5

It's okay to lie if it's to save your skin

As expected, Granger devised a plan: first go to the Ministry of Magic to read the files on accidental magic; then go to where Pansy had the most memories, her house. Pansy didn't object to the plan, she didn't even say if she agreed or not, distracted by that bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Pansy glanced to the left, reading the sign "Madame Malkin, Robes for All Occasions." She felt so much resentment towards that store, she hated having to visit it so much. The smell was the worst, every fabric in that place was soaked with so much perfume that it gave her a headache just remembering it. She looked through the windows, first at the dresses displayed in the window, then at the faint reflection of herself.

"Straighten up."

She obeyed at once, throwing her shoulders back and lifting her chin. Her mother took her shoulders and gave them a loving squeeze. Pansy flinched, but forced herself to stand straight. Her reflection showed a long white dress, which fell gracefully without conforming to her body, like the sheet on a bed. Her hair was pulled back, out of her face, not a hair out of place. Her mother caressed her cheek with her thumb, to which she smiled in response. Pansy's lips were tinted pink, subtle, like her closed-mouth smile. The color of her eyes was green, a dull shade without shine, like that of a forest that has adapted to the cold. Her black eyeliner gave her a penetrating, dark look. The paleness of her skin highlighted the soft blush on her cheeks, which existed thanks to the powder, not the blood in her body. All the color that brought the reflection to life was makeup.

"Perfect."

Pansy's gaze slid over her reflection, down to her bare feet peeking out from beneath the cloth. She still hadn't put on her heels. Her fingernails were a little purple.

She felt disconnected, her head down, focused on her own feet, which now had dirt-stained sneakers from walking so much the day before.

"Parkinson?"

Pansy raised her head, searching for the voice and crossing her arms over her chest in the process. Granger was looking at her.

"Aren't you ashamed?"

Her mouth went dry and her throat closed. Merlin, her stomach…

"Excuse me?" Pansy said, confused.

Granger raised one of her eyebrows and added,

"I knew this was all your fault."

Dark. The door closed slowly, immersing Pansy in the gloom. The room was small, so she only had to take a couple of steps back to support her back against the wall. She slid slowly down it until she sat on the floor. She felt the cold penetrating from below, chilling the wood she stood on. She hugged her own legs in a fetal position and hid her face in her own knees.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

She shouldn't have done that. It was her fault, that's why she was here now. She had to reflect, she had to stop doing bad things. She hugged her legs tighter. Her fingers and toes felt numb. She forced herself to move them, to keep the blood circulating. Tonight would take forever, but she had brought this on herself...

It wasn't right to cause problems for her mother, she brought this on herself, this was her fault, only hers...

"I'm sorry," she croaked.

The door opened. The light came back. Granger's brow furrowed.

"What are you talking about, Parkinson?"

"You're right, it's my fault."

Granger looked concerned, even moved closer to her.

"I asked if you were ready to go. I didn't say anything to make you apologize." She studied her face closely. "You're pale. More than normal."

A twinge at her temple forced her to raise her hand and stroke her forehead. She felt confused. Her memories exploded in her head so clearly, so real...

"Didn't you say something else?" she asked, trying to collect her thoughts, trying to delineate and separate the past from the present.

"No." Granger narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Did you hear anything else?"

"No, no…" she lied quickly, taking a step back, beginning to smile. "I apologized because I didn't hear you right, nothing more."

"Parkinson, we are not close, I don't know you, but you really do lie very badly. Tell me the truth. Your head just hurt. What did you hear?"

"Nonsense. Let's go to the Ministry. I'm ready."

Granger was angry, her hands anchored on her hips to show it.

"Well, whatever you want, don't tell me. I just remind you that all this…" She made a circle in the air with her finger, pointing around them. "It is related to your head. If you feel a bit of a headache, it may be pertinent to our getting out of here alive."

"Let's go to the Ministry," Pansy said stubbornly.

Granger snorted and reached into her pocket for her wand.

"Fine, let's go."

