Several reviewers complained about the depiction of Persian wizards in the previous chapter, which I find confusing, given that I didn't have almost any depictions of Persian wizards. I mostly had British Wizards talking about them, expressing 'Nativist' attitudes. That is a type of discrimination against foreigners, and it is a thing, both in America and in the UK.
STORY START:
Hermione dropped the note onto the table "This is a domain ritual. It will create a foreign magical entity, where people can cast spells in Persian." She was sitting with Harry in the Three Broomsticks, and if the issue that they were discussing wasn't so dire, it would have been a very pleasant coffee date.
"But what I don't understand is why is he using human sacrifice? This isn't a dark ritual – it wasn't designed with sacrifices as part of it, so it won't buy him that much extra power, and it attracts a lot of dangerous attention."
"Maybe he's not much of a wizard. Or maybe he just doesn't know better – I don't know the state of Persian wizarding education."
"So this is one of your precious refugees?"
"Don't start. He's one bad apple." Harry perched awkwardly on the chair, giving the appearance that he might flee at any moment. He had known that it was been a bad idea to bring this to her. He should have just hired somebody.
Hermione snorted. "Yeah, in a cart of sour apples." Harry's smile became fixed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start an argument. I.. You know how I get worked up sometime." She took a sip of her coffee in an attempt to reset. It was just that lately, all they had talked about – argued about - was the refugee issue. "Do you want to get some pie? Rosmerta has a new chocolate custard that is to die for."
Harry shook his head, "Sorry, no. I need to get this back to Neville. I'll keep you updated on any important details that we discover." He wasn't certain why he offered – he knew that she would probably use them against him in the Wizengamot.
"I'd appreciate that. And Harry? Thanks for coming to me with this. If you ever need help, or another wand for something. Let me know. I… we have our differences, but we have managed to accomplish a lot, working together." She paused before blurting out awkwardly, "And you're still my Entil'Zha."
"Oy, don't start that again" Harry groaned. "It makes me sound like some pretension prat, like 'The Boy Who Lived' or something."
Hermione gave a secret smile, "No, it's just a way for us to recognize that you're a special guy. You'll call if you need help?"
"Of course." Harry finished his coffee.
\*/
That night, when Harry flooed home from Neville's house, he was greeted by the sight of Gabrielle in a sleeveless work-out shirt and not much else.
After giving her a prolonged kiss, Harry asked, "Aren't you a bit cold, dressed like that?" Though the heat in the apartment was turned up higher than he preferred - Wizengamot members were given a minimal stipend, as they were all expected to be independently wealthy (or take bribes).
"Yes. I brought my usual summer clothes with me when I moved to England, but it is too cold here. Why can't we move to France?"
Harry sighed. This was not the first time she had raised this question, "Because as a member of the Wizengamot, I have to live in England. It's the law, dating back from the Norman invasion." And unlike most wizarding laws dating that far back, it actually wasn't enormously stupid.
Gabrielle gave a cute little humph before asking, "So where were you all day? I did not think the Wizengamot was in session today." She had been hoping to go shopping with Harry – the apartment was very sparsely furnished. It just would not do!
"I was with Hermione, up at Hogwarts," Harry replied as he made his way to the kitchen to get started on dinner.
"Ah, so you were with the other woman, I see."
Harry blanched. "It's nothing like that! Hermione is an old school friend, and I was seeing her about business."
"It is ok Harry. I am French. I do not mind if we have an open relationship."
Harry's eyebrows fled for the safety of his hairline. "You mean that we see other people on the side?"
"Exactly," she beamed.
Harry froze, "Um, I don't think you're supposed to say that, not so early in a relationship. It makes it sound like you're not interested in me." Damn. He had been hoping that this would last at least a couple more months. He didn't know why, but all of his relationships self destructed in under a year. Usually much less.
"I am interested in you. But we're also health young people. It's only natural for us to be attracted to others as well. And there is nothing wrong with that, as long as we come back to each other at the end of the day."
Harry scratched the back of his head as he considered that. "So how would that work? Would we tell each other if we're sleeping around?"
"If you prefer I do not, I won't, but I would not object to hearing about your adventures."
Harry frowned, not thrilled to discover that his new girlfriend was already interested in dating other people, even if it was in addition to him.
