Once again, My beta-readers, fredfred and InquisitorCOC, deserve a huge thank you. They helped a lot.
Chapter 3: The Killing
Greenwich, London, July 6th, 2005
Standing in her kitchen as he searched for some grub, Ron wondered if Granger had ever used her stove for actual cooking. Not aloud, of course - Granger might have buried herself in her work for the afternoon after the revelation about her parents, but he had no doubt that now, without the handy distraction of her research, it wouldn't take much to set her off again.
"Your parents are already in protective custody."
Like Harry's announcement in the living room.
Granger didn't blow her top, though. Well, if she really couldn't control her temper, she wouldn't have survived the academic infighting. The stories Percy had told…
"Just keep them safe if you must lock them up."
"We'll do our best," Harry told her.
"You better," she snapped.
Now that was more like it! Ron grinned as he entered the living room. "Or else?"
"What?" She frowned at him.
"It felt like you'd have to add a threat," he explained. "You know, like 'or I'll feed you into my quantum reactor'."
"It's a quantum mirror cage," she corrected him.
"That doesn't sound as dangerous as a reactor," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I'll have to fail you on your threat test."
She snorted then blinked, and he could see her close up. "Leaving such silliness aside, there's the matter of dinner."
"As long as it's not heated MREs, I'm fine with anything," Harry said, sitting down on one of the few chairs that wasn't occupied by a stack of paper.
Granger pursed her lips at the implicit assumption that she would be cooking for them, and Ron had to hide his grin - his friend could be quite aggravating when he wanted to be. Sometimes even when he didn't want to be, of course. "I guess we'll be getting takeaway again?" Ron said. She must live off takeaway and rations. And tea.
"As long as the police pick up the tab," Granger said. "I'm not supposed to feed you, am I?" she added rather archly.
"Well, you're supposed to be a good host to your guests, aren't you?" Ron tilted his head with a grin. "At least that's what Mum always told me."
"I see." And her face was expressionless again. The woman really was mental. "Chicken curry."
"I suppose that's shorthand for: 'Please go buy some takeaway and get me a chicken curry'?" Ron said with a grin.
She glared at him, which was at least a reaction he could understand.
"Ron…" Harry shook his head as Ron glanced at him.
"And that's shorthand for 'Ron, go and buy us dinner!'" Ron chuckled. "Curry for everyone?"
"Yes."
"I said so, didn't I?"
"That's not from the restaurant I told you to visit." Granger greeted him with a frown upon his return.
"No, it's from a different one." Ron grinned. "It would have been too dangerous to go to your favourite restaurant. Someone might have tampered with the food there." And he hadn't felt like letting her dictate what they should eat.
"That's exactly why the restaurant I named wasn't my favourite, but my third-favourite takeaway," she retorted with a scowl. "I took the possible danger into account."
She had done that? Ron couldn't really believe it. That was almost paranoid. No, scratch the 'almost' - Moody would consider it appropriate. He shrugged and put the food on the table. "Well, then I added another layer of security. Bon appetit!"
She scoffed but grabbed the container with her meal anyway. Point Weasley.
He grabbed his own and started eating. The curry was good. Not the best he had eaten - Mum made that, of course - nor the best he'd had in London, but good enough. Granger wasn't complaining, so she probably shared his view. But then, anyone who voluntarily ate MREs had no right to complain about food.
Ron was about to comment on that when he heard a car engine stop in front of the house. He was at the window a moment later, peering through the gap between the frame and the curtains. He knew the black Aston Martin down there. "Scrimgeour," he said.
"Scrimgeour? Your superior?" Granger spoke up, putting her own meal down. "He's coming?"
"He's just arrived," Ron said. He saw him get out of the car.
And he saw him drop to the ground, half his head gone, before Ron heard the shot.
"Sniper!" he yelled, tackling Granger to push her down and further away from the window. He felt her squirming under him, trying to push him off - she almost kneed him in the groin. "Stay put!" he snapped. "They shot Scrimgeour!"
