.-.
Kings and Shadows
Last night, Hermione had been physically and emotionally drained beyond her breaking point. A mere five hours of sleep later, a renewed surge of determination and purpose sizzled through her veins. Literally overnight, the energy she had before been splitting between two goals — scraping by in this world and finding a way home — had been channeled into one: Using whatever abilities she had to make this cruel place a home that she, and the people she had come to care about, could bear to live in.
Hermione didn't know what it would take, or how much it would take.
She just knew that she was prepared it give it her all.
As she and Harry entered the Great Hall for the all-school assembly, dozens of tired-looking students clapped them on the back in thanks for the breaking news and announcements the Head Boy and Girl had run between the three Houses well into the early morning hours. Hermione's imperious toss of her hair and smug smile in response was not entirely feigned.
She didn't even flinch when she had to dodge a foot Ginevra stuck out in the aisle to trip her.
Hermione spun and smiled down at the redhead condescendingly. "Oh Ginevra, darling, really — Christmas colours before Halloween? I would've expected better judgement from you."
Ginevra narrowed her eyes at her. "What nonsense are you going on about now?" she spat.
Hermione smirked. "You're looking a little green. With envy. It's quite a good match with your hair, but it's a tad bit early for holiday decorations, don't you think?"
When several Hufflepuffs on the other side of the aisle chortled, Parvati began giggling loudly, and even Lavender forced a smile, Hermione's smirk only grew. Yes, perhaps she was poking a dormant (or not so dormant) dragon in the eye, but if she didn't put her foot down eventually, she could only imagine Ginevra's increasingly blatant attacks would grow worse.
As per usual, Harry ignored both Ginevra and Hermione, though the chatter filling the hall was so loud Hermione doubted he could hear them anyway. They both found their places on two chairs that had been placed for the Head Boy and Girl on the edge of the dais at the front of the room. Instead of holding the long professor table it usually did, only their seats, the empty Headmistress chair and two extra chairs placed on either side of it remained, set behind a single podium.
Using what she had sardonically dubbed "the Princess My Promenade," Hermione sauntered up to the seat upon which Head Girl had been magically etched and smoothly sat down on it. Schooling her face into a presumptuous half-smile, she subtly studied the Great Hall while idly curling a lock of hair around her finger.
Only during the Yule Ball had she seen it more crowded than it was now.
Every seat of the remaining three House tables was filled, the students packed in like sardines. The final table that had once belonged to Slytherin but was now used for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff overflow was quickly filling with Phoenix disaster response wizards who had begun to enter the Hall in hoards, many of them looking quite haggard, their clothing smudged dark with soot.
All awaited the Sovereignty's official announcement on the Hangar explosion — and a hot Hogwarts meal.
The side door across from the platform opened, and McGonagall entered briskly, followed by the impressive forms of Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Both wore magnificent deep blue robes with a beautiful golden Phoenix woven on the backs. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if the design had been made with actual gold.
The noise in the Great Hall immediately increased tenfold.
Both Sovereignty officials settled into their seats with all the poise and composure of royalty, Kingsley dramatically tossing the robe's extra fabric over the chair's armrest, a small smile playing on his lips. He appeared largely the same as he had in Universe A, dressed to the nines — a polished look that the brilliant robes of the Sovereignty Elite only exaggerated. His personality, however, was a different story completely.
As McGonagall held up her hands for silence, Kingsley's eyes slipped over in Hermione's direction.
She knew what was coming, but before she could look away, he sent her an obvious wink.
Bloody Morgana...
Internally, she held back a disgusted scowl. Didn't he have more important things to worry about — such as the ongoing investigation of a major explosion, for instance? This was the fifth bloody time he had flirted with her since she'd first encountered him ten hours earlier, after he'd immediately laughed when she'd called him Minister Shacklebolt and asked why she was being so formal.
Clearly, My had not concurred with Hermione's immediate reaction.
Now, Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, sending him a crooked smirk. Hopefully that would stave him off for the duration of the assembly.
"Your attention! Your attention, please!" McGonagall called in an amplified voice, tapping her wand on the podium.
Hermione gladly shifted her attention from Kingsley and placed the entirety of it firmly on the Headmistress. The room finally hushed, with some help from professors who were posted like bodyguards around the perimeter of the hall, until only a few sporadic whispers and the sound of fidgeting bodies remained.
"Thank you." McGonagall straightened her Headmistress robes importantly and again tapped the podium. A scroll materialized on it, out of sight from the general audience. "I would like to welcome those of you who are joining us from afar — the Phoenix disaster response teams, investigators… journalists," she added, sounding disgruntled, and nodded toward nearly a dozen "wizardcast" and print journalists standing at the back of the hall, poised with a peculiar mixture of quills and Muggle-like recording equipment. "I see many familiar faces among you," she sighed. "It seems like only yesterday you were running through our hallways as students."
Hermione followed the Headmistress's gaze toward the crowd, trying not to linger on any one face as she scanned them impartially. Between sporadic, blinding camera flashes from the reporters' direction, she noticed some she certainly recognized: Sturgis Podmore, Emmeline Vance, and — Hermione strained her gaze without going so far as to squint — she could just make out an unsmiling Lee Jordan among a group of MIIR agents on the east side of the room.
"I wish the circumstances that required your return today were less dire," McGonagall went on, "but that, unfortunately, is not the case." She sighed heavily, the tip of her stylish wizarding hat drooping slightly. "These several hours have been very trying for all of us. I have had the privilege of being the Headmistress of this great institution since 1978, and an instructor here for much longer than that. In these many years, I have never seen such an incident occur on these grounds. I cannot emphasize my gratitude for the immediate assistance of the Phoenix…"
As the older witch continued her speech, Hermione sat up slightly, frowning.
1978… but that wasn't accurate, was it? McGonagall had been Headmistress since 1973 - at least, Hermione assumed she had been, based on the years etched beneath the large portrait of the previous Headmaster hanging behind McGonagall's desk in the Headmistress Office-
Thunderous applause startled her from her thoughts, and she blinked back to attention to see McGonagall holding her hand out toward the table of Sovereignty employees. "And the professors and staff," she said over the clamour, gesturing toward the standing faculty, before she turned toward Hermione and Harry, "and our Heads of Students and Prefects who so admirably stepped forward to lead!"
More camera flashes exploded from the back of the room, and Hermione instantly pasted an artificial smile on her face, smiling prettily out into the Great Hall.
After the room quieted, McGonagall continued, "Now, no doubt you've already noticed the two very distinguished guests to either side of me. We are very honoured, and fortunate, to have here with us today Minister of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones and Minister for Magical Investigation and Incident Response Kingsley Shacklebolt." Amelia Bones inclined her head ever-so-slightly toward the crowd, while Kingsley flashed blindingly white teeth and lifted his hand. "They and their ministries have been tirelessly investigating the cause of this unfortunate accident since daybreak. Minister Shacklebolt will now inform you of their findings."
McGonagall stepped back from the platform. Kingsley stood and bowed to her slightly, sweeping up her hand and giving her another charismatic smile. "I sincerely appreciate your kind words, Headmistress."
McGonagall actually appeared flustered, smiling nervously before flushing, waving him away and taking a seat behind him.
Hermione would have rolled her eyes were she not busy holding her breath, her stomach in knots. She supposed if Kingsley was still flirting with her, he couldn't possibly be prepared to announce she was a suspect in the Hangar explosion, but there was still always the tiniest chance…
With all the confidence of a preacher, Kingsley turned toward the crowd.
"Good afternoon, students, faculty and staff, and, of course, the good wizards and witches joining us today from the Phoenix," Kingsley greeted in a booming voice he hadn't even amplified, an amiable smile still on his face, his dark eyes glittering. "This day has certainly been bittersweet for me, and I'm certain for you as well. It isn't easy to receive a distress call from a place we all hold dear. It isn't easy to see such damage inflicted on grounds most of us have once roamed."
Hermione watched him calmly, but her nerves were poised — though to do what, she didn't know.
