Author's Note:
This is a continuation/soft reboot of the time travel tale "Hair of the Grim" by Nightmare Sired Muse, with a bunch of changes. It also contains many concepts, lines and situations from the grab-bag that is "Odd Ideas" by Rorschach's Blot. Both are used with the permission of their original authors. The Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I do not own Harry Potter or anything else.
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Rated M for some violence, language, drug use and sexual references. Nothing explicit.
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Canon-compliant. HP&DH compliant (except the Epilogue). HP&CC compliant (except the conclusion). FB&WTFT compliant. Pottermore compliant (mostly).
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Recommended Fanfictions of the Week: "Delenda Est" and "Para Bellum" by Lord Silvere and Claihm Solais.
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Question of the Week: Who would have thought, reading the innocent childish wonder that was HP&PS, that the final book HP&DH would turn out so dark?
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Chapter 23 – Delenda Sint
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We extort and pilfer, we filch and sack, drink up me hearties, yo ho.
Maraud and embezzle and even highjack, drink up me hearties, yo ho.
– Yo ho, Yo ho, A Pirate's Life for Me
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Bypassing the Aurors and the medical orderlies was child's play. He slipped past the security cordon and a brief gesture sent the duty nurse and the guard inside the ward to sleep. The red plumed bird roosting on the headboard raised its head at his approach, blinked, and then returned to its slumber.
He strolled over to the medical chart of the unconscious figure and casually flicked through it. Tossing it onto the nearby table, he approached the magical IV drip. The device resembled a glowing blue lava lamp sitting on the bedside table. It pulsed periodically. The drip was enchanted to transport its contents into the patient's bloodstream a milligram at a time.
Removing the lid of the IV drip, the old man withdrew a vial from his sleeve and emptied the contents into it. The blue colour gradually changed into a deep blood-red, with occasional swirls of liquid gold. Closing the lid, he tapped the device with his wand, and it began to pulse once more. The patient stirred slightly, then gave a soft sigh and seemed to relax more.
"Wake up soon, Albus Dumbledore," the man whispered. "There are many tasks left for you to complete."
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EXCLUSIVE: DARK LORD NOW A SQUIB!
Magical Britain Saved! MRHBDL Performs Ritual To Boost His Power; Own Incompetence Results in Stripping Himself of All Magic! MRHBDL Now a Helpless Squib Ghost! An Exclusive Report on This Bizarre and Freakish Event!
By Rita Skeeter and Maya Normusbut
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Hermione was the recipient of several glares and a number of odd looks as she took a seat in the pew with the rest of the bride's family. The marriage of Albert Runcorn to Lysandra-Rose Yaxley was big news in the Purist world, and the society pages had been bursting with details regarding the union of two such rising stars of the Ministry. Everything from dress designs to whether the third course would contain fish or aubergine. Witch Weekly was running bets on which high-flyer would become Minister of Magic first, once Bagnold retired (perhaps in the next century or two, given how tight her grip on the levers of power was). Observing that the cathedral was filled to capacity, Hermione wondered if a single member of the Purist faction was absent. Many of them were her peers and (former) allies within the government. So much the better for her. Ignoring them all, she sat patiently and bided her time until the time was right.
"And if anyone should have an objection, let them speak now or forever hold their ..."
"I have an objection," Hermione said loudly, interrupting the Druid in the rudest tone possible. "Scum like him has no business marrying a descendent of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy!"
This prompted shouts and cries of outrage. Many of the audience, already smarting from her 'betrayal' of the Purist cause, demanded that the interloper be thrown out into the street. Preferably with a dozen hexes to the face for company.
"Cease befouling our presence! You have no standing here, Umbridge!" snarled Artemesia Yaxley, the mother of the bride.
"Oh, but I do," Hermione said sweetly, "seeing as how the bride is the third cousin twice removed of our esteemed Lady Pandora Malfoy. Why, she's practically her daughter! Given such close familial bonds, Lord and Lady Malfoy were most concerned that such a near and dear relative would sully herself and by extension them, by rolling around in the muck with such a wretched excuse for faerie faeces as this."
"How dare you, you baseborn bottom-feeding harpy!" Albert Runcorn sputtered, "How dare you ... I demand satisfaction!"
"Agreed," Hermione said coldly. "Outside, now."
"To death or ..."
"Just death will do," Hermione interrupted.
