she struggled to breathe. "Hermione, it's all right—"
Hermione ripped her arm away and lurched across the bed, shoving her hand under one of the big pillows. Her wand was smooth and reassuring in her grasp, and she rounded on her attacker, firing off a volley of wordless jinxes.
"Jesus Christ!" the voice yelled, followed by the sharp crackle and resonant hum of a Shield Charm. Their magic exploded blue and white as it met in the dark room, and she caught a glimpse of her attacker's face.
It was Harry, looking stricken, annoyed, and about a dozen other things. Hermione fought off a sob, slumping into her pillows, and dropped her wand.
"Jesus Christ," Harry said again, and her bedside lamp came on. He was in his pajamas, his glasses were lopsided, and he was staring at her like she was a bomb about to go off. The cats were nowhere to be seen, presumably scared off by the noise.
Hermione looked away, still fighting to get her breath back, and caught sight of her fireplace. The fire had gone out; the hearth lay dark and empty, as silent as the air around them. "The fire," she said weakly. "The fire's gone—"
Harry waved his wand, and the fire sprang back to life. It crackled and popped, sending a wave of relief across Hermione's body. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing her heart to slow, her limbs to relax.
A strangely electronic burble sounded from Harry's pocket, and he pulled out the magical walkie-talkie just as a voice threaded through — "Boggart, this is Mandrake. Report, defensive magic detected in the Eagle's residence. Please signal need for backup or—"
Harry muttered a curse and brought the device to his mouth. "Mandrake, this is Boggart. False alarm, repeat, false alarm. No further action required, over." He switched off the device before he heard the reply and stuffed it back into his pocket.
A beat passed. Then another. The silence seemed to throb around them. "It seems," Harry said, his voice low, "that you were having a nightmare."
Hermione turned to stare at him, her brain throbbing, her tongue thick. "What?"
Harry took a slow breath, and stepped closer to the bed. "You were screaming, in your sleep. I thought you were being attacked, so I—" He broke off with a wince. "Are you… all right?"
"Yes." Hermione scrubbed a hand across her face. Mortification was warring with the panic that was still seeping from her body. "You can go."
"It's probably a delayed reaction." Harry was already at her windows, testing the wards. Apparently satisfied with them, he rounded on her again. "Does that happen often?"
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, just for a moment. "You can go."
Harry nodded, pocketing his wand. "I'll make you a hot cocoa."
Her heart skipped a beat. "No, that's not—"
"Won't be a minute." And he was gone.
Shit. Hermione sank back into her pillows, pressing her fingers to the pulse point on her wrist. Her heart was hammering, but the beat was steady, strong. Not going anywhere. She sighed, still feeling a bit disoriented, and tried not to let embarrassment overcome her. It was then that she realized that her face was wet, and she snatched a tissue from the box on her bedside table.
Right on cue, Casper appeared, jumping up onto the bed. He sniffed around, his big golden eyes fixed on her, and slowly stepped closer.
"Hello," Hermione murmured, putting out her hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."
As Casper approached her, she tried to run through the events of the previous evening in her mind. That awkward meal, then Harry in the armchair while she worked at the coffee table, making her way through stacks of memos, briefings, budget reports. They'd sat in steady silence for several hours, and at half-past eleven, Hermione had called it quits, taking herself to bed.
Now, the clock by her lamp showed it was just past two. So she'd fallen asleep without banking the fire, and had paid the price for it. "Stupid girl," she muttered, sinking back into her pillows. "Stupid, stupid girl."
When Harry came back into the room, she had Casper tucked in on her side and Winnie curled up on her stomach. They were both purring, and warm, and it was enough to keep her grounded as she met Harry's gaze.
He smiled, sort of, and held out a mug. "Here you are."
Hermione felt a blush creep up her neck, and she took the mug just to have something to hold in front of her face. Reprimanding him for his appearance to comforting hot cocoa, all in one day. "This wasn't necessary." Even if it smelled delicious — like pure melted chocolate.