A moment later, the lights in the room went off. Harry's work - it would make it harder for the sniper to aim at them. Unless they had thermographic scopes. Or night vision ones.
"I'm calling it in!" Harry snapped, cell phone in hand. "Did you see where the shot came from?"
"From the southern part of the street. Had to be across the street to get him there," Ron replied. There were only about five houses from which they could have caught Scrimgeour and also have been too far away to be spotted by Harry and Ron upon arrival.
"Get off!" Granger hissed.
He rolled off her.
"My bag!" The daft woman went in search of her bag! At least she was crawling on all fours and not exposing herself!
"Leave it!"
"It's my emergency bag! I need it."
"Let her," Harry cut in. "Can't spot the sniper. But they'll be waiting for us to get out."
"Stay put?" Ron asked.
"Best chance to get them," Harry said. "We should have requested assault rifles."
Moody wouldn't be pleased by that oversight, Ron knew. And he knew something else. Whoever was behind this wasn't an ordinary criminal. Ordinary criminals didn't assassinate police officers, much less a high-ranking one like Scrimgeour. Certainly not by sniping him.
Ron followed Granger on all fours into her bedroom, where she had switched off the lights as well. Good thinking under pressure. "Stay under the bed!" he told her. "Safest place in case they use grenades."
"Grenades?" She gasped.
"Always assume the worst," he quoted Moody.
He didn't catch her muttered response, but in the dim light of the streetlamps, reflected by the room's ceiling, he saw her crawl under the bed, clutching her stupid bag - the thing wasn't large enough to hold much more than one or two of her MREs.
He took up a position at the door to the bedroom. That would allow him to catch anyone charging through the door in a crossfire with Harry, who was in the kitchen. And if someone threw a grenade inside, he'd be able to dive for cover inside the bedroom.
But if the enemy came in through the windows…
"Reinforcements are on the way," Harry informed him. "ETA three minutes."
That would be more than long enough for a prepared force to storm the flat. On the other hand, if they were prepared, why hadn't they started the attack already? And why hadn't they shot at him or Harry earlier? They could have taken out Ron easily when he had gone to get food - he hadn't expected a sniper. "This wasn't an attack on us," he said. "They wanted to get Scrimgeour."
He took Harry's muttered curse as agreement.
The next few minutes passed very, very slowly, but no one attacked them before they finally heard sirens. "What a terrible neighbourhood," Harry commented. "Second night in a row there's been a shooting."
"Bound to drive the house prices down," Ron replied.
"I doubt that," Granger cut in. "This will be seen as a single incident, not a crime wave."
"It was a joke," Ron explained.
She huffed in response.
CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 7th, 2005
This time, even Bones looked a little rumpled. Losing your second in command was bound to do that, of course. "Potter, Weasley. Sit down."
Ron nodded and took a seat next to Harry. They had spent the last hour settling Granger in her old quarters and answering questions. He hoped that now they would get some answers.
"You saw Rufus's murder," Bones stated, staring at them. At Ron.
Ron nodded. "Sniper shot."
"The preliminary report from forensics agree with that - the shot was fired from over four hundred yards away." Bones shook her head. "They found the shooter's position."
Harry leaned forward. "Was there any clue as to how long the sniper had been set up?"
"Not for long, according to Alastor."
Ron nodded. If Moody said that, then it was true. "They killed Scrimgeour without attacking us. All it did was alert us. This wasn't aimed at Granger."
"But if they wanted to kill him specifically, they would have had to know that he was visiting us." He shook his head. "Not many would have known about that. Hell, we didn't even know he was coming until I saw his car arrive."
Bones's stare grew more intense. "Indeed. He wanted to surprise you."
Well, it had been a surprise.
"That means we have a leak in the department," Harry said.
"Yes." Bones looked like she had bit into a lemon. "This might not be related to your case at all - just an opportunistic attack on Rufus."
