Harry Potter and the Aevum of Eternity

by Thundercracker-TC

The survivors of the second wizarding war suffer the scars of Voldemort's reign as they struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives. Harry is spread thin across multiple responsibilities as he and Ron join the Aurors, where new challenges and mysteries await. Not all is as it seems though, and powerful forces lurk in the darkness, biding their time... Cover art by a.heesher

40. Chapter 40

Harry Potter belongs to JKR

Chapter 40

Harry ducked inside the small guard house and reflexively wiped his shoulders. The impervius charm repelled most of the raindrops, but a few managed to slip through onto his Auror robes.

Lieutenant Jenkins, dark circles under his eyes and a frown etched on his face, wordlessly signed out and passed the clipboard to Harry, then exited the way Harry entered. For a second, the sound of howling wind filled the small room, then Jenkins pushed the door closed and it dropped to a low muffle again.

"Morning Lieutenant," Clark said from his seat on the other side of the shack.

"Clark," Harry said as he signed in, "you're here early."

"Couldn't sleep," Clark said, "I read about yesterday's trial in the Prophet, must have been something."

"Yeah," Harry said as he scanned through the log from the previous shift.

"Wish I'd known, would've been there in the gallery to see her face when they read out the verdict," Clark said, "you were there, at the trial?"

Harry nodded.

"I was there," he said, "It was umm… well, let's say it's never easy to see someone sentenced to this place for life."

"Well yeah, I suppose," Clark said, "but you must've felt some kind of…vindication. I mean, she killed your godfather, right? He was innocent all along?" Clark said.

"I killed Sirius Black!"

"Can we talk about something else?" Harry replied, a bit more harshly than he'd intended. Clark immediately took a step back.

"Right, yeah. Sorry sir," Clark said, "I'll take the first round, then."

He cast a rain repelling charm and stepped out towards the prison. Harry frowned and thumped his hand down on the table as the wind died when the door closed behind Clark.

"That could have gone better," he thought.

As a muggleborn, Clark, and possibly his family, would have been hunted by Death Eaters and Snatchers the prior year, of course he was happy Bellatrix had been caught and sentenced. Truth be told, if Harry hadn't met her under her alias, hadn't watched her save Hermione's life, he probably would have been happy too. As it was, he wasn't sure how he felt.

It felt like ages until Clark returned, but then, Azkaban shifts always seemed never ending. An hour later, Harry climbed the steps towards the top of the prison and called forth his patronus near the top. The cloaked dementors gave him a wide berth, staying well away from the radiant circle of light the glowing stag projected. He made the solitary trek to the cell block designated for Death Eater females and locked the door behind him with an echoing clank, then walked the row of empty cells. Inside the locked block, it wasn't strictly necessary to keep his patronus up, but he figured it might do some good. There weren't many female Death Eaters; if they captured Alecto Carrow, she'd be housed here too. Until then, the block was home to a single resident, in the farthest cell from the door.

"Back to gloat again?" Bellatrix's voice echoed as he approached.

"It's me," Harry said as he stepped into view of the cell.

"Potter," she said.

Bellatrix, clad in a calf-length grey prison smock, stood up in the centre of the cell and glared at him like a caged predator. Tiny droplets of mist floated in and collected on the green tinted floor. They glittered in the light of the patronus except where her bare feet had wiped them. Harry sent the stag through the transfigured bars and into the cell, and Bellatrix's expression softened as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back to bask in its radiance. Harry watched as she reached out to touch the stag and smiled, not a full smile, just enough to reveal a few teeth, straight and white. As he looked at her still-beautiful face, lit by his patronus, he felt, right down to his bones, that sending this girl to Azkaban for the remainder of her life was the wrong decision.

"Not that there's anything I can do about it," he thought. Unless something changed drastically, he knew he was fated to stand in this exact spot every time he was scheduled for patrol, as the days turned to months, and then years... Fated to watch Bellatrix Black waste away while the dementors and Azkaban itself took their toll. The thought, or something similar, seemed to pass through Bellatrix as she let her hand fall to the side and her shoulders slumped.

"How… how is she?" she asked.

"She's… well, she's upset, of course," Harry replied, "after the trial, she said she wanted to be alone."

Bellatrix nodded.

"Tell her to forget about me," she said.

"No bloody way," Harry thought.

"Tell her yourself," he said, "I imagine she'll be by for a visit at some point."

"Why?" Bellatrix asked, but Harry knew what she meant: why bother?