"Before I begin," Kingsley said, his tonality rising and falling with the assured emphasis of a seasoned speaker, "I'd like to again commend the brave actions of our Sovereignty response teams and the entire Hogwarts community. Their rapid and thorough response and investigation has allowed me to confidently confirm to you now that we do not suspect foul play. No. This… unprecedented explosion does indeed seem to have simply been a tragic accident, due to the negligence of a single Hogwarts staff member."
Many gasps of surprise, followed quickly by loud whispers, exploded throughout the Hall.
Hermione let out a small breath of relief.
"That staff member has been relieved of his duties and this morning was taken into custody," Kingsley continued over the din, which swiftly quieted. "We will release the individual's name once his story has been corroborated. Our investigation into the precise sequence of events leading up to the fire is, of course, ongoing. But I can assure you the full power of the Sovereignty has been channelled into efficiently resolving this matter and restoring the castle grounds for students' safe use."
From a few exchanges Hermione had peripherally witnessed the night before, she suspected that more than one individual had actually been taken into custody, but the Sovereignty wasn't about to reveal that Fred and George Weasley were on Hogwarts property; it would raise too many questions she was certain they didn't want asked.
"The Headmistress has informed me support will be available for any and all members of the Hogwarts community who wish to discuss any concerns they might have regarding this unfortunate incident. It's certainly distressing to learn that something so devastating has stemmed from the carelessness of an acquaintance and, in many cases, a friend." Kingsley looked down at the podium and shook his head so mournfully Hermione almost believed he gave a sod about Hagrid… which, from several discourteous comments he'd made about the half-Giant last night, she knew he didn't. "Let this be a reminder to us all - to take good care in the things we do, no matter how trivial or mundane. We never know when even the simplest tasks may try to escape us."
Hermione's eyebrow arched slightly before she could stop it, though she managed to wrestle back the slight upward curl that threatened at the corners of her lips: It appeared the "creature breakout" scenario she'd so painstakingly set up was still the leading theory as to the cause, or contributing toward the cause, of the explosion.
Kingsley lifted his head, his voice again reverberating around the hall. "That is all the information I can provide you. Thank you all for your patience as we continue our response efforts, and for your presence now for this announcement."
Behind the Hufflepuff table, she watched Trelawney and Sprout leaning toward Kingsley from where they stood, their heads bobbing fiercely - clearly hanging on to his every word.
As a smattering of applause began, a female voice exclaimed, "Minister Shacklebolt!"
As one, the entire populace of the Great Hall swivelled toward the voice's origin.
Hermione's eyes narrowed in surprise when she saw that Rita Skeeter was standing halfway down one of the aisles — and she probably would have walked right up to the podium if Snape wasn't standing in front of her with his arms crossed, barring her path.
"Oh, get your paws off me—" Skeeter tried to sidestep around him, but when Charity Burbage moved to join him, she shouted instead, "Minister, can you confirm — This was not an act of conservative insurgents?"
Kingsley shook his head and flashed her a relaxed smile, stepping away from the podium. "I'm sorry, no questions at this time."
"But we're all thinking it, aren't we?" a male voice called. Hermione's gaze wasn't fast enough to see who was behind it before several other voices chimed in their agreement from across the Great Hall.
"Filthy rodents."
"That's what they do, isn't it? Lurk in the shadows until they can poke their heads out again!"
For a single moment, Hermione noticed Kingsley's expression truly harden for the first time since she'd met him. Then he turned back toward the audience, the pleasant half-smile back in place.
He held up his hand for quiet.
The volume in the room quickly complied.
He stared out silently at the crowd with gleaming eyes. "As many of you know, before I was so honoured to accept the position of MIIR Minister, I was the director of the now-dissolved Agency for Conservative Management and Investigation," he eventually rumbled. "In my decade of leadership, my people and I worked to encourage and educate our conservative population so they could step with us, hand in hand, into the future." His pleasant expression faded in proportion to the growing emotion in his voice. "But they, in their incendiary ignorance, refused to accept — no, scorned our ways, and spat upon our principles of balance of the Dark and Lights Arts. Well, we all know what happened then."
Kingsley gripped the sides of the podium, leaning toward an audience that appeared to be equally enthralled. "After our Second Intervention, the Agency was dissolved for a purpose. We've left no stone unturned. We've left no conservative unsentenced or undiscovered. We've properly dealt with each and every one of the filth that would seek to slander, block, and depose our natural right as wizards to explore our magic to its outermost bounds, to develop avant-garde new technology the world envies, and to co-exist harmoniously with our Muggle and Muggle-born compatriots!"
Passionate conviction radiated from his frame, and from it Hermione was immediately reminded of why she'd been so grateful Kingsley Shacklebolt had been an ally in the fight against Voldemort.
Unfortunately, she would not be so lucky here.
Kingsley lowered a deadly gaze on Skeeter.
"These convicts of the State have been stripped of their every magical ability and relegated to the position they themselves have claimed: Behind us. Below us," he said, his lip curling slightly in contempt. "They have no power to lift a finger against a child, let alone a building. Let me be the first to assure everyone who hears this message that conservative insurgents will never again threaten to subvert and destroy our great way of life and this remarkable world we've all built together!"
For a moment, only silence met his words. But then someone began to clap, and Hermione reeled, horrified, as the entire room burst into loud applause. Surely they couldn't all have bought into such blatantly obvious nonsense — not if they'd actually known any of the conservatives Kingsley was so barbarically denouncing! Not if they'd known —
Her mind lurched to a stop before she could finish that thought.
Not if they'd known someone like Draco.
An elbow suddenly dug into her side.
Hermione jerked and began clapping as well, long and hard. She glanced over at Harry's stony face only briefly in unspoken thanks before she carefully zeroed in on the students within her line of sight. Some were clapping harder than others, while some simply looked bored. The Ravenclaw table as a whole seemed less rabidly enthusiastic than the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, but it was impossible to tell if any outright disagreed.
Then her eyes landed on Peia, who was sitting, isolated, at the Gryffindor table. The wild-haired girl stared at the ground, clapping very limply while some of the children around her shot her dirty looks.
Hermione's heart went out to her. To have lost her mother and be placed alone in a hostile world at so young an age — and be expected to acculturate?
Well, Hermione had a very good idea of how she must have felt.
Kingsley coolly stepped away from the podium, clearly basking in the applause. His hard expression had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he unnecessarily straightened the collar of his robes. "And that's all I have to say about that."
Even Skeeter seemed properly cowed, though for different reasons entirely, Hermione was sure. If Kingsley's speech was a taste of the twisted propaganda the Sovereignty had used against the conservatives, it was brilliant. An abominable and warped exaggeration of a few basic facts. But brilliant.
The conservatives hadn't wanted a war — not if what Draco had told her was true, and Hermione didn't for a second doubt it was. They had only wanted to practice their Light beliefs freely and equally, without being forced to perform the Dark Arts. If the Sovereignty had framed that intention as a direct threat to the life and lifestyle of every "progressive" member of the country… Well, no wonder most didn't blink twice at the House-Witches' and Wizards' incarceration and subhuman treatment.
The Minister flashed another brilliant smile. "Again, thank you for your patience as we continue our response efforts." He looked back toward McGonagall, grinning broadly. "Can I give the word?"
The older woman nodded exasperatedly, but seemed to be restraining a smile. "Oh… If you must."
Kingsley turned back toward the depths of the Great Hall and lifted his hands. "Eat, drink, and be at ease!" he proclaimed. "And Merlin bless the Sovereignty of the Phoenix!"
A scattered cheer went up through the crowd. It only grew in volume when platters of food instantly appeared down the length of the four tables, and the response workers in particular attacked the dishes like starving wildebeests.
Kingsley laughed. He glanced toward Hermione and winked again. "Always wanted to do that."
Hermione returned his smile with a measured one of her own and flounced to her feet, crossing the dais right up to him without a second glance at Harry. "Oh, Kingsley, it's always such a pleasure," she gushed, holding out her hand.