\*/
The following day, it happened. Harry was reading the Prophet over breakfast before flooing into the Ministry. It was a Saturday, but he had appointments to talk with some of the more progressive MW (Members of Wizengamot, pronounced 'moo') about shoring up support for the muggle-born rights legislation in return for their support on the Persian issue (Yes, the Muggle rights legislation was theirs. But these idealistic idiots would never get it across the finish line if they just relied on the Wizengamot's sense of justice - their typical modus opperandi. Which is why he was in charge of strategy for THEIR project as well as his own). But as soon as he opened to the front page, he was confronted with a large photograph of a dead woman, with the headline: "Islamist wizard murder spree in Little Persia!" And of course the by-line was Rita Skeeter, everybody least favorite gadfly. (Or whatever the hell she was – it was an open secret that she was an unregistered insect animagus, but at this point she had blackmail material on half the Ministry, and the other half liked having blackmail material on her, so nobody brought charges).
The article continue on about how a cabal of Islamist wizards was terrorizing British citizens to convert all of England to Sharia law. Thankfully, there was no mention of the Demesnes spell, but the article did claim (wrongly) that the murdered women were all British citizens of European descent.
Harry took a deep breath and put down his orange juice. 'I'm going to need more coffee to deal with this. And an advil.' Harry went to get the muggle medicine, careful not to wake up Gabi – her shift at the coffee shop didn't start until 10am.
\*/
"I need a bigger cod piece." The speaker was an extremely skinny middle aged man dressed in over-tight medieval hose and a half-buttoned jerkin. With nothing on underneath it. Which made his over-close proximity that much more repulsive.
"It's fine the way it is," Draco didn't look up from where he was repairing a flood light – the spell holding it up was fading, and it wasn't able to move sideways anymore. It was a spare and they didn't really need it for the play. Probably. But all the shit here was second hand and you never knew when it was going to break during the middle of a performance and you would have to swap in the spare during intermission.
Yes, that example was over specific.
Yes, it had happened.
Twice.
"No, it's not. Just look at it!" He thrust his pelvis out at Draco. "This is demeaning! I mean Clarence has a larger one, and he's not even the lead actor!"
Draco grunted and finished up his enchantment. 'You want demeaning?' The youngest Malfoy was working as a prop manager at the Magical Repertory Theater of Edinburgh, in outer-bumfukia. He wouldn't even have attended the Magical Repertory Theater of Edinburgh, much less worked there, except that after 'The Troubles' all of father's properties were frozen in litigation, and the import-export business that he had been hoping to go work for after graduation all of a sudden wasn't responding to his owls.
"Then you're just going to have to show him that it's not about how big your codpiece is, but about how you use it." Draco forced a grimace that could, in the dim lighting of back stage, pass for a smile.
The actor broke out in a huge grin, "You're a genius, Draco. An absolute genius!" And strutted off.
Draco stood up. 'I can't deal with this shit anymore today.' The one - the only – good thing about this job was that he could set his own hours. And given that he was grossly overqualified, he usually finished up early. All of which let him stop by the pub for a pint before heading home to the almost empty mansion. And to his mothers perpetual harangues about when was he going to get married.
Like he had any prospects, except maybe some of Potter's cast-off sluts.
"Do you enjoy that? Groveling to those that are beneath you?"
Draco's head whirled up at the gravely voice.
"Who.."
The speaker was standing by the back entrance, a hooded cloak pulled down so that it was covering his face in shadow (or maybe that was a spell). "Lord Voldemort sends his regards." The figure extended a small card, "If you ever get tired of… this, and want to go back to the way things should be, tap the card with your wand, and we will be in contact."
The figure disapparated.
"Fuck." Draco needed that beer now more than ever.
\*/
When Harry arrived at the Ministry, Ron was in the Atrium, giving an interview in front of the 'Fountain of Magical Brethren' – always a good spot for political theater. "I have always been against allowing Persians into our magical community. They are seeking to replace our way of life with their own backwards culture!"
'Oh, damn.' Harry rubbed at his temples. He had been intending to have a slow morning of schmoozing his contacts, working out a few back room deals to make things go smoothly in tomorrows vote and maybe working in a little damage control on the Prophet story. Now that was all shot. His morning was going to be a dumpster fire where he would probably have to sell his soul to prevent this disaster from spinning totally out of control.
And of course Ron was pissing kerosene all over the fire. (Harry was fairly certain he was mixing metaphors here, but he was too preoccupied planning his next move to care much).