Ron nodded, though he wasn't completely convinced. Scrimgeour had made a number of enemies - anyone in his position would have - but to order an assassination? Who would go that far?
Bones shook her head. "Corban Yaxley will lead the investigation of Rufus's murder. You will keep protecting Dr Granger."
"Do we answer to him?" Harry asked.
Bones shook her head. "No, you'll answer directly to me."
That isn't standard procedure, Ron thought as he nodded. Interesting.
CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 7th, 2005
The next morning, Harry and Ron were about to enter their office - well, the one they shared with four other officers - when they were stopped.
"Potter. Weasley. A word."
Ron schooled his features before turning around. "Good morning, Yaxley." He tried not to emphasise the greeting too much, just enough to make a point.
"Yaxley," Harry said curtly, making the same point.
The man scoffed. "My office." He turned around before either Harry or Ron could reply, and Ron scowled at the man's back as they followed him. Yaxley was almost as old as Moody - a few more years from being put out to pasture, as their former instructor would call it - but he could boast of neither Moody's skill nor reputation. His age and connections were the only reasons he had risen so high in the department.
Which was why, once inside Yaxley's office, Ron leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, flanking Harry, instead of taking a seat.
Yaxley scoffed again. "I've read your reports. They're a little scant on detail."
"There weren't any details to report," Harry retorted. "Scrimgeour arrived, got out of the car and was shot right away."
"That was all I saw," Ron confirmed.
"I'm not talking about the murder itself, but your assignment. Scrimgeour was shot on the way to you - practically on Granger's doorstep. A blind man could see that the two cases are related. I need to know everything you know about her."
"I think the site of the ambush was a coincidence," Harry replied. "Someone wanted to kill Scrimgeour and found out he was on his way to us and managed to get a shooter in place in time to catch him."
The other man all but sneered at them. "Trying to solve my case? I'm not about to dismiss any possible clues. Certainly not at this point. Whoever killed Scrimgeour will pay. So, what do you know about Granger? Why is someone trying to kidnap or kill her?"
"We don't know - we just started our investigation two days ago," Harry pointed out. "We're good but not that good."
"Leave the conclusions to me. Just tell me, in your own words, what you saw since you met her."
"We arrived on site at…" Harry started to quote their report, but Ron stepped on his friend's foot.
"Dr Granger is doing research in quantum physics…"
"He's an arse," Harry said an hour later as they were walking towards the guest quarters to fetch Granger so Yaxley could pointlessly interrogate her as well.
"Of course he is," Ron agreed. "But finding Scrimgeour's murderer is more important than trying to needle the bloke."
"I doubt that he's competent enough to find the murderer - with or without our help." Harry grinned.
"But he's competent enough to blame his failure on our supposed lack of co-operation," Ron pointed out.
His friend scoffed but didn't contradict him.
"He'll get his just desserts, anyway," Ron went on. "Bones will need a scapegoat as well."
Harry chuckled at that. "That's true. But I'd like to be present when she reams him out."
Ron shrugged. "We have our own assignment."
"With which Yaxley's currently meddling. Want to bet that Granger will blame us for this?"
Ron shook his head. That was a mug's bet.
"Didn't you tell your colleagues that I wasn't even near the window and didn't see anything before you tried to squash me flat with your bulk?"
As Ron had expected, Granger was in a mood. Her usual mood. Well, Yaxley would have to deal with her. "Apparently, our detailed reports weren't enough. We had to retell everything, and now it's your turn."
"Great. I could be doing actual productive work, but I have to talk to the police so they can cross off a box on their investigation checklist." She shook her head, sending her messy ponytail this way and that.
"Wait… you want to go to work today?" Harry blurted out what Ron was thinking.
Granger looked at them as if this were the most stupid thing she had ever heard. "Of course. I'm already behind schedule."
"You have a schedule for research? Isn't that a little… optimistic?" Ron asked.
"I adjust it based upon past performance."