"Agreed," Runcorn said with a cold smile. He looked forward to putting the blood-traitor bitch in her place. Before putting her into the ground. "I'm going to make you beg ..."
"Have you ever noticed how the smallest dogs tend to bark the loudest?" Hermione asked one of the guests, seemingly ignoring the groom.
"Outside, now!" barked Runcorn.
"So eager to meet your Maker," Hermione drawled as she followed her victim out onto the field of honour. Her gaze swept over the crowd until she latched onto a familiar face. "Director Crouch, would you care to officiate?"
"If your opponent agrees," Barty Crouch replied.
"I have no objections," Runcorn growled, his eyes fixed on Umbridge.
"Take your positions," Crouch ordered. The two opponents faced each other. "Duel is to the death, you will place your wands at low ready and begin when I signal with red sparks. Do you both understand and agree?"
"Yes," Runcorn growled.
"Of course," Hermione agreed cheerfully. "Is there any way we can hurry this along? I've got an appointment with a strapping young Keeper that I don't want to miss."
"Well," Crouch said with a lopsided grin. "I'm normally supposed to spend a few minutes trying to get the two of you to agree to put aside your differences, or at the very least change the conditions of the duel."
"We can skip that part," Runcorn said firmly.
"I concur," Hermione agreed.
"Then assume the position of low ready," Crouch ordered. He stepped off the field and raised his wand. "In three, two, one." Red sparks shot into the sky.
Runcorn took a moment to decide what spell he was going to start with, he wanted to savour the moment, to make the blood-traitor truly suffer. The thought that Umbridge could be any sort of threat never even crossed his mind. He was Albert Runcorn, high-ranking member of the DMLE, veteran Death Eater, slayer of dozens, and maimer of more. Umbridge on the other hand, in spite of her long lineage, was well known to be a whisker above a Squib. His mind made up, Runcorn raised his hand to fire the first curse and frowned when nothing happened. He knew he got the incantation right. He looked down at his wand hand and stared in confusion at the charred stump of ragged flesh that ended where his hand was supposed to begin. Had Umbridge hit him with some sort of illusion? The world seemed to spin as his legs disappeared and the arrogant man collapsed to the ground. How is this happening? Runcorn wondered. I am Albert Tullmius Runcorn, I am a Death Eater, I am the reason people are afraid to leave their homes at night! How is this happening? He looked up and into the tip of Umbridge's wand. "How?" He choked.
"You didn't honestly think you could defeat a member of House Malfoy did you, scum?" she simpered down at the broken body of her opponent. "Say goodbye, Albert."
"No, you can't, wait Dolores you –"
"Reducto," Hermione incanted. She calmly pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket to clean the spattered blood off her face. And then dodged automatically as a sharp sound reached her ears.
"Gyaaaaaahhh!" With a ferocious shriek, the bride burst forward from the masses and launched a dozen dark curses at the hated woman who'd just murdered her fiancé.
Hermione danced and weaved until finally she had a good line up. "Reducto," she cast at the ground beneath the incensed woman's feet. The explosion blew the woman three feet into the air, her falling arc lining up perfectly with Hermione's double-tap Cutting Curses. The bride dissolved into several quivering pieces.
The crowd stared in absolute silence.
"What a pity, Cousin Lysandra-Rose," Hermione intoned, her clipped voice carrying across the masses as she walked out of the duelling circle. "Surely one of such good breeding was perfectly aware that to interfere with a duel to the death is to enter oneself under the same conditions."
"What have you done, you stupid child?!" Artemisia screamed shrilly.
"Look at his arm," Hermione ordered. "He's a Death Eater, a slave that didn't even have the courage to meet his end like a man. We are Malfoys, Malfoys bow to no-one, not even to some so-called Dark Lord. I will not allow my House's blood to be muddied by such as that." With that pronouncement, Hermione disappeared with a pop, leaving a very confused old woman behind.
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"You wished to speak with me, Chief Warlock?" Hermione asked politely, as the Auror guards ushered her into his St Mungos hospital ward. "I was so pleased to hear that you had regained consciousness – I do hope you're feeling better?" The old man was certainly looking a lot better, even seemed to have lost a lot of his wrinkles.
"Much better, thankyou, my dear. Do you have any idea what I wished to discuss?" Dumbledore asked gravely as she seated herself in the bedside chair.
