A/N:

Now, this is the first time I'm posting on FFN for nearly half a decade. I was a very regular writer and user before switching full time to Ao3 in 2017, and, well, my writing from before then is embarassing. I elected to make a new account, but I am romantashas on all other platforms, other than YouTube, where I am SunnyVids, if you want to verify that I am a real person!

DISCLAIMER: I am not a lawyer because of J.K. Rowling, so I truly hope she doesn't sue me. #transpeoplearepeople

CROSS POSTED ON AO3 & WATTPAD!

11:46pm on Friday, 14 October 2005

Seven dead.

That's all Hermione can think about.

Seven dead.

She's seen dead bodies before — more times than most. It doesn't make it any easier. The flickers of all the people she watched die during the Battle of Hogwarts flash in her mind as she sits in St. Mungos, staring blankly at the blanket-covered figures the Healers had determined to be lost causes.

They had been people.

Hermione can only count her luck that she knows none of the victims personally. All those she knows are safe, and mostly unharmed. Blaise, who had gone ahead of the rest of them, has the worst of them, now sporting a broken leg and will have a nasty scar across his right shoulder. But he's alive, and complaining as he always does. One week with Skele-Gro will put him back to normal.

Ron has cuts from the glass shards of the shattered windows, and some ruptured eardrums. Malfoy —

Malfoy had taken the brunt of the attack, when he brought Hermione to the ground.

She closes her eyes.

(The ringing had been loud in her eyes. She had seen stars. She had not yet comprehended what had happened. There was... There was an explosion... She was... She was at the Leaky Cauldron. What... What had happened?

"Granger?" a voice had called out, distant to her banging ears. "Granger, are you okay?"

It sounded like she was underwater. Was she underwater?

"Hermione!" another voice had called. Ron. That had been Ron.

"Granger, get up!" the first voice had demanded.

Then, she had felt as if she had been dragged up. Rough hands under her armpits — her sense of feeling had been in overdrive with the loss of her hearing and faint visibility.

"Ron—"

"Granger!" the original voice had spoken again. There were fingers on her neck, her jaw. Soft fingers, gently caressing her.

"Is she all right?" Ron had spoken next.

Ron.

Explosion.

By the time she had come to, only Ron stood before her, holding her upright, asking if she was okay.)

Naturally, she and Ron had gone into Leaky to help as soon as her body caught up with reality.

Seven dead.

Soon after, the Mediwizards had arrived, bringing Portkeys for St. Mungos.

Seven dead.

Now, Hermione's clear to go — her injuries are minimal; some bruising, some cuts — but she cannot find it within herself to take her eyes off of the blankets covering the dead.

Seven. Dead.

Hermione feels a great sense of helplessness. She could've done more. She should've done more.

In her logical mind, she knows that there is nothing she could've done. Not before the explosion.

But, there is something she can do now.

"You okay? All clear?" Ron asks, sitting beside her.

Even sitting, he's a head taller than her, requiring her to crane her neck upwards to look at him. There's a little superficial cut on his eyebrow that she reaches to brush her thumb over. "I'm fine, just the first time I've seen combat in a while," she answers. "You?"

"I'm good," he mumbles. "Just another Tuesday for an Auror."

Up until five minutes ago, he had Padma fussing all over him, as she has a habit of doing. Ron and Padma's relationship still eludes Hermione, as they are no longer formally together as of three years, and but still almost act as if they are.

Then again, Hermione doesn't have much room to judge, considering how close her and Ron are post breakup as well.

Her thoughts are interrupted by seeing a blond ferret pop into her line of vision, walking right towards her. Her and Ron, at least.

"The Healers are still working with Daphne Flint," Malfoy tells Ron, pointedly ignoring her. "I notified Robards and Potter. They are on their way."

"Thanks," replies Ron.

Malfoy walks away, and Hermione stares at Ron like he had just grown another limb.

"What?" he asks, somewhat alarmed at her bewildered expression.

"Did you just... thank Malfoy?"