He stared at her for a moment.

"If it were her in here, would you?" Harry asked.

She sighed heavily; they both knew the answer.

"Leave me alone," she said, then she lay down on the metal cot and curled up on her side.

Harry left her to finish his patrol, and for the next few rounds, Bellatrix was either asleep or refused to respond to him, until his last round of the day.

"Back to gloat again?" Bellatrix asked as the echo of the lock faded away.

"It's me," Harry said as he approached the cell.

"Potter," Bellatrix said as he came in view of the cell. This time hugged her knees on her metal cot. Harry sent his patronus into the cell again, and again she smiled as she basked in its light.

"How… how is she?" Bellatrix asked.

Harry quirked his lips to the side in a half grin.

"We had this conversation before… you forgot?" Harry asked.

Bellatrix looked at him with a confused expression. "We did?" she asked as she closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, "I don't…"

Harry grimaced.

"It's the dementors," he said.

It was common for inmates of Azkaban to have memory issues, especially happy memories, as the dementors fed from them.

She looked up at him again, and he saw the worry cross her face as clearly as if she'd said it, that she would soon forget Hermione too. She lay down on her side and curled up to face the wall.

"Go away," she said.

Harry returned to the guardhouse and signed out as their relief took over. Azkaban shifts were always difficult, but today had been especially so.

---

Hermione opened her eyes and immediately regretted it, as her dream, walking through the sunlit streets of London and holding Julia's hand while her heart fluttered, started to vanish to wherever her dreams went when she couldn't recall them anymore.

"It had been so real, right down to the scar on her hand," she thought as she rubbed her thumb and forefinger together.

She glanced at the clock, eleven forty-two. She sighed and slid out of bed, considered whether to even bother putting on a robe, decided she'd better, and then shuffled downstairs. A letter that hadn't been there the night before sat on the floor below the slot by the front door. The heavy brown paper bore a Ministry seal. She tore it open and skipped to the body of the message:

Counsel shall be allowed one visit to the convicted per calendar month, plus one visit per calendar year, for the duration of their sentence.

Hermione set the parchment down on the kitchen table and stared out the window as Crookshanks brushed past her ankles.

"No doubt it's an automatic process to owl the defence barrister after sentencing," she thought.

Her stomach protested; she hadn't eaten anything the night before.

"However bad you feel, it's a thousand times worse for her," she thought.

With that cheery thought, she resolved to drag herself to Azkaban for a visit. A few days prior, she'd asked Terry Boot to see if he could find anything that would help, but she didn't hold out any hope that he would come back to her, ever. Despite logically knowing it was a bad idea, she still missed Julia terribly.

"A trip to Azkaban, just the thing to help alleviate a bout of despair," she thought wryly.

She poured a bowl of milk and set food out for Crookshanks, made herself a quick ham and cheese sandwich, used the cutting board to slice an apple as dessert, and ate silently. She left the dirty dishes in the sink and drew her wand to apparate. After a quick floo from Diagon and a walk across the Ministry Atrium to submit her wand, she took the lift to level two, past the DMLE, to the waiting room where the portkey to Azkaban lay. She stepped up to reception.

"Hermione Granger to see Bellatrix Black," she said. The middle-aged receptionist noted something in a book and motioned to the rows of chairs. Hermione ignored the stares from the two other witches in the room and took a seat. After waiting about twenty minutes, a pair of wizards, other visitors, exited the portkey room, and the receptionist called her name.

Hermione stood up and walked through the doors to the iron ring set in a slab of rock and grabbed the cool metal with one hand. A moment later, she felt the familiar tug backwards through her belly and the sound of distant crashing waves washed over her. Even in summer, the cold water of the North Sea made the air raw and chill. She turned to see only one exit from the stone platform, a stone walkway just wide enough for two people to pass side by side. The wind buffeted her as she made the trek, and whether from the sheer drop on both sides of the walkway or the knowledge that Azkaban lay directly in front of her, she felt her apprehension rising before she could even see the prison itself. A small wooden shack materialised out of the fog, and she knocked on the door.

The familiar face and sky-blue eyes of Elizabeth Moore appeared as the door opened a crack to emit a shaft of golden light, and then all the way to usher her in. Warm, dry air hit her as she entered the small structure, and when Liz closed the door, the muffled wind and waves seemed leagues distant.

"Hi Hermione," Liz said with a smile, "is this your first visit?"