"No worries." Harry stood there for a moment. His pajamas were a proper old-fashioned set, long sleeves, dark blue and pinstriped, and, she realized, a few buttons of his top were undone. Even in the low light, she could see a triangle of exposed skin — more tan than she would've expected — and a bit of chest hair. The hair was fine, dark, and smattered with grey. Hermione felt her blush creep higher, so she dropped her gaze to his feet. He was barefoot, and his toes were long and a bit lopsided. The same as they had been when he was a child.
Weirdly, absurdly, Hermione found herself wanting to smile, and took a sip of her cocoa instead. Some things really never changed.
"If you're feeling all right," Harry said, "I'll just head back upstairs."
"Oh," Hermione said, "yes."
Harry nodded. "Good." He made to leave, then paused in the doorway. He looked at her, his green eyes burning gold in the reflected light of the fire, and against her better judgment, Hermione went a bit breathless.
"It's not just you," he said, his voice low. "With nightmares." And with that, he stepped into the hall. "Sleep well."
Once he was gone and her bedroom door was shut, Hermione sank back into her pillows with a shuddering sigh. Harry Potter would very likely be the death of her, if she wasn't careful.
Thursday morning — the morning after the nightmare debacle — Hermione debated three different methods of sneaking out of the house on her own before she set her jaw and went into the kitchen. She knew, somewhere in her mind, that she had nothing to be embarrassed about, that it was bound to happen eventually — Harry seeing a part of her she'd rather he didn't see — and there was no point in worrying about it.
It helped that he didn't look at her or speak to her any differently. He sat across from her, nose-deep in his tea and the morning's Prophet, looking as sleek and sharp as the day before. It was almost impossible for her to match this version of Harry with the one in a pair of torn jeans and an old jumper with catastrophic hair. His suit was a medium grey, in some sort of woollen fabric that had lighter and darker threads woven through it, and Hermione fought the urge to run her hand along his sleeve, just to see how it felt. Weirdly, it reminded her a bit of his hair.
They didn't speak much as they ate, or as they grabbed coffee, or when they made their way to her office. The Ministry was as busy and crowded as normal, and if nothing else, Hermione was glad to see that no one seemed to be too frightened by the attempt on her life. It was business as usual, and a part of her was glad for it.
As they passed through the halls of Level One, heading for the back entrance to her office (which Harry now insisted upon using), Hermione caught a glimpse of something she hadn't seen at the Ministry before — a long queue outside her departmental offices. There seemed to be movement at one end, and she stopped to watch.
Harry stopped as well. "Ah," he said, "security screening. I wonder what's backing them up."
Hermione understood in a flash, and realized that she was watching an MLEP security guard struggle with a Probity Probe. The line of people were all personnel from her office — there was Stanley, who specialized in record-keeping, and he was chatting to Jill — and they all hummed with nervous energy. Clearly, the fact that something seemed to be wrong with the Probes wasn't helping the situation much.
Harry was frowning. "Minister, I wonder if I might—"
"Go ahead," said Hermione, stepping to the side of the hallway. "I'll wait here."
"Appreciate it, ma'am." Harry set off for the queue, his expression shuttered and no-nonsense. Hermione couldn't help but watch the way his robes rippled as he went.
It only took a few minutes. Harry questioned the head officer, then inspected one of the Probes himself. His expression flickered, just for a moment — you wouldn't have caught it if you weren't looking for it — before he put the Probe down, very carefully, and pulled out his walkie-talkie. He spoke into it, and Hermione felt a breeze against her shoulder. One of her special-forces MLEP — Rogers, she realized — appeared out of thin air, his Disillusion rolling off his back like water as he jogged up to meet Harry. She belatedly realized he'd been following them since they'd left her residence, per protocol, and took a moment to be impressed by his stealth.
Rogers wasn't alone. A moment later, two of her other special-forces MLEP burst out of the department offices and joined Harry and Rogers. Harry started speaking to them very quickly, but not at great volume — she saw one of the regular MLEP guards trying to lean in to hear him.