Without further ado, she disappeared with a quick flick of her wand, leaving her behind. Pansy sighed and rubbed her face with her hand. No matter what Granger thought, she wasn't going to talk about her embarrassing memories. What good would it do to tell her about her family, other than to humiliate her? She looked at her wand and stroked it with her fingers. Smooth, without the scratches that had accumulated over time. It was impossible to deny that this world was tied to her head. Was it even real? It was logical that she would see her memories. And they were just that, memories. The details wouldn't get them out of here.

She took a deep breath, to relax her chest and stomach. She raised her wand and apparated to the only Muggle street she knew of in London, Whitehall, where the phone booth to enter the Ministry was located. When her feet hit the ground, she stumbled a few steps, covered her mouth with both hands, and swallowed. She almost vomited. Almost. So many trips, physical and mental, were making her dizzy. She combed her fingers through her hair and walked over to the booth, where Granger was already inside. She calmed herself with a slow breath before opening the door, forcing herself to focus as she didn't want to act like she had at Hogsmeade. She entered the booth and closed the door. Granger was still annoyed so she didn't look at her out of the corner of her eye, not even when their arms brushed. She just concentrated on quickly dialing a number. A cold voice echoed in the cabin:

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your names and the reason for your visit."

"Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson. We're investigating," Granger said.

"Thank you. Visitors, take the badges and put them on your clothes in a visible place, please."

Two badges came out of the machine, from the slot where change was dispensed. Granger took them and handed one to Pansy.

"Why did you listen to the programmed voice?" she asked as Granger clipped the badge to her clothing, in place of her heart.

"We have no reason to break the rules."

'Visitors to the Ministry,' the voice interrupted, 'you will have to submit your wands to the security desk at the end of the Atrium.

Pansy looked at her own badge, which said "Pansy Parkinson, Investigator." Any retort she had died in her mouth. It was a pretty cool title, so... why not? She hooked her badge in the same place as Granger. She looked at her reflection in the glass windows of the cabin. It wasn't clear, but something was visible. She wanted to check if the badge was put on correctly or if it was crooked. She did not like the imperfections in her person. She raised her hand to adjust the collar of her clothes when she noticed it was out of alignment, but the ground shook. The sidewalk began to rise outside the windows, blotting out the reflection Pansy was guiding herself with, until the cabin was totally dark. There was an ugly screech and they sank toward the Ministry. Some lights filtered through the small gaps, from the outside, but in general everything remained black. It was fast, Pansy even held on to the wall to keep from tripping. Fortunately, the movement stopped smoothly.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a good day," the voice said, and the door opened.

The place was silent. Huge, empty and silent, like an expensive library or a private hospital. The light was dim even though it was daytime, and the huge fireplaces in the walls were unlit. Only the splash of the water falling into the pool of the great golden fountain could be heard. Pansy looked up: golden symbols twisted sinuously on the electric blue ceiling. The Ministry was beautiful when there was no chaos of employees working.

"Aren't we going to the Atrium for the wand check?" Pansy asked, remembering Granger's strange mania for rules.

"How funny you are," she said in a monotone, her face blank.

"I just follow the rules."

"Then when you finish your check-in with the imaginary security guard, come to the elevator with me."

"Wow, you're so funny too," she said with a half smile. But Granger didn't laugh, not one bit. "Come on, don't be mad. You will get wrinkles on your forehead."

"You're not telling me the truth and you're trying to cover it up by making jokes. We have to get out of here and you're not taking it seriously."

"I'm not taking it seriously? I want to escape as much as you do."

"You're hiding information."

"It's personal," she murmured, crossing her arms.

"We are in your memories. Of course it's personal! We're not in a position where you can act picky."

"It was flashbacks! Okay?" she got fed up. "The day I got my wand was horrible. I remembered what happened that day with my mother, I saw it as a dream, it mixed with reality. Happy? Is that enough information?"

"Thank you," she said. "Now follow me. Let's go to the Department of Mysteries."

Pansy suspected that Granger was still a little angry, but she didn't press it. If she thought about it, Granger always had that serious face, like that of a strict and very old teacher. Maybe it was best to just accept it and live with it, ignore her need to keep her from being mad at her, because... Since when did it matter if Granger was mad or not? She spent her adolescence happy to make her angry.

"Department of Mysteries you said?" she remembered, as she walked through the gilt gates into the elevator lobby. "That place is dangerous. Only Unspeakables can enter there."

