2002.1
"Unspeakable Granger, the Minister would like to see you," came a grating, monotone voice.
Hermione Granger glanced over her shoulder, eying the hooded figure behind her. The woman stood silently at the edge of the stone archway. A damp breeze pulled listlessly at the edges of her heavy black cloak, revealing flashes of a long, pale neck.
Unspeakable Crowe.
Although the Unspeakable had been put in charge of Hermione's introduction into the Department of Mysteries, Hermione knew next to nothing about her. While Unspeakables were hardly the most social of people, Hermione at least knew basic background information about her other co-workers. Unspeakable Bones, for instance, was Susan Bones's distant cousin and greatly enjoyed pumpkin pasties. Unspeakable Kim had four children at Hogwarts. Unspeakable Crowe? Unspeakable Crowe was an unsolved mystery.
She'd tried, at first, to get to know the woman; when her early attempts to strike up a conversation were unfruitful, she'd even tried questioning Harry and Ron in the hopes that they might know something about the elusive Unspeakable. When even that had proved futile and her tasks as a new Unspeakable began piling up, Hermione had resolved to tackle the Crowe mystery at a later date.
Her thoughts still on the secretive woman, Hermione carefully placed the jar of Thestral droppings back on the wooden shelf. As the youngest Unspeakable by far at twenty-four years of age, she was often saddled with the more banal tasks. While identifying the volatile potion ingredients that resulted from the Aurors' black market raids was hardly challenging, it was vastly superior to her sycophantic post at the Ministry's Department of Law Enforcement. Instead of stopping criminals or improving the Wizarding World's laws, she'd been relegated to publicity events. After the fifth charity ball and hundredth recitation of her role in the war, Hermione had had enough. She'd turned in her notice and, after a panicked month of job applications and interviews, landed an apprenticeship at the Department of Mysteries.
Tugging the hood over her unruly curls, Hermione followed Unspeakable Crowe through the stone archway. What did Kingsley want? She'd completed her first official task as Unspeakable the week before; perhaps he wanted to evaluate her performance?
A jolt of panic shot through her; did Unspeakables receive graded evaluations of their performances? She quickly ran through her actions, evaluating them critically for any mistakes.
Unspeakables received their tasks through small rolls of parchment, which appeared without warning in the charmed pockets of their cloaks. The Unspeakables guarded their assignments closely. Although it grated on her curiousity, Hermione had become accustomed to the omnipresent atmosphere of secrecy.
She'd had to subdue and nurse a trio of phoenixes afflicted with a slew of deadly viruses. Some wizard had experimented on them, plucking their feathers out and injecting them with a concoction of Muggle and wizard drugs. Although magical creatures weren't usually delegated to the Department of Mysteries, this particular combination of Muggle and wizard forces had resulted in a dangerously volatile curse that left three trainers disfigured before Kingsley transferred the case.
She'd been lucky to escape the ordeal relatively unscathed. The phoenixes hadn't been so fortunate; all but one had died before she could create a proper antidote. Was Kingsley angry that she had had only a 66% survival rate?
Logically, Hermione knew her concerns were unfounded; every Unspeakable underwent a rigorous background check before being hired. The position was a lifelong post; once hired, an Unspeakable could not be fired, thus ensuring the containment of secrets.
"Unspeakable Granger."
Hermione jumped, her eyes darting to the woman standing at the far end of the corridor. Merlin, that woman never failed to unnerve her. Her voice didn't help - it sounded like the Unspeakable was perpetually on the brink of losing her voice. Hermione desperately wanted to gift her with honey or tea, but she didn't want to end up cursed the moment her back was turned.
Crowe tilted her head, baring a small expanse of her sharp chin to the flickering light of the torches lining the hallway. She smiled, and Hermione barely managed to conceal her instinctive flinch. Crowe's smile broadened, and Hermione had the unnerving sense that the woman knew perfectly well the effect she had.
"We are here," Crowe whispered. Hermione frowned; she'd been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn't even realised the cold stone hallways of the Department of Mysteries had given way to the brightly lit carpeted corridors of the Ministry's main building.
Eying the witch warily, Hermione stepped quickly around her and knocked on the Minister's heavy wooden door.
"Minister? It's Hermione."
The door swung open.
