A/N: Thanks to NaNoWriMo, I am a writing machine! Enjoy some more of the mystery being unraveled, and remember Thomas? Yeah. He's important. -ish.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: PAPARAZZI

While it was true that she, Hermione Granger, muggleborn, a.k.a. "mudblood", a.a.k.a. "The cleverest witch of her age" (questionable) was going to the Ministry's Spring Ball with Lucius Malfoy, and the ulterior motive was to introduce a certain character (played by Lucius Malfoy) named Jacques Malfoi from Fronce (Alsace-Lorraine region, to be exact, for a Frenchman of Germane origin was Jacques, but she was going to try to not to have to be that exact because that would just get messy, still it helped to be prepared for anything, didn't it?) in order to put inheritances of the Malfoy estate in order and reclaim Draco from the Asylum, but the ulterior ulterior motive was to snoop around closer into who it might be that took the Malfoy line down all those years ago, and he was probably in the Ministry, and he was probably rather powerful.

It was also probable that there was an ulterior ulterior ulterior motive, being possessed by Lucius Malfoy, and that was, in the case of failure in their many motives, that he might, in the guise of Jacques, begin again to build the wealth and power of Malfoy, Inc. She suspected that this was a motive which lived within every fiber of his being, and would not be extinguished even in death, time travel, or extinction. Someday, when the world was a burnt husk at the event horizon of a black hole and life went on elsewhere in the universe, some measure of matter would live on, somewhere, which served to further the cause of what was once the House of Malfoy. It was a universal force, like gravity, and no one would ever stop it.

That night, after working all day with Lucius and Luna, Hermione actually went home to her flat, but it wasn't without protest from one singular Lucius Malfoy.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here?" he had asked, sipping Porgy-supplied tea from a priceless-looking teacup, one leg crossed over the other, and his eyes on one of the documents from the Ministry file on his family's demise. So very casual.

"Why would I?" she replied, almost 100% engrossed in packing up her bag, or at least she was good at making it look that way. Also so very casual.

Lucius shrugged or almost-shrugged. Purebloods didn't shrug, but they made an outward indication that brought shrugging to mind without all the plebeian shoulder waggling. "I don't know. Convenience? Safety, perhaps?"

He kept his eyes on the file, flipping a page over.

"I'm good with a ward or two, Lucius," she replied. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Mn," he replied. "Good night, then."

She'd been dismissed.

Instead of accepting said dismissal, however, she'd gone up to him and flicked the back of the document in his hand, making a loud paper-striking noise and causing him to blink.

"Could it be that you don't feel safe unless I'm here…?" she meandered, really, utterly absolutely teasing him. "If you're worried, I could stay…" she began, cut off by the flat look he turned on her.

"Good-night," he said to that.

As she opened the door to her flat, she realized she'd been grinning to herself in recollection. She sort of hated that he was so entertaining. It meant she'd like it less once he was gone. Not that she'd remember.

She sighed.

On the floor was a letter, which apparently had been shoved underneath her door. By an owl? She'd like to witness that.

Dear Hermione,

I've missed you, would you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at 7?

Yours,

Thomas

She could take this one of two ways; either he had dropped the whole adventure and was just pursuing her piecemeal, or he had information and had finally figured out how to be clandestine about it. Still, the Leaky Cauldron? Hadn't she already told him not to meet her there?

Oh well, she supposed she could just make it look like a date, regardless of information being traded. She tossed out a reply to the affirmative and went to the mirror to consider changing her clothes, but she had to admit Lucius really knew how to dress her. Changing wasn't necessary.

The evening was cold for this late in March, and it rained. Her umbrella was enchanted to provide both protection from even the most driving rain and also a bit of warmth, so getting there wasn't a terrible ordeal. Thomas was waiting outside, his own umbrella in hand, and he lightened when he saw her, the fresh blush of spring in his smile.

"Hermione, hi," he said with a vague and sunny, youthful awkwardness, "How are you?"

She couldn't help but smile in return, it was infectious.

"I'm well, how are you, Thomas?" she asked.

They beat a hasty path inside where it was dry and warmer, into a nook which held a little built in bench-seat on either side of a tiny fold-up table on hinges, and a little beeswax candle with a stuttering flame in between them.

Hermione leaned forward over the table.

"So why have you called me out here on such a rainy night?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No, no," she said, laughing self-depreciatingly. "No. Don't be sorry."

He smiled and said, "Good."

She adjusted the candle to be exactly in the exact perfect center of the little table.