"All true Britons must stand together to repel these invaders from our borders!"
'Hermione was right. He is still an ass-hat.' This was much worse than Hermione's measured (and moderate) anti-Persian agenda. Though given that Hermione's concerns were based on principles, and Ron's appeared to be 110% demagoguery, that wasn't surprising. Harry quickly made his way to his office, to see if he could round up the votes to prevent a full-on pogrom.
\*/
"Hello Ron, thank you for taking the time to meet with me," Hermione sat down in the visitors chair in Ron's office. She was lucky to get a slot on Ron's calendar on such short notice, especially on a Sunday. Or so his secretary superciliously implied. The room was immaculately kept yet impersonal, with mostly empty bookcases artfully arranged with a few binders and some knickknacks, and a generic inspirational poster on the other wall. The only human touch was a large painting of a rising sun on the wall right behind Ron's desk, so that when he was seated it looked like the sun was glowing out of him.
'Subtle, Ron, subtle,' This wasn't the first time she saw it, but every time she had the same thought.
"What can I do for you?" Ron had gotten a lot better at faking interest.
"I read the interview you gave yesterday, and while I most certainly approve of the sentiment, don't you think you worded it a little strongly? You made it sound like a call to arms!"
Ron shrugged. "That is what the people needed to hear from their leaders, that we are taking their concerns seriously."
"I understand that people are upset, but as you said, you are one of the leaders: should you not be leading the people in a direction away from internecine violence?"
Ron smiled, "Oh, I don't think it will come to that – the people just need to blow off some steam."
Hermione gave a sigh, considering how best to respond. Ron had always been mule headed and desperate for people's approval. Back when he was a student, it was fine. Maybe even a little cute. But now that he was a politician.. 'How on Earth did he become a politician?' Hermione steapled her hands in front of her as she leaned in and placed her elbows on Ron's desk. "And what happens when the Ministry enacts restrictions on the immigrants?" 'Oh, Merlin, I'm starting to sound like Harry!' "I mean, it's fine to mandate that they need to learn to cast their spells in Latin. But that restriction is for a specific purpose – to force them to learn our culture, to integrate into our society. You are opening the door to far more than that."
Ron nodded, "I am glad that you are here to bring this to my attention. I think you are right, that we need to be careful not to go too far." He gave a huge smile, "But I trust you to sound the alarm bells if we in the Ministry do so. And when that happens, we'll take care of it!"
"I'm sounding the alarm bell right now, Ron!"
"Oh, poo, Hermione. You've always panicked long before you needed to. Remember in school how you started studying for your OWLs a year ahead of time? And even for finals you would prepare a month out. This is the same – the Ministry has not passed any laws. I just said a few words."
"Ron, you're a politician. Your. Entire. Fucking. Job. Is 'just saying a few words'!" Hermione rarely swore, but Ron's attitude was always a trigger for her, and in addition here he was stealing her project and turning it into garbage!
"Your point?" He tapped the timekeeping bracelet on his wrist with his wand, "I'm sorry, but I have a meeting that I need to get to." He stood up and stuck out his hand for Hermione to shake, "It was nice talking to you. I will keep what you said under consideration."
\*/
Hermione walked out of Ron's office. 'How could that shallow, self absorbed bottom feeder so casually incite hatred? He's as bad as Fudge. No, he's worse!' By the time she had stomped past his secretary's desk she was so angry that she was storming ahead, her hands swinging, and her head down like she intended to bull her way through this disaster. Or at least gore it badly enough to make it back off.
"Oof!" Hermione staggered back, almost falling,
"We have to stop meeting this way," Harry smiled as he caught her. "What are you doing here, anyways?"
"I.. Ron… Idiot!" Hermione was very conscious of the hand that was still on her back. That, combined with her anger short circuited her brain.
"You heard his speech, huh," Harry snorted. This was Hermione. Of course she had heard the speech. And immediately came to the Ministry to demand answers. "Never mind, don't answer that." He paused, transitioning to problem-solving without a pause. "We need to get out in front of this, try to defuse the situation. Therefore, we need to know what the serial killer was really planning, so we can speak authoritatively about what exactly is happening instead of letting the rumor mill churn out all sorts of nonsense."