"You mean it's more like a guideline. A loose guideline." He didn't snicker, but it was a close call. And her frown told Ron that he was right on the mark.
"Alright, here we are," Harry said, knocking on Yaxley's door.
"Come in!"
Ron turned to Granger as the door opened. "Try not to hurt him too…" He trailed off.
Granger was staring at Yaxley, paler than usual. And trembling. "Yaxley," she whispered, too low for anyone but Ron to hear. But then she straightened and raised her chin. "Can we get this over with?" she asked, loudly, as she marched into his office. "I've got more important things to do today."
Harry closed the door after telling Yaxley to give them a call when he was finished, but Ron wasn't paying attention. Granger had recognised Yaxley. And she was terrified of him. Yet Yaxley hadn't said anything about having met her before.
Had she just recovered some of her memories? Had Yaxley been among her kidnappers? He would've been old enough at the time. But if she had recognised him, why hadn't she cried out and denounced him?
What the hell was going on? Every time he found a clue, it just made the case more confusing.
"She recognised Yaxley," Ron said in a low voice, looking at the closed door of the man's office.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "He hasn't said anything about having met her before."
"And she looked terrified when she saw him," Ron added.
"Crabbe's death didn't faze her."
"Exactly," Ron agreed, glancing at his friend.
"You think she recovered some of her memories from the kidnapping?"
"If she ever lost them in the first place," Ron replied.
"But… why is she still alive?" Harry shook his head. "Yaxley's no Moody, but he's not an idiot. If he had been involved in that kind of thing, he'd have silenced her at the first opportunity."
"He might not have been able to get to her at the start, and after it was revealed that she didn't know anything, it wasn't necessary any more," Ron pointed out.
Harry frowned, rubbing his chin. "But to brazen it out… trusting that she wouldn't recover her memories. Why didn't he bolt right after she was found, if he was involved? And why would he insist on talking to her now?"
"Perhaps he knew that she wouldn't talk," Ron said.
"How? Stockholm syndrome?" Harry shook his head again. "She doesn't seem to be the type."
Ron agreed with that - Granger was no Patty Hearst. "Perhaps they had drugs that wiped her memory."
"And let her go after seven years?"
Ron frowned at Harry's raised eyebrows. "Just speculating," he said. "But she knows and fears Yaxley - I'm sure of that." He glanced around, then leaned against the wall next to the door and pulled out one of his brothers' inventions.
Harry muttered a curse under his breath and moved to block him from view. "If anyone catches us…"
"They won't," Ron said, pressing the bug against Yaxley's door and handing Harry an earbud. "If anyone asks, we're listening to the latest pop song Ginny likes."
He ignored Harry's snort while he activated his own earbud.
"I already told you: My work isn't related to the development of quantum computers at all!"
"Potter and Weasley disagree."
"I told them the same thing! And I'm the one with a doctorate in quantum physics! Now do you have any other questions that would better suit an episode of Dr Who or can I stop wasting my time here and return to my work?"
"Yeah, she's utterly terrified," Harry muttered.
Ron glared at him. He knew what he had seen.
"What foreign persons have you been in contact with to discuss your work?"
"You have copies of my electronic correspondence. Everyone is listed there."
"No private conversations?"
"No. quantum physics isn't a topic that tends to come up in private conversations. At least not the actual physics."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am certain."
"What about your friends at work?"
"Of course I discussed my work with my colleagues at the faculty."
"Would they share the information with others?"
"How would I know? You might not be aware of this, but normal people don't tap their friends' phones or hack their e-mail accounts."
Ron had to chuckle at that. Granger's sharp tongue was entertaining when it wasn't aimed at yourself. Sometimes even then, he admitted.
"You're not very co-operative."
"I've answered all your questions to the best of my ability. It's not my fault if you don't seem to be able to ask questions whose answers would actually benefit your investigation. If I were to be any more co-operative, I'd need to solve your case for you!"