"I know," Granger said.

"And are we going to go anyway?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps what we are looking for is in another department…"

"The different mysteries of the world are studied there: love, space, thought, time, death... I doubt that what we are looking for is in the Department of Magical Transportation or the Department of Magical Sports and Games."

"Maybe the Improper Use of Magic Office?" Pansy tried. "I don't want to jump to certain death without first trying the other less deadly options."

"Do you think that something as serious as a magic that disappears humanity will be filed next to the records of children who break a window or begin to float with accidental magic?" she asked wryly as they entered the elevator.

Granger hit the number nine button. The security gate closed.

"Stop treating me like a fool…I'm not…" Pansy muttered.

The rattle and screech of the elevator let her words die unanswered.

. . .

Why did the door to the Department of Mysteries have to be terrifying? Black in color, gigantic, with flaming torches on the sides... It was like a crypt door. Couldn't they make it less intimidating? Pink with glitter and rainbow stickers on the frame, maybe?

Granger moved toward the door, and Pansy reluctantly followed. The door opened on its own, causing the little hairs on her arms to stand up, but she didn't stop and stepped through the threshold. They ended up stopping at a large circular entry hall. Everything was black, including the floor and the ceiling; Around the curving black wall were a series of identical black doors, latchless and unmarked, set at regular intervals, and interspersed between them were sconces with blue-flame candles. The cold, bright light from the candles reflected off the gleaming marble floor, giving the impression that they had black water under their feet.

"Don't even think about closing the door," Granger said.

"I wouldn't. Not even if they paid me."

In front of them were about a dozen doors.

"What do we do, Grange? Shall we check each of them?"

There was a loud crash and the doors began to drift to one side. The circular wall was rotating. Pansy didn't give it a second's thought: she jumped quickly toward Granger and grabbed her arm hard.

"A trap, we activated something," Pansy yelled.

Granger hissed, because Pansy was digging her nails at her like she was a cat. For a few seconds, as the wall spun, the blue flames around them blurred into a single, neon-like line of light; then, as suddenly as it had started, the din stopped and everything went quiet again.

"It's not a trap. This department keeps moving the doors so we don't know which one we entered through," Granger said.

Pansy turned her head, looking into her eyes.

"How do you know?"

"Because I've been here before."

"Oh…" Pansy turned her gaze forward, nodding slowly, wondering where they should go next. "Where do we go then?"

"When I see what's behind it I'll know which one is right." Granger looked at their linked arms. "Do you mind?"

Pansy let go of her arm, as if it had burned her.

"It's not... I'm not afraid," Pansy stammered. "Everything moved so I lost my balance."

"It was the wall that moved, not the floor," she said with a sneer and a tight smile.

"Of course you know a lot about the deadly traps of the Department of Mysteries. What am I trying for?" she lamented, embarrassed. "Wait," she said, turning her head abruptly to face Granger. "Why do you know so much about the Department of Mysteries' deadly traps?"

"Because, as I just told you, I've already been here. Do you listen to people when they speak to you?"

The silence spread.

"I'm not stupid, you have good grades but I know you're not an Unspeakable," she accused.

Granger snorted at her words.

"You're right. I'm not an Unspeakable, genius." Pansy frowned at her joke. "I know all this because during my fifth year I came with Harry and other friends to save Sirius Black's life."

The silence stretched out again.

"Okay, you don't have to lie, you're an Unspeakable," Pansy said. From Granger's weary face, she defended herself, "Oh, please! Am I really going to believe that at the age of fifteen you snuck into the Department of Mysteries to save one of the most dangerous criminals in the wizarding world?"

"Sixteen."

"What?"

"I wasn't fifteen, I was sixteen."

"Granger…" she growled.

The aforementioned ignored her and began to walk towards one of the doors. Pansy turned pale and ran to her.

"Stop doing that to me," she complained, standing next to her, just a step away.

Granger opened the door. There was much more light in this room, so Pansy blinked several times to get used to the change. She noticed that from the ceiling hung some lamps suspended from golden chains. The room was almost empty: there were only a few tables and, in the middle of the room, a huge glass tank filled with a dark green liquid in which a few pearly white objects drifted lazily.