Hermione nodded. "Right. We also need to look into that ritual. I started picking it apart, and there is something wrong with it." Hermione trailed off, staring pensively at the corridor wall as she stood next to Harry and rubbed her chin. A random Ministry corridor was not the best place for a meeting like this. All of Hermione's instincts were screaming that this was going to be huge, like the sort of thing that they should be reconvening the Order for.
"Which is?" Harry prompted, interrupting her before she could finish spiraling into anxiety. It was surprisingly easily to fall back in their old routine, despite the six month hiatus.
"I.. I need to do a little more research before I can say decisively." Hermione gave Harry a quick smile before going back to chewing on her lip.
"Ok. You work that angle, and Nev and I will go to Blackmoor."
\*/
"Hello?" Neville knocked on yet anther door in the apartment complex. Despite it being a Sunday afternoon, only a handful of people had been home (or possibly the others had just not been willing to open up to an unknown wizard). When the door opened a crack, he began his spiel. "Hello, I am Auror Longbottom, and I have some questions I would like to ask you. Were you familiar with Mazar?" That was the name of the wizard who had been renting the room where the body was found. Right now, he was their primary suspect.
The man in the apartment – he looked to be in his late twenties – was about to close the door on Neville when he glanced up over Neville's shoulder, giving Harry a closer look. "You're that guy. MW Potter?"
"Um yeah?" Harry smiled as he surreptitiously brought his hand closer to his wand. 'I hope this isn't trouble.'
But the man just smiled and opened the door. "Yes, I know Mazar. My name is Azwer. Come in, you and your companion." He nodded to Neville, "I have some tea on. Sit, sit." He gestured to a sofa with low coffee table in front of it. The apartment was an efficiency, so the main room doubled as a kitchen as well (and Harry could see a bed in one corner, half-screened off by a pair of bookshelves).
"Thank you for talking to us. You're the first to do so."
Azwer shrugged, "Many of the people living here don't trust the authorities. But I read English," he gestured at a sprawl of newspapers piled on one of the half-empty shelves. "So I know that you are our supporter in the Wizengamot."
"So what can you tell us about Mazar?" Neville asked as he took a sip of his tea.
"We're not close, but we knew each other in the old country, and we came to Britain together. He has always been religious, but he's not Al-Qaida or anything. I can't believe that he was responsible for something like what happened. He is just a regular guy. I would usually see him at Mosque, though lately he hasn't been around. Even his imam hasn't seen him since the murder." Despite the question coming from Neville, Azwer made a point of directing his answer to Harry.
"Is there anyplace he would go, if he was in trouble?" Asked Neville.
Azwer took a sip of his tea as he considered. Finally he replied (to Harry again), "I am only telling you this because I trust you to do what is right. He has a brother – they do not get along. They argue - the brother is a squib. But they are still family." He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled an apartment number, "He's probably at work right now – he works evenings at a muggle convenience store – but he'll be back around 10."
"Does everybody here know everybody else's schedule like this?" Neville asked, incredulous.
Azwer shrugged, "In this building here we're all from the same village, so we behave like family."
"Thank you for you your help. And for the tea." Harry added quickly. Azwer obviously valued politeness. They stood up and Harry bowed to Azwer, though the Persian wizards made a point of sticking out his hand to shake, British style.
"So, we have some time to kill. You want to grab some food… Or you want to illegally break into the brother's apartment, don't you?" Neville segued as they exited the building and Harry immediately started for the neighboring steps – the apartment building listed on the scrap of paper was just one door over.
Harry shrugged, "It's a little early for dinner, and who knows, he might be home." He walked up the steps into the neighboring lobby.
\*/
Harry knocked on the door of the apartment that Azwer had sent them to, his wand out just in case. There was no response.
Neville leaned over and put his head against the door. "I don't hear anything. Likely he's not home. You certain you want to do this?"
Harry looked around. The corridor was empty and all of the neighboring apartments were silent. With the peeling 1970's wallpaper, the whole building had an abandoned feel to it, like Grimauld place at its worst. Harry gave Neville a shrug, "I'm not an Auror. " He Alohomra'ed the door. "And besides, you saw – the people around here like me!"
Neville face palmed. "That will change rapidly if they find out that you're violating their right to privacy!"
"Ron's about to burn this community to the ground so that he can pose for pictures in the embers. We don't have time for the rules."
Neville sighed. 'How on earth does THIS guy manage to be one of the people making the laws?' He pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped in, his wand drawn. Harry flanked him, letting his (more experienced) brother take the lead.