"You also seem remarkably unaffected by two killings on your doorstep."
"I had good therapists who taught me not to feel guilty about anything that wasn't my fault."
"And yet you never recovered your missing memories."
"Considering what kind of memories I'm likely missing, I think I'm fortunate in that regard."
"It also means your kidnappers won't get caught."
"My therapists also taught me that I am not to blame for the lack of success of the police."
Ron thought he could hear Yaxley grinding his teeth in frustration.
"Is that all? I don't have all day."
"For now. I might have more questions at a later date."
Ron hastily removed his brother's special bug and took a step back. A moment later, Granger stepped out, glaring at him and Harry. "That was pointless."
Ron grimaced at Yaxley behind Granger's back, getting a sympathetic nod in return. Let the man think they were bonding over having to deal with the testy scientist.
But as he followed Granger and Harry through the hallway, he noticed that her shoulders sagged a little and she took a deep breath - as if she were relieved.
A few moments later, though, she looked as usual - driven, frustrated and angry at everyone. "Can I go to work now, or do you have more questions to which you already know the answers?"
Harry cleared his throat. "Actually, you should really reconsider entering protective custody."
Was that a flicker of fear running across her face? Ron couldn't tell for certain before annoyance replaced it. "Why? You were fine with guarding me in my lab!" she said.
"That was before our superior was shot with a sniper rifle in front of your home," Harry replied. They hadn't actually identified the rifle yet, but a sniper rifle was basically a better hunting rifle anyway, so Ron's friend wasn't exactly lying.
Not that Granger seemed impressed by the term used, anyway. "That shouldn't pose a problem with a decently armoured car, and I doubt a rifle would be of much use inside the faculty building. My lab doesn't have windows, either, and we can use the staff parking area - it's underground."
That made some sort of sense - if you were the sort of mental woman who was fixated on her work to the exclusion of common sense and any hint of a self-preservation instinct. They should shut Granger down. On the other hand, if Yaxley was involved in this whole mess... "I'll get an armoured car, then," Ron said, ignoring the annoyed glance from Harry and the triumphant, if possibly surprised, smile from Granger.
"You want an armoured car? After Scrimgeour's murder, everyone wants an armoured car, Weasley!" Williamson glared at Ron. "And that means the cars we have go to those with seniority - not junior officers, no matter how hot they think they are!"
Ron grinned. "Oh, but we're on protection detail. That takes priority, doesn't it?" He slapped down the copy of his orders that he had taken with him. "We need an armoured car for our assignment."
The other officer blinked as he skimmed the documents. "What? Isn't that the bird in front of whose house Scrimgeour was shot?"
"Exactly."
"And why haven't you stuffed her into a safe house and told her not to show her face outside for the next few months, huh?"
Ron sighed - a little theatrically. "You wouldn't be asking that question if you had ever met her. She's a nightmare, honestly. And we can't exactly lock her up - she already threatened to raise a stink with the press."
"Really?"
He shrugged. "Not my call. So… I guess you'll have to disappoint some senior officer, hm?" Ron grinned.
Williamson shrugged. "They can complain to Bones. Regulations are regulations."
"Exactly!" Ron agreed, for once.
"Don't break this one, though, or there'll be hell to pay!" The other officer glared at him. "That means: Don't let Potter drive! His crazy stunts put our entire budget in the red two years running!"
"Of course," Ron lied. As if he'd let a desk jockey tell him and Harry how to solve a case. If they had to wreck a car to catch a crook, they'd do it.
If they caught Granger's kidnapper or Scrimgeour's murderer, not even Bones would criticise them, anyway.
"So that's why you agreed with Granger," Harry commented - in a low voice; Granger was searching for something in her ratty beaded bag a few yards away - as Ron got out of the Audi A6 in CI5's garage.
"That, and I didn't think much of our chances to get her to agree anyway," he said. "So we might as well profit from her stubbornness."
"Right," his friend agreed.
"New car?" Granger asked as she approached them. "Armoured?"