"So anyway, Hermione," he said with a glance around, "I've, um, noticed some things. At work."

Oh, delightful! It was hard for her to contain her instant interest, because this was the good stuff. He wasn't just asking her out on a date. Why was she relieved?

"I would love to hear about them," she told him, trying to impress on him her trustworthiness with her face. She then noticed a faint sheen of sweat on his temple, and glanced down to see his hands fidget, and so she grabbed his hands in hers, and spoke with candor: "Thomas, maybe, if this looks like a real date, no one will wonder what we're talking about."

He seemed a little relieved, and perhaps comforted by her move. And so, their hands entwined, their postures leant over the table towards each other, they gazed into the others' eyes and betrayed the Ministry.

"Hermione," said Thomas, looking, really, like his world had been shaken and he was nervous and possibly could be defined as 'scared', "I think this is far more serious than we thought."

"Is it?" she asked.

"Much much more. Getting caught would be, ah, really bad."

"Would you start at the beginning?"

Thomas nodded, his hands unconsciously shifting the way he held hers, but she noticed, and she kind of liked it, but that was all beside the point.

"I started by looking for any sort of Azkaban prisoner registry," he said.

"Oh, nice!" said Hermione. Thomas looked at her as if he wondered how she could find anything about this investigation 'nice', and so she tried to look more solemn. Maybe she failed. "Did you find it?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "But… the Death Eaters at Narcissa's murder scene aren't in it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm sure. The registry is by date, and there are no Death Eaters sent to Azkaban that day, or that week. No one was sent to Azkaban at all."

"Maybe they didn't record them?" asked Hermione.

"That's what I wondered," said Thomas, his young, sweet, wonderful, innocent face marred with stress that she regretted putting there. "And so I looked further into Azkaban records. Cells, maps, layout, who was where and when they were put there."

Hermione blinked and sat a bit straighter. Now this was just straight up solid researching skills, and Hermione was feeling pretty impressed.

"Go on," she said, squeezing Thomas' hands. He returned the hand-squeezing, but he gave her a dismal shake of his head.

"As far as I can tell, which is a lot actually, it appears as if no one was ever actually sent to Azkaban for Narcissa's murder," he said.

Hermione sat open-mouthed for a moment of processing.

"But why not?" she asked. "Who were the Death Eaters in the pictures?"

"There was no trial," said Thomas quietly. "I tried to find that, too. Mind you, it was while trying to dodge being noticed looking at these things while doing my normal work, and making sure no one knew they were being messed with at all."

"That sounds terrible," said Hermione, feeling a bit of empathy.

Thomas exhaled and said, "I just think I could use a drink."

"Yes, yes," agreed Hermione, and she worked on flagging down a waitress. "Did you manage to tie anyone at the Ministry to all of this … I don't know how to put it… failure to record anything properly?"

"Um," he said, his eyes averting to a coming waitress.

"What can I get you?" asked the clueless waitress.

"Butterbeer, warm," said Hermione.

"Firewhiskey," said Thomas, and Hermione gave him a glance. He must have been more rattled than she thought. Maybe she was rattled, too. Maybe.

"On second thought, mind adding half a firewhiskey shot to that butterbeer? Thanks," said Hermione.

He turned back to her and their hands came together again as he asked, quietly, "Do you think we could cast a muffling spell?"

Hermione glanced around, and then replied, "Let's wait until she gets back with our drinks."

"I suppose it would be obvious, wouldn't it?" he said with a gentle, wry smile. "You're better at this than me."

She couldn't help but smile back, but she squeezed his hands. "Are you okay?" she asked.

He glanced down at their hands, and then replied, "Yes, I'm fine." It was clear he wasn't fine at all, though, and she felt something akin to remorse for getting him mixed up in this Malfoy business.

"I'm sorry, Thomas, I really am," she said, though she wasn't too sorry, not sorry enough to wish she'd never gotten him into this, because he was proving to be an invaluable resource. She just needed to keep him functional, undetected, and compliant. Oh, Merlin, I'm thinking just like Lucius Malfoy, she thought to herself, and her blood ran cold. She released his hands and drew back before she'd realized what she'd done.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

"I'm manipulating you," she said.

"What?" he asked.

"Look at me," she said. "Isn't it obvious?"

Thomas looked at her.

"No," he said. "It isn't obvious. You need my help, don't you?"

"Yes," she said.

"Have you in any way forced me to help you?"

"No," she said.

"I've done it of my own free will," he said. "Because I want to."