Hermione nodded as another young Auror in the back of the room leaned his chair on two legs while casually pointing his wand in their direction.

"Okay, you'll need to leave any wands and containers here," she said as she held up a small metal box.

"I checked my wand at the Atrium," Hermione said.

"That's fine, most people do," Liz said. Hermione dropped her mokeskin pouch into the box and nodded.

Liz snapped the box shut and picked up a golden antennae-like device.

"Hold out your arms," the Auror said, "it's a probity probe, checks for disillusion and the like."

The little rod made no noise as Liz ran it over her legs and torso, then her right arm, then her left.

'BEEP'

Liz raised an eyebrow.

"Damn, the transfiguration for my arm," Hermione thought, "thank Merlin I wore long sleeves."

"I… I have a glamour. I can end it," she said.

Liz nodded.

"I can always recast it later…" Hermione thought as she tugged on the mental thread to unravel the transfiguration and glamour concealing her scars.

Liz ran the probe over her arm again, this time in complete silence.

"Now I need to frisk you," she said, "sorry, procedure."

"It's okay," Hermione said. It was an odd sensation, having someone she knew press and run her hands down her limbs and against her body. She mentally forced herself to keep her arm from jerking away as Liz slid her hands down her sleeve; she thought the Auror must have been able to feel every bump and imperfection beneath the fabric of her robe, but if she did, she didn't let on.

"Right, done," Liz said, "this way, stay close."

They exited out the other side of the guard house and Hermione followed the young Auror through the ocean mist as the prison grew in front of them. A chill ran down her spine as she spotted the dark, cloaked shapes circling about the upper levels, stark against the grey clouds. From the outside, the prison appeared jet black, but once inside, Hermione noticed a slight green glow emanating from the metal structure. Liz led her to the first intersection, turned right, and entered a stairwell.

The Auror lit her wand as they climbed.

"There are a few rules," Liz said, "Bellatrix Lestrange is classified as Most Dangerous. Do not give her anything, do not accept anything from her, do not approach the bars, do not touch her, do not attempt any wandless magic."

Hermione took it all in but said nothing. Liz fell silent, and Hermione became so lost in thoughts of seeing Bellatrix at the top, of how she would react, she didn't notice Liz had stopped until she nearly stumbled into her.

"I read that you argued to defend her," Liz said as she turned around. Hermione looked up and squinted as the lumos spell lit up the Auror's bright blue eyes. Hermione didn't respond as Liz searched her face.

"She must have made quite the impression at school," Liz said.

Visions of kissing on the rock on the castle grounds, of sharing the tent, waking up naked together, flooded Hermione's mind.

"Must have," Hermione replied.

Liz studied her for a few more seconds, and Hermione got the impression she wanted to ask why, as a fellow muggleborn, would she defend someone like her.

"Well, no doubt you have your reasons," the Auror said as she turned around and continued climbing.

A dozen more steps and she flicked her wand to plunge them into near-darkness.

"Expecto patronum," Liz whispered, and a radiant, blue-white vixen appeared in the stairwell to walk next to them, up the final steps to the top level. Hermione didn't actually see any dementors in the hallway, but she certainly felt them, even within the globe of protection offered by the patronus. They finished the ascent, and the centre of the building, a triangle of space that led directly to churning waters below beckoned as they walked past the open doorways. Hermione felt an inexplicable pull towards the abyss, and reflexively drifted closer to the cell block doors on her right. They stopped by a metal door which looked like every other metal door in the prison.

"This is it," Liz said, "I'll make sure there are no dementors inside, and then you'll have fifteen minutes."

Hermione nodded. Liz lifted the latch to unlock the door, then led the way into the cell block, and closed and locked the door behind them with a resounding boom and clank of heavy tumblers.

"Wait here," she said. Hermione hugged herself as the comforting warmth of the patronus grew smaller and dimmer in the distance. She heard a few soft words as Liz spoke to Bellatrix, and then the vixen grew in brilliance as she returned.

"Alright, she's all yours," Liz said, "remember the rules."

The door opened with a loud clank, and then closed behind her with another echoing boom. Hermione blinked repeatedly to try to help her eyes adjust to the gloom as she walked the length of the block.

"Every cell is empty…Is she really in here by herself?" she thought.

"Hello?" Hermione said as she approached the last cell.

"Go away," Julia's voice echoed in the darkness.

Hermione sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes, and felt her lower lip quiver. Two words, and her heart nearly melted.