He swept it up and planted a kiss on it. "Believe me, Lady Evans…" He straightened and gave her a wide smile, "The pleasure is mine entirely."
Hermione strongly credited herself for maintaining a small half-smile and eye contact; she would have strongly preferred to hex him into tomorrow. "Aren't you ever so charming, Minister," she simpered, turning her accidental use of his title the night before into a joke between them.
He laughed. "I'll admit, it gets me into trouble."
Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck rose slightly, and she felt the strong sensation that someone was watching her. Her brow creased. She glanced to her left… to see Ronáld staring straight at her and Kingsley from the Gryffindor table, wearing an expression that actually appeared halfway glum. When he realized he'd been caught, he scowled at her and looked away.
An even wider smile threatened to burst across her face. Merlin, the Night-long Fantasy Gel was brilliant — for the love of Merlin, she'd taken Ronáld's very House-Wizard and he couldn't even hate her, which for him was quite saying something. But then her thought of the anti-Love Potion reminded her of the dark deeds of Universe B's Fred and George Weasley, and the smile fell from her face.
"Now, who could have possibly stolen the spotlight from the likes of me?" Kingsley's voice asked from behind her, sounding amused.
Hermione's stomach twisted in distaste; the memory of the unflappable professionalism of Kingsley's Universe A counterpart only worsened the startling deviance of this man's character. She turned her nose up at Ronáld and looked back at the Sovereignty Minister nonchalantly. "Pining ex-boyfriend," she said airily.
He grinned, his brown eyes sparkling. "Can't say I blame him."
Merlin, on top of the fact that she had to be at least twenty-five years his junior, did this man not have a Ministry to run?
Hermione sighed sadly, trying her best to look distressed. "Oh, if only other men could learn from his mistakes."
"Oh?" he asked interestedly.
"Well, I suppose it was only one irksome quality, really, but something about this moment just reminds me of it."
Kingsley leaned toward her, lowering his voice. "I may not be the Minister of Mysteries, Lady Evans, but I'd still be pleased to learn some of yours."
Oh, if you had any idea.
Hermione smiled at him coquettishly. "The most… desirable men," she purred in a low voice, causing him to lean toward her even more, smirking, "are the ones who don't incessantly hover."
Kingsley continued to smile, but his brow furrowed, as if something about her last words wasn't quite what he'd been expecting… though he hadn't quite sorted out how.
Hermione fluttered her eyelashes at him innocently. "Good day, Kingsley."
With that, she gave him a smile as charming as any he could conjure, turned to the austere Minister Bones to give her regards, claimed exhaustion to a sympathetic McGonagall, and extracted herself from the platform and Kingsley Shacklebolt's disturbingly suggestive gaze.
She surreptitiously pilfered a few rolls as she passed the Gryffindor table. Before she could move on, though, Remus Lupin turned from his temporary seat beside some fourth years, patting her knee. "Right smart leadership you and Lord Evans displayed last night, Lady Evans," he said with a fatherly smile. "Making your mother proud, no doubt."
"Oh, I hope so. Just doing my part like everyone else," Hermione returned sweetly.
Journalists crowded around her as she neared the main doors to the Hall, some holding out what actually appeared to be some sort of hybrid camera-microphone. Bugger, My, why didn't you register for a bloody Muggle Technology class? she thought irately.
She pretended to preen under the attention, dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulders.
Skeeter was the first reporter wave a camera in her face. "Lady Evans, describe what it was like to be in the castle during the explosion."
"Where in the building were you when it happened?"
"Did you see it occur?"
"What are your thoughts that someone who works at Hogwarts is at fault?"
"We understand you played a major role in calming the students; what were their reactions?"
Hermione looked toward Rita, who had asked the first question. "It was… indescribably horrifying," she said in an affected voice, placing a hand over her heart. "Simply awful. None of us understood what could have caused something like that to happen here, at Hogwarts." As she thought of her experience in the Hangar, tears sprang to her eyes. "I… I just did what anyone would have in my situation. As did all the prefects and student leaders, of course," she added with a sniff.
The reporters nodded empathetically, quills bobbing. Before they could fire off another round of questions, however, Snape swooped past her, shoving his way between her and the reporters. "Lady Evans, like any student here, is in no way obligated to provide a statement," he announced, flicking his wand at them. "Now be good little vultures and scat." He looked back at her. "Or you scat. Either works."
"I don't scat," she said disgustedly.
"Basic bodily function would disagree," he said sardonically.
Hermione gave him a revolted expression, glanced over at the reporters and flashed what she hoped was a brilliant smile, looked back at Snape and heaved a loud huff of displeasure, and gladly took the opportunity he presented her to escape the Great Hall. She entered the nearest women's loo and tossed her Invisibility Cloak over herself, then exited the swinging door just as quickly.
Something McGonagall had said in her opening remarks was bothering her… and she knew her favourite place on earth would hold the answers she needed.
Once Hermione entered the library, she found the History of Magic section quickly enough, carefully running her hand down row upon row of books. She paused when she encountered Hogwarts' Esteemed Headmasters and Headmistresses: An Abbreviated Biographical Collection.
That sounded promising.
Hermione pulled it out, flipping to the table of contents. She slowed at the latter end of the 20th Century:
Armando Dippet (1902 — 1956) …. 401
Silvanus Kettleburn (1956 − 1973) …. 449
Minerva McGonagall (1978 − present day) …. 558
Hermione frowned at the five-year gap between Kettleburn and McGonagall. She flipped the book open to page 558, upon which a picture of a much younger McGonagall stared out at her, her hair dark rather than silver but in the same chin-length haircut, a half-smile on her face.
The page beside it was numbered 517.
Whoever had been the head of Hogwarts between Kettleburn and McGonagall had clearly been expunged, though the book showed no indication of vandalism or tampering to otherwise indicate 40 pages of it were missing.
She replaced An Abbreviated Biographical Collection and pulled out another.
This one was slightly older — published in 1977. Yet Kettleburn was the last Headmaster it discussed as well, despite the fact that his term had ended four years before that time.
Hermione's brow creased as she stared down as the vanished pages. What crime could a headmaster have possibly committed to have been completely obliterated from Hogwarts history? In her world, someone like Umbridge certainly wouldn't have been placed in such a book to begin with — clearly, she'd been a Ministry lemon, never official accepted by the Headmaster's Office. But this person, whoever it had been, had served far longer than Umbridge had... unless, of course, Hogwarts had gone through several Headmasters in succession.
She lifted her head thoughtfully, considering the course of events that could have occurred had Dumbledore been absent from Hogwarts all along. In 1973, which Hogwarts professors might have been given preference for the position of Headmaster over McGonagall — and then disappeared only a few years before the start of the First Conservative Intervention?
The only long-time instructors in Universe A who were not faculty in Universe B were Aurora Sinistra and Septima Vector. If the Headmistress had been one of them, perhaps she had joined the conservative movement — certainly that could explain why she'd been blotted from history. As far as Hermione knew, both women had been in Ravenclaw, not Slytherin, but that didn't mean they couldn't have felt similar concern about the prolific use of Dark Magic.
She plunged back into the library's offerings. When a fourth book revealed the same omission, Hermione closed it perplexedly and looked up —
Harry was casually leaning against the bookcase a few feet away from her.
She almost went into cardiac arrest.
"Merlin," she gasped, clutching her chest, then realized she was still wearing her Invisibility Cloak. She muttered a detection charm; when it didn't note any Dark Magic surveillance technology spells nearby, she yanked off the Cloak, glaring at him. "Don't you dare do that again!" she hissed.
Of course, he appeared entirely unapologetic. Silently, he pushed himself off the shelves with one shoulder and held out a piece of parchment.
She blinked down at it in surprise. "What's this?" she asked, snatching it from his hand.
Shockingly polished script, almost the complete opposite of Harry Potter's near-chicken scratch, had elegantly written, We need to talk.
Hermione guessed he wanted to discuss Lucius Malfoy, which brought her pause for a number of reasons: first, she wasn't prepared to jump whenever Harry Evans told her to, and second, he couldn't possibly be thinking of doing anything risky now… not while half the Sovereignty workforce was buzzing around the castle.