Hermione glanced behind her, wondering if Crowe was going to be present at the meeting, but the Unspeakable had vanished.
Narrowing her eyes at the empty corridor, Hermione slowly entered Kingsley's office, shutting the door firmly behind her.
The Minister set down a sheath of brittle parchment and motioned towards the leather chair opposite his polished desk. Hermione sat, surreptitiously glancing at the topmost paper. The Minister's hand partially blocked the thin script, but she could make out parts of the middle line -
-eports coming in. Isolated incidents, but word is spreading – same symbols carv—
"Ms. Granger," Kingsley said.
Hermione looked up quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly.
The Minister raised a brow but thankfully didn't point out her obvious snooping.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he said solemnly.
Hermione swallowed, smoothing the thick cloth of her cloak.
The Minister selected a roll of parchment from a small pile to his left and, unrolling it with an audible crack, read, "You received an O in Ancient Runes, correct?"
Hermione frowned; what could Kingsley possibly want with her NEWT scores? She'd already been hired for a lifelong position, and she had no intention of switching occupations.
"Er, yes," she said slowly.
Kingsley snapped the parchment closed and nodded in satisfaction. "Professor Babbling speaks very highly of you."
Hermione's brow furrowed. She hadn't spoken to Professor Babbling in years, but she had nothing but the fondest memories of the intelligent woman.
Kingsley was a busy man. From what she'd gathered from Harry and Ron's increasingly frustrated expressions, something major was unfurling, and she'd bet her last quill that it involved the parchment on Kingsley's desk.
Same symbols. Perhaps these symbols were runes? If so, why had Kingsley called her into his office? She'd always received decent marks in the class, but she wasn't vain enough to think she was the most gifted Ancient Runes student Professor Babbling had ever seen.
Hermione nodded towards the sheet of parchment still concealed underneath Kingsley's dark hand.
"Minister, with all due respect, I'm not the best person to ask if you want help with runes. Babbling herself would be infinitely superior; besides, I haven't worked with runes for years now," she said.
Kingsley blinked. A slow smile spread across his face, soon followed by an abrupt, shocked laugh.
"Sharp as ever, aren't you, Ms. Granger?"
Hermione smiled nervously.
The Minister of Magic sobered and, with a significant look, pushed the concealed parchment across the desk.
"I've been getting reports like this for weeks now from my Aurors. This is the fifth one in two months. I've put my best Aurors on the case, but none of them has much experience with runes," he said.
Hermione pulled the parchment towards her, causing a small photograph to fall to the floor. She stooped to retrieve it, her forehead creasing when she saw the image imprinted on the glossy paper.
A woman's thin, emaciated back took up almost all of the photograph. Angry, lurid red curves trailed the ridges of her spine.
Hermione's breath caught, her fingers tightening their hold on her cloak. Aware of Kingsley's watchful gaze, she forced herself to ease her grip and, swallowing thickly, picked up the photograph. Before she could examine the marks, however, the image shifted rapidly, revealing a flash of black as a shoe briefly appeared in the photograph's corner.
"Auror Potter was on the scene," Kingsley said, nodding towards the shoe.
"The scene being…?" Hermione asked.
"Remote village in Ireland."
She frowned at the image; she could hardly study the symbols if it kept shifting like that. She withdrew her wand from the folds of her cloak and tapped the image. The image froze immediately, bringing the horrific wounds into clear focus.
She allowed herself another moment to collect her wits before examining the image once more.
Why were they carved into her flesh? It wasn't necessary; runes were most potent when written with one's wand. The blood certainly did make for a gruesome effect - perhaps the killer had wanted to leave her - or his - mark?
Although at first glance the marks appeared to be scattered randomly, the symbols were roughly arranged in a circular pattern. Whoever had killed the woman had been in a rush; the arc of the horn forming the rune graphorn was crooked, and speckles of dried blood blurred the rune's boundaries. Her frown deepened; runes were dangerous enough even when done properly. A rushed rune was a recipe for disaster. Professor Babbling always said that even she didn't experiment with runes; not much was known about them, and even the old, regularly reproduced runes had a knack for producing unexpected effects.
"Why isn't Professor Babbling here?" Hermione asked distractedly. Odd, the graphorn usually appeared next to an identifying rune, but here it was isolated - perhaps there was an alternate meaning? It usually signified "two," but in this circular context the runes couldn't be interpreted using standard methods.