"What are those things?" Pansy muttered.

"They are brains."

"Brains?" She repeated with wide eyes. She prayed they weren't human brains.

"Yes," she said with a frown, as she closed the door.

"Aren't we going to check?" she asked, confused.

"Flagrates!" Grange said.

She made a drawing in the air with her magic wand and a red 'X', luminous as fire, appeared on the door. As soon as it closed behind them again, they heard a loud crash again and the wall began to spin very fast, but now they saw a blurry red line in addition to the blue line; when everything went quiet again, the x was still on, marking the door that had already been opened.

"It's not the room we're looking for."

"How are you so sure?" Pansy gave a quick scan of all the remaining doors and returned her focus to Granger. "Are you really an Unspeakable?"

"Nope!" She sighed. "Seriously Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville and I came here to save Sirius Black."

"Neville? Do you mean Longbottom? The Longbottom we both know? The one who freaked out with Professor Snape?"

"He's a thousand times braver than you," she said, and began to walk toward another door. "I think the doors are the same as that time."

"So you know exactly what's here?" Pansy asked hopefully.

"So it seems..." Granger muttered. She didn't look happy about that possibility.

She opened the door to another room. Pansy tilted her head to see. It was larger than the previous one, rectangular and dimly lit, its center sunken into a huge stone pit some twenty feet deep. It had some stone benches that were like a stairway down. There was a stone platform at the end, on which stood an arch, also made of stone, which looked very old, since it was cracked and about to crumble. The arch, supported by nothing, was hung with a tattered curtain; it was a kind of black veil that, despite the stillness of the environment, rippled a little, as if it had just been touched.

"I remember this room, too," Granger said tensely.

Pansy paid him no attention. She strained her ears because something caught her attention.

"Are there people here?" she asked, taking a hesitant step forward. "Do you hear the whispers?"

Granger grabbed her by the clothes.

"No, it's dangerous, don't go near that thing."

"I hear voices... I think we're not alone," she said, wanting to go further, moving again. Maybe someone could help them. Surely those who called them would know something.

For some reason, she was filled with a need to move towards that majestic veil. She wanted to touch it, to check what was there, she wanted... "

"If you touch that thing, you're going to die."

Pansy stepped back, as if something had hit her in the stomach, and resumed her place behind Granger. Her words startled her.

"Sirius Black died from it," she explained. "I was told that veil connects life with death. What you hear are the whispers of the souls of the dead."

"Don't you hear it?" Pansy asked as the whispers and murmurs grew louder. Without being aware, she moved, trying to get into the room again. Granger grabbed her arm firmly and pulled her back, but Pansy resisted.

"No," she warned her.

"I think... I think that's the way out..."

She used more force, breaking free of the hold.

"It's dangerous, Pansy!" she reminded her in a shrill, tense voice as she lunged at her.

She blinked, stopping struggling. Granger yanked her body, forcing her out. She closed the door and drew a luminous X again. Once again, the wall turned and came to rest again. Everything was calm and silent. Pansy swallowed hard.

"Why...?" she whispered dizzily.

"My friends, especially Harry, were affected in the same way. I don't know why, but that thing clouds some people's judgment." Granger looked at her fervently. "If for some reason we see that thing again, make an effort to remember what I told you. It will kill you. Do not approach it for anything in the world, those whispers you hear call you and attract you to your own doom."

'Okay…"

"I'm serious, Parkinson. Be careful, please."

"I know! I know…"

Granger sighed and looked at the remaining doors, silently deciding. Pansy still felt confused, her body felt light, tingly under her skin, as if her judgment had been clouded by alcohol and gentle caresses. That thing had seriously affected her. If it wasn't for Granger yelling at her... Her name? "It's dangerous, Pansy!" Yes, that's what she said. Had Granger worried about her? Genuinely? She wanted to ask her, but she had already gone to another door. Granger tried to open it and couldn't, so she traced a new X of fire over it.

"Why not try to force it?" Pansy said, moving closer, remembering how they had broken into the door of The Three Broomsticks.

"I know it's not that one. There was a door that we could not open, it was this one."

