CHAPTER III
Ndidi Mbachu, it turned out, was still alive, still in the country and last Arthur's contacts had heard, not a Death Eater. She owned a small antique store in London, just a few streets away from Leicester Square. Remus was not happy at the prospect of travelling so deep into the heart of London, especially now the Death Eaters controlled so much of it, but he agreed the risk was worth it.
Molly made them promise to take care, then they Apparated away. A broken telephone box shielded their arrival, and the sea of damp coats and black brollies paid them no mind as one by one, Remus, Arthur, Draco and finally Hermione stepped casually onto the pavement.
The bustle of London hadn't changed much since the fall of the Ministry, although it must have been clear to even the most ignorant of Muggles that a deep darkness had settled over the city. There was something about the air, Hermione realised—the way it hung, thick and heavy, and condensed in her chest like tar.
"Come on," Remus said, with a worried glance around. "Let's get out of the open."
When they reached it, Mbachu Antiques and Curiosities looked as if it hadn't had a customer in years. The paint was peeling, the sign was battered, and if you squinted, it looked as if the whole shop was askew, like it didn't quite fit between the upmarket art gallery to the right and the gaudy memorabilia store to the left, so someone had tipped it up a little and crammed it in as best they could.
Hermione ducked beneath the shop's narrow canopy, ice-cold raindrops trickling down the back of her neck, and squinted through the window. It was hard to tell whether it was even open through the heavy, patterned window drapes. Once upon a time, said drapes had evidently been tattooed with vivid, ethnic designs, but now, they were dusty and faded—as old as the ancient African antiques the shop's tattered posters proclaimed to be selling.
Beside her, Draco cupped his eyes against the glass, but after a moment, he drew back and shook his head.
"Can't see anything," he said. "Too bloody dark."
It was, Hermione felt, not a very good sign. The shop certainly gave her a very strong sense of unease, which, she was sure, was exactly the point. Whatever Ndidi Mbachu was up to inside, she certainly didn't want any visitors.
Still, that was precisely why they'd come to her.
Some sort of wooden percussion instrument rattled as Hermione pushed open the door—a visceral staccato beat that echoed much longer and louder than would be expected; a warning, she realised, to the woman working somewhere in the depths of the store—and the four slipped cautiously inside.
It was too dark to make out much of anything, besides the large ominous shapes formed by stacked artefacts and furniture.
"Hello?" Remus called. When no one replied, he lit his wand and held it up, revealing for the first time the tangled treasure trove before them.
It was, Hermione realised, the oddest mix of relics: a gilded chaise lounge half buried beneath stacks of carved wooden elephants, giraffes and tigers; a brass ship's wheel glinting among an army of stout ivory statues with long, strong limbs and warriors' faces; portraits of sour-faced wizards hanging beside vibrant beaded tapestries that rolled and shimmered like the African sun.
From the depths of the store pulsed a low throb of Dark energy, and Hermione stilled, thrown, as it whispered up her spine and spread like electricity across her skin.
A hand, warm and reassuring, at the small of her back.
"I feel it too," Draco murmured, and Hermione shot him a small, wry smile.
"We're definitely in the right place," she said and followed Remus and Arthur deeper into the store. The narrow passages forced them to walk single file, weaving worryingly close to a row of hanging masks, simultaneously beautiful and terrifying with their painted faces and lifeless eyes. Glancing back, she caught Draco peering suspiciously at a particularly grotesque creation. It suddenly snapped its pointed teeth, swinging on its hook towards him, and he jerked away, startled.
"Scared, Malfoy?" she teased, although her hands were shaking too. He rolled his shoulders and shot her a cool glance.
"Of course not. I was merely…" His eyes widened, then he swept into her, dragging her to the ground as a blinding flash of purple light exploded above their heads.
"What—" Her question broke off as another curse sizzled across the room and something shattered loudly above them. The whole shop seemed to heave and come to life as the artefacts around them began to panic, and the air was filled with the groan of wood, the scurrying of tiny feet and the haunting wails of the masks.
