"Are you alright, Hermione?"
It had been a few weeks since Lucius Malfoy's death, and all was quiet. Deceptively so, in Hermione's opinion. She could feel a migraine pulsing behind her left eyebrow, fuelled by frustration at being no closer to finding Malfoy's murderer, or the wizard who had killed those three Muggles on August 18th. As the witch opposite her spoke, Hermione reluctantly tore her gaze from the papers and reports that were strewn across her desk.
Luna's skin was sunkissed and golden, compared to Hermione's wan complexion. She had spent the summer in Asia studying Occamies, and a plethora of other creatures that Hermione had never heard of and was not entirely convinced existed.
"If you overwork yourself, you may become susceptible to a Spraxie infection," Luna said with a sage nod. "You should really rest more."
"You know I can't do that, Luna. Not until something comes of this investigation."
Even though in comparison to the War there hadn't been many deaths, the Ministry wasn't taking any chances. Not with the escape of Voldemort supporters, and a targeted attack against one they deemed a traitor. The Auror Department was determined never to be caught off guard with low numbers again, which was why, with Harry's help, the Head of the Auror Office had started to recruit capable witches and wizards who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. One such witch was Luna, who had returned from globetrotting as soon as she had received Harry's owl.
"Things will be clear soon," said Luna serenely, before rising to her feet with a mild, curious expression. She didn't seem perturbed in the least by the grim circumstances of her return to England. "Oh, I do hope Harry will provide refreshments at this meeting. I'm really very hungry."
Luna's wish came true. The small meeting room Harry had convened them in had a few plates of club sandwiches available, which she happily munched on as everyone gathered in a loose circle. Hermione recognised many faces from her school days— most in the meeting were past members of the DA. Dean gave her a small wave before he, like everyone else in the room, turned his attention to Harry. Beside him stood a middle aged wizard with silver streaking his close cropped hair.
"Thank you all for coming," the wizard said, taking a small step forwards. "My name is Gawain Robards, Head Auror. As you all know, after the War, the Minister for Magic waived all of the entry requirements into the Auror Office. However, you will all need to undergo Auror training, which typically takes three years. However," He held up a hand, which Hermione could see was flecked with old scars. "Due to the direness of the situation, we will attempt to cover the essentials over the next few months. Are there any questions?"
"Sir, will Hit Wizards have to repeat combat training?"
"Good question, Finnigan. Hit Wizards won't be required to undergo training in magical combat and defence, but if you can help Potter train the others, that would be appreciated."
There was a murmur of general assent around the twenty or so people gathered, before Harry stepped forwards and they fell silent again.
"The training will be hard," he began. "But I know that you'll all be able to keep up with it. It'll be like the DA." A faint grin appeared on his lips, returning his face to its previous youth. "Hermione and I are investigating, but I will also be running some training sessions alongside Head Robards and Minister Shacklebolt. First one is tomorrow at 9 o'clock sharp, so I'll see you all then."
"Meeting adjourned," said Robards, but before Harry and Hermione were able to follow the crowd trickling out into the hallway, he called them aside.
"I wanted to leave this until after the meeting, but there's something you two ought to know." Robards, who usually bore a stoic expression, suddenly looked quite grim. "We received word that two Muggleborns were killed in their homes in Bath last night. The initial reports are on your desk, Granger, and I would like you to look into them. Potter, take Longbottom and one of the Hit Wizards to investigate further."
Harry walked her all the way to her office— she was not in the shared Auror cubicles, but a separate room that was hidden behind a handsome mahogany door with a brass handle. They exchanged no words; what was there to be said, in light of such a revelation?
Luna was seated in front of Hermione's desk, winding a strand of blonde hair around one finger. She glanced up as the pair of them entered, and offered them both a dreamy smile.
"Hello, Harry, it's been quite a while. Oh dear, something awful has happened, hasn't it?"
"I'd better get to Bath," Harry muttered, unable to meet either witch's eyes. After a brief, silent embrace with Hermione, he hastily left her office and clicked the door shut behind him.
Luna's expression had lost its dreamy quality entirely; such seriousness did not look at home on the witch's pretty features. She was no longer resting comfortably in her seat, but leaning forwards with her elbows on her knees.
"Robards left reports," said Hermione quietly, approaching her desk as though it were a Blast-Ended Skrewt that she must be wary of. Two innocuous looking folders were sitting there, emblazoned with the Ministry of Magic insignia.