A moment later, the special-forces team turned to the guards and started issuing orders, while Harry conjured a large trunk from thin air. He began muttering spells, waving his wand over the body of the trunk in small, precise movements. Within moments, all Probity Probes had been surrendered by the guards and stacked onto the table that usually served as a welcoming desk for visitors. The special-forces team then ordered all of Hermione's personnel into two lines, and led them down another corridor to a spare set of chambers, followed by the security guards, who all looked confused and worried.
Hermione watched all this with a frown. What was going on?
Now alone in front of the entrance — and in the hall, apart from her — Harry finished his spellwork on the trunk and rounded on the pile of Probes. With another flick of his wand, the Probes gently lifted into the air, then down into the body of the trunk. The lid closed with a thud, and Harry unleashed another cascade of spells. A set of chains materialized around the trunk, followed by a series of padlocks, several maximum-strength Shield Charms, and the bright orange glow of a spell that made Hermione wobble where she stood.
"Sero Infinitatum," she whispered, her heart thudding painfully. That meant—
Harry had abandoned the trunk and was now jogging back towards her, wand in one hand, walkie-talkie in the other. He pressed a button and spoke into the speaker. When he brought the device away from his mouth, it sent a glowing orb whizzing down the hall and up a memo chute — it took Hermione all of three seconds to realize it was a Patronus.
"Minister," he said, drawing even with her. He wasn't even breathing hard, not even a hair out of place, and only a slight flash in his gaze signalled his worry. "We need to get to your office." He grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her towards the back entrance, at a jog.
"Why?" she demanded, her heart going haywire. She focused instead on the heat of his hand, which she could feel through her blazer as well as her shirt. "What's happening?"
"I'll explain in a moment," Harry replied through clenched teeth. They turned a corner and the door banged open the instant he set his eyes upon it. Had Hermione been in a calmer state of mind, that would've provoked a wave of stubborn jealousy — she'd never managed that before.
Instead, all it did was heighten her worry. She forced herself to take a breath as he pulled her down another dark hallway, up a short staircase, through one false wall, around another corner, down another staircase, and finally, through the false wall in her office.
They stumbled out in front of one of her floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Hermione caught herself on a shelf and tried to catch her breath, her palms sweating and her pulse hammering in her ears. Harry was already in front of the windows, wand out again, muttering a slew of spells under his breath. The spells glowed in a vast array of colors as they settled into the walls, forming a thick web around the room.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked him, trying to get back in control. The knuckles on her left hand were white from gripping the handle of her briefcase, and she dropped it, feeling a hot rush of blood to her palm. It seemed that the near-assassination had rewired her body. First the nightmare, and now a full-blown panic when normally, she would've only been rattled.
"Checking your wards," Harry replied, beginning to circle the perimeter of the room. He wasn't looking at her. "And upgrading them a bit," he added, and her heart thumped in reply.
A minute later, her fireplace glowed green, and Kingsley materialized in the hearth. His face was grim as he looked first to her, checking that she was unharmed, before he turned to Harry. "Disposal specialists are on their way now," he said. "They'll be on-site in a few minutes."
"Why the delay?" Harry demanded, his voice commanding and brittle as he rounded on Kingsley. An involuntary shiver went down Hermione's back at the sight of him — it was the first moment he had betrayed even a bit of frustration. "This takes top priority—"
"They were dealing with something in Swansea," Kingsley replied, not rising to the bait. "Travel is slower now, with the security restrictions. You handled the situation very well, in the meantime. I doubt that there will be any issues."
"Since we're waiting," Hermione said, "could someone please explain what's going on?"
Kingsley went over to look out one of her windows and clasped his hands behind his back. "Auror Potter, report."
Harry looked at her, his expression almost apologetic. "The Probes were rigged with some sort of explosive, along with an incendiary or other harmful liquid. It seems that if the charges were triggered, a localized explosion would spray the liquid across a radius of six feet or so, if not over a wider area, thereby increasing the damage. This modification was very cunning, built into the mechanics in a seamless way, so the Probes were essentially still functional, except for one feature — the Disguise Detector. If the person using the Probe attempted to use the Detection feature, and the Probe failed to perform, the person would try to get it working—" Harry mimed banging the base of his wand on her desk, and Hermione winced. "You can do that to a normal Probe without issue, of course, but in this case, the concussive force would trigger an explosion. Once one went off, I imagine it would set off all the others, like dominos."