"Fucking hell," Draco swore. His body was pressed against hers, and although it was, of course, neither the time nor the place, the thrum of his voice through her chest sent a spark right down to her toes.
"Ndidi!" Arthur hollered above the din. "Ndidi, it's Arthur. Arthur Weasley!"
Hermione held her breath, waiting for another curse, but it never came. A moment later, a small old woman emerged from the shadows with wrinkled skin, a turquoise head wrap and skinny hunched shoulders.
"Hush, hush!" she commanded, raising her arms, and the objects around them settled down with surprising obedience. "Arthur Weasley?" she asked, peering with faint surprise at the four Order members on the floor. "Arthur Weasley?"
"Yes," Mr Weasley said somewhat breathlessly. "We used to work together at the Ministry."
"I remember," she said. Her sharp eyes darted up towards the shop windows. "Come, come. We cannot stay out here."
Hermione's gaze veered up to Draco's as he hovered just above her. He shrugged, flashed her a smirk then got to his feet, reaching down a hand to help her up too.
The thrum of Dark energy grew stronger as they followed the old witch to the back of the store, through a heavy beaded curtain, then down what appeared to be a never-ending spiral staircase.
"How deep does this thing go?" Draco muttered, and below them, Ndidi laughed.
"Deeper than the Department of Mysteries ever knew," she said, then tapped her nose. "But you didn't hear that from me."
"I'm not sure the current Department is particularly interested in underground bunkers," Hermione commented, and the witch gave her a secretive smile.
"They would if they knew what I was cooking up down here."
It was, when they finally reached the bottom, very evident that Ndidi had continued her research here. The staircase spilled them out into what appeared, at first glance, to be a tiny, cramped laboratory, filled with cluttered workspaces and overstuffed bookshelves.
But then Ndidi raised her wand, and flares of white light scattered through the darkness. One by one, they settled, lighting lantern after lantern after lantern, and revealing endless aisles of artefacts twisting and turning like a labyrinth in every direction.
"Merlin," Draco muttered in awe from behind her, and Hermione quite agreed. She felt as if they'd just stepped into a real-life cave of wonders; beautiful, enchanting, but one wrong move and the ground would swallow you up forever.
"Now," Ndidi said, lowering her wand and looking expectantly between them, "why don't you tell me why you're here?"
As if on cue, all eyes swivelled to Hermione. She cleared her throat, a little self-conscious under the witch's keen-eyed scrutiny.
"We found some books," she said. "Your books, I think. Your name was inside, and there were annotations—research notes—the whole way through."
"My books," Ndidi repeated absently. "I wondered when they'd resurface where they were supposed to."
"So it's true, then?" Hermione asked, encouraged. "There is a way to trace the Horcruxes?"
"Oh yes." The lines around the witch's eyes deepened as she smiled. "But it's not easy, and I've never tested it." Her heavy umber robes rustled on the ground as she turned and made her way to a large, teetering bookshelf. "Without a Horcrux with which to experiment, I cannot guarantee the method will be entirely successful."
"We're pretty much willing to try anything at this point," Draco said as they followed.
"This war has gone on too long," Ndidi agreed, sliding a well-worn tome from the shelf and bringing it over to one of the tables. The book hit the table with a thud, heavy with thick ancient paper and stuffed with handwritten notes, and Hermione found herself edging towards it, drawn by the promise of all that knowledge.
This woman had spent an entire lifetime researching what others shied away from. Who knew what sorts of magic she'd uncovered? The power she possessed?
"This is what you need." Ndidi levered the huge hard cover open and shuffled through the crinkled pages. She was leant over the book, finger running down the text, when something—a sound, a feeling, Hermione didn't know—made her still. Her gaze flickered apprehensively towards the empty stairway.
Hermione caught Draco's eye, and he gave her a little shrug, apparently unable to determine what the older witch had sensed either.
"Wha—" she began, but Ndidi held up a finger, gaze still on the staircase.
Hermione slipped her wand from her sleeve, and from the corner of her eye, she saw the men do the same.