"Julia," Hermione said quietly.

"Julia White doesn't exist," Bellatrix said. Something hitched in her voice, Julia's voice, when she said it though, and Hermione felt a smile spread across her face. She stepped in front of the doorless cell bars and peered into the darkness. Bellatrix must have been hiding in one of the shadowy corners, perhaps near the commode, as Hermione couldn't see her.

"Are you… okay?" she asked.

There was a moment of silence.

"Stupid mudblood," Bellatrix replied, "asking such a stupid fucking mudblood question. Am I okay? I'm in bloody Azkaban, no thanks to you."

Hermione took a step back as a shadow rose in the rear of the cell and approached the bars. Barefoot, wild and unkempt hair, dark as any raven, skin already dirty, she looked very much like the Bellatrix Lestrange Hermione recalled from years ago, right down to the hardened look in her heavy-lidded eyes. Hermione's gut twisted at the sight of her, and for an instant she felt the echoes of the Cruciatus Curse penetrating her body.

"You think I loved you? You're wrong," Bellatrix said, "I forced myself to get close to you, used you and your pathetic need for love to secure someone who would keep me out of prison if I were ever discovered, and you couldn't even do that right."

Hermione's mouth dropped open; the words cut, but not so much that her brain stopped functioning.

"Like I could ever have anything pure with someone as tainted and unclean as you," Bellatrix continued as her lip curled into a sneer, "now fuck off, even the sight of you disgusts me."

She turned her back and folded her arms. Hermione pushed the slurs and insults aside, and it didn't take her long to figure out what Bellatrix was doing. She took a step forward.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid? How long have we known each other?" Hermione asked, "I remember everything about our relationship. Everything. And you think you're going to drive me away by pretending you hate me, after you went and learned Shakespeare after watching a film? Frankly, I'm insulted you think so low of me."

Like a flash, Bellatrix spun and flung herself at the bars. Hermione's eyes widened and she barely registered the movement as Bellatrix slammed her shoulder against the unyielding metal to make a grab at her. Her fingers barely brushed the fabric of Hermione's robe as the golden girl backpedalled and fell heavily on her arse.

"I'll fucking kill you," Bellatrix growled, but Hermione now had a good look at her face, and she saw not fury or hate, but desperation.

"No you won't," Hermione said as she stood up and dusted herself off and matched her glare with defiance.

Bellatrix struggled to hold her expression, and then her face crumpled and she slid to her knees against the bars.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You're too brilliant for your own good, you know that?" Bellatrix said, "Leave, forget about me. You know I'm never ever getting out of here. Just live your life and forget I ever existed."

"I can't. I-" Hermione said. She swallowed. She knew she shouldn't speak the words that came to her mind, for they would possibly make whatever of the girl in front of her that was Julia White feel worse, but she couldn't stop herself.

"I see and hear you everywhere, in my dreams, on the street, when I'm reading," Hermione whispered.

"I'm in love with Julia White," she thought, but she didn't give voice to the thought. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut and struggled with what to say next, until she noticed Bellatrix's hand wrapped around the prison bar, all except for her pinkie, which stayed almost fully extended.

"What happened to your hand?" Hermione asked.

Bellatrix sniffed and flexed her hand. Four fingers opened and closed, while the fifth barely moved.

"I'm not sure… I must have hurt it somehow," she said.

Hermione studied at her hand as best she could in the dim light, as she continued to flex her fingers. It looked as if it had been broken long ago and never healed properly.

"Why did you come? You know it's only going to hurt," Bellatrix asked quietly.

Hermione sighed, then took a few steps out of line of sight of the cell, and sat cross legged on the floor.

"Ask me again," she said.

"Why did you come?" Julia's voice asked.

"I miss you terribly," Hermione replied as she leaned, then lay back to stare up at the green-tinted ceiling, "I'm not ready to give up on your getting out, and I wanted you to know I'll be back as often as I can… they'll let me visit once per month after this one, so…"

"So…" Julia's voice said.

The silence stretched, and with only fifteen minutes, Hermione desperately wanted the conversation to continue.

"Did you know the cure worked?" Hermione said, "my parents' memories are restored."

"That's… that's brilliant. I'm happy for you," Julia's voice said, though she sounded anything but happy.

Hermione started talking about her trip to Australia, then her parents' house down under, and the fact that they hadn't been to London yet, but before she got halfway, the lock clanked in the door.

"Time's up," Liz said.