Ron widens his eyes at her, blinking at her interrogative accusation, before chuckling. "We're colleagues. He may be insufferable, but I can still be cordial."

"Oh," she replies somewhat stupidly. "But you always... You hate him."

"I do," Ron agrees easily. "I don't ever plan on inviting him out for a pint. And I mean it. Ever. But he's different from how he was at Hogwarts. It took a while to see him as more than a squirming little Death Eater ferret, but..."

She can't believe she lives in a universe where Harry and Ron have surpassed juvenile rivalries quicker than she had. She wonders when they had grown up, and she hadn't.

"Ginny told me you added him to the Christmas pool," Hermione blurts out. She hadn't confessed to Ron or Harry that she had learned this little tidbit, not sure what to make of it. But, well, it's out now.

"It seemed silly to exclude him when everyone else was involved," Ron shrugged. And then, suddenly, his expression grows more haunted and sad. "And, well, I felt...bad."

"Bad?"

"His fiancée died," Ron explains. "And... I don't think I've ever seen him look so human, y'know?"

Hermione knows the feeling well. It had been the feeling she had when she witnessed Parkinson sobbing in sixth year. Maybe a couple of tears wouldn't have done anything, but the force and emotion behind it had made Hermione forget about the bully she was, even if for a second, and saw a girl who needed something. Someone.

"He was a wreck," Ron explained. "Threw himself into work. At first, I had this horrible thought...that he kind of deserved it. After all those years making us miserable, he was finally miserable too. And then Harry said he couldn't imagine losing Ginny like that, and I realised."

"A lot of people died during the war, Ron," she points out, tiredly.

"Yeah, but it wasn't war, eh?" Ron counters. "I think he would've dealt with it better if it had been that straightforward. And you know what the papers say — they blame him. They think he drove her to do it."

At more insight into Astoria Greengrass, Hermione perks up slightly. "What do you believe?"

Ron gives her a slightly incredulous look. "When have the papers ever been right about us?"

"Fair enough," she says, her body sagging. So, Ron didn't believe it. She doesn't think she does either, honestly.

"Besides, I'm not the one who was on some nighttime stroll with him," he huffs. "What the bloody hell were you doing with Malfoy at night?"

Hermione blinks. What had she been doing with Malfoy? Had he really pulled her aside just to tell her to stay out of his way?

Before she can even reply, Harry and Robards show up, immediately walking to stand in front of them. Well, in front of Ron.

"Come on, Weasley," Robards says, "we're bringing Miss Flint in."

Ron looks a little shocked by the sudden order, paling slightly. "We can't — she's — "

"She's still with a Healer," Hermione answers. "What's this about?"

"Official Auror business, Miss Granger," Robards tells her.

She scoffs in return. "It's Defender Granger. And it's midnight; surely you can wait until morning? She's got a little girl with her."

"Well, Defender Granger," he starts, but the tone isn't sarcastic or ironic. It's a respectful correction, but it makes Hermione huff all the same. "We believe that Daphne Flint orchestrated this attack, and if our suspicions are true, we cannot risk her being outside of Auror hands."

"Harry, is this true?" asks Ron.

Harry gives a stiff nod. "Your own report earlier..."

Ron's jaw goes slack. He runs an anxious hand through his hair, brushing the stray strands off his forehead. "Blimey, Harry, she was just... She was just buying fireseeds — "

"Which can be used for an explosive," Hermione surmises. "But it's also a common ingredient for a warming up potion. So unless she was also in possession of powered dragon horn, I see no reason for concern."

Ron looks a bit stricken. "They're right, we have to take her in. Even if just a coincidence, she was at the scene, she is—was married to a known Death Eater, and now... It only makes sense."

"We were hoping, given the connection to the other case, you'd be able to counsel Daphne," Harry offers.

With few options, Hermione agrees.

Blaise, Malfoy, Daphne, and her daughter all are within the same room. The Healer seems to have moved onto Blaise now, as Daphne and Cordelia look good as new. Hermione isn't even sure if she had been injured to begin with, or if Malfoy's objections to Ron seeing her prior were more in hopes to delay the inevitable.