Hermione swallowed. It all made sense now, of course — Harry's reaction, relocating her staff, the way he'd lifted the Probes so carefully into the trunk, the fact that he hadn't just Vanished them. The Probes would need to be subjected to a diagnostic evaluation by both the DMLE and the Department of Mysteries, then the parts traced to the manufacturer. "So you think that the fault was intentional? The Probes were meant to malfunction, rather than just go off at a particular time?"
"Yes," Harry replied, and he shot a glance at Kingsley. "It… creates greater potential for random damage, that way."
Hermione's stomach rolled again, and she forced herself to take a slow breath. "And none of the MLEP security guards were aware of this?"
"It appears not," Kingsley said. "But of course, they'll all be subjected to interrogation and a series of tests for disguises and Dark magic."
And that, Hermione realized, must have been why Harry's team had gone with her personnel to the conference room — so they could make sure none of the security guards escaped. "Is it normal? That an MLEP guard wouldn't be able to identify such a modification to a routine piece of equipment?"
"Well, it is possible," Kingsley replied, clearly reluctant to admit it.
"The modification was very clever," Harry said. His tone was biting. "Though I do find it surprising that no one noticed, particularly given the security threat level we're under at present. It should have been spotted. If I hadn't been there at the right time, who knows—"
"Enough." Kingsley turned around and shot him a frown. "The security guards who were on-duty today will be reevaluated, and you and I can discuss whether the situation warrants any further disciplinary action."
"Disciplinary action should be the least of their concern," Harry replied. "They'll be lucky if I don't suspend them for negligence alone."
"No one was hurt, Auror Potter," Hermione found herself saying. "The situation was dissolved before it could become catastrophic. Please, let's leave the more drastic steps for an equally drastic situation."
Harry gritted his teeth — she could see the set of his jaw even from across her office — but didn't fight back, somewhat to her surprise.
Hermione released her breath and went to sit down at her desk. She was grateful for the familiar sensation of the oak and leather. It grounded her, kept her in the room. "What now?"
"The disposal team will page me when they arrive, and I'll supervise the extraction of the compromised Probes." Kingsley turned to face her, the pale grey light of the morning glimmering across his expression. "There should be a report completed on the Probes by the end of the day, and at that point, we can reevaluate the security threat level, and see if any further measures need to be taken. I think the three of us are all working under the assumption that this was Salvation's handiwork, but until we have confirmation of that suspicion, business will continue as normal. I'm sure we've already caused quite a stir, so it's important that we neutralize your employees' suspicions."
"What about the screenings?" Hermione said. "Now that the Probes are compromised?"
"We'll have to bring in more special-forces to help screen everybody manually," Kingsley said. "It'll take longer, of course, but our hands are tied."
"That's fine," Hermione replied. "And Kingsley?" She met his gaze. "It is one thing for these terrorists to threaten my life, but it's quite another for them to threaten the lives of my staff. I would like some assurance that it doesn't happen again."
Kingsley nodded. "I understand, ma'am. I'll do what I can." He glanced at Harry. "You and Auror Potter can decide how you would like to proceed in the meantime. I would urge you not to make any last-minute changes to your schedule, especially since your special-forces team is tied up for the moment."
"Understood," Hermione said, even though she could see Harry's nostrils flare.
"Good." Kingsley went back over to the fireplace and threw in some Floo powder. "I'll check back in an hour." And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the green flames.
Hermione pulled a fresh sheet of paper onto her writing pad and selected one of her self-inking quills. She would definitely have to submit a formal report on the situation to the DMLE before the end of the day. "Don't," she said, before Harry could start pacing again.
"Ma'am?" he said, managing to pack so much insolence into the word that she had to take a moment to be impressed.
"Don't ask me to change my schedule or cancel any meetings. It's not going to happen."
"I—" Harry seemed to swallow the rest of the sentence before he let it escape. "Why not, ma'am?"