"To help me," she finished his sentence quietly.

"Yes!" he said. "Exactly!"

"But, but-," she objected, desiring to self-loathe. "It isn't fair, with my experience I can just use it against you, to make you do what I want-,"

He shook his head, took her hands, and said, "No, don't."

"Thomas," she sighed, and he had the gall to smile so sweetly she just couldn't.

"One firewhiskey, and one smoking hot butterbeer," said the bored waitress, thumping down drinks right in the middle of their 'date' that was, briefly, a date.

They both muttered some semblance of thanks and exhibited signs of embarrassment, and the waitress noticed nothing at all, nor, clearly, did she care. She left.

After a few moments of testing out the drinkage, Thomas nodded towards Hermione's spiked butterbeer.

"How is that, anyway?" he asked.

"Excellent," she replied, meaning every ounce of the word, and then smiling after he did. It was always so easy to smile around him.

"Hermione," he said, taking one of her hands. "I want to be sure you know that I really am doing this because I want to, because I've always, well, dreamed of adventure, and have read about what things were like in the old days when everything seemed so much more, I don't know, lawless and exciting. You remember that, you lived it, and I envy you for it. I mean, I'm a recordkeeping secretary. Can anyone get more boring than that?"

Hermione laughed, but then said: "The old times weren't as great as you make them sound, you know. Some parts were just awful."

"I know. At least, now I really feel like I know."

"It hasn't been too awful for you, has it?" she asked.

"Experience is never a terrible thing, even if it is terrible while you're having the experience," he replied.

She found herself lacing her fingers through his.

"I'm going to cast a muffling charm now," he whispered to her.

"Okay."

The spell was quick, and then he took a sip of firewhiskey. He seemed pensive again.

"What I'm going to tell you is terrible, has terrible implications, and will be nearly impossible for us to right alone," he said, his warm voice tinging grave.

"What is it?" she asked.

Thomas heaved a sigh, perhaps to bolster himself, and burrowed forward.

"There was a subtle paper trail of orders to make things not happen," he said.

"What sorts of things?"

"The trial, for one," he said. "It's impossible to imagine today, because something like Narcissa's death, Draco's unexplained insanity, and Lucius' disappearance all one after another would never be just swept under the rug like it was, but… it was. It all was."

"Right, we'd just barely survived what was basically the magical apocalypse," she said. "No one was paying attention, or cared. The Malfoys weren't really anyone's favorite family, after all they'd done."

"So it was hard to find anything, but what I did find was an end-of-the-year inquiry from a secretary of the Wizengamot to a secretary of the Ministry leadership on the status of the trial, wherein the reply was, in a nutshell, that it had been 'taken care of', without supplying any details on how or for whom it had been resolved," he said.

"Ugh," said Hermione.

"And after that, I looked into correspondence between that particular Ministry secretary and any of the Ministry leadership," he said, "and I found only a few times when the Malfoy investigation was inferred; once when that secretary received direction from the Minister's office on how to respond to end-of-the-year inquiries, and a second time when the finalization report had been received from the Department of Aurors. So I looked into correspondence between the Minister's office and the Department of Aurors during the same nine-month period."

"Wow," said Hermione, openly admiring Thomas, now. "I just saw you last night. You did all this in twenty-four hours?"

"I'm tired," he said, with a half-laugh. "But, I will admit, there was something electrifying about it; the search, the discovery, the leads. It kept me going."

"Did you find anything between the Minister's office and the Department of Aurors?" she asked.

"Well, you probably remember that it was during this time that Kingsley Shacklebolt went from being the Head of Aurors to the Minister of Magic," he said.

"Oh, yes I remember it well," she said. "We'd had a few lousy heads of the Ministry, and the whole thing was a sorry mess."

"I don't remember," he said, "because I was, er, six."

Hermione tried not to choke.

"But there were a lot more correspondences between the Aurors and the Minister of Magic than usual at that time," he said. "I suppose because Mr. Shacklebolt was so familiar with the business of the Aurors and they had … a lot more to talk about?"

"Maybe," said Hermione.

"Anyway, as far as references to the Malfoy situation, there were a number of documents between the new Minister Shacklebolt and the new head of Aurors, but all of them stated the case 'closed' and ordered all investigation ended forthwith. The Malfoys were a side-note, often included with other cases in discussions, and rarely given singular attention," he said.

"So who is the driving force behind wanting this case closed and to head off all investigation?" asked Hermione. "Or was it just a situation where no one wanted to bother with it?"