But, the inevitable has now arrived, and Malfoy immediately turns ashen. Daphne also seems to understand what is about to happen, with Blaise's train of thought closely following.

The Healer in the room seems to be the only one unsure. "Pardon, Auror Robards, but we cannot have — "

"We're here for Mrs. Flint," Robards fills in easily. Daphne immediately reigns in her daughter, clutching her to her side, fearful eyes darting between the Aurors, Malfoy, Blaise, and Hermione herself.

Blaise attempts to scramble up, despite the Healer's protests. "You can't — She's — She'll need a Defender!" he quickly lets out in pained grunts.

"Defender Granger has already volunteered," Robards tells him. Hermione gives Blaise an apologetic look; she desperately wishes she could explain even a portion of it, but it's all too complex and quickly spiralling out of control as it is.

"But — I can't leave — "

Daphne clings onto her daughter, who is hiding partially behind her mother's robes. Her eyes are frantic, desperate for some kind of relief before they land on Draco Malfoy.

But Malfoy isn't looking at Daphne. He's looking at the little girl.

The little girl is a spitting image of Daphne, but with brown hair — which makes her look eerily similar to Astoria Greengrass. It's unnerving; it's as if the woman in the photographs had been turned into a tiny human, who is now peering up at Malfoy with wide, expectant eyes.

Hermione assumes it's the uncanny resemblance to his late fiancée that causes the haunted look in his expression, even if he's been in the same room as her for a little while, but soon enough, he's scooping up the little girl into his arms, and Cordelia immediately melts into his embrace, like a well-practised routine.

"I'll take her to your parents," he tells Daphne.

"Thank you," she says with a sob. "Lia, be a good girl for your mum, all right? I'll see you soon enough."

The little girl doesn't understand what's going on, but cries anyway as her mother is dragged away.

12:54am on Saturday, 15 October 2005

"Unless you have any intention to release Mrs. Flint this evening, a statement can be given tomorrow," is all she has to say after all is said and done, and Daphne is securely in her Auror-assigned room.

The silence confirms, to Hermione, that they did not have any such intention to let Daphne go after an initial statement.

In the morning it is, then.

"But — "

"It is late," Hermione reasons. "The accused is tired and worried about her daughter. Give her the grace of a decent sleep."

Robards gives her a significant look. "We are not in the business of giving criminals grace."

"Alleged, Auror Robards. There hasn't been a confession or conviction," she fires back. "And whether or not there will be, she is no longer a potential risk within Auror confinement. It can wait until the morning."

As if saved by the bell, which Hermione truly hates to admit in the context, Draco Malfoy pops into the room.

"Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass are looking after the child for the weekend," he fills in easily. "I did not explain the full situation, but they understand that Daphne might be here a while — "

"What the hell happened out there, Malfoy?" yells Harry, rushing towards Malfoy in rage. For a brief moment, Hermione flashes back to Hogwarts, moments before fists and hexes would be thrown. Just as it seems that Harry might go as far as to push Malfoy against a wall, he stops, instead just getting in his face to yell. "You said — "

"I know what I said, Potter," Malfoy replies, his tone even and cool. "I was wrong."

"Seven people died," Harry says heatedly.

Malfoy's silent for a moment, and briefly, there's a hint of pain in his expression. "Well, I suppose you can add that to my conscience as well," he deadpans. His eyes flicker around the room, before landing on Hermione, and before she can make anything of it, he looks back at Harry and says, "If you'll excuse me, I'll go inform our newest resident of her daughter's status."

The tension is thick in the room even after Malfoy leaves. Hermione looks at Harry, wondering what the exchange had been about. What did Malfoy say, that he had been wrong about? The attack, surely. But had they known about the attack, prior to it happening?

"Go home. Get some sleep," Robards announces uneasily, and Hermione considers it a small victory. "We'll meet back up at 9 tomorrow."

After Hermione leaves, and when the boys must've been sure she's out of hearing range, she hears Ron ask, "What did Malfoy say, Harry?"

"He said the attack would be next week."