When Kingsley didn't answer, Hermione paused, acrid dread burrowing deep in her stomach.
She slowly set the photograph down on his desk and, with the level, frigid tone Harry swore inspired more fear than Voldemort himself had (an off-colour joke that always left him the recipient of a well-aimed whack), asked, "Minister, where is Professor Babbling?"
Kingsley sighed heavily, bringing his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He looked frighteningly weary, as if he had emerged from one form of imprisonment to find that he had only entered another.
"She's gone. She was reported missing yesterday."
"Dear Merlin," Hermione breathed. She'd always admired the woman, and it was hard to believe that the stern professor had vanished.
"We've found no evidence tying her disappearance to the murders, but she's our greatest asset when it comes to runes; her knowledge is unparalleled, and without her, the killer has a much greater chance of continuing his work," Kingsley continued.
"Or her," Hermione said automatically.
Kingsley paused, fixing her with an unreadable look. "Or her," he conceded finally.
He gestured to the photograph. "Hermione, Babbling once told me that you were one of her most promising students. We could really use your input."
Hermione nodded and, glancing down at the photograph, bit her lip. "I've never seen anything like it. Runes are usually written in a horizontal or even vertical fashion; these are arranged in a perfect circle. Despite the shape's regularity, the runes themselves are rushed. I'd hypothesise the killer was rushed and botched the ritual. The runes are probably the cause of death."
Kingsley blinked. "You mean, the blood loss from the carvings are the cause of her death."
She shook her head. "No, the cuts are shallow. I suppose cardiac arrest stemming from shock is possible, but sloppy runes are a surefire path to death."
"So you think the death was an accident? If they weren't designed to kill her, what were the runes supposed to do?"
Hermione squinted at the photograph, staring at the lurid markings until her eyes began to blur.
She scowled, raking her hair roughly through her tangled hair. "I can identify only half of these runes, and even then the order doesn't make any sense. I'll need to reference some texts," she said.
Kingsley nodded. "Of course. I'll update the Aurors."
He scrawled a message on a scrap of parchment and, whistling loudly, summoned a sleek black owl.
As Kingsley sent his message, Hermione scanned the woman's pale back, bypassing the bloody runes to focus instead on the limp hand in the corner of the image. If she squinted, she could just make out a dark blur staining her thumbnail. Before she could study it further, however, the image shifted as the shoe came into focus. Silently cursing Harry's ill-timed step, she watched the stain clarify and blur until her eyes began to water.
"I'm sending you and Unspeakable Crowe to the next site," she heard Kingsley say.
Hermione wrenched her eyes from the photograph. "Unspeakable Crowe?"
Kingsley nodded. "She's dealt with ritualistic killings almost exclusively for the past three years. Between the two of you, maybe we'll finally solve this case."
Hermione hid her unease. "Understood," she said and, when Kingsley turned back to the formidable sheath of papers on his desk, left his office.
As soon as the door closed behind her, she felt a familiar weight drop into the pocket of her cloak. Slipping her hand into the pocket, she felt the crackly edge of another roll of parchment.
"So, we're to be partners, then?" came a familiar, rasping voice.
Hermione jerked her hand from her cloak, watching as Unspeakable Crowe emerged from the shadowed nook adjacent to Kingsley's office.
Hermione arched a brow and said coolly, "Yes. I'm headed to the Auror Department now to obtain background information. I'll owl you if I get any leads." Then, catching a glimpse of surprise flash across the Unspeakable's face, Hermione turned on her heel and strode away, a triumphant smile tugging at her lips.
She'd faced opponents far more threatening than Crowe, and she wasn't about to let the woman impede her job performance.
After traveling a good distance away from the Unspeakable, she ducked into a small alcove and, reaching into her pocket, withdrew the crackling roll of parchment.
She frowned.
Help him.
Well, that was redundant; she'd already been planning to help Kingsley.
Tucking the parchment into another pocket, Hermione resumed her brisk pace. She had work to do.
AN: Eep it's been a while. I offer my sincerest apologies! I've actually had this chapter written for a while, but I didn't want to post it until I had a bit more written. Thank you all for your patience and your comments! I love reading them :)