Hermione conjured a quill and scribbled, Later. I'm busy.
Harry read her words and immediately scowled. He pulled a quill from his own bag and swiftly wrote something on the same piece of parchment, then shoved the note back at her.
Now.
She pursed her lips. No doubt whatever scheme he wanted to propose was highly implausible — Merlin, they were talking about moving Lucius Malfoy from under Dumbledore's nose, after all — and she supposed it would be far better to start planning for it sooner rather than later. At the same time, she hated allowing an unsolved mystery to remain unsolved.
Somewhat reluctantly, she returned the final book she'd pulled out back on the shelf. Then her gaze on it sharpened.
Of course… Why not kill two birds with one stone?
Harry had begun to put away his quill, obviously sensing victory. Hermione reached over and plucked it from his hand, ignoring his splutter.
Fine, she wrote on the now-cluttered scrap of paper. But tell me first: Who was Headmaster directly before McGonagall, after Kettleburn?
She handed him the note and the quill. Harry snatched both from her and read it, then looked back up at her quickly. The visible surprise that momentarily flashed through his normally-closed expression unsettled her. He looked at her for another long moment before he began to write.
Nothing could have prepared her for the name he held up for her to see.
Hermione had all of four seconds to read it before he set the parchment aflame, vanishing its ashes once it'd burned.
But there was no mistaking the perfectly looped letters that formed the surname Riddle.
Tom Marvolo Riddle had been Headmaster of Hogwarts.
It made complete sense, Hermione decided on the long walk back to the common room. After all, Harry Potter had told her once that Voldemort had wanted to teach at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore, thank Merlin and all the ghosts, hadn't let him. Perhaps a similar propensity had existed in the Riddle of this world… and this time, Dumbledore's opinion of him had been different. She could have kicked herself for not having considered the possibility before.
That explained perfectly why the Sovereignty had wiped all evidence of his Headmastership from Hogwarts history — he'd led a full revolt against them soon afterwards.
Hermione frowned.
Very soon afterwards, actually. Riddle's tenure as Headmaster had stretched to the very doorstep of the First Intervention. But as the leader of the conservative moment, he must have been gathering forces before then, hadn't he? How was it that Dumbledore, who'd likely appointed Riddle to the Headmaster position, hadn't realized that the same man was on the verge of apostasy?
Hermione let out a frustrated breath. The deeper she immersed herself in this world, the more she realized how woefully uninformed and underprepared she was, and uninformed and underprepared were two things Hermione Granger didn't relish being.
She mentally moved sussing out the profound enigma surrounding Tom Riddle to 'high priority.'
The common room was empty when she and Harry entered it. Either Draco was still asleep — she couldn't blame him if he was — or in her room with Pansy. As Hermione moved toward her bedroom first to look for them both, Harry stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
Her eyebrows flew up when he cast a Muffliato charm around them.
"You can't possibly be thinking of holding this conversation without Draco," she said in astonishment.
He tossed her the 'Are you stupid?' expression she thoroughly detested. "Aren't you supposed to be the rational one?" he asked. "The Lucius Malfoy situation's going to be plenty difficult as it is without having to deal with Malfoy's reaction to it. This is his father; his judgement'll be clouded. He stays out of it."
"On the contrary, this is his father; he has a right to know!" she exclaimed. She lifted her wand to disperse the Muffliato charm.
Harry grabbed her wrist before she could, his eyes icy. "Don't you dare lift that spell, Granger."
Hermione yanked her arm away. "Why?" she retorted, challenging his glare with one of her own. "Going to stop me?"
He momentarily gaped at her, and she felt an ounce of grim satisfaction. "This isn't the time for you to assert your independence," he growled. "We have less than eighteen hours to act on Malfoy, despite the chaos into which the castle has now descended. Pieces are moving of which you have absolutely no awareness. If you want a seat at the table, you're going to have to take it now."
"You're sounding awfully desperate for someone who doesn't like rushing into things," she countered, narrowing her eyes at him calculatingly. "Why is that, exactly?"
For a long time, Harry didn't respond at all, though his jaw did tense considerably. His body language screamed his displeasure that she was prepared to debate him rather than blindly follow him off a cliff like the lemming he obviously hoped her to be.
Eventually, he said grudgingly, "We may have the opportunity to administer the restorative potion before the Sovereignty does."
Hermione frowned. "You said the potion was ready yesterday," she said, studying his taut expression for any indication he was actually telling her the truth. "If the answers to this obviously critical secret are finally within Dumbledore's obsessive grasp, why haven't they acted on it already?"
"Why the bloody hell do you think?" he asked irately. "The explosion's set everyone back. Which is why we only have tonight to act before they will."
"Tonight!" she exclaimed in astonishment, glaring at him accusingly. "You don't want to help him escape at all, do you? You want to find out whatever he knows for yourself, and then you'll, what - Obliviate him again? Leave him there for the Sovereignty to find? Do you honestly expect me to… No." She shook her head. "No. I'm not discussing anything else until Draco and Pansy are part of this."
"Fine," Harry snapped, looking thoroughly narked. "Go get your lover boy. But don't say I didn't warn you when he doesn't like what I have to say."
Hermione froze. "Excuse me?"
Harry scowled at her. "This is a war, Granger. It may not look like one yet, but it is. Difficult choices have to be made, and Lucius Malfoy's fate is one of them."
Her heart had begun beating faster. "No. Not that. Why would you call him that?"
Harry stared at her for a second, and then his eyebrows raised slightly in realization. "Well, isn't he? Why else would you two be getting so cosy on his camp bed?"
Hermione's stomach clenched like a vice. "First, we weren't 'getting cosy'; you may have noticed whenever you so stalkerishly made your observation that he was sleeping on the floor," she shot back, overcome with an inexplicably vehement need to deny whatever it was he was implying. "Second, absolutely not! Draco's been an incredible friend, and I won't have you cheapen our relationship by insinuating it's something else!"
Harry snorted. "An incredible friend; I'm sure he has been." He actually smiled slightly, though his gaze was spiteful. "Didn't mention he declared his undying love for My in fourth year, did he?"
"That was just a prank," Hermione said, though her lip curled slightly at the mere thought of Draco saying such words to My; the self-absorbed bint didn't deserve even the idea of him.
Harry simply raised his eyebrows at her. "Then why would Weasley to this day believe it wasn't? Surely he ordered Malfoy to fess up to the truth."
Imagining that savage beast ordering Draco to do anything made her blood boil. "Ronáld Weasley's a possessive monster who wouldn't have an eye for the truth if it hit him in the face!" she exploded. "Merlin, Harry, what's wrong with you? Are you really so - so miserable that you get some sort of sadistic sense of pleasure from making people look and feel worse than you do?"
His gaze darkened. "Careful, Granger. You have no idea—"
"Yes, I know, I have no idea how awful it is to be you," she retorted searingly. "Well, I can't know if you— if you hide yourself behind this vicious wall! Time and time again, I have held out the white flag to you," she said in a low voice, levelling an even stare at him. "If you'd rather not take it, fine. If you aren't certain how to take it, I can understand that, too. But there's still such a thing as common sense, Harry! Draco, myself — You don't treat your allies with the same cruelty you would afford your enemies! This is a dark place, and right now, we're all we've got. So if you want my help with Lucius Malfoy, this ends now!"
Harry simply stared at her, his mouth parted slightly.
Hermione shook her head. This Harry seemed so set in his ways… perhaps pecking at him to become a better person wasn't even worth it.
After a beat of silence, she flung away his Muffliato charm more vigorously than normal and marched off toward the stairs to her room. She was nearly at the top of them when Harry spoke again; for the first time, his voice actually held the faintest tinge of uncertainty.
"Granger…"
Hermione quickly glanced back at him. The mirror of her best friend was still standing where she'd left him, but his shoulders were tense, his hands gripped tightly at his sides.