"Actually, yes," Ron replied. "How did you know?"
"Why else would you get a new and expensive - and, therefore, more noticeable - car?" She shook her head.
"You forgot to add 'elementary, Dr Watson'," Harry commented.
She chuckled despite his sarcastic tone. Harry must be losing his touch, Ron thought. "Let's go," he said. Harry held out his hand, but Ron shook his head. "Williamson said not to let you drive."
"Since when do we listen to him?" Harry complained.
"Since we're in headquarters. We can switch later," Ron said as he slid behind the wheel.
Since it was rather late in the morning, they made good time to the campus, and Granger got them into the underground staff parking lot without any trouble. Of course, she wanted to get out as soon as they parked, but Ron stopped her. "Wait."
"What?" She froze, glancing around.
"Let us check for trouble, first," Ron explained.
"But you're more likely to get shot if someone's waiting for us, aren't you?"
She looked serious. The woman was mental.
"More likely doesn't mean you won't get shot," Harry pointed out.
"And we're trained to spot an ambush," Ron added. And to deal with trouble.
But there were no vans, nor any other cars that would easily hide someone. No tinted windows, and not many big SUVs. Ron still felt quite exposed even after they had checked the possible ambush spots.
They reached Granger's lab without incident, though. And the woman went straight to work. Leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, Ron watched her take notes and use two calculators and her computer simultaneously.
She was far too calm and collected. Two murders on her doorstep in two days, her parents in hiding and she didn't bat an eye? It made no sense. Certainly not for someone who had been kidnapped as a kid.
She was hiding something, and he would find out what. Now.
"You recognised Yaxley," he said, staring at her.
She froze for a fraction of a second, tensing up, before glancing first at him, then at Harry. "I've never seen that man before in my life," she said in a far too calm voice.
"Yeah, right," Ron retorted, "I saw your reaction when he opened the door to his office. You recognised him. And you were frightened. Terrified."
She pressed her lips together, glaring at him, but he met her eyes. He'd stared down much more impressive people. And she had nothing on Mum's glare, anyway.
"I told you: I've never seen that man before."
"Did you recover part of your missing memory?" Harry cut in.
"No."
Harry went on: "If you did, you need to tell us. Whoever kidnapped you might be planning to do it again."
"I don't remember anything about my kidnapping," she replied.
"Even if Yaxley merely looks similar to your kidnapper, it would be very helpful - possibly crucial - to prevent another crime," Ron said.
"Aren't you listening? I told you: I don't remember anything about my kidnapping!" She stood, slamming her hands down on her desk, almost toppling over one of her stacks of paper.
"Why were you frightened of him, then?" Ron asked. "And you were; I saw your face."
Once more, she looked from him to Hary and back, then she raised her chin slightly. "If I knew who was involved in the kidnapping, I would denounce them at once! But I don't!" She wasn't quite crying, but her eyes looked wet. For Granger, that was almost a nervous breakdown.
Perhaps we should ease up, Ron thought. She was a traumatised kidnapping victim, after all. Not a criminal. Probably not.
But Harry was pushing. "Why were you frightened of Yaxley, then, if you can't remember anything and didn't have a flashback?"
"Panic attack. I'm doing much better than I used to, but sometimes they still happen." She had composed herself again. "Anything could trigger one."
Her answer explained her reaction. But Ron didn't believe her. She was lying. Ron could feel it in his gut. But he couldn't prove it.
"You didn't have a panic attack when I shot Crabbe. Or when Scrimgeour was murdered and we expected a follow-up attack on your flat," Harry pointed out.
"They happen randomly. Like my nightmares." She didn't sound smug, but there was a hint of relief, in Ron's opinion. She looked at them both, then sat down again and resumed working.
Ron clenched his teeth, swallowing a curse. He knew she was hiding something. He just didn't know what it was.
"You need to step away."