As Neville peered into the bedroom, careful not to touch anything, Harry scowled. "Something looks off here." Literally. His regular vision wasn't matching up to the faint ghost that was his mage sight. "Revelo homonim," Harry slowly turned, scanning the room before crouching down next to a threadbare tweed couch."Finite Incatatem!"
The couch turned back into a man sprawled on the floor. The man matched the description of their missing serial killer suspect. Harry poked him with his wand as Neville cast a diagnostic spell. "He's dead. No riger mortis – he's been here for a while."
"He's been Avada Kedavra'ed," Harry confirmed, "That's not something you do to yourself."
"And dead people don't transfigure themselves into couches either," Neville added continuing his diagnostic spells. "I would guess that he's been dead probably since the night of the ritual murder." He looked up at Harry. "This is suddenly getting much, much worse."
"I don't follow."
"We're not dealing with just a single would-be Dark Lord, or even a group of half baked extremists. This feels too professional. I think we've stumbled into a well-organized conspiracy."
Harry nodded. "The only question is who's running it?"
"I don't know, but let's see what we can find here," Neville turned to examine the apartment. There probably wouldn't be anything, but maybe they would get lucky.
"Nev, I think we're going to need backup on this. Call it in. Tell them that you went in because the door was unlocked."
Neville nodded. That was technically true. "Ok. I'll drop by your place once I have the preliminary data from Forensics." The Aurors always had somebody from the Department of Mysteries on call for that sort of work, and they were pretty fast. "And we can figure out what to do next then. "
"Make it tomorrow night - I have a several important votes on the docket tomorrow and I need to make sure I have everything ready for it." Harry paused. "Also, I'm going to invite Hermione. She will have some good ideas to contribute as well."
Neville quirked an eyebrow at that. As far as Auror regulations went, bringing in Harry was already stretching things, but Hermione.. 'Well, Dad worked with the Order, and that turned out fine.' Besides, if Harry and Hermione were back to talking, that was a win as far as he was concerned.
Neville nodded, and Harry disapparated, leaving his brother to report in by himself.
\*/
"The third Motion before the Wizengamot for consideration is that Spell Casting should be treated as a Craft, with all the privileges and liabilities thereof. Any seconds?"
"Seconded," came from the back bench.
It was the following day – a very manic Monday - and Harry was sitting attentively in the court chamber. Lepough had introduced this measure, and as planned, it had come in just before lunch, when nobody was paying much attention, especially since Lepough was a doddering old man who had meticulously attended every Wizengamot session going back 80 years, but had just as meticulously not ever contributed anything of note.
Lord Parkinson stood up to start the debate, but he was a moment too slow, as Harry was already standing. "The court recognizes Lord Black." (Which was the Wizengamot Seat that Harry occupied).
"It boggles the imagination that while purveyors of childish enchantments like Zonkos can get recognition for their work, reputable spell casters have to argue over payment. Does not common decency call for all spell casters to be recognized – and fairly compensated – for their labors? It is only common sense!" He sat down, ceding the floor to Parkinson after 'seeding' the discussion. Because that wasn't really the gist of the motion, but Parkinson hated Zonkos – he railed against them at least once a month - and there was no way that his pride would let him be 'less' than them.
Parkinson hurruphed, "Lord Black is correct. Decent, upstanding spell casters need to be recognized for their hard work. They should be allowed to file patent for their color changing spells, and payment should not be delayed for their cooling charms." He pontificated on in that same vein for some time. Fortunately, as Harry had expected, he had not actually read the motion. Otherwise he would have noticed that the meat of the motion was not about compensation but that spell casters would now, like other craftsmen, be liable for damages that their spells caused if mis-cast.
Or maybe he wouldn't have noticed. Lord Parkinson wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. He was a large, slope-browed man who reminded Harry of the documentary about silver back gorillas that he had once watched when over at the Dursleys. 'Pansy must have inherited her porcine features from her mother.'
"All in favor?" The chief parliamentarian's call drew Harry's attention back to the Wizengamot chamber. It was a voice vote, and the Motion easily passed among those few still in the chamber.
Harry smiled and nodded to Bones. That had been his (though Harry had choreographed it so that it would pass). Harry would have supported this proposal anyways (most likely), but Oliver didn't know that, so he had traded his vote in return for Bones' on the next motion. That was the important one – it was about the creation of a public Floo network throughout all of England. It would extend the current Floo network, which mostly serviced private residences, to include public 'floo stations' to allow lower income wizards to travel more easily.