"Hermione," Julia's voice said as Hermione sat up, and an arm poked out from the cell, looking for something to grasp.

"I'm sorry…about what I said, I didn't mean those things," Julia's voice said.

"I know," Hermione said as she held back tears, "I might have done the same."

Hermione looked at the hand reaching through the bars, but, mindful of the Auror at her back and the rules she was supposed to follow, stepped backwards, away from the cell, then turned around. She ducked her head to hide brimming tears.

"Get me out of here," she said to Liz.

---

Hermione held the letter, if one line could be called a letter, in her left hand. She only deduced it was written by Terry Boot by comparing the handwriting to his previous letter. Now, five minutes before the meeting he requested, she sat at the muggle café outside the Ministry where she'd been reunited with Crookshanks after losing the trial. A moustached brown-haired muggle businessman wearing a suit and tie sat down across from her.

"Excuse me, I'm waiting for…" she said, "…Terry?"

"Shh," the glamoured barrister, "no one knows I'm here."

"Why all the cloak and dagger?" she whispered, "is there some sort of danger?"

"Not in the physical sense," Terry replied as he glanced around, "Speaking of danger, are you sure she isn't one?"

He didn't need to say who.

"Yes, I'm sure," Hermione said, "have you found something?"

"Absolutely sure?" Terry asked.

"Honestly Terry, get on with it," Hermione thought.

"Yes, absolutely sure," Hermione said.

Terry nodded.

"It's an old Wizard's Council decree," Terry said.

"Wizard's Council," Hermione repeated as she wrinkled her nose in distaste. The Wizard's Council was the precursor to the Ministry of Magic, and ruled at a time before the Statute of Secrecy was enacted. It was an archaic, literal feudalist institution, heavily influenced by the old noble houses, and was an order of magnitude more callous towards muggles than the Ministry.

"Yes, Wizard's Council. You know how their decrees remain law unless specifically countered by the Ministry?" Terry asked.

Hermione nodded; it had been in Milford's Introduction to Trial Law.

"Well, there is a decree that might help you," Terry said, "you'll have to look up the specific clause yourself, but the long and short of it is, prisoners who are abused in prison, or their families, they can be compensated."

"I didn't know that, actually," Hermione replied. All the research she'd done had been on trial law, not on sentencing and imprisonment.

"Well… they can, and whoever injures or kills a prisoner has to pay restitution, or even serve time themselves. It's to discourage them being taken advantage of, and to discourage people from attacking inmates as revenge," Terry said.

Hermione nodded, it made sense, but she didn't see how that would help her current situation.

"That was the old Wizard's Council decree?" Hermione asked.

"No no, that's more current. Apparently, some centuries ago, the Bulstrode and Shafiq families were more prominent than they are now, and there was concern among the Bulstrodes that the Shafiqs would injure their heir while he was jailed, or perhaps it was the other way 'round… it's not exactly a well-documented period," Terry said as he scratched his head, "anyway, one or the other or both pulled some strings to get a decree passed, that if ever an unmarried son or daughter of a noble house is proven to be mistreated while serving a prison sentence, their Head of House can demand punishment be handled in-house. If the Chief Warlock agrees there was mistreatment, then..."

"Then what, they just… let them go?" Hermione asked, and Terry nodded.

It was an obvious loophole, but given the amount of power wielded by the noble houses during the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance, and the far more egregious decrees that were passed in those times, it was exactly in keeping with the kind of legislative abuse that ultimately brought about the end of the Wizard's Council and gave rise to the Ministry of Magic.

Bellatrix's injured pinkie figure came to mind.

"You're sure it's still in effect?" Hermione asked.

Terry nodded.

"It was never rescinded because it never came up," he replied, "think about it; how often do sons or daughters of noble houses end up in prison?"

Hermione immediately thought of Sirius.

"He was already blasted off the tapestry though… those that did end up jailed were probably already cast out by their family, otherwise their influence would have kept them out," Hermione thought, "or they just didn't know about the decree."

Terry might have a point there.

"Head of House… that's-" Hermione said.

"Harry," Terry said, "he's the one who would have to request it. The Ministry recognised the end of her marriage when they confirmed her, err, death, last May, so technically she's unmarried, but you'd still have to prove abuse, and old man Ogden would have to agree."

It was an extremely long shot, only the tiniest spark of hope, but it was something to steer towards, a way forward.

"I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do," Terry said.

"You've done more than enough Terry, I don't know how to thank you," Hermione said.