Granger looked worried. Very much.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Why do my memories match this room?" she questioned anxiously. The doors are the same, the same doors with the same thing inside...

"Are you insinuating that...?" Pansy hesitated, and at the same time the wall began to rotate. "Not only my memories, but also yours?"

"I didn't see flashbacks like you, but I think we shouldn't rule out the possibility that my memories also have something to do with all of this."

Pansy giggled hysterically.

"Are you kidding?" she asked, raising a hand to her head to comb her hair nervously. "Why is it that the more we investigate the worse this gets?"

The wall stopped and Pansy was feeling despair rising in her chest.

"That must be it," Granger said, pointing to one of the remaining unmarked doors.

She went over there and pushed it open. Pansy's heart was pounding, but she took courage and went to the door. She was blinded by the flicker of the lights inside. As her eyes adjusted to the glare, she saw clocks glittering on every surface; they were large and small, free-standing and table-top, and hung in the spaces between bookcases or rested on tables; that was why an intense and incessant tinkling filled that room, as if thousands of tiny feet were parading through it. The source of the light was a towering glass bell at the back of the room.

"Follow me," Granger said, stepping forward confidently.

They moved toward the source of the light: the bell jar, taller than she, which stood on a table and inside which swirled a dazzling current of air.

"Never mind, I remember it exactly like that," Granger said tartly.

Her heart was beating so violently that she couldn't even formulate a prayer. All this gave her a bad feeling.

"It's this way…" Granger guided her.

She stepped in front of a new door and pushed it open. In front of them appeared a room with a very high ceiling, like that of a church, where there were nothing but rows of long shelves filled with small, dusty glass spheres. These shimmered faintly, bathed in the light of sconces arranged at intervals along the shelves. The candle flames, like those in the circular room they had left behind, were blue. It was very cold in this room.

Granger crept forward, and Pansy followed suit.

"If it's in aisle number ninety-seven…" Granger whispered to herself, looking at the shelves. "Yes, that's fifty-four... We have to go to the right."

They walked down the long aisles of shelves in silence. They passed by shelf number eighty-four... by number eighty-five...

"Ninety-seven!" Granger whispered and they both stopped.

"What is all this?"

Granger moved again, not answering her. Pansy suspected that she was not being ignored, but rather not heard... What if...?"

"Granger?" she insisted, as they passed between two towering shelves filled with crystal spheres, some of which shimmered faintly.

"It should be around here," Granger said quietly, using a much lower tone than normal. "We could run into him at any moment…"

"Him?" Pansy was surprised. "Who are you talking about?"

"This way... I'm sure..." she repeated. They had reached the end of the shelf, where there was another candlestick. There was no one there. There was only a resonant and mysterious silence, heavy with the dust that was in that place. "It could be…" Granger whispered hoarsely, scanning the next hallway. "Or maybe…" She ran to look at the next one.

"Granger…" Pansy insisted.

"What?" she growled.

"You're scaring me…" she said weakly.

"I think... Sirius isn't here."

"Granger, this isn't funny," she spoke tensely, trying to stop her.

She ignored Pansy and walked to the space at the end of the rows of shelves and looked between them. Abruptly she ran to the opposite side past Pansy, who was watching her worriedly.

"Hermione!" She exclaimed, scared.

"What?"

At least her voice this time was more normal, but she kept moving. She walked to another part of the shelves, just past row number ninety-seven, toward the crystal spheres on the shelf. Granger stood on her toes and stretched her arms out as far as she could. She picked up one of the small glass spheres that shimmered with a faint inner light. It was covered in dust and looked like no one had touched it for years. She stared at the label, as if in a trance.

"What is it?" Pansy asked uneasily.

Suddenly, Granger screamed. She let out a high-pitched shriek so terrified that it startled Pansy, causing her to gasp in fright as well. The crystal ball fell to the ground and shattered.

"No, no, no…" Granger stammered, flattening herself against the bookshelf, beginning to tremble. She gripped the boards so tightly her knuckles turned white. "This is impossible. It's not real."

Pansy walked over. She tried to grab her shoulder to calm her down, but her hand was swatted away.

"Don't touch me, madman."

"Granger," she called, trying to touch her again.