03:38am on Saturday, 15 October 2005

Hermione doesn't sleep that night.

She can't help but wonder if perhaps Daphne had been involved in the attack in some way. She doubts that the mother would truly be the one to set off such an explosion with her child nearby, but it stands to reason that she could've been the intended victim. It seemed awfully coincidental that Daphne and the explosion had passed one another by with such impeccable timing.

And it wasn't so far-fetched to think someone might want Daphne out of the way. While the Aurors had asked Daphne Flint to keep the news of her husband's disappearance quiet, the revelation that she knew her husband had been killed leaves a bit of a wildcard. It's entirely possible that she had tipped off the wrong person.

If Flint truly had been a high-ranking Death Eater, killing his wife might be the key to tying up loose ends.

Which asks the question: Is Daphne in any possession of evidence? If she is, does she even realise it?

Daphne herself could be the evidence as it stands. While Flint's extracurriculars weren't a topic of discussion, and it didn't seem that Daphne had been aware of them, it isn't an impossibility.

And, somehow — unsurprisingly, Hermione decides — Malfoy had been aware that there was an attack imminent. Somehow, things had switched from next week to that night. When had Malfoy come across this information? When had Harry been notified?

Given Ron's lack of knowledge on the crucial piece of information, Daphne hadn't been a suspect prior. So, her arrest is contingent only on the coincidence of her presence, and that she had bought fireseeds that same day.

So, perhaps Daphne hadn't been a target.

Or, maybe she was — did Daphne have plans to visit Leaky in a week? Or, well, was the imminent attack that Malfoy somehow knew about even meant to hit Leaky? Did the person(s) who orchestrated the attack find a better opportunity?

Hermione's thoughts lead her into creating a murder board in her home, for a very different case. She draws up every single person she knew to be in or around Leaky at the time of the incident. Someone would've had to set off the Incendio spell, surely.

She digs and digs, pulling information from her Ministry rosters and months and months of saved Daily Prophets. She goes through every worker, clearing them, then every patron. There's a few she can't identify, and a few she knows too well to think so lowly of them. There's others that don't have anything off about them, and others who are too off to do something so stupid.

In the end, one name stands out to her.

Harlan Barracus.

A thirty-seven year old wizard whose father had been convicted as a Death Eater back during the First Wizarding War, and a mother suspected, but eventually exonerated, during the Second. He had been living abroad during the Second Wizarding War, doing Ministry work in America. Shortly upon returning to England, he had been fired by the Department of Magical Transportation, reasons unknown to her.

It's worth checking out.

09:10am on Saturday, 15 October 2005

Lacking the sleep she had fought for hours prior, Hermione is at the Auror office bright and early. Her conversation with Daphne is short and to the point, informing her of the upcoming statement and interrogation; what to say and what not to say; what rights she has.

It's Ron that walks through the door, folder in his hands.

"Hello, my name is Ronald Weasley and — "

"I know who you are," Daphne says quietly, looking straight down at the table. Her hands are folded, as if she's accepted her fate. "We went to school together. You were here when I reported my husband's disappearance. I've seen you following me around."

Ron and Hermione swap an uneasy look.

The admission gives Hermione a pause. She had been observant enough to know the Aurors were tracking her. She knew when it would be safe to contact Hermione. Perhaps she had been under the impression that the Aurors suspected her in being involved in Flint's murder. Or maybe Hermione had this all wrong, and Daphne is more involved in the Death Eater's plots than she had originally given her credit for.

"Given your husband's disappearance, we thought it would be best for your safety," Ron tries to explain.

"I understand," Daphne murmurs. Ron sits in front of the two of them, and Daphne still does not look up.

"You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court," Ron recites from the paper Hermione had drafted up ages ago — meant for any Auror interview conducted. "Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

Daphne gives a sullen nod.

"In your own words, please explain what happened last night at 22:32."

Daphne looks up. She looks at Hermione, slightly confused. "I-uh... There was an explosion."

"Why were you out at that hour?" Ron clarifies.