"Yeah, well… I just hope this doesn't backfire on us spectacularly somehow," Terry said, "you're… you're really sure she's not the same person, right?"

Hermione nodded again, but Terry still didn't look fully convinced.

"He came through when he said he would, that's what matters," Hermione thought.

"I've got to get back before someone notices I've been gone too long. Good luck," Terry said as he stood up. Hermione took a deep breath.

"Thank you again," she said.

"Anytime," Terry replied.

---

The bell tinkled as Hermione entered Flourish and Blotts and stepped out of the summer heat, into the familiar, dimly lit bookstore. She'd checked every day after ordering the Comprehensive Record of Wizard's Council Decrees, Volume III; she'd scoured the public library first, of course, but they only had the Ministry records, so she needed to specifically order the large tome. She trusted Terry, but she wanted to be certain. For three days, she'd left disappointed, but as she approached the counter this time, she immediately saw the dark leather-bound volume sitting against the wall. The tall, dark-skinned woman working the register smiled as she lifted it and placed it gently next to the register.

"I expected you'd be by again this morning," she said.

"Thank you," Hermione said as she fished around for the twenty-five galleons, an extremely extravagant price for a single book. Receipt in hand, she didn't even bother leaving the shop before she cracked it open. The leather creaked and her fingers slid across crisp parchment as she let most of its weight rest on her hips. A deserted table near the rear of the shop seemed perfect, and Hermione set the book down to scan the table of contents. It took over an hour, but she found the decree Terry mentioned, exactly as he'd described. She placed the receipt to mark the page, closed the book, and carried it in two hands to the street. Then she tucked it under one arm and apparated home. Hermione climbed the steps and set the tome on her old wooden desk, the one where she'd completed her muggle homework before she received her letter. The leather creaked again as she opened to the specific passage and re-read it.

"Settle down Hermione, you don't even know if someone is injuring her in her cell," she thought, "you can use your monthly visit tomorrow or the day after and see if there's any evidence aside from her finger."

---

Hermione's footsteps echoed as she crossed the distance to Bellatrix's cell. The metal door at the entrance to the block boomed shut.

"You…I didn't think anyone would visit," Bellatrix said as she stepped into view, but it was Julia's voice, and Hermione's heart skipped a beat at the same time as her stomach clenched at the sight of her. Hermione smirked.

"What, the last visit doesn't count?" she asked.

Bellatrix looked confused.

"Last visit?" she asked.

"It must have been a happy memory, sucked away by the dementors," Hermione thought.

"Never mind," Hermione replied, "let me see your hand."

Bellatrix took a few steps from the small window, limped, actually, as she favoured her right leg. Noticeably thinner, cheeks already sunken, her prominent cheekbones now stood out even more.

"Why?" Bellatrix asked with one hand on her hip.

Hermione stepped closer to the bars.

"I think I might know a way to get you out of here," Hermione whispered.

Still confused, but now with a more curious expression, Bellatrix limped a few more steps and extended one pale arm out between the bars.

"Other hand," Hermione said, "make a fist. What happened to your finger, has it always been like this?"

"I don't think so… it's difficult to remember," Bellatrix said as she watched her hand flex whilst her pinkie stayed almost immobile.

"What about your leg, you're limping," Hermione said.

"I… I don't recall, perhaps I slept wrong. The sleeping arrangements are less than satisfactory, as you can imagine," she said.

She looked down at her feet.

"Why are you here, really?" Bellatrix asked.

"I… I don't want to say anything, in case it comes to nothing… just don't give up, okay? If you forget everything else, remember: don't give up," Hermione said.

"And I thought I was the one supposedly going mad," Bellatrix muttered.

Hermione left her in the cell and walked back to the metal door, and tapped twice on it.

"I'm finished," she said.

Back at the Ministry, she passed the lift and walked to the DMLE.

"Is Harry Potter in?" she asked, her voice coming out slightly higher pitched than she intended. Excitement bubbled up within her; Bellatrix had almost certainly been injured in her cell, but first things first, she needed Harry, the Head of House Black.

---

Harry took another sip of coffee and wished it was a glass of firewhiskey instead. He leaned back in the slightly uncomfortable DMLE briefing room chair and looked at Hermione, who sat adjacent to him.

"Let me get this straight… you found an old law-" he said.

"Wizard's Council Decree," Hermione said.