"Do not touch me!" she yelled.

"Granger!"

"No!" She tried to run away, but Pansy stopped her, putting her arm out in front of her. "Please no."

"Hermione," she tried, trying to be familiar to her.

She stopped squirming. She looked at Pansy. It seemed as if she had witnessed something horrifying. The skin on her forehead glistened with light sweat. Her breathing was ragged, her neck and chest heaving.

"I won't do anything to you. There is nobody here. You're not in danger," she said very softly and calmly, fearing that she would freak out again.

Granger let out a shaky breath, her chin quivering and her eyes watering.

"Bellatrix... Cru... Bella..." she sobbed.

Pansy's chest tightened, not knowing what to do, not understanding what was wrong with her. Granger let her weight fall onto the shelf, looking defeated. She walked over, grabbing her shoulders. She looked like paper, it seemed that she would fall to the ground with the slightest breeze. Granger gripped her own arm tightly, already crying uncontrollably. Moans of anguish escaped from her trembling lips, while she scratched her sleeve as if she wanted to rip it.

"What...?" she asked fearfully. "What did you see?"

Granger didn't reply. She lowered her head and pressed her arms against her chest. She was giving herself a desperate hug, clenching her hands into tight, trembling fists.

"What do I do?" Pansy leaned in, trying to see her face. "Please, I don't know how to help you…"

She was stunned when Granger leaned in, pressing her forehead to her shoulder. "It's not real," she whispered. "It's not real. It's not real. It's not real". Pansy hesitantly patted her gently and slowly on the shoulder. She did it for a couple of minutes and then stopped, letting her arms hang uncomfortably by her sides, not knowing what else to do. Granger didn't acknowledge her actions, just kept repeating the same thing for a long time: "It's not real." It went lower and lower, until she ended up just moving her lips without making a sound. When she fell silent, it was as if time had stopped. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. After a while Granger exhaled loudly, breaking the quiet, and Pansy managed to reach up and pat her shoulder comfortingly again. Granger snorted, half tired, half amused.

"You're just as tactless as Ron."

Slowly she raised her head. Pansy crossed her arms, tangling her fingers in the fabric of her clothing, pinching the fabric of her sleeve. She felt very uncomfortable, so she decided to look at her own feet. She also felt silly. Why did she have the feel of a rock? Surely Granger thought she was useless and couldn't do anything right, not even the simplest things... "

"Thanks for trying to help me," Granger said; her voice sounded tired.

That unsettled her. She scratched herself, not letting go of her clothes and not knowing how to respond to the compliment. Pansy looked up shyly and noticed that Granger was wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

"Uh... " she said, straightening up as she patted her pockets. "Here."

"Thanks," Granger said again, taking the handkerchief.

"It's nothing," Pansy murmured. Both looked like fish out of water, not knowing how to act with the other. Granger even turned her back on her while blowing her nose. Uncomfortable, she waited for her to compose herself before changing the subject. "What happened to you?"

"My memories..." she replied after a few seconds.

"Do you see things too? What did you see?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

The silence spread.

"Are you serious?" Pansy asked.

How was it possible that Granger had memories of Bellatrix Lestrange? First Sirius Black and now Lestrange? What the hell happened in Granger's life?

"Do you think I'm lying?" Granger asked, offended.

"No..."

Granger raised an eyebrow.

"A little?" she admitted.

She shook her head and turned her back on Pansy.

"Let's keep exploring," Granger decided. Just like at Hogwarts, her analytical side had taken over the situation. No more crying, not when you could be rational.

"But..." Pansy hesitated.

"We must find a way out of our memories as soon as possible."

"Are you angry? I didn't mean to call you a liar."

"In this room there are prophecies, important information. I thought there might be something here. I wonder if there will be more doors in the end, maybe there will be other types of files, this room is a storage room so...

"Granger…"

"What?" she asked, turning to look at her.

"I believe you, I believe you. Okay? I'm sorry."

"Good." She turned on her heel and began to walk. "We must keep looking."

Pansy sighed and hurried after her, since there was no point in trying to overcome Granger's stubbornness.

"Are you sure you are alright?" she wanted to make sure.

"I will be when we get out of this damned place."