"Not a clue, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," Hermione said innocently, thinking of any number of reasons that the Chief Warlock would want to speak with her.
"Your duel with Albert Runcorn," Dumbledore sighed. "The Ministry and Wizengamot are in quite the uproar about it, I'm told. Was it really necessary to kill him and his bride?"
"He was a Death Eater," Hermione said simply. "And she tried to nail me in the back with an organ-melting hex." After those Marked bastards had burned down her houses with fiendfyre and injured poor Missus Mittens' hind leg, she was feeling less than charitable towards the entire lot of them. And the HAHA only had a small window before the lion's share of the scum fled the country.
"Yes, but ..." Dumbledore was at a loss for words. "Death is permanent."
"Wouldn't have killed him if I thought he'd be able to come back from it," Hermione replied cheerfully. That wasn't strictly true. It would have been more accurate to say that she'd have made sure to dismember the body, entomb each separate piece in stone, and then scatter the pieces to the four corners of the earth.
"The Runcorn line is going to end," Dumbledore said in exasperation. "And though Corban Yaxley is still alive somewhere, the DMLE has all but given up on ever finding him. Two ancient pureblood Houses, gone."
"Someone will come along to replace them," Hermione said with a shrug. "Hopefully better families, the Runcorns and Yaxleys were nothing more than leeches on society."
"I ..." Dumbledore stared at the prim woman in consternation. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. What had happened to the feckless chubby little girl that kept getting lost on her way to her classes? "That will be all, Madame Umbridge."
"A pleasure as always to speak with you, Professor Dumbledore," she said, standing. "I do wish you a swift recovery. If you have some time, please speak with Lord Malfoy, he has been most distressed by your injuries."
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"What'd Dumbledore want?" asked Dirk. The HAHA were using the master study of Malfoy Manor she had commandeered as their HQ for now. It had been a right pain setting up access for each individual member on a person-by-person basis, but given the dangerousness of the times, lowering the Malfoy wards to a less rigorous setting was not an option.
"Something about how we shouldn't kill Death Eaters," Hermione replied. "Nothing worth paying attention to."
"Does tell us that we shouldn't expect any help from the so-called Leader of the Light," Jim said thoughtfully.
"Something to keep in mind," Hermione agreed. "Come on. Let's get back to work."
"There's a new message in your in-tray, boss." Bob piped up. All mail to her house and office at the DCRMC had been redirected here (once it had been automatically scanned for spells or dangerous substances). Lovegood passed the note on to her. She read it in a glance.
"Looks like one of Pandora's former potential fiancés has sent her a 'love letter'," Hermione said dryly. "Mulciber, we meet again. Well either you or your father, I never could be bothered learning any of your family members' first names."
"What did it say?" Bob asked intently.
"Words to the effect that he didn't appreciate yours truly turning his step-sister Lysandra-Rose into pureblood paste at her own wedding. He intends to pursue their originally-proposed betrothal, and … well, that he'd take her by force if that should prove necessary," Hermione replied. "And once they're married, he'll ensure she learns her proper place and makes proper penance for Miss Yaxley's demise."
"What are we gonna do, boss?" asked the burly, bearded man, teeth grinding at the thought of somebody even thinking about doing such things to his cute grand-niece.
"I'm going to respond to this note in proper Purist fashion." Hermione grinned wolfishly. "Think the new Malfoys aren't powerful enough to respond, do you, Mr Mulciber? Heh, or maybe you thought I'd ignore a chance to put more of you bastards into the ground while you're still on British soil?" The Ministry was unlikely to take an interest in the affair thanks to the note this Death Eater had been stupid enough to send.
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Auror Captain Pius Thicknesse was proud of the fact that he managed to keep his breakfast down, his subordinates weren't so lucky. The crime scene was one of the worst he'd ever seen, more terrible then anything the Death Eaters had ever done before. There were two stiffs without their skins and the latest from forensics was that the poor bastards had been alive until the very end. "Do we have an ID on the stiffs?" he asked the man St Mungos had sent over.
"It's Enoch Mulciber and his son Arnt," the Healer replied confidently.
"Mulciber?" Pius frowned in confusion. "Our latest intel was that they were highly placed Death Eaters, why in Merlin's name would they do this to two of their own?"
"If they were Death Eaters then why in Merlin's name didn't you arrest them?" the Healer growled.