Hermione felt herself softening, and she sighed. "Why don't you check your room for Pansy and Draco in case they aren't in mine," she suggested, the aggression gone from her voice. "We'll meet back here."
Harry stared at her motionlessly, then nodded tautly without a word, turning toward the other set of stairs.
His momentary lapse of argumentative aloofness, no matter how small, gave her hope. As Hermione watched him retreat, she felt a wave of almost sisterly concern for his well-being — and not simply because he looked like Harry Potter, she realized in surprise. Except for his relationship with Pansy, Harry Evans truly didn't know what it was like to have the kind of loving friendships his Universe A counterpart did.
However much of that he brought on himself didn't matter. Hermione genuinely felt sad for him.
When she finally turned back to her quarters, they were empty, though a half-open book lay on the window seat, the cushion partially indented. The door to Hermione's closet was open, the light on inside it. "Pansy?" she asked.
The dark-haired girl poked her head out of the wardrobe wearing only a tank top, wet hair tumbling messily around her shoulders. "I'll be out in a minute. Did you need us?"
Hermione nodded. "Yeah. Summit meeting down in the common room."
Pansy disappeared back into the closet. "How was the assembly? Did they - Did they figure out the cause?"
"The official word's that Hagrid's at fault. They didn't get into many more details than that. They all seemed quite confident it was an accident, though. Doesn't seem like anything we need to worry about."
"Are the Viceroys... They aren't still here, are they?" Her reticent voice carried nervously across the room.
Hermione shook her head, leaning against the doorframe. "No, they left this morning. The investigation's been left to…" Hermione hesitated, remembering Kingsley Shacklebolt had apparently led most of the efforts to suppress Pansy and her friends, "…a few lesser officials."
"Thank Merlin." Pansy emerged from the closet wearing a long, belted purple sweater over leggings and boots. Now that she had access to My's store of clothing, the Slytherin's own fashion sense had emerged as effortlessly stylish, and Hermione was honestly glad to have her help putting together most of the outfits she had to wear as My.
"Have you seen Draco?" she asked.
"Mm." Pansy nodded, joining her at the door. "I checked in on him a little earlier. He was still asleep." Her azure gaze met Hermione's eyes earnestly. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For getting that potion for him. The things he talks to you about…" She sighed. "He would never tell me. Not that I mind, of course," she added hastily.
Hermione doubted that — after all, Draco hadn't actually told her he needed the Dreamless Sleep Potion. "I'm sure that isn't true, Pansy," she said reassuringly. "You're his best friend."
"Yes. Yes, I suppose I am, technically." Pansy smiled half-heartedly. "In reality, I quite think I more fill the role of younger sister, in his mind."
"What do you mean?" she asked curiously.
She shrugged. "He's always been protective of me. My mum was… gone while I was growing up." She shifted her gaze to the floor. "My dad had to travel to find work, so I spent a lot of time with Draco and his mum, and then Blaise and his family as well. I appreciate his concern, of course I do, but… I know there's things he doesn't tell me. Things that truly trouble him. Like his… scars." She sighed, fiddling with her belt strap. "Draco's so upbeat most of the time, he — well, you know what he's like. He just says he doesn't want me to worry. Which of course only worries me more."
Hermione nodded understandingly. How many times had Harry given her and Ron the same frustrating response? "Well, I only know about some of his injuries because I needed to heal him; he couldn't very well hide them. I've no doubt he would have preferred I didn't know otherwise," she said logically. She shook her head and tried to laugh, though it emerged mirthlessly. "The lack of privacy's probably driving him mad. You as well, for that matter."
The weak sound died in her throat when Pansy's wide blue eyes gazed at her with an expression Hermione couldn't quite read.
"I'm certain that isn't the reason, Hermione," she said, thoughtfully biting one side of her lip.
Hermione suddenly felt uncomfortable for a reason she couldn't quite elicit. She turned abruptly. "Let's not forget. Important meeting."
Pansy joined Harry on one of the common room couches while Hermione continued on toward Draco's quarters — apparently, Harry had drawn the line at rousing schoolboy rivals, or whatever they were here. She knocked quietly on the side of the wall; when no noise came from inside, she hesitated, then walked through the narrow entrance.
The Slytherin was laying in the exact position in which she'd left him late that morning: curled up on his left side beneath the blanket he'd pulled over her the night before, his shock of platinum hair spilling across the deep green pillowcase. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in a sedate but steady rhythm. His forehead with smooth, the small lines at the corners of his eyes free of laughter but also of worry.
Only in the yearbook picture of him, Pansy, and Blaise had Hermione ever seen his face as relaxed as it was now.
For a moment, she felt the same rush of affection she'd experienced that morning, when she'd rolled over after a refreshingly deep sleep to see him sleeping peacefully on the ground beside the bed, an open bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion beside him. She didn't know why he hadn't simply walked halfway across a room to the sofa instead… but part of her was grateful he hadn't.
What he had said and done for her last night, and what she had told him in return…
Though she'd been exhausted at the time, she could instantly recall the exchange.
I'll help you. Whatever it is. Whatever you need. I will.
As she gazed at him, a dizzying, confusing wave of emotion surged through her chest. This Draco had always been so unbelievably giving, so open and perceptive with her. He didn't hide his concerns from her; in fact, he usually seemed to do the very opposite: let her see exactly what was worrying him.
After Pansy had so strongly vouched for his caring personality a few weeks earlier, Hermione had thought he did the same with everyone. But after the exchange she'd just had with the same woman, a small part of Hermione wondered if perhaps that wasn't the case. And, if it wasn't… what exactly did that mean? That Draco liked her less? Or that he…
Hermione's stomach twisted. She couldn't finish the thought; it would be far too confusing. And highly improbable.
She suddenly remembered the warmth and refuge the sensation of Draco's arm around her shoulders had provided last night, his concerned eyes holding hers with the same intensity that she'd never been able to read or understand.
Didn't mention he declared his undying love for My in fourth year, did he?
Hearing Harry's scornful voice echo mockingly in her mind suddenly trigged a memory of something else Pansy had told her about Draco:
He never... seemed to overtly fancy anyone. But I know he did.
Merlin - Why was she even letting this bother her?!There was no bloody way she was about to let Harry's ignorant and clearly malicious intimations affect her like this! She respected Draco incredibly and was more thankful than she could ever express for the unshakable friendship and support he unfailingly offered her at her most vulnerable moments. She absolutely refused to believe he was only doing it because he harboured some secret feelings for - for My.
Hermione took a deep breath, nodding to herself.
Yes. Matter over mind; fact over fiction. That was all there was to it.
Quietly, she crossed the few feet to his bed, crouching beside it. She lifted her hand toward Draco's sleeping form…
But her fingers actually began to tingle a moment before she touched him.
Her hand froze, and her stomach clenched once more. She tried reaching for him again, but the sensation only grew more perceptible.
Swiftly, Hermione retracted her hand, the tips of her fingers uncertainly landing on her lips. Bloody Morgana and all the witches, what was wrong with her? How many times had she roused Harry and Ron from sleep like this — sometimes with a very hard hit on the shoulder, even? She'd had no trouble levitating Draco onto the bed that morning, no trouble spreading healing cream on his wounds when he was only half-conscious, no trouble cradling his face when he was in agonising pain while she was frantically trying to determine how best to put an end to it —
No! Pull yourself together, Hermione!
She set her jaw stubbornly, shaking her head. She absolutely did not have the time or emotional energy for this! According to the opinion of an entire herd of centaurs, she'd suddenly become some sort of catalyst for change in this despotic society, literally overnight. Despite the fact that there were clear logic holes the size of Jupiter as to exactly how that conjecture had originated in the first place, living beings had died for that belief. Hermione couldn't afford to lose her focus.
So whatever it was that was bubbling around her gut and her hand was just going to have to bloody well go away.
Hermione reached out and shook his shoulder gently. "Draco."
When he didn't stir, she shook him a bit harder. "Draco!"
His grey eyes flew open, and he jolted awake, looking panicked.