"You heard Kingsley the other day. Precaution is one thing, but over-precaution shows weakness. I can't let them think that they have any real impact on my job. Besides, we don't have any proof of a legitimate threat to me, personally."
Harry's eyes flashed. "I would argue that a pile of cursed Probity Probes on your office's front doorstep is a fairly legitimate personal threat, Minister."
Hermione ignored this and began writing. The sound of her quill on the parchment was reassuring — it rooted her to the spot, kept her brain from going haywire.
"You're really not going to adjust your schedule, then?"
Hermione sighed through her nose, her attention still on her statement. "No, Auror Potter, I won't. I have a busy day ahead, and there are only so many people I can cancel on at the last minute without ruffling feathers. There is a larger picture here, and it would be a disservice to ignore it."
There were a few moments of tense silence, enough that Hermione began to count her heartbeats. She looked up, and her stomach jolted when she saw the way Harry was looking at her. His expression was grim, almost hurt.
"Just to be clear," he said. "This larger picture doesn't include the preservation of your own personal safety?"
Hermione's stomach jolted again, but she didn't let it show on her face. "No need to be so overdramatic, Potter. Now, if you don't mind, I have some work to attend to."
And with that, she dipped her head and went back to writing, unable to ignore the prickle at the back of her neck that told her she was still being watched.
"It was as we suspected." Kingsley didn't even bother to announce himself as he came through her office door. "Salvation's handiwork, and they've certainly got some talent on their side, based on the potion we located inside the Probes." He spotted Harry leaning against the mantelpiece and nodded. "Evening. Quiet as usual?"
"Yes, sir." Harry was back to his monotone, and Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.
"Evening, Kingsley." Hermione leaned back in her chair and gestured to one of the two chairs in front of her desk. "Why don't you take a seat?"
"Thank you, ma'am." He did so, energy and competence in every line of his body, even though it was getting on for nine o'clock. "I'll get straight to it. The Ministry sources its Probes from two manufacturers, one in Scotland, the other in Germany. This set of Probes came from the Continent — it arrived two months ago, and there was nothing about the shipment that stood out to our Customs officers."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat. Two months? This was getting more and more sinister by the moment.
"But they could have been Confounded," Harry cut in, and Hermione fought the urge to agree with him. "Or Imperio'd. And we'd have no way of knowing by this point."
"We'll do our best," Kingsley replied. "I'm sending a few agents to Munich to question the outgoing Customs officers, do a routine check and audit of their processes. But according to the records we have available here, there's nothing that stands out."
"What about the factory?" Hermione said. "Could something have been done at the factory?"
"That's our line of thinking," Kingsley said. "Müller's Dark Detectors has always been solid, we've had a contract with them for over a hundred years, even during the whole mess with Grindelwald. We've never had a problem before, and Müller runs a tighter ship than most. I would be shocked if someone was able to get past his security. But," he added, when Hermione opened her mouth, "I've sent a few agents to question him as well, and do a search of his factory. Hopefully, that will give us some direction in the meantime."
"So what you're saying," said Harry, his voice getting louder, "is that we have no solid leads, and practically no more information than we did at the beginning of the day."
"No," Hermione cut in. "That's not what he's saying. We've learned that this group is careful, and very good at covering their tracks. They either have agents inside every organization that touches the Ministry, or they're extremely skilled and dangerous wizards who can manipulate everyone around them. Maybe it's a combination of the two. And, we've learned that they're planners. They prepared those Probes over two months ago, and they knew we would have to break into our backstock of Dark Detectors in the event of a threat to my life, which, of course, they also orchestrated." She sank back into her chair, the tips of her fingers going numb. "They've been planning this for a long time. They've been in control every step of the way."
"Then we need to break that control," Harry said, his eyes flashing. He turned to Kingsley. "You need to assemble the High Council. Hermione's right, and that means she's in greater danger each minute she's here."
"No," Hermione found herself saying. "Not yet. The High Council can't enact the next stage of Action Plan Delta unless there is another credible threat to my life or well-being. Correct?" she said Kingsley, who was frowning.