"Well," said Thomas, who looked like he had more to add, "that's what I wondered, but I think, I strongly think, that that's exactly what the Ministry, namely Kingsley Shacklebolt, wants everyone to think. That it was the end of a war, nobody liked the Malfoys, and it just wasn't the right time for anyone to care enough to find out the truth. It was enough for everyone that two nameless Death Eaters were implicated and 'sent to Azkaban', if they were Death Eaters at all."

"Mr. Shacklebolt!" replied Hermione, then she leaned forward, muffling spell or not, and spoke quietly, "Are you implying Mr. Shacklebolt is behind this cover up? Really?"

"Maybe," ventured Thomas, looking rattled.

"But he's a wonderful Minister of Magic! He fixed the Ministry! It was in shambles, and he's done a fantastic job of reforming it!" said Hermione.

"Yes, he has been, in fact, a very good Minister of Magic," replied Thomas, defeated.

"No one would believe he did such a thing!" said Hermione.

"No, they wouldn't, not without proof," he replied.

"Well, then, go on," Hermione said, "Tell me what you found on Shacklebolt to make you believe such a thing. It has to be something good, because … you wouldn't. You just wouldn't."

Thomas puffed out a bolstering breath of air.

"So, I started really looking into Shacklebolt, and the events occurring just before the Malfoy demise, and his interaction regarding any Malfoy at all, which was mostly limited to correspondence with and about Narcissa," he said.

"She was responsible for bringing a whole slew of Death Eaters to justice, from what I remember, in her last weeks," said Hermione.

"So they say," said Thomas.

"Oh no," said Hermione. "What now?"

Thomas cleared his throat and Hermione re-laced her fingers through his. Thomas was turning out to be more than invaluable, whatever that was.

"A mistake was made, and I found it," he said. "There were a number of documents from Shacklebolt to the Ministry and the Aurors regarding new leads from Narcissa, but none of the correspondences between Narcissa and Shacklebolt discussed any of these leads, so I began to wonder about those particular Death Eaters. I had to look somewhere else, deep in the Azkaban registry files, to find where the mistake was made. Someone forgot to change the information in those files, and they still reflect how those Death Eaters were actually tracked down, and none of them were turned in by Narcissa."

"She didn't turn in any of the Death Eaters, but Kingsley went out of his way to give her credit?" asked Hermione. "Why? What was he trying to do?"

"I don't know," he said.

They both fell silent for a long moment.

"Why does that make you think Kingsley was trying to take down that Malfoys?" she asked. "That sounds like he was trying to help them."

"I don't think he was trying to take down the Malfoys," said Thomas. "I think he was just trying to silence the whole situation after the fact. Maybe whatever he was trying to do didn't go according to plan."

"Then what would he have been trying to do?" wondered Hermione aloud, in a sort of rhetorical way.

"Whatever he was trying to do, he was doing it with at least the knowledge of Narcissa," he said. "Their correspondence, at least on the public record, is vague, but centered around two events: the disappearance of Lucius Malfoy and the night of her murder."

"Well, clearly Narcissa wouldn't have been planning her own murder," said Hermione.

"No, most people aren't keen on planning their own murders," said Thomas.

"But maybe that night didn't go quite according to plan?" asked Hermione.

"It's hard to say what the plan might have been," said Thomas, "when we don't have any of the actual non-watered down correspondence between Minister Shacklebolt and Mrs. Malfoy."

"That would definitely not be in the Ministry Recordkeeping Department," said Hermione.

"Probably not," said Thomas.

"What we need now are bonafide memories," said Hermione. "Draco's memories."

"That would be useful," said Thomas.

"I have a plan for that," she said. "Are you going to the Spring Ball?"

"Um, sure," said Thomas. "Shall we go together?"

"Ah," she said, awkwardly. "I'm going with Lucius."

Thomas blinked, then looked entirely befuddled, and perhaps a little hurt.

"You're joking," he said.

"No, well, let me explain," she said, and then she explained all about Jacques Malfoi to an increasingly alarmed-looking Thomas.

"You're insane," he observed.

"That's not the first time I've been told that today," admitted Hermione. "But I think it is crazy enough to work. Maybe."

Thomas just sat and looked very concerned for what she assumed was Hermione's future well-being.

She leaned forward and joked lightly, "I'm just letting you know so when you see Lucius there, you won't scream."