Something was there. And she had a pretty good idea what.
"Get down!" Remus yelled, as with a rush of air, the darkness warped into several hooded figures. Hermione blocked a curse—red hot, blistering towards her like a flame—and dove to the ground behind the desk. Potion bottles exploded above her head, and she threw up a hasty shield as glass and hissing steaming liquid rained down all around her.
Ndidi had gone down too, she discovered with a sudden, sickening lurch of her stomach. But it hadn't been by choice. The woman lay lifeless on the floor, her amber eyes wide and staring, unseeing, into the darkness above.
Hermione felt shock seep through her. She hadn't even seen her get hit...
"Granger!" Draco's voice snapped her out of her stupor, and she turned to see him crouched behind a desk just a few feet away. "This way," he said urgently, gesturing her towards him.
Her gaze crept back to the dead witch.
"It's too late to help her now," he said roughly. "We have to move."
Another curse blasted the desk just above her head, sending paper exploding into the air like a swarm of moths. Decision made for her, Hermione moved. But not before risking her neck to drag Ndidi's book from the counter.
"Granger, now!" Draco barked. Using the paper for cover, she dashed the short distance towards him. He didn't let her pause, though, urging her to her feet and thrusting her towards the nearest aisle. "Go!"
She took off between the shelves, Draco at her heels. Around them, shelves buckled, glass shattered, metal exploded as the Death Eaters gave chase. Deeper into the labyrinth they ran, until Hermione lost all sense of direction. She had no idea where she was going. No idea whether they were too deep below the surface to attempt an Apparition. For all she knew, the spiral staircase was the only way out of this maze.
Between the shelves, she caught a snatch of Remus and Arthur, racing as fast as she, dodging curses, ducking blasts. Her distraction lasted a mere blink of any eye, but it was enough. There was a blinding flash of white light, then a whoomph of energy that blasted all the air from her chest. For a moment, she was airborne, weightless, as the force of it threw her sideways, but then she hit the ground.
Hard.
Dazed and winded, she squinted through the smoke. Realised the shelves around her had toppled. Realised the curses had stopped. Someone was shouting, but it seemed so far away. Like she was underwater. She was bleeding, she realised dizzily. Her skin was wet with it.
What… What had just…
"Granger!" Hands grabbed her arms, and Draco hauled her upwards with a crunch of glass. "Shit. You're bleeding." His eyes came into focus, wild and frightened as he searched her face. "You're bleeding everywhere."
"Draco," she whispered. "Draco, look."
From the devastation behind him emerged a tall figure, swathed in black. Dread pooled in her stomach as she realised the Death Eater's ornate silver mask was appallingly familiar. As she spotted a flash of blond beneath his hood.
Lucius Malfoy.
Beside her, she felt Draco tense. His father's gaze landed on him, and somehow, beneath the mask, Hermione knew his mouth had twisted into a cruel smile. But then those silver eyes, so like his son's, zeroed in on her, and he whipped back his wand.
"No!" Draco yelled, but she had no time to react, no time to register what was about to happen, because the next thing she knew, he had shoved her bodily to the side—so hard she collided with the ground once more.
The Unforgivable hit him squarely in the chest.
No!
Green light ripped through his body, sent him crashing into the shelves behind them.
No. She dragged herself to her knees. No, no, please God, no!
The shelves buckled beneath his weight, and Draco slid to the ground, glass and metal and ceramic raining down all around him.
She wanted to scream but she couldn't. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Simply stared.
He was gone. How could he be gone?
Her daze shattered as someone seized her from behind, hauling her up and away. She screamed and struggled, groping vainly for her fallen wand. But a hand caught her wrist.
"Hermione, please!"
Remus. It was Remus.
"No!" She fought him blindly. Kicking. Scratching. "We can't leave him!" she howled. "We can't leave him!"
But Remus kept his hold.
"I'm sorry," he panted raggedly in her ear. "We have to."
Then the glimmering lights of Ndidi's labyrinth vanished as, with a familiar and heart-sickening lurch, Hermione was sucked away.