"No, no, it's alright," Hermione whispered quickly. She lay her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "It's me. It's just me."
Draco's eyes found hers. The tension visibly vanished from his body as quickly as it'd come. "Hermione?" he croaked, his voice thick with sleep.
"Yeah. I'm so sorry to wake you like this," she said apologetically. "Harry's insisting we speak about your father now. He's being surreptitiously urgent about it, but we do need to discuss it, and, well — I can only imagine you'd want to be part of that."
For only moment, he looked startled. "Yes, I... I do. Of course I do." He slowly pushed himself up, still looking only half-awake. "What… time is it?"
Hermione muttered a charm. "Three twenty one," she reported unnecessarily when the numbers 15:21 floated from the tip of her wand.
"Three twenty… Merlin." Draco shoved a hand shakily through his limp hair, then swung his feet around to the ground. "I don't think I've slept that well since…" Suddenly, he looked swiftly around his surroundings in bewilderment, then squinted up at her, concern in his eyes. "Didn't you — Correct me if I'm wrong, but I quite recall you taking sole proprietorship of the bed last night," he shook his head slightly, "or I was far more exhausted than even I thought I was…"
Hermione couldn't help but hold back a smile at his sleep-induced confusion. "You didn't honestly think I was going to leave you on the floor when I got up, did you?"
"I honestly doubt I was thinking much of anything by that point this morning," he responded, standing. He winced when his weight landed on his right leg, and Hermione made a note to look into some long-term potions for the improperly healed break as he gingerly walked over to a small trunk of My's that Hermione had lent him, at the foot of the bed. He glanced at her and hesitated, then pulled off the jumper he was wearing, revealing a grey t-shirt beneath, the first time she'd seen him in a shirt that didn't cover the almost tattoo-like, scarred length of his arms.
He looked over at her again. "Thanks for not dropping me in transit, by the way. Thoughtful on your part."
She crossed her arms. "Who's to say I didn't?"
Draco studied her face for a moment, long enough that the infuriating wrench in her gut happened again, then shook his head. "No. You'd be acting a bit more shifty right now if you had." He crouched down to open the trunk. It held a decent amount of clothing, and Hermione felt a brief rush of appreciation toward Harry for lending him so much. "You'd be doing that… thing with your eyes."
She stared at him. "What thing with my eyes?"
He quickly folded the jumper he'd been wearing. "Whenever you're feeling guilty about something. You—" He glanced up at her piercingly inquisitive gaze and stopped suddenly. "No. You know what, I'm not going to tell you. You'll start over-thinking it, and it's nothing, really."
"You can't just say that to me and then expect me to leave it!" Hermione exclaimed. "What thing with my eyes?!"
"Nothing!" Draco exclaimed with a small laugh, holding up his hands. But when he saw how concerned she was, his smile tempered. "I promise, Hermione, I really do. It's hardly noticeable," he said reassuringly. "I doubt…" He trailed off as he pulled a different sweater over his head, this one green. "You've managed to survive this long without anyone else picking up on it," he said once his head reemerged. "I'm certain this'll fly under the radar as well." He paused. "For now."
When the small smile at his lips revealed he was still joking, Hermione glared at him. "Oh, aren't you just a bag full of giggles today," she said sarcastically.
He smiled in amusement. "I am rather, aren't I?" He closed the trunk with a snap; when he stood, the twinkle in his eyes had faded slightly. "How'd everything go earlier?" he asked quietly.
Hermione sighed, deciding to allow the matter to slip… for now. "Fine, I think. But…" She hesitated. "Any public event here's always such a shock, you know? Just another opportunity for me to run into more people I once knew who've morphed into completely depraved strangers here." She knew she was thinking of Kingsley, and trailed off. She glanced at Draco nervously before looking away. "Anyway, I… really have you to thank for… getting me prepared for that." She shook her head. "I couldn't have fallen asleep last night on my own."
"Oh, I think you're underestimating yourself." Draco stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, his eyes on the floor, before they raised to her; when he spoke, his voice was low. "But you're welcome, Hermione."
She stared at him. Her mouth opened to respond, but the words caught in her throat, and she didn't want to consider why.
He walked over to her. "I meant what I said," he continued just as quietly. "If you need anything—"
"I know." Hermione prepared himself for the soft intensity she knew she would find in his grey eyes and returned her own to meet it. "I meant it, too."
Draco gazed down at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, then nodded. "Then I should thank you for that as well." After a moment, he glanced out toward the entrance to the common room, where Hermione know Harry was probably waiting extremely impatiently. "Do you have any idea what he has planned? About my — about him."
"None at all." Hermione swallowed hard and followed his gaze with a frown. "But I already know we aren't going to like it."
Pansy and Harry were sitting closely on the couch when Draco and Hermione emerged, the two of them speaking to each other in hushed voices. They looked up, and Hermione staunchly ignored the knowing gaze Harry was throwing her. She and Draco each took an armchair, Hermione levitating hers close to his so it faced the others. Just to be safe, she muttered a few extra Muffling charms, on top of the twenty other protection spells she'd already cast around the common room, before Harry promptly began.
"As all of us here now know, Lucius Malfoy is being kept at Hogwarts, his memory has been wiped, and it once possessed some incredibly important knowledge the Sovereignty would dearly like to get its hands on." Harry looked at Draco. "As I've already told Pansy and Hermione, the Sovereignty's spent the past decade perfecting a potion that can restore a severely damaged memory. I've been able to obtain some of it. Our goal—"
"Sorry, how did you manage to do that again?" Hermione interrupted. Harry shot her a disgruntled look, and hesitated long enough in his response that she continued, "Look, I'm sorry; I appreciate your need to be secretive, but if you're asking me to risk the lives and limbs of not only myself but of Pansy and Draco, both of whom are also linked to me, you've got to give me something to go on."
His jaw clenched in displeasure. "Severus Snape's brewing it," he finally said grudgingly.
Hermione nodded. That made sense to her, though nothing else about it did. "And you and Snape are close, are you?" she asked dubiously, recalling how much the two hated each other in her world.
Harry shrugged. "He's my godfather; he doesn't exactly suspect me of snooping whenever I come around."
Her lips parted in shock at his casual declaration of a very non-casual revelation.
But — Snape — really? How had he been made Harry's godfather over Sirius? Harry Potter had mentioned once that Snape had known his mother, but surely even with this universe as different as it was, some kind of rivalry with Harry's father would have still existed to have made that arrangement impossible here…
Draco suddenly put his hand on the arm of her chair, leaning over toward her. "You're still gaping," he whispered in a low enough voice she doubted either Harry or Pansy could hear.
Hermione quickly closed her mouth, blinking rapidly. Harry gave her a strange look and took advantage of her astonished silence to continue, "As I was saying, our goal is to administer the potion to Malfoy at midnight tonight. That's when the prefect and faculty patrols switch, so there's less of a chance we'll be noticed. A round-the-clock student curfew's in effect until tomorrow for the initial Hangar investigation, so I don't anticipate running into any issues from that end."
Draco winced. "Never say that; the most foolproof plans are the ones with the greatest likelihood of falling apart." He sat up; Hermione noticed his hands were tensely holding the edge of the armrests despite his easygoing demeanour. "Anyway, if the potion's ready, how do you know the Sovereignty won't be doing the same thing?"
"My mother's been a central part of the Lucius Malfoy investigation. Tonight's her annual Muggle-born Witches International Benefit Gala; they host it every year at our estate. It usually extends well past midnight. Normally—" he shot a look at Hermione, "—we would have attended, but with the explosion, I told her you and I thought it would be best if we stayed here to support the school."
Hermione's eyebrows raised. "Your mother holds benefits?" She had a difficult time imagining Lily Evans supporting any goodwill cause, let alone Hogwarts allowing students to skip out of school during the week for it.