"No evidence and no witnesses," Pius said sourly. "You know it's a war and I know it's a war, but the higher ups need a bit more convincing."
"Bastards!" the Healer barked. "And to answer your question, I'm not sure Death Eaters had anything to do with this one."
"How do you know?" Pius demanded.
"Found this in the left one's mouth." The Healer held up a sheet of paper. "Fascinating reading."
It only took the Captain a couple of seconds to finish the note. "Malfoy." His voice was neutral. Who'd have guessed that the cute little blonde girl who'd hitched piggyback rides from her mother on her way to work at the Ministry each morning would turn out like this?
"Got any evidence that she was behind this?" the Healer asked with a grin.
"Not a shred," Pius replied cheerfully. "Which is why I'm not going to arrest her."
"Not like she'd get convicted anyway," the Healer commented. "Public wouldn't stand for it if the contents of that little note got around."
"I take it that I'm not the first one you showed this to?" Pius asked dangerously.
"You are," the Healer said quickly. "I'd wager my assistant showed it to a fair number before turning it over to me, though. Can't find anyone that's willing to accompany me to your crime scenes that can keep their bloody mouths shut."
"What do you want to bet that the Malfoy girl won't get bothered by lonely young wizards looking for dates?" Pius laughed.
"No bet," the Healer said with a grin. "Not after what's happened to their previous 'suitors'."
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"Peter my boy, it is wonderful to see you."
"Not half as good as it is to see you, I'll wager," Harry replied happily, a tear in his eye. He walked into the hospital ward wherein his mentor was convalescing and sat down next to the old man. Dumbledore was looking surprisingly chipper, considering he'd been at death's door a mere week ago. "You seem well – better than well, in fact. You're not stooping like you used to, your wrinkles have mostly disappeared, and is your hair turning red?"
The Headmaster chuckled. "A most frank analysis, far more so than any mediwitch has given me so far. I do seem to be experiencing some age reversion, an effect I'm sure of Fawkes' tears combined with the alchemical concoctions that my old friend Nicholas Flamel prepared to aid me."
"Speaking of which, where is Fawkes?"
"Getting some much needed rest, no doubt," Dumbledore said. "Keeping vigil over me for the past fortnight was surely wearisome.
"It was difficult to get in to see you," Harry observed. "I must have had to get through five different security cordons. There must be more Aurors in St Mungos than Healers or patients!"
"Indeed. The DMLE is concerned about the impact on morale should an assassin succeed in doing what my attackers almost achieved. Your associate Lady Malfoy suggested rather pointedly that I contact you, she said you were somewhat agitated by my condition."
Harry nodded. "Because it's all my fault," he moaned miserably. "They wouldn't have been able to get at you if you'd been at Hogwarts like you usually are. And the only reason you weren't there was because I –"
"Mr Pettigrew," Dumbledore interrupted gently, "you are not responsible for the actions of others. You did not order or lead the attack on my house."
"But it was my idea to bring those four back," Harry insisted. "I arranged for them to be here. If I hadn't, then we couldn't have used the Goblet of Fire to strip Voldemort of his magic, and Grindelwald would never have escaped …"
"Someone as old and wise as Gellert would have found his way to freedom from Voldemort sooner or later. And he still would have sought a way to assault me as soon as he had the opportunity," the Chief Warlock said firmly. "Gellert and I have a long, long history, my boy. This is merely one more chapter in a long-ongoing struggle. Do not torment yourself with possibilities."
"But still –," Harry persisted.
"If you had not acted as you had," Dumbledore interrupted, "then I would never have had the chance to make amends with my family, or some version thereof; and Voldemort would still be running amuck, murdering, torturing and enslaving many."
The white room filled with silence for a while, each occupant absorbed with their thoughts.
"You … ah, don't have to worry about that timeloop thingie problem anymore …" Harry offered lamely. It was the only silver lining he could think of at the moment. "So that's one thing off your plate …"
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it seems removing the Dumbledores, Grindelwald, and young Tom Riddle and his mum from my friend's past has had some drastic consequences to her timeline. Her present is now quite a bit different than it was before."
"I've no doubt," the old man chuckled. "Do enlighten me, Mr Pettigrew."
"Well, for one, there were no first or second or third wizarding wars of the 20th century. She tells me everything is … well, extremely boring. Nothing dramatic or violent or exciting going on at all for over 100 years."