Daphne stiffens slightly. "Cordelia — she has trouble sleeping. I realised too late that I was out of a child-safe sleeping draught. We were going to the Apothecary."

"Can you confirm which Apothecary?" he asks.

"Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary," Daphne confirms.

Ron writes down a few notes. Hermione sees other words appear on the side. Her eyes flicker to where it seems there is a wall, but where she knows is simply a magical barrier, where she's sure the other Aurors are observing.

"Where exactly were you when the explosion happened?" Ron asks next.

"We were just going through the bricks," Daphne answers. "There was an explosion, and then the bricks closed."

"So, you were on the other side of the bricks?"

"Yes," Daphne says with confidence. Then, she frowns. "No. I don't know."

More notes end up on the parchment. Ron reads them quickly before continuing. "Workers at the Leaky Cauldron confirm that the bricks are meant to close as soon as it feels threatened. It would've closed as soon as there was an attack, as you said. But the injuries reported by your Healer indicate that you were still on Leaky's side of the bricks."

"It all happened so fast," she says. "I can't really remember. But, yes, that sounds right."

"So, after that, you opened the bricks up again and left?" he presses.

Daphne gapes, slightly taken aback. She desperately looks at Hermione.

"Get to the point, Auror Weasley," Hermione interjects gently.

"Why were you fleeing after the attack?" Ron questions. "Aurors found you halfway through Diagon Alley."

"I was with my daughter!" Daphne defends with a cry. "Where else would I go?"

"You did not seek treatment for St Mungo's until Auror Malfoy took you by Portkey himself," states Ron. "Your daughter had no injuries, but you had a significant burn on your right arm."

"I wanted to get Cordelia out of there," Daphne continues to defend. "I didn't know it was safe, there was an explosion and I got my daughter out of there! She's four — she shouldn't see such things!"

"So, you continued on your way to Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary," Ron confirms.

"Yes."

"Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary closed hours prior," Ron points out.

"A family friend is the owner," cries Daphne, the frantic lilt in her voice growing and growing as the desperation for someone to believe her increases. "He agreed to allow me a last minute supply — you can ask him yourself!"

Something in Ron's resolve seems to crack, and his face softens immensely. He leans forward, offering a comforting look. "Mrs. Flint, these are just routine questions. We are not accusing you, we are just making sure we understand the full story. I don't think you are guilty of anything."

Hermione stares at Ron, bewildered. This is not the stance of the Aurors, she knows this, but she doesn't know Ron to be one to lie so easily.

But it does the trick; Daphne relaxes ever-so-slightly.

"Can I ask why you did not Apparate from the scene?" Ron asks next, tone significantly gentler.

"Cordelia's too young to Side-Along... She gets terribly sick," Daphne says, also much calmer. "Under normal circumstances, I'd just Floo there myself, but my house-elf was off tonight. I had to keep an eye on her. Things have been...difficult since my husband's disappearance."

"Of course," he agrees, sitting back slightly. "Hopefully, we'll have you back home to take care of her shortly."

Hermione isn't typically in these Auror interviews, as she rarely takes on cases that would rely on them, but she doubts that it is typical for them to seem so personable. She thinks it might be Ron, and his soft nature, as even Malfoy's interrogation of his lifelong friend had not shown this much kindness.

Ron stands, gathering the papers in the folder.

"Do you have any news?" Daphne asks, tearing up slightly. "Do you know what happened to my sister? Have you found her yet?"

Once again, as they had at the beginning of this interview, Ron and Hermione share an uneasy look.

"Mrs. Flint," Ron starts slowly, as carefully as he can, "Do you mean your husband?"

"My sister," she repeats.

Hermione places a gentle hand on Daphne's shoulder. "Your sister was found dead nearly a year ago."

Daphne blinks. "Oh. Yes. Where is Marcus?"

"We don't have any developments to that case, Mrs. Flint," Ron answers. "I'm very sorry."

Daphne frowns.

Swallowing, Hermione rises, giving one long look at Daphne's void expression before joining Ron in his exit of the room.

Together, they cross the barrier, and are met with Harry and Robards.