Harry already had the support of the Muggle rights faction – only about 25% of Muggle born went to Hogwarts, with the rest either going to other (less expensive) schools or engaging private tutors for the basics, like charms, and going to Muggle schools otherwise. And even of those that went to Hogwarts, many could never wrap their heads around apparation. As a result, some 90% of muggle born wizards rarely or never apparated. And since most of them lived in apartments that lacked a fireplace, they also lacked a private Floo hook up.
The fact that this benefited the Persian wizards, who lacked the familiarity with England to be able to apparate easily, was something that Harry had felt no need to mention.
Or at least, he had planned not to. But as he was thinking on it just now, it occurred to him that maybe if he could weave the two narratives together – the plight of the Muggle born and the foreign wizards – maybe he could drum up enough sympathy among the Muggle rights agitators to keep the Wizengamot from passing any racist legislation targeting the Persians.
\*/
That evening, Harry arrived at Hermione's apartment (after a quick dinner with Gabi). "You actually passed it!" Hermione was beaming. As soon as Harry stepped through the door, she enveloped him in a hug.
"Careful, Gabrielle already thinks we're having an affair."
"Why, I never.." Hermione half-teleported backwards before giving her blouse a yank to straighten it as she gathered herself. On second thought, who cared what that french floozy thought. "I didn't think you would be able to pull off the Floo network. Not when the Purebloods realized how expensive it would be."
"No, I pricked their sense of noblesse oblige just the right amount, and then they actually became MORE interested once they realized that it would be expensive." Harry rolled his eyes 'Wizards', "But that's not why I'm here. We need to get together with Nev and go over what we know about the conspiracy.
"What conspiracy?"
Harry spent the next half hour updating Hermione on what they had discovered in Blackmoor.
"That.. actually jibes with what I found. That ritual – it was done with traditional arithmancy!"
"So? Arithmancy is arithmancy."
"Not quite. I got a couple of books out of the library, and as I thought, the Persian wizards work off of slightly different set of axioms. It doesn't really show in their charms, but their ritual magic looks different. But none of those were in the ritual that you gave me - this ritual was written by a British wizard!"
Harry leaned back in the over-stuffed chair as he listened - 'I miss Hogwarts furnishings' - before pulling himself back on topic. "It sounds like we have more to discuss than I though. Nev gets off in about an hour. I asked him to come to your place so that we can plan what our next step is."
"Why us? I'm a professor and your a.. Mooo" Hermione resisted the urge to snicker – the situation was too serious. She let the fact that Harry was inviting people to her apartment slide – as a professor, she was used to having uninvited visitors. And besides, it was Harry.
"Because we watched Dumbledore's memories. We know better than anyone what can make a person become a Dark Lord, and how Dark Lords operate." Harry paused, "and because we'll be able to tell if this is Voldemort, come back from the grave again."
Hermione nodded. She knew that none of those were the real reason. Oh, they were true enough, but the actual reason was because Harry Potter had a 'saving people thing'. It was what had made her fall in.. Hermione coughed, clearing her throat.. To become friends with him. "I doubt it's Voldemort. But it could be one of his Death Eaters, using the same tricks. But since we have an hour, can I offer you anything? Tea?"
\*/
An hour later, an exhausted looking Neville had joined them . "And the hits keep on coming. I have more bad news," Neville leaned forwards, resting his chin on his hand, making him look like a younger (and blonder) version of James Potter. They were all crowded around Hermione's tiny table, with her bed transfigured into a couch to make more room in the small space given to Hogwarts professors. "Just this morning, I got a suspicious report. I was inclined to ignore it, based on the source, but this makes me reconsider."
[[this morning]]
"Hey, Longbottom, you got a minute?" Neville looked up from his coffee and scowled. The work day hadn't started and he was already dealing with one of his least favorite people.
"Walk with me, Malfoy. I need to get to the Ministry." He had had a late night last night, helping catalog everything at the crime scene, trying to see if there was even the slightest trace of a lead in that apartment. He did not need the ferret ambushing him as he exited Starbucks.
The slightly ragged blond nodded and cast a privacy jinx as he fell into step. "Your offer of 10 Galleons for tips on Dark activity still good?"
"Yeah, but don't jerk me around."