"Something I applaud wholeheartedly. Boring can be good."
"I feel the same way, sir."
"And she and her family remain unchanged?"
"More or less. Her aunt still became Minister for Magic, like before. Her Potter father did still meet the Weasley girl at Hogwarts and marry her, just like in her original timeline. Her parents do have fewer children this time round though, only three instead of seven!" Though thinking about it was another aching reminder of the Ginny Weasley that he himself had loved and lost. Still, there was no use moping about it anymore, Ron was right about that. Harry had a wife of his own to care for now, as well as two more sorta-kinda wives, that he hadn't the faintest idea how to deal with.
"She's bored out of her mind there though. It's all too peaceful and quiet for a restless soul like hers, she says; so I think we can expect to see a lot of her over the next few years. We sure have excitement enough to spare around here," he added sourly.
"Ah, the impetuosity of youth; always seeking after the next exciting moment."
"Her father's not Chief Auror this time around, you know. Now he's the Chief Baker of magical London. Head of the guild and all. I never saw that one coming; then again, I have always enjoyed cooking … Home's a lot smaller and more modest as well. Bit more like the Weasleys' ancestral place, so his wife feels right at home …"
That brought another sobering thought to mind.
"I'm sorry you lost your house," Harry blurted awkwardly.
"It is a painful blow. Nevertheless, you will realise as you grow older how little material possessions matter in the end. All my gold is stored at Gringotts, and the truly valuable artefacts and books are kept at Hogwarts. But even were that not the case, what really matters is people. Your family and friends."
Which only served to make Harry feel worse. "He's taken them," he said morosely. "Grindelwald's taken the … four you were looking after. We haven't been able to find out what happened to them … I … they're all leaving Britain you know. The whole bleeding lot. Like rats fleeing a sinking Atlantis. Many are scattering to different places all over, but the bulk seem to be heading to magical Asia, at least according to the intel Dolores has been able to unearth."
"Ah yes, it cannot be helped, my boy. Gellert is unlikely to have harmed them: whatever his flaws, he is not Voldemort. He is far more likely to try and recruit them to his cause; I am unsure which approach is more concerning." He paused in thought for a time. "In his heyday, Gellert was never one to strike without building up a substantial advantage first. It is imperative that we locate the majority of his forces and not allow them to rebuild their strength."
Harry nodded, a rare moment when he was in firm agreement with his aged mentor.
"Which brings us to my request …"
"I brought the Sorting Hat with me like you wanted." Harry passed the tattered Hat to the old man. "I've heard that the Hat can bring forth the Sword of Gryffindor to those who demonstrate great bravery," Harry reminisced.
"Quite right, young man, your sources are impeccable. You may also be interested to know that the Headmaster may also summon it in times of great need." Focusing on the Hat with great concentration, Dumbledore closed his eyes. After a minute, the Hat seemed to pulse, and then a hard shaft dropped out.
"It worked!"
"And now to demonstrate another of the secrets of the Founders, designed to protect Hogwarts from those who would do her harm. Behold the Eye of Godric." Dumbledore held the sword upright so the gigantic ruby affixed to the golden grip was aligned with the bridge of his nose.
"Sword of Gryffindor, give me Sight beyond Sight. So mote it be!"
Harry looked on in wonder as the deep red ruby began to glow with ethereal light, and a hum of power filled the room. Dumbledore's eyes focused on something far far away from the contents of the hospital ward.
"I see … a land of rain and thunder … great towers to the sky … hidden cities … desert and forest … by Merlin, Gellert, you cannot be serious!"
With a weary sigh, Dumbledore lowered the sword onto the bed and reclined, eyes fluttering.
"Wow, I had no idea the Sword of Gryffindor could do that," Harry said breathlessly.
Dumbledore chuckled wearily. "It's a magical sword, Mr Pettigrew; you didn't think it was good for nothing but looking fancy, being an incredibly inconvenient paperweight, propping doors open, swatting insects, and stabbing people with the pointy end, did you?"
"Oh," said a chagrined Harry. "So, you saw where they are?"
"Yes, Mr Pettigrew, I did."
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"It's Japan."
"Pardon?" Hermione looked up from her paperwork.