Harry gave her a withering look. "She isn't going to miss either event, so common sense dictates they won't coincide," he went impatiently. "We can disable the cameras in Malfoy's cell, but we need to administer the potion to him privately. We can't take the chance anything might still capture what he'll say. So the plan is this: Granger, at midnight tonight, I'll take Malfoy out of his cell to a safe room and administer the potion. You'll stand watch near the statue; if it looks like anyone's coming there specifically, you'll initiate a distraction while I bring him back. Simple. Straightforward. In and out."
Hermione waited. When he didn't say anything else, she said, "Is that it? Which "safe room" did you have in mind, precisely? And how exactly am I supposed to distract someone like Shacklebolt or your mother?"
"You were doing a ruddy good job distracting him during the assembly today," he noted.
Pansy and Draco visibly stiffened, and Hermione suddenly realized her mistake.
"He's — Shacklebolt's — here?" Pansy asked quietly. She'd paled dramatically in a matter of seconds.
Hermione could have banged her head on the side of the chair. "Don't worry; he's only been focused on the Hangar investigation," she said reassuringly. "He's the Minister for Magical Investigation and Incident Response now. The Agency for Conservative Management's actually been dissolved."
A statement she'd hoped would be comforting instead caused Pansy's face to fall. "Of course it has been," she murmured quietly.
Harry shot Hermione a dirty look; she tried to ignore it. "You still haven't told me where you're taking him," she said to him. She frowned. "And what we'll even be doing with this information once we get it."
He sat back, seeming unconcerned. "No, I haven't, Granger, and I don't plan to, either. You and your posse might have operated on a "tell all" basis in your world, but it doesn't work that way here. If one of us gets caught in the middle of this, or interrogated, knowing less will both protect us, and everyone else."
"I'm sorry, I disagree," she said flatly. "I rather think the more we all know, the less chance we have of being caught in the first place!"
"I'm not willing to bend on this, Granger," he responded.
Hermione crossed her arms. "Well then, perhaps I'm not willing to help you!"
"And on that note, let's all remember we share a common goal," Draco interjected, giving her a pointed look.
Harry looked over at him, his eyebrows flying up. "Oh, I'd love to know what you think that is, Malfoy," he said sarcastically.
Draco returned his hard gaze unflinchingly. "Remaining undetected."
After a moment of male roostering, Harry grunted in acknowledgement of that. "Malfoy… isn't far from the truth," he said begrudgingly, looking for all the world as if he'd swallowed a toad. "The Sovereignty can't have any idea a single thing's amiss; the entire plan rests on it."
"Well then, I already see a gaping hole in your simple, straightforward plan," Hermione cut in. "I can but only imagine the Sovereignty will know immediately the potion's already been administered. Even if they didn't — even if you Obliviated Draco's father again, which I'm not saying we should," she said with a quick glance at Draco, "they'll just re-administer the potion and have their answers almost as soon as we do. On top of that, they'll know we've done it, too. And then what happens to Lucius Malfoy? What happens to us?"
For a few beats longer than necessary, Harry's gaze cagily shifted from Hermione to Draco, and back to Hermione again, and in a rush of dread, Hermione suddenly knew what he was going to say before he even voiced it.
Draco must have picked up on the same signals she had, because he leapt to his feet.
"You've got to be kidding me, Evans," he hissed forcefully. "That is absolutely out of the question!"
"It's our only option," Harry retorted. "It'll be quick and painless. An untraceable poison; he'll appear to have died naturally, in his sleep."
"Right," Draco said so agreeably Hermione had to look twice at him, but his hard gaze contradicted his light tone. "Of course. Bravo; airtight plan. I've just one question for you, then: Are you bloody well insane?" he exploded. "You're talking about murdering my father!"
"Bollocks. He'll give his life for a cause he loved; I've no doubt he'd choose to do the same if he was made aware of the situation."
Draco stared at him, horror etched across his thin face. "You have no foundation to make that claim! And if you think I'm going to - to give you some sort of blessing to kill him, then you're sorely mistaken!"
Harry stood challengingly. "Hate to break it to you, Malfoy, but you don't have magic. Your stamp of approval isn't needed."
"No!" Pansy said suddenly, grabbing Harry's arm. "No. He's right, Harry; this is mad. Yes, it might be an option, but that's all it is. It's far too awful of one for us to possibly consider using!" She shook her head fiercely, her blue eyes distressed. "We can't. It'll make us just like they are, and we can't become that, Harry; we can't stoop to that level."
Now that Pansy had entered the fray, Harry rubbed his forehead, looking besieged. "I'm sorry, Liv. Like it or not, this is the plan, and it's happening in seven hours."
"Don't apologise to me, Harry Evans; apologise to the man whose father you're prepared to execute!" she exclaimed sternly. "There's a whole lot of brilliant minds in this circle. Come on, everyone. Let's think. He can't disappear outright, of course; Hermione had a point there — they'd just come after Draco to try to lure Lucius back. But—"
"I'd much rather that than euthanizing my father!" Draco exclaimed.
Pansy shook her head. "No. There have to be more choices, haven't there? Why can't we all just leave? Go out through the Hogsmeade tunnel and Apparate somewhere safe?"
"Nowhere's safe when the entire might of the Sovereignty is barrelling down on your head; you know that, Pansy," Harry said in a low voice. "The only advantage we have is that of surprise. If we take this information and run, whatever it is, we won't be equipped to withstand them, and that intelligence, and our lives, will be lost. I'm not willing to sacrifice that for the life of one man." He shot a hard gaze at Draco; what little colour the blond had to his face had all but drained from it. "No matter who that man is, you can't say you disagree with that logic, Malfoy."
"No, Evans, I don't disagree with the bloody logic, but some things in life far outweigh pragmatism. What do you expect me to say? 'Oh, of course; go right ahead?' " Draco sank back down into his chair and took a heavy breath, folding his hands tightly in front of him. "Perhaps we're looking at this incorrectly. What if the intel my father knows turns out to be unimportant after all? If it doesn't matter, then maybe—"
Harry shook his head, cutting him off. "The Sovereignty'll still kill him. Even more readily, if that's the case."
Draco blinked blearily, burying his face in his hands. "This is such a mess," he mumbled.
"There could be another way," Hermione murmured suddenly. She'd been wracking her brain for a different alternative the moment their discussion had descended into chaos. Pansy's mention of not making Lucius Malfoy disappear outright had triggered her memory of a spell she'd encountered some weeks earlier. It hadn't been exactly what Hermione had been looking for, so she hadn't taken the time to read much about it… but what she remembered was enough.
Draco looked toward her swiftly. "What did you say?" he whispered, his voice taut with hope.
"I'm fairly certain, there's another way," Hermione repeated more confidently, looking up at them. "It isn't perfect, but it could work. No one is dying for this information. Not us, and not your father." She looked reassuringly to Draco's drawn face before shooting a tense look at Harry. "No one."
Harry sat up, looking at her gruffly. "Well? What's your genius proposal?"
She pressed her lips together, frowning at his tone. "It's called the Shadow Double — L'ombre deuxième. It's an extremely obsolete Haitian Vodou spell, so I'd reckon the likelihood of anyone guessing we're using it is extremely low. Its actual purpose is to create a fully-functioning second body of a person - hence, the "shadow double." That shadow body looks completely human, but it's only a shell: the spell caster has full power over it. It's particularly dark because the original subject of the spell would also feel whatever was done to the shadow."
Harry'd straightened even more, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And why exactly did you feel the need to educate yourself on the Vodou Dark Arts?"
Hermione returned his sceptical gaze undauntedly. "I came across it when I was researching… how I may have been transferred here." She stopped short of saying what she had really been researching was how to escape back to Universe A. "In any case, using the spell tonight should buy us time - let us plant a living, breathing double in Malfoy's cell until we can plan our next move. If it's done right, we should even be able to feed the Sovereignty false information when they do administer the Shadow the potion." She glanced over at Draco, who was already looking at her intently. "And your father would be safe. If anyone threatens the Shadow, we could just unlink the two."
In theory, at least, she thought.
Draco's grey eyes locked her in place with a gratefulness so profound she could actually feel it from where she sat. But before she could so much as give him a reassuring nod, he looked back toward the group. "We'd still need a place to hide him where the Sovereignty wouldn't come across him," he thought aloud, his expression pensive. "What about the Room of Requirements?"