Draco rolled his eyes, "We're not kids anymore, Longbottom. I'm not here for some petty feud"
Neville didn't bother to dignify that with a reply. Last time, Draco had reported one of his co-workers for dealing in Dark artifacts. It turned out that the man did have a small quantity of muggle narcotics (weed), but nothing that was illegal in the magical world, but the overnight prison stay in the middle of a theater production had given Draco the opportunity to take over his job.
Draco held out a business card. "This came to me courtesy of a courier. He claimed that it was from Voldemort. He said I should tap it with my wand if I want to get in touch."
Neville examined the card – there did appear to be some sort of sympathetic magic on it. Carefully, he placed it in a slightly wrinkled manila evidence folder that he had pulled out of his pocket. With a sigh Neville fished out 10 Galleons. "Here. And thanks." Neville knew that Draco wasn't doing this for the money (or at least, not JUST for the money). After Hogwarts, the ponce had evolved some sort of moral code, even if it was vestigial.
As Draco turned to leave, he paused and commented awkwardly. "I don't want to have anything to do with that walking clusterfuck. He's already fucked up my family pretty bad."
But his choice in insults were still as plebeian as ever.
\*/
[[now]]
"So where do we go from here?" Neville concluded. He knew what the answer should be, but he didn't want to be the one to say it. It was just too intimidating.
"We finish what we started - we need to find the rest of his Horcruxes."
Hermione put her head into her hands, "I should have spent the past five years working on that instead of marriage contracts!"
Neville gave a questioning glance at Harry.
The other Potter just shrugged – he knew generally what she was working on, but Hermione hadn't really talked to him about her research. But he trusted her - he figured that if she found something useful for his situation, she would let him know. "You had no way of knowing. Also, researching them would draw attention to horcruxs, and the less information that is out there on those things the better."
Neville nodded, pulling out his Auror's notepad. "Let's go over what we do know so far about them. We know that Voldemort created the diary, the locket, and the ring, which have all been destroyed. That leaves the Hufflepuff cup, somewhere in Gringotts, and Rowena' diadem, which was last seen somewhere in the environs of Hogwarts, and one more that we don't know anything about.
"Yes, we do." Harry interrupted. "Nagini – Voldemort's huge ass snake. Remember how Ron ended up looking out through its eyes when it went to attack his dad? He should only be able to do that with Voldemort's eyes – there must be a sliver of Tom in that snake."
"Mmm. Hermione nodded, "Also, we are acting on the assumption that the Diadem is a Horcrux. It obviously meets Voldemort's criteria for making one, but we can't be certain that he ever found it."
"Noted. Speaking of Ron, should we bring him in on this?" Neville asked.
"I don't know," Hermione bit at her knuckle as she considered, "he is annoying, but the prophesy implies that we're going to need his help sooner or later. You know, 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches' bit."
"Maybe that was the case before, but I think that got used up when Ron blew Voldemort's head off that last time. Now, Ron is all about Ron these days." Harry replied, to Hermione's reluctant nod.
"Yeah, that was my opinion as well. He's just too difficult to work with." Neville checked off a couple of items on his note pad. "I think our best option is for Harry and me to work on getting at the Cup, while Hermione will see if she can find any leads to the Diadem."
"I think we're forgetting the key point here: What exactly is Voldemort's game plan? Is he involved with the killings, and if so, why?" Hermione interrupted.
Neville nodded, "I think the Ministry is going to be our best resource for that. I'm the point man for the serial killer investigation, so I can share what we find."
Harry considered, "Should we resurrect the Order?"
Neville considered, "No. They still haven't recovered emotionally from the Troubles. They will need solid proof before they get on that merry-go-round again. And besides, the first thing that they will insist on is bringing Ron onboard. Let's wait. But maybe we can reach out to Harry's Rangers. I can see if any of them are available."
Harry nodded. "It's worth a shot but I don't expect much luck there either: I know Terry is starting as a junior partner in his fathers law practice and he's working 60-80 hour weeks - I tried to get together with him for beers a couple of months back, and it was impossible. And Ginny's playing for Puddlemere. Not exactly the sort of thing that gives you a lot of time to hunt Dark Lords either.
"And being a MW does? I'll see who I can find and reach out to them. Maybe they'll surprise you," Neville made a note.
"Except Lavender.." Hermione added hesitantly. She didn't want to come across as having something against Lavender. She didn't. Not anymore. But what Lavender knew, Ron would know. And pontificate about.