"The Death Eaters, whatever's left of Voldie, Grindelwald, young Albus, Ariana, Gellert and Abeforth" Harry paced back and forth across the lush royal purple carpeting, thinking furiously. "They've gone to Japan."
Hermione finished her last signature and laid her quill down. "Find that out from Dumbledore did you?"
Harry nodded.
"How's he progressing?"
"Good. Better than good, in fact. Looking younger and younger every day. Not surprising since apparently he's been binging on phoenix tears, and his old pal Nicholas Flamel whipped him up some Elixir of Life specially."
"So, Magical Japan is it?" she pondered. "That matches the information the HAHA has gathered."
"What? You knew and you didn't tell me?!" Harry demanded.
"Don't take that tone with me, Harry," she responded coldly. "It was nothing but an unconfirmed rumour at this point. We're still processing all the papers we seized from that warehouse, and our questioning of our captives is continuing as we speak. Do you have any idea of how long it takes to interrogate three dozen or so Death Eaters?"
Harry collapsed into one of the Malfoy office's comfortably plush feuteuil chairs. "I'm sorry, Hermione, you're right. I didn't mean to snap at you. I've just been so frustrated and jumpy these past few days."
"Understandable reaction to the situation, but you cannot take it out on your friends. We are all on the same side here," she chided.
"You're right, sorry," he repeated wearily. "In a nutshell, Grindelwald's original magical and muggle followers mostly came from Germany, Eastern Europe, Italy and Japan. Apparently he still has a lot of support from many of the local families there. Since the European ministries are already on high alert for blood purist activity due to the Voldemort wars here in Britain, it's difficult for any uprisings to be effective right now. So Double G's taken the next step and jumped over to visit his allies in Japan. They call it Mahounihon. You don't happen to have any information on the place from the Ministry do you?"
Hermione replied snippily, "I work at the DCRMC Harry, not the Department of International Magical Cooperation. And no, I haven't filched any information from there. It's well known amongst the bureaucracy that you don't mention anything about Abroad unless you want the pants bored off you. I promise I'll look into it, but don't get your hopes up. I doubt they have anything useful on file: nobody in the Ministry cares about foreigners who aren't French or from places that were once part of the British Empire."
"Damn." He went to the Floo and grabbed some powder for his return trip to Hogwarts. "Back to Dementor-land I go then. See you round, Hermione." He'd have to bite the hippogriff and talk to the one person he knew who would be most likely to have the information and the contacts he needed.
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Xiomara Lucrezia Zabini smiled to herself as a plan began to form rapidly. It wouldn't be easy, but if they succeeded then she would have all the power and wealth and recognition that she'd craved her entire life. Drunk with the thought and giggling with excitement, she began to plot to set the groundwork of what she hoped would make her the most powerful witch of her generation. "There may be a way …" she said slowly.
"Really?" he asked. Her sudden giggling out of nowhere was a bit disconcerting, but he'd already committed himself to this course of action.
"Yes, now let us away, I do not feel comfortable holding discussions out in the open whilst so many of those foul demons are floating about."
Harry couldn't argue with that sentiment, and allowed the girl to steer him inside one of the Greenhouses.
Zabinin firmly shut and locked the door, and cast several privacy spells for good measure. "There. Now, as I was saying, I may have access to resources that would aid you."
"That would be a tremendous help! I don't know anyone who knows anything about that part of the world. I've tried to talk to the Mahoutokoro students, but they just ignore me, or pretend not to speak English."
"Naturally. They're strangers in a strange land, and you're just another foreigner nobody who wants something from them while probably secretly looking down your nose at their 'barbaric' ways. If you want I may have some contacts I could feel out. Lay the groundwork for you. However, this is not without its price."
"Of course not," Harry sighed.
"Don't look so disheartened. I propose an arrangement by which the two of us help each other."
"How can we help each other?"
"Don't say that," Zabini chastised sternly. "Rather, say: 'what's in it for me?'"
"What do you mean?"
"What do you want?" Zabini asked bluntly. "That's all negotiations are you know, finding out what they want and what you can offer. So, articulate: what do you want from me? And what are you willing to give in exchange?"
"I have a sinking feeling that I know what you're going to ask for in return for your help."
"If you have the slightest shred of cunning or wit, then you do."
"Ally or not, I can't just go around betrothing myself willy-nilly! This is real life, not 'Genma the Magical Panda' from the Tales of Ryouga the Bard," Harry protested.