"Unfortunately, yes." Kingsley stood up and walked towards the fireplace, his back to her. "And a seemingly random shipment of Probity Probes that might or might not have malfunctioned in an area near or far from the Minister likely won't be enough to call a vote."
"But what about the evidence that this group of terrorists has been working for months — years, even — to target this administration?" Harry fired back. "If we were in court, their sentences would carry the weight of Willful Intent, Conspiracy to Commit. Surely the High Council can't ignore that sort of evidence—"
"They can," said Kingsley, his expression grim as he turned to face both of them. "Until we have our reports back from Germany, we won't have evidence to prove that the Minister has been targeted for far longer than we thought. I can't even guarantee that that evidence would be enough to call a vote, because our courts don't weigh intent as equal to action."
Harry crossed his arms against his chest. He looked sort of daunting with the fire blazing behind him. "So you're saying there's nothing more that we can do?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Kingsley said, his tone suddenly much sharper. "We can't lock her down completely, but I can reassign six more special forces MLEP to your team and tighten security protocols within the Ministry. Start doing screenings upon entry, random spot checks during the day, restricting all travel to domestic only. We'll prioritize the offices that work most closely with the Ministerial Department, but we'll make our presence known through the whole Ministry."
Harry considered Kingsley, cocking his head slightly. Kingsley's seeming reprimand appeared to have calmed him slightly. "It's the right move, but you haven't got the manpower for that."
"We have over fifty recruits in Law Enforcement training. This can count towards their work study requirement."
Hermione balked. "Kingsley, I'm not having people who are fresh out of school risk their personal safety just to put Potter's nerves at ease—"
"We did worse while we were still in school," Harry said, his voice getting that edge again. He wasn't looking at her. "Needs must."
"Kingsley," Hermione said again, ignoring Harry. "You can't be serious—"
"I'm afraid I am." His wide, clever face was somber. "It's only temporary, and none of them would be in the field. They would all be on home turf, and supervised by fully-qualified MLEP personnel. Besides," he added, drawing himself up to further height and leveling her with a look that made her feel like an outspoken teenager, "you could only stop me with a veto, which would have to go to court. Are you sure you wish to do that?"
Hermione swallowed. Kingsley's gaze was dark, flat, threatening in the sense that it wasn't threatening at all, only concerned. "No, I'm not going to do that." She forced herself to take a quick breath. "But really do use whatever manpower you have before turning to the new recruits. I want to minimize their risk as much as possible. And if that means keeping them in the offices doing research and paperwork, then so be it."
Kingsley bobbed his head, shrugging off his mantle of authority like a cloak. "That, I can do. You'll have to sign some of the approval paperwork, overtime and wage sheets and the like. I'll get them to you by tomorrow morning, along with a new mockup of the security plan. For now, our verbal agreement will do?" He waited for both of them to nod before producing a thin scroll from an inner pocket of his robes. "And Minister, the Potion Master in the Department of Mysteries thought you'd like a report on the substance found inside the Probes."
"Thank you." Hermione took the scroll from him, and, recognizing the thin, curving handwriting, tucked it into her briefcase. "I'll wait to hear from you tomorrow."
"Indeed." Kingsley's expression softened. "Get some rest, Minister. You certainly need it." He gave Harry a nod and made his exit. The snap of the door shutting behind him felt quite final.
Harry and Hermione made their way back to her home in silence. Their routine played out like the well-oiled machine it was steadily becoming. The lift, the Floo, the sweep, Hermione's retreat to her bedroom and the small eternity of her shower. Dinner — for Hermione, a reheated frozen vegetarian lasagne, and for Harry, a small takeout pizza and salad that made her stomach growl — was relatively silent until Hermione made her way to one of her cupboards and produced a bottle of Merlot.
As she was pouring a glass, she could feel Harry watching her, but didn't offer. He couldn't drink on duty. She sat back down at the island, took a sip, put down her glass, and stared at her largely untouched lasagne. Next to Harry's incredible pizza, it looked grotesque. "I can't believe," she found herself saying, "it's only Thursday."