"Obviously."
"I also want to try another tack on this domain ritual. There are a couple of elements that are… baroque. I want to see if I can figure out where they came from. It might give us a sense of who the wizard trained with."
"Could you tell if it was Voldemort?"
"No. But if I had access to the Black library, I could see if the caster was drawing on the writings of any Dark Wizards."
Harry nodded. "No time like the present – I'll take you"
"But Sirius.."
"Hasn't lived there in years," Harry stood up, brushing cookie crumbs onto the floor and ignoring Hermione's sigh of frustration as she vanished them.
\*/
With magic, the trip to Grimauld place was quick. The building was as dusty as Harry remembered it being. He banished the dust from the library, but there was no point in doing the rest of the house, as there was no telling when it would next be occupied.
"You don't have to stay with me," Hermione commented as she flipped through a book that had caught her interest. "I can lock up after I'm done." She paused before adding, jokingly, "Unless you don't trust me."
"With books? Never!" Harry smirked, "We're going to be here a while. I'm going to put on a pot of tea, and then you can put me to work as a second par of eyes."
"There aren't that many book here," Hermione replied dismissively, but in the end, Harry was correct: While the library was indeed relatively small, the books there had last been shelved by Sirius, meaning that most of them were put away in no discernible order.
By the time they had finished going through the selection, it was after midnight and Hermione was grateful of the tea.
\*/
"You didn't have to escort me back to Hogwarts," Hermione adjusted the pair of books under her arm. Even after all that digging, they had still come up mostly empty – the Blacks were not big on ritual spell casting.
Harry held open the door for her. "It's late. I figured you could use the company, just in case."
Harry held the door for her, forcing her to pass by him very closely. Hermione smiled and nodded her thanks awkwardly.
It was weird, being with Harry like this all evening. It wasn't like she had never gone out with a guy before. She had dated Roger (who had turned out to be a grade A jerk), and Oliver (though he had barely lasted a month - he had only wanted to shag a teacher, for his bucket list).
Hermione wasn't certain if her few relationships had failed quickly due to some magical effect of the marriage contract – despite her research, she still knew shockingly little about how they worked – or that she had sabotaged them because she knew that they couldn't last anyways.
Or if she just had a talent for attracting jerks. She HAD wanted to date Ron, back in fourth year.
So that all meant that she knew how to act with guys. Hermione took a deep breath to clear her muzzy head. But this was different. She wasn't certain what her relationship with Harry was anymore. They had been friends and colleagues for a very long time. But after this recent… 'spat' for want of a better word - something was different now. She was really enjoying the time she got to spend with him, even if it was for work. And was it just her imagination or was Harry was a lot more attentive, listening to her?
'It's not like that - he's dating someone!' Though she remembered the last time she had lost control. He had broken up with Ginny the very next day and… 'Arg! Not thinking about that!' Hermione needed to get into her apartment and stick her head under the cold water to help her focus!
They were slowing down as they were approaching her door, and Harry showed no inclination of leaving. Hermione's heart sped up for absolutely no reason.
"I want to talk to you about a Motion I am bringing before the Wizengamot soon. I know you're worried about the 'Persian issue', so I am sponsoring legislation that will create a mentor program for the immigrants, with muggle born as the primary sponsors, on the assumption that they will be more familiar with the difficulties of integrating into Wizarding England." Harry began as they stopped outside her apartment door.
Hermione stopped, "What? How will that even work?" The question was automatic – it was a delaying tactic to let her mind change gears, because she clearly had misread the situation 100%.
"That's not exactly what the Motion says – I'm billing it as a jobs creation bill for economically disadvantaged Muggle born. That will get the support of the more progressive Purebloods. And the Muggle born rights contingent will be fine with it as well, as long as we keep it quiet. Otherwise they will take umbrage with the condescending tone."
"So you want me to do what? Not talk about it?'
"Exactly."
Hermione examined Harry for a moment. They were standing very close in the summer quiet of the ill lit Hogwarts corridor. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss, if either dared move. "I'm not that combative. I don't attack everything just because it's not PC!"
Harry shrugged, "You kind of are." But before Hermione could respond, he added, "That's part of what I really like about you." They stood in awkward silence for another moment before Harry looked away. "I, uh, have to go home. Gabrielle is waiting for me."