Thomas showed absolutely no reaction to her 'joke', so she cleared her throat (awkwardly) and went on: "If he is able to claim the Malfoy inheritance, he will also be allowed to discharge Draco from St. Mungo's, and Draco's memories will be ours. We'll finally have, hopefully, the answers we're looking for, and then we can see about sending Lucius back to 1998-,"

"He wants to go back?" cut in Thomas.

"Yes," said Hermione. "He wants to fix it."

Thomas seemed to visibly relax with that information.

"That's a good idea," said Thomas.

Hermione gave Thomas a sideways look.

"You know, there's something that's been bothering me," she said.

"What's that?"

"Last night, when you convinced Lucius not to obliviate you somehow… what did you do?" she asked. "He was dead set on it, and when Lucius is dead set on something, it takes hell and high-water to stop him."

Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his seat and, after a moment, finally said: "That is between myself and Mr. Malfoy."

"Oh really?" asked Hermione, in disbelief and perhaps a little annoyance. "Really? Do I really need another mystery to solve here?"

Thomas smiled apologetically and stroked her hand with genuine affection. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I hope you can respect that I require secrecy in this matter."

It was too hard not to respect his wishes, with how sincere he was and everything. And that adorable smile should be outlawed forthwith.

"Fine," relented Hermione. "Fine. And it really is so very fortunate you did talk him out of it. Look what you've learned! We'd be lost without you, Thomas."

Thomas rewarded her with more of his radiant smile and she felt quite good for a moment. In fact, she realized what it was about Thomas that made her feel so very, very good. His radiance and his adorableness and his smiles were so disarming that, whilst he turned the full brunt of his brilliance upon her, she stopped thinking altogether. Even if it was only for a moment, all thought stopped and she just experienced. When was the last time she ever did that? The last time Thomas smiled at her, she supposed, but before him, when? She didn't know. But here she was, thinking again, because it could never be stopped for long, and through her brain churned the desire to put pieces together that begged to be connected, dragging her, pulling her towards a greater understanding of the theory of everything.

She suddenly felt an alarmingly strong need to go to Malfoy Manor.

"I need to talk to Lucius," she said.

Thomas glanced down and released her hand from his.

"Oh," he said. "Of course."

She looked back at him and suddenly felt sorry, like she had gotten what she wanted from him and was ready to toss him aside and move on to the next interesting thing. The most jarring thing about that is that it was mostly true and she knew it.

Thomas threw back the rest of his firewhiskey and stood up.

"I'll walk you out," he said.

"Thomas…" said Hermione.

"It's fine," he said.

"Do you want to come?" she asked, offering a shard at least.

"No, thanks," he said with a quiet chuckle. "I should get some sleep."

Outside the driving rain hated them, but mostly hated itself for still existing, since winter was waning and crumbling, losing all to spring, and the cold rain was a bitter remnant, refusing to give in to the inevitable for as long as it could. Their umbrellas were steadfast enough, however, and huddled together against the rain and good-byes.

"Will you be alright?" she asked him, looking into his fair-and-tawny face and wishing she could offer him more.

"Of course I will," he said. "I'm quite good at keeping my head down and seeming innocuous."

She smiled helplessly at him and replied, "Who wouldn't trust that face of yours?"

"Save me a dance tomorrow," he said, a faint tinge of sorrow lacing through his tapestry.

"I can't make any promises," she said, meaning it, but sorry for it.

"I'm getting used to that," he replied, but he leaned forward and his daylight-warmth in the damp-dark suddenly filled her senses, and dayspring, aurora!, he was kissing her, soft, affectionate, considerate, and she let him, because his kiss was as infectious as his smile.

A cold flash of light shook them both from the Garden of Eden, and they turned to see a reporter from The Daily Prophet congratulating them on their delightful new relationship.

"Who's the lucky fellow, Miss Granger?" asked the reporter.

"Uhm," said Hermione, hurriedly pulling Thomas away from, well, everything. "No comment!" she called behind her.

Of all the times for her celebrity status to get in the way. What an absolute idiot she was to agree to meet at the Leaky Cauldron. The waitress must have tipped them off. Or anyone else who might have seen her inside. She didn't think anyone cared about who she might be seeing anymore! Perhaps it was Thomas' clear much younger-ness that made it interesting. Who knows, and the whole thing just irritated her because she certainly didn't need more complications right now. She dragged Thomas around the corner and told him directly, "Port home. Now."

To his credit, he complied, but he gave her a small, secret smile just before and she felt as if that was almost worth it. Almost!

She shuddered and drew a deep breath. Time to face the Malfoy.

-oOo-