Harry let out a snort, and Hermione's gaze whipped to his face, where she could see all sorts of things that hadn't been there earlier — sympathy, camaraderie, exasperation. He almost looked like the Harry of her Hogwarts years, and she was suddenly overcome with a wave of nostalgia, of yearning for whatever it was they had all that time ago. She forced herself to take a breath, to let none of her emotion show, to keep her hand from resting on his arm.
"That," said Harry, his voice rich and amused, "is a sincere understatement, Minister."
Hermione couldn't help it — she began to laugh. Quiet at first, but soon, she couldn't hold back, and she leaned against the table, a real grin cracking her face for the first time in days, and she laughed. Harry joined in, his smile impish and pleased, and for a moment, for a light, brief, lovely moment, it was just them in her warm kitchen, like nothing had ever happened.
Not long after that — they'd been at the Ministry until nine-thirty, and she hadn't eaten until a quarter past ten — Hermione was in bed, her open briefcase on the floor next to her, reaching for the thin scroll Kingsley had given her. The sight of the handwriting and the wax seal made her smile. It was like greeting an old friend, which, in a way, she supposed, was exactly what it was.
Minister —
I've enclosed everything I was able to deduce about the substance found in the modified Probes. I look forward to hearing your thoughts, though I can't fault you if you put them on parchment rather than express them in person.
Feed me and I will live, give me a drink and I will die. What am I?
Yours,
D.M.
Her mind already whirring through the riddle, Hermione broke the Malfoy seal and began reading Draco's report. It was ridiculously thorough, of course, meticulous to a tee, legible, organized. She bit back a grin and shook her head. Draco really was particular about these things.
A Level One analysis of the unidentified substance contained in the Probity Probes (confiscated 08:15, 5 Feb 2019, Ministry of Magic, Level One Reception, under orders from Head Auror Potter) found the following:
Swelling Solution — 45%
Drink of Despair — 20%
Moonseed Poison — 10%
Erumpet Horn — 10%
Griffin Claw — 7%
Death Cap — 5%
Galanthus Nivalis (Snowdrop) — 3%
Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and the brief cheer she'd felt from Draco's note and the usual riddle began to evaporate. Kingsley hadn't been joking, this was a very serious Potions-master they were dealing with. Someone who was able to balance two of the most volatile potions and one of the most volatile raw ingredients in the same concoction, and find a way to keep it stable for an extended period of time. She knew without having to read Draco's notes (which she was sure he included just for formality's sake, not because he thought she needed them) that the Erumpet Horn was used just to make the potion incendiary and caustic, to cause the liquid to not only cover a wide surface area but also to create an explosion. The griffin claw and the snowdrop then acted as long-term stabilizing agents — though the griffin claw would only further strengthen the negative effects of the Swelling Solution, she realized — but the airborne Death Cap and the Moonseed surely would flatten anyone within a fifteen-foot radius of the blast.
That is, she thought grimly, staring down at Draco's neat percentages, if the Swelling Solution and Drink of Despair hadn't already driven them completely insane. For a strange moment, Hermione felt thankful that all she'd dodged was an Avada Kedavra — that would most certainly be the better option, compared to what else might have been fired at her head.
Draco had included several useful chemical diagrams breaking down the various ingredients to their smaller constituents. Some parts of it were Muggle chemistry, which would have surprised her fifteen years earlier, but certainly not now. Wizarding Potion-Masters were incorporating more and more of Muggle science into their field, much to their benefit, and to the Healers'. Chemistry couldn't explain everything, and there were areas where science and magic couldn't meet, but where they did, there was room for growth. Muggles were certainly lacking in some areas, but having a regimented system for identifying and labeling things like Hydrogen and Carbon was proving to be more useful to the Wizarding world than not.
They were beautiful drawings, because Draco was devilishly good at this sort of thing, but Hermione felt unsettled, listless. She dropped the roll of parchment and looked into her fire, which was banked and a cheerful burnt orange in the dim light of her bedroom.
Despair. Erumpet. Moonseed. Death Cap.
Hermione shuddered, brushing Draco's note to the floor. She turned out her lamp, sank into her pillows, and pulled her duvet over her head, hoping that whatever tomorrow held, it would be better than today.