Hermione shook her head. "The Room may be our best bet tonight, but I'm not entirely comfortable with leaving him there in the long run; I can't guarantee no one else will discover him while he's in it." She paused. "There is… another problem," she said slowly. "Even though we'd be using this for good, l'ombre deuxième is an extremely powerful dark curse. It's something only a wizard like Dum— only an unspeakably powerful wizard could perform. It's built on several fundamental Dark Arts curses, including the Imperius. That's one spell I've never been able to complete; I assure you I am not prepared to cast something like this tonight."
Harry glanced at his watch. "Doesn't matter. You won't be the one doing it."
Hermione stared at him in surprise as he reached over and squeezed Pansy's hand, then stood. Harry was a powerful wizard in his own right — for Merlin's sake, he'd defeated a dark lord in her world, and she didn't doubt he might be capable of the same here. But she was afraid this spell was beyond even him.
"I have to leave," he announced. "My dinner patrol starts in ten minutes and ends at eight. We'll regroup here at eleven; I need to do some prep work beforehand." He leveled a grave expression in her direction. "Get me that book immediately, Granger."
"It's extremely difficult dark magic, Harry," she said tensely.
He shook his head. "I don't care. Find it. If this spell works like you say it does and it's possible to perform, then the plan doesn't change except for your part. Instead of waiting until I return Malfoy, you'll have to check that his Shadow's been transferred there successfully."
Hermione nodded, standing. "Done. I remember the general area it was located; I should have it to you within the hour."
Draco and Pansy had stood as well.
"What can we do to help?" Draco asked.
Harry glanced toward him. "Absolutely nothing," he said brusquely. "Stay here and don't get any emotional ideas beyond hoping this works."
Draco's jaw visibly tightened. "Right then," he said tightly. "I suppose I'll just go sit and twiddle my thumbs while my father's fate hangs in the balance."
"Please do. That's about the only thing you're capable of now anyway; it's better you accept it sooner than later."
Hermione gaped at Harry in shock. Merlin, had he taken nothing from their earlier conversation? She opened her mouth to unleash a tirade, but she was shocked again when Pansy beat her to it.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry, stop it!" she exclaimed, actually pushing his shoulder hard before she looked over at Draco, her blue eyes deeply apologetic. "Draco, don't mind him. He's being a complete arse, and he knows it," she added, shooting Harry an unhappy look before she returned her attention to her friend, who hadn't moved since Harry's last comment. "I'll wait with you the entire time. It'll all be alright; if anyone can do this, Harry and Hermione can."
Draco looked between the two of them, his frame tense. "Waiting." He nodded heavily, sighing, before his shoulders sank. "Right."
Without another glance over at Hermione or the unlikely pairing of his best friend and Hermione's former one, he turned and trudged up the stairs to Hermione's room. Harry's gaze followed him momentarily, before he turned impassively and headed for the portrait hole. Hermione glared exasperatedly at his back and shared a concerned look with Pansy before trailing after Draco.
The Slytherin was standing stiffly at the window overlooking the grounds with his arms crossed tightly, staring out into the dimming evening. He didn't turn when she entered.
Hermione sighed. "Draco—"
"No. Don't." Draco shook his head. "I just — I can't keep doing this, Hermione. I can't keep waiting here endlessly hoping for even the most minute bit of news while I'm — I'm bloody powerless to do anything else." He spun toward her, his expression no longer resigned but desperate. "I need something to do. For the love of all things good, give me something to do. Finish your homework, move your furniture, research the latest surveillance technology, throw every scrap of clothing off your shelves and fold it all up again — Anything. Please."
Wild pleading raged in his eyes, and in them Hermione saw the exact desperation she had felt the multiple times the Order of the Phoenix, or Dumbledore or the Weasleys, had had to extract Harry Potter from a situation without taking her or Ron along. The wait from their departure to their return had been positively agonising. She would have given anything for them to take her with them instead. She would have risked everything to help her best friend. But this wasn't just Draco's friend — it was his father.
Hermione briefly closed her eyes. Oh, this had the potential to go so horribly wrong…
She looked back at Draco before common sense spurred her to change her mind. "Come with me tonight."
Draco blinked at her. For a moment, his lips parted; his mouth opened and closed before he asked, "W— What? I mean, are you — I won't… be in the way?"
Hermione shook her head. "I can't constantly watch the Marauder's Map and cast distraction spells if I need to at the same time," she said logically. Well, she probably could, but… "You can help keep watch." She smiled weakly. "Anyway, having someone else with me'll help calm my nerves."
He stood stock still, disbelief scrawled across his face. Then he crossed the room toward her in five wide steps, reached down, and took her hand in both of his, holding it tightly. "Thank you," he breathed solemnly.
Warmth radiated up her arm. Her chest constricted. "You're welcome," she said, searching his deeply relieved expression. She curled her fingers around his, squeezing his hand back reassuringly. "It's a good plan, Draco. It should work." As his eyes turned troubled, she added, "And even if something comes up, we're resourceful; we can adapt if we need to."
Draco shook his head. "It isn't that. It's just…" He let out a shuddery breath, lowering his gaze. "Hermione, what do you say to a man you've barely spoken to who doesn't even remember you're his own son?" he mumbled.
Hermione froze in place. At once, she was overcome with the memory of her parents' oblivious laughter only moments before she wiped their memories, and sent them on their way halfway around the world so they could be away from the Second Wizarding War, away from - her. In her absence, would Harry Potter have gone to retrieve them? Or were they still in a foreign place, living lives that were not their own?
Draco's face blurred before her, mingling with those of her parents. "I imagine you'll… say how much you love him, even if he doesn't know it," she said slowly. "You'll tell him how much you've missed him, how much you've always thought about him, how - how much you can't wait to live a life with him in it again." Her eyes began to burn, and she blinked rapidly, focusing back up on him. "Then be yourself. And I cannot imagine that any father wouldn't love you immediately."
For a moment, Draco simply stared at her, his gray eyes glistening. "Is that what you would say to your parents?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.
She nodded, sniffing once. "Yeah. It is."
He reached up, swiftly swiping with a thumb beneath his eyes, and Hermione realized with a violent start that their hands were still joined. Her breath caught, and she pulled away quickly, leaving a cold void around her fingers. Draco looked down in confusion, then stepped away from her just as rapidly, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"I — really should go," she said. "Harry's going to need all the practise he can get if he thinks he can perfect that spell by midnight."
"Right," he said, looking away from her. He cleared his throat, reaching up a hand to push it through his hair. "I'll just — I'll be here, then."
Hermione nodded and took a deep breath. She let it out slowly, moving toward the door. On second thought, she paused, and looked back at him. "I don't know if Pansy's told you, but there's a Disillusioned bookshelf to the left of the armchair. It's got several advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks from my world. If you're looking for something to do, you might…" She hesitated, trying to determine how best to say what she wanted to without providing false reassurances. "Well, one thing I've learned is that nothing's ever certain. Permanence doesn't always remain permanent." She met his gaze. "Your magic — It may not be gone forever. And if it returns… you should be ready."
-c-
A/N Helpful Reverse world fact to be aware of: I've hinted at this throughout the narrative, but because I've had some questions about it, I feel the need to state it outright:
My entire AU world is ethically Reversed, Muggle side included. What this means is that in Uni!B, the conservatives / pure Light wizards / traditionally "decent people" are in the significant minority in Britain/the world, like the Death Eaters actually were in Universe A. The ethical standards of the rest of the general population leans more toward some if not a decent propensity for moral corruption (versus here in Universe A, where I would say the standard ethical inclination (or at least societal pressure to this end) tends to swing more toward what we might consider as 'good.'). So for the majority of Universe B people, their 'normal' morals in Universe B would equate 'questionable' morals in Universe A.
This is why systemically approving widespread use of the Dark Arts, which can so easily corrupt, is particularly dangerous in Uni!B.