"What?" Ron stared at her. She hadn't said anything but 'Curry', 'please' and 'thank you' since their confrontation, and now she wanted…
"From the quantum mirror cage. I'm running a test."
Ah. He took a few steps to the side. "A test?"
"Yes." She bent down, connecting thick power cables to the base of the cage.
"And what's it supposed to do?"
"I'm just confirming that the power demands are met and that the cables can handle the strain."
"Really?" He didn't believe it. Granger wasn't the type. She would have tested that as soon as she had built the thing.
"Yes."
"We're in no danger of getting disintegrated, then? Reduced to our component atoms?"
"No." She looked annoyed, even with half her face hidden by her bushy mane. "This isn't Dr Who."
"Too bad. A Tardis would be great," he joked.
She tensed again and stepped back before walking to a console. "Don't go near the cage! And don't touch it!"
"One kind of precludes the other," Harry pointed out.
She glared at them, then flipped a switch, and the cage started to hum as tiny sparks appeared on its metal bars.
Ron half-expected her to yell 'It's alive!', but she only took more notes while cranking up the power until Ron expected an arc to appear between the bars at any moment, welding the machine shut. Or at least for her hair to get all puffy.
But neither happened before she finished her test and turned the thing off. "Just as predicted!" she announced, beaming at them for a moment, before her eyes widened and she turned away, returning to her desk without looking at them.
Mental, Ron thought again.
Hours later, Granger finally seemed done with her work for the day, picking up a stack of notes and stuffing them into her bag. She even seemed a little tired, instead of looking like she were raring to pull an all-nighter with a few gallons of tea and a few pounds of chocolate keeping her awake and fueled. "Can we pick up dinner on the way home?"
"We're not going to your home," Harry told her.
"What?" She stared at Ron's friend.
"Your flat isn't safe enough," he told her.
"I was told the police would be patrolling the area," she replied.
"They will. But it won't be enough. Not against people willing to murder Scrimgeour," Harry said. "A patrol could easily be taken out by a sniper."
"There's also the fact that there's no safe way to park the car in your area and transfer to your flat," Ron pointed out. "There aren't enough officers available to cover all possible sniping locations." And that was not even taking the possible threat from long-range snipers into account.
"I see." Granger nodded, to Ron's surprise - he had expected her to throw a tantrum. "So where are we going, then? A safe house?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed.
"I expect to be able to leave for work tomorrow," she said, frowning at them both.
"That's the plan," Ron said. "Unless something happens, of course." He didn't trust their luck after two shootings in two days.
"Let's go then." Granger nodded and started towards the door of her lab, prompting Ron and Harry to beat her there - a bodyguard didn't let their charge go first through any door.
Once more, they had to check the underground garage for an ambush. And the car for sabotage.
"I thought the police were guarding the perimeter," Granger said as Ron knelt down to check the bottom of the Audi.
"They are," Ron confirmed.
"But you still check for yourself, if you plan to stay alive in this business," Harry added.
Granger snorted. "Constant vigilance?" Had she met Moody? No - the old man would have told Ron and Harry. She rolled her eyes at Ron's expression. "You told me about your instructor."
Ah. But had they mentioned his catchphrase? Ron wasn't certain.
Kingston Upon Thames, London, July 7th, 2005
"This looks very ordinary," Granger commented as Ron put the takeaway containers on the table in the small house. "But it doesn't look like anyone lives here."
"No one does," Harry said as he passed them on the way to check the basement - they had already checked both floors of the house.
"That could tip off the neighbours that something's not normal, couldn't it?"
"The cover story takes that into account," Ron replied. "Some expat kept the family home even though he moved to Australia."
"With the right algorithm, you could probably find such safe houses," she mused. "Just look for similar setups."
"A search wouldn't narrow it down enough to be practical," Ron retorted. "And I doubt that there's a mailing list for nosey neighbours."
"Aunt Petunia would be on it if there were one," Harry cut in. "Cellar's clear as well," he added.