"You signed the marriage agreement with Pandora Lovegood in order to gain control of House Malfoy," Zabini said implacably. "Sign my marriage agreement and I will give you access to the Zabinis' international network, and the keys to Magical Japan."
"But …"
"You DO wish to track down the courageless curs who harmed your Headmaster, kidnapped your friends, and burnt down your confederates' houses, do you not?"
"Well, yes …"
"You DO wish to apprehend and punish the wayward members of House Black who spurned your generosity, rejected your hand of friendship, and fled Britain alongside your mortal enemies, do you not?"
"Yes, but …"
"You DO wish to wipe the Death Eater scum and their dark families from the face of the wizarding world and end this interminable blood war, do you not?"
"You know I do …"
"If you are concerned with your other women objecting to my inclusion, I took the liberty a week ago of obtaining signed statements from Lady Delacour and Lady Malfoy-Lovegood confirming their approval for the match. And their agreement to the terms of management of your household." She handed him a sheaf of parchments.
"Of course they did that. Why am I not surprised?" Harry sighed, scanning the notarised legal forms.
"You should not be," she advised. "Part of their role is to see to the harmonious organisation of your household, so you can focus your mind and efforts on other matters. I have not had a chance to approach Lady Black as of yet, though from her behaviour, it appears that she is indifferent to your martial arrangements, leaving you free to proceed however you wish."
"I suppose that's true," he sighed.
"Do not lose hope, my beloved. She is more fond of you than she lets on, and more than she is willing to admit to herself. That much is obvious from her actions. In relation to my own status, I require you to ensure I am maintained in an appropriate standard of living as befits a Lady Potter, that my relatives are treated as if they were your own, and that I am not restricted from following a career path of my choosing."
"I wouldn't stop you from doing what you want to do."
"Now that's just the sort of thing you need to avoid saying," Zabini said sternly. "If I had wished, I could try to use statements like that to get around my obligations to you."
"You won't though, will you?"
"I'm not planning to, no," she admitted. "But just because I'm not planning to doesn't mean I won't at some point in time. You have to be careful about these things, husband-to-be."
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˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
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Being the proxy for House Malfoy had numerous advantages. For the first time, Hermione was truly able to appreciate the sheer scope of the Malfoy family's inter-generational scheme to co-opt the Ministry of Magic as their permanent retainer. And the extent to which they'd succeeded. Through liberal use of the considerable Malfoy resources, both in bribes and blackmail, she was able to muscle her way into becoming the lady who delivered the Minister's tea this morning. A coveted and much-fought-over position, since that person also brought in the morning stack of documents for the Minister to sign. And an enterprising tea lady had all sorts of opportunities to drop hints and suggestions and requests to the most powerful person in Britain. It was well known that Millicent Bagnold was not a morning person, and was in a (slightly) more suggestible state prior to 11am. Hermione, having little patience for such roundabout ways of attaining her goals, opted for the more direct route of dropping a few milligrams of Sleeping Potion into the Minister's tea, along with an extra helping of warm milk. Not enough potion to trigger any of the numerous potion-poison-weapon-explosive-disguise-eavesdropping detectors that filled the Minister's Office and the hallway outside, but just enough to make the woman more drowsy. Drowsy enough not to question what it was she was signing today. Leaving the Minister's Office, she pocketed her 'special' documents, passed the remainder on to the relevant office drones, returned to her office and downed her own potion. Then she strolled back through the Ministerial wing to the reception/security desk of the DoM wearing the polyjuiced face of Bartemius Crouch.
That disgusting man sheds more hair than my kneazles. Bribing his cleaning lady was the best gold I ever spent. Besides the gold I spent to ensure Cornelius Fudge suffered 'accidents' severe enough to put them in the recovery ward of St Mungos for the next few months. She rolled her shoulders subtly, resisting the urge to scratch her back. Her transfigured Auror robes itched like crazy. Merlin, how did Harry and Ron survive wearing these chafing things all day?
"My word," the Unspeakable on duty exclaimed, "how did you get in here?"
Hermione favoured the man with a glare that was half contempt, half boredom. "Requisitions," she drawled, tapping the golden badge of rank adorning her chest that indicated she was at Director-level and a member of the Minister's personal security detail. "Need the time turners and the Veil of Death. And anything else that's useful for killing a Dark Lord."