Hermione expected that she might find the contents upsetting, but she did not anticipate that the information would land like a punch to her solar plexus. The reports slid from her fingers and landed on the desk with a muffled whisper of paper against wood. It was the only sound in the room for a long while, until Luna eventually whispered, "Hermione?"
"They…" She pressed her fingers to her lips, half to stop them from shaking, and half to prevent a sob from escaping. "The Dark Mark was hovering over their homes. It's the Death Eaters, they're back and they're…. They're targeting Muggleborns. Just like last time."
"You and Harry will catch them. Daddy says that all of the papers are calling you the brightest witch of-"
"I'm not! I'm not like Mad-Eye, or Tonks, or any of those great Aurors. I read a lot of books, and I read all of these reports," She shoved them roughly off her desk, where they exploded before hitting the ground— hit by a blast of unintentional magic. "But that doesn't bring me any closer to actually catching these monsters! I don't know how to track their movements until it's too late and they've killed someone."
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" At Hermione's blank expression, Luna continued in her infuriatingly calm voice. "You need to find someone who knows their patterns and their personalities."
"That someone would have to be a Death Eater."
Luna blinked her protuberant eyes, with an expression of polite expectancy.
"You can't mean… Luna, no. Absolutely not. He's selfish, and would never consent to helping the Ministry."
"You can't know until you ask." And with that, Luna graced Hermione with a distant smile before wandering idly from the room.
She seemed to spend longer in the crushing dark of Apparition than usual, as though her magic was as reluctant to reach her destination as she was. A long drive, bordered on either side by thick hedges, curved away into the distance, hidden behind an imposing wrought iron gate. Hermione could see the metal glittering with what she suspected to be ancient and highly powerful wards.
Frog song was all that could be heard for those first few moments, before a pronounced crack rent the afternoon air. Hermione started, searching behind her for the source of the noise, before someone cleared their throat with a delicate little cough. It was with some surprise that Hermione noted a tiny house elf standing behind the gates with its spindly arms folded over a tasseled pillowcase.
"Why has Miss visited Malfoy Manor?"
"Hello," said Hermione, her voice shaking only slightly. "Is anyone home?"
The gates swung open, seemingly of their own accord, and Hermione felt her stomach sink. Through sheer force of will, she placed one foot in front of the other, and began to follow the house elf as it tottered up the drive and out of sight. Gravel crackled underfoot, though she maintained an unhurried pace— what reason was there to rush, when the scene of her nightmares was getting closer with every step?
White peacocks strutted between gaps in the hedges. Hermione found them oddly charming, despite the aristocracy they personified, and was so busy searching for the next one that she almost walked right into her guide.
"Stay right here, Miss, Keesey will tell Mistress that Miss has come to visit."
The last thing that Hermione saw before Keesey disappeared through the manor's intricately carved front door was the Malfoy crest. The elf wore it like a badge of pride on her pillowcase, and Hermione was somewhat intrigued to note that she seemed content. A far cry from what Dobby had been, when Harry had freed him from the Malfoy family's cruelty.
Because Hermione had been expecting to see Keesey when the front door opened again, it staggered her to see Narcissa Malfoy framed against a dark, but lavishly decorated entrance hall. The witch had been undoubtedly beautiful before the War; all refined elegance and style. She had maintained that beauty, even with age, though there was grief limning the planes of her face that Hermione did not fail to notice.
"Good afternoon, Mrs Malfoy. May I speak with your son?"
Narcissa remained quiet for a few moments, and Hermione was rather relieved to have not been invited inside. When she did speak, it was in clipped voice, but one that lacked the cold superiority Hermione was used to from the Malfoy matriarch.
"Draco does not live here, and hasn't since his seventh year at Hogwarts. Is this official Ministry business, Miss Granger?"
Hermione was not in Ministry robes, but her professional life was no secret from the wizarding world. Neither she, Harry, nor Ron had been spared from the public eye in the years since the War had ended; everything from their romantic lives to what shoes Hermione preferred to wear was scrutinised by anyone who got their hands on Witch Weekly or, on less frequent occasions, the Daily Prophet.
"It is, Mrs Malfoy. Could you please provide me with his new address?"
"He's already spoken with those Aurors about Lucius' death. What more could you want with him?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."
The two witches stared across at one another, tawny eyes against blue. When Narcissa reached for her wand, Hermione was startled to find that she was prepared for a duel, with her own wand warm against her fingertips. But the older witch merely summoned a piece of parchment, and enchanted it to bear an address in a spidery script. Hermione slowly slipped her hand from the pocket of her robes to accept it.
"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy."
But Narcissa had already closed the door.