"We Floo'd Mulpepper; he's confirmed what she said," reveals Harry. "We also investigated her wand; there's no sign of use of Incendio. Her story checks out."

"It's not enough to let her go quite yet," Robards tells Hermione with a bit of regret. "But we're a step closer to clearing her."

Hermione feels as if this should appease her, but instead, she feels more unsettled than ever.

04:03pm on Monday, 17 October 2005

She spends her weekend going from shop to shop, inquiring on Harlan Barracus and if he had recently purchased any fireseed and powdered dragon horn. It feels silly, as the attack had likely been orchestrated by multiple Death Eaters, and the chances of Barracus being the one who had gone out and bought ingredients for an explosive seemed miniscule, but she didn't know where else to start.

Hermione had briefly considered passing along her suspicions of Harlan Barracus, like she reasonably would in any other situation. But Malfoy's words stick in her head.

("It is my job to investigate, not yours," Malfoy had spat at her. "You trust Potter, and like it or not, Potter trusts me enough to do my job. So stay out of it and do yours.")

So, she feels the absurd need to prove herself. If she has a lead that actually amounts to something, it is her victory, not his. She'd love to see his smug face fall when she does his job better than he does.

Speaking of the devil, Malfoy is leaning right outside of the latest shop she's been inquiring at, seemingly waiting for her.

Hang on — waiting for her?

"Ah, Granger," he says joyously. Hermione's blood immediately turns cold. He's grinning at her, but it's obviously not genuine. She's the butt of a joke, she's sure of it. "Glad I managed to catch up with you!"

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she asks cooly.

Malfoy's grin turns into a dangerous sneer. He laughs darkly. "Same as you, I'd suspect. Except, the only difference is, I'm actually doing my job."

"Piss off, Malfoy," she replies unhappily, walking away. He follows her. "I am doing my job. I'm clearing Daphne's name."

Malfoy's factitious jubilee is gone, only leaving a bitter expression on his face. "You're just getting in the way."

Hermione huffs. "I have done nothing to bother you. You're the one bothering me."

She speeds up, trying to out-pace him, but he follows, and she can hear his angry footsteps beside her. He wraps his hand around her arm, dragging her into a side alley, out of view, out of earshot from the crowds around them.

Malfoy's hand migrates to the wall, beside her head, preventing her from just running off. "You tipped off Barracus," he tells her. "Thanks to your investigation, someone told him there was some war hero asking about his buying habits."

Well, damn.

Hermione feels the edges of a panic attack rise within her. She grows warm, and her chest feels tight, and her breathing quickens as she gasps for air.

The panic and regret must be obvious on her face, because Malfoy immediately backs off of her, not looking as murderous as he had moments ago. The lack of his presence gives her the opportunity to slide down the wall, pressing her hands against her knees and blinking back tears as she considers the depths of her immaturity.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out. "I didn't think — "

"You're right," he says, almost sadly. "You didn't think."

Malfoy kneels down next her her, looking a bit uncomfortable. Hermione closes her eyes, trying to calm herself down, refusing to let the Slytherin see her so vulnerable. She spent years preventing her bullies from seeing their effects on her for years, surely she can hold her resolve now.

But this is different. Malfoy isn't a bully, and she isn't some little girl. She's a grown adult, who made a mistake, and she can't stand being in the wrong. She let her immaturities get the best of her, and now a Death Eater could be getting away.

She can't even revel in the part she did get right — that Harlan Barracus is a Death Eater, that he was involved in the explosion — because she just binned the whole case by being careless. Her arrogance cripled her.

"Look, Granger, I get you're used to being a team with Potter and Weasley, and the three of you figuring things out together," he says unnecessarily, but she can't help but notice that it's the nicest he's ever spoken to her. "But that isn't how this works. You're not an Auror. You're lucky enough that this time it was just some coward running for it. But next time? It could be someone coming for your life. This isn't some game."

Hermione doesn't answer him. She doesn't know how to.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

The next time she opens her eyes, Malfoy's gone, just like the night of the explosion.