Granger didn't ask about Harry's aunt, Ron noticed. She merely nodded in acknowledgement. And the way she looked at Harry… was that sympathy? There hadn't been anything about Harry's strained relations to his family in the news.
"Let's eat," Harry said. "Before the food goes cold."
"There's a microwave," Granger had to point out, of course.
"That's not a reason to delay dinner any longer," Ron said. "I'm starving!" He was, actually.
Granger chuckled, shaking her head with a bemused expression, but a moment later, she closed up again, frowning as if she was angry at herself.
Dinner ended up being a rather quiet affair, and Granger was up and headed towards the stairs before Ron had finished his own meal.
"Which room's mine?"
"The small one with the single bed," Harry said - he had also finished his meal already. "We'll take the double."
Not that they needed it - one of them would be keeping guard while the other slept, and vice versa. But neither did Granger need a larger bed. Such things only happened in movies.
Two hours later, Ron heard her scream.
She didn't want to do it. The last time she had done it… She shivered at the memory. Fur. Fangs. Whiskers. Ears that seemed to move of their own accord. Claws sliding out of her fingers at the slightest provocation. And a twitching tail that had a will of its own. And the instincts...
She shook her head. That wouldn't happen again. This was safe. Mostly. As safe as she could make it - she had checked and taken the hairs herself.
"Hey! Is something wrong?"
He was looking at her. Smiling, despite their situation.
She returned his smile. "It's alright, Ron. I'm just a little…" She shrugged.
He nodded. "I know. Harry's keeping an eye on them."
She closed her eyes. Just for a moment. Taking a deep breath - facing away from the empty cauldron and its lingering smell - she stood. "The vials are ready."
"Ah." He knew what that meant. Wetting his lips, he looked back, over his shoulder, through the tent's entrance.
"Let's go." She nodded and stepped past him, out of the tent.
Harry was leaning against the closest tree, watching their captives. Mafalda Hopkirk. Albert Runcorn. Corban Yaxley. Laid out on the ground, bound with magical ropes and covered with jinxes that prevented all known methods of magical travel. And still drooling from the overdose of Veritaserum Hermione had force-fed them, and the mind spells she had used on them.
Their bodies and knowledge would allow Hermione and her friends to reach Umbridge. She handed the boys a dozen vials each, and the hairs she had tested.
"Remember: We go in, get the locket and leave," Ron said. "We don't get sidetracked."
"Of course," Hermione agreed, feeling a little annoyed. She knew perfectly well that the locket took priority. "No attacking targets of opportunity. No matter how tempting." She dropped one hair into a vial, then toasted her friends.
A moment later, she felt her body change.
She was sick when they returned. Literally - she knelt down in the grass and retched, barely noticing how he held her hair back. Not that she cared. The things she had seen, in the Ministry… The crimes she'd had to watch, without being able to lift a finger, much less her wand, to help, lest she compromise their crucial mission...
She spat the last of her bile on the ground, then rinsed her mouth with a glass of water Harry had conjured. "Thanks."
He nodded at her.
"Those bastards…" Ron spat.
She turned her head to look at their captives. They were awake, now, but still silenced and bound. They couldn't move, but they could watch.
Harry and Ron glanced at each other. "Better seal the locket up right now," Harry said.
She knew what he was thinking. And she was tempted to agree. Enter the tent. Ignore what was going to happen. It would be easy. And it would be wrong.
As the Headmaster used to say: You had to decide whether you did what was right or what was easy. And she knew what was right. They hadn't been able to save the poor prisoners in the Ministry. But they could ensure that their captives wouldn't hurt anyone any more ever again.
She shook her head. "No. Let's get this over with."
"Are you sure?"
She gave Ron a look, and he backed off.
She picked Yaxley. He was staring at her, his face frozen, only his eyes moving, as she approached. She was tempted to yell at him. Confront him with his crimes. Make him confess. Make him sweat.
But she just pointed her wand at his head.
"Reducto."