"I'm afraid I can't just give them to you, Director Crouch," the 'guard' said 'regretfully'.
"Oh ... forgot to give you the authorisation." She lazily handed over the document.
"Hmm?" The guard took the paper. "'Give the holder of this paper anything he wants, signed Minister Bagnold'. Everything seems to be in order then, come along."
Even though Hermione was well used to the lack of common sense pervading the denizens of the magical world, this seemed far too easy. Her inability to handle not knowing things eventually forced the next question out of her lips. If she didn't ask, it would drive her crazy: "You're really going to just hand them over to me? The things you're supposed to be guarding? Just like that?"
The mysterious man looked at her curiously. "Well, yeah. My job is to guard it from unauthorised people and with that official sheet of paper, you are authorised. So, really I'm just doing my job. If there are any problems, that's a matter for further up the line, like for instance, the incompetence of the person who filled out the form that authorised you."
"So it would be a matter of the Minister's Office being the incompetent party?"
"Without a doubt. If we were breeding for incompetence, then the Ministry's upper echelons would be the world's major supplier. That's in box #26 by the way. Of course, I told my superiors that breeding for incompetence to try and limit government screw-ups was a bad idea, but did they listen to me? Nooo ..."
Hermione simply nodded vacantly and slowly took another step further away from the ranting Unspeakable. Before long they reached the Time Room.
"How many time turners you need?"
"All of them. And all the equipment used to make time turners."
"Okie-dokie. You got a bag or pouch to carry them in?"
"No. Do you?"
"Box #187. Where we keep the mokeskin pouches."
"Hmmm. I'll take them all." Pocketing them, she said, "They're a tad small. Got anything big enough to house the Veil of Death? And some giant creatures on top of that?"
The guard thought about it. "Box #666 might do the trick." Going over to a blank wall and opening a hidden compartment, the Unspeakable tapped a complex sequence with his wand, then pulled out a box. Opening it he revealed a worn and dilapidated colostomy bag.
"Seriously?"
"Uh-huh. The opening expands as large as the object you're moving in or out of it. Come on in." With that he stepped inside, a curious Hermione trailing after. She gasped. The interior was enormous. High vaulted ceiling almost a mile above them. Gothic pillars supporting it. Light filtered in through a series of giant stained-glass windows high above them. The space was so large she couldn't see the walls in the distance. 100 metres or so from where they were standing, a large, gilt Roman Catholic altar stood, complete with relics and statuary. "It was made by some crazy muggleborn who wanted his own mobile cathedral. So he could have God with him wherever he went, or some fool notion like that. Not sure how we ended up with it."
"So why a colostomy bag?"
"According to the legend, he didn't ever want to risk being separated from it. Not much likelihood of somebody stealing or confiscating that, was there?"
"I suppose not. It's perfect," she said as they exited. "Stability an issue?"
"Nope, she's perfectly stable."
"Good, put all the time turners and equipment in here." With a few flicks of his wand, the man complied. While the entire contents of the Time Room were floating into the bag, Hermione surreptitiously dropped a few pebbles around the room.
They moved on to the Death Room. Moving the Veil was trickier, since someone generations ago had sealed the arch to the stone podium to prevent anyone from doing exactly what she was trying to do. They got around the problem by melting the base of the stone structure to slag with a series of concentrated heating and blasting charms, and then levitating the whole thing, Veil and podium, into the bag. The Death Room was left with a huge, ugly scar in the middle of the room. Hermione took the liberty of dropping her remaining stones into the hole while her host's back was turned.
Finally they were done, and strolled back to the main Ministry area. Hermione placed the colostomy bag firmly in her inner pocket, and requested the guard escort her to the elevator bank instead of the way she'd come in.
"Oh, before I forget, the Unspeakable Augustus Rookwood is a Death Eater. Your superiors may want to do something about that."
"What?! How do you know?"
"Every time I visit the DoM he tries to recruit me to join the Dark Lord. Either that or tries to sell me DoM secrets." Hermione said blandly. "Bye for now." She pushed the button and the elevator doors closed, leaving a flabbergasted Unspeakable in her wake.
Hermione waited a moment, then pulled out the control stone. Drawing her wand, she cast the release spell. Finite. The lights flickered and the elevator car shuddered for a moment as below her came the sound of a low boom.
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