"Whatever," Harry said, "it says that if Bellatrix Black is being abused in her cell, I can request her to be released, and if the Chief Warlock agrees she's being abused, they just… let her go?" he asked.

Hermione nodded with a mixture of excitement and apprehension splayed across her features.

"That's insane," Harry said, "I can't believe the Wizengamot never closed that loophole."

"They never had to, it's never come up," Hermione said, "and anyone who knew about it probably didn't want to remove it, in case they needed to use it one day."

"Well… what would it take, a majority vote?" Harry asked.

"I… I suppose so, yes," Hermione replied.

Harry leaned back in his seat and ran a hand over the day-old stubble on his jaw.

"Great, just what I need," he thought. Hermione obviously wanted him to help her get Bellatrix out of Azkaban, but he was faced with the decision of whether to help her or close the obvious loophole. If he chose to help spring Bellatrix, he'd be almost unilaterally overturning a recent Wizengamot trial verdict, and that would make him unpopular with some members and make amending the WEA or pushing anything else through that much more difficult. Not to mention the worst-case scenario: if they were wrong and she somehow reverted to the old Bellatrix Lestrange and went on a killing spree, all that blood would be on his hands. On the other hand, if he did nothing, or if he closed the loophole himself, Bellatrix would certainly die in Azkaban, and his relationship with Hermione might never recover.

"One thing at a time," he thought.

"How do you know she's being abused?" Harry asked.

"I've seen her twice so far, each time she's had more injuries," Hermione said, "her pinkie looks like it was broken and improperly healed, and yesterday she'd developed a limp."

"Azkaban does strange things to people, she might have injured herself, either accidentally or on purpose," Harry said.

"She hasn't-" Hermione said.

Harry held up a hand.

"It's not me we have to convince, we're going to need some stronger evidence than your word… a witness testimony or a memory," Harry said.

A triumphant grin crossed Hermione's face.

"She doesn't remember what happened, but luckily enough, someone has developed a cure for memory loss," she said, "all we have to do is get permission to bring a potion and a wand in."

"When did this become we?" Harry thought. The cold-hearted, logical choice was what was most politically convenient, specifically, do nothing, or close the loophole. At the same time, Harry wasn't sure if he could turn Hermione away in her moment of need, especially if it meant condemning someone to death, even if it was Bellatrix.

"Is it the right thing to do? You didn't think this Bellatrix deserved life in Azkaban, but a number of others, good people, do," he thought.

"I don't know. I need to think about it," Harry said, "and… if we are going to move on this, we'd better get the proof first. If someone else figures out what you're trying to do, they'll bring it up to the Wizengamot and that will be that."

Hermione nodded soberly.

"She looked bad, Harry," Hermione said, "I know she lasted years last time, but… I don't know how long we have."

Harry grimaced.

"I know, I've seen her every patrol," he said, "the patronus charm seems to help her, at least while it's there. I know you can only visit once a month, but maybe you could use yours to send her a message from time to time…"

Hermione sat up straight.

"Harry, that's brilliant," she said.

"You don't have to sound so surprised; I do come up with good ideas on occasion, you know," Harry muttered.

Hermione laughed, then quickly grew serious again. Harry smiled, then sighed.

"Listen, I still don't know if I'm going to help… to be honest I've half a mind to put together a proposal and close that loophole… It's obviously unfair, and if it wasn't someone you knew personally, you can't tell me you're okay with a law that lets old pure blood houses get their family members out of prison sentences," Harry said.

Hermione sighed and looked slightly guilty.

"I know… I know it's hypocritical, but honestly, they've had nearly three centuries to overturn that law and haven't done it, so…" she said with a shrug, "why shouldn't we get to take advantage of it one time before it's fixed?"

Harry pursed his lips in thought.

"Like I said, I need to think about it," Harry said.

Hermione nodded.

"Let me know… whenever," she said.

"Of course," Harry said. They stood up and she reached out to hug him, and they embraced tightly, her hair tickling his cheek. No matter what happened, Harry was determined to keep her as a best friend, along with Ron.

"Even if it means staging an intervention for her," he thought.

Hermione left the DMLE and Harry finished off his shift covering the emergency floo, and then instead of working on his incident reports, he left as the sky began to darken.

From Diagon Alley, he apparated with a pop. The change in atmosphere immediately washed over him as he reflexively breathed in the sea-salt air. The sound of gentle waves calmed him, like it always did. The lonely cottage where Bill and Fleur lived stood on a small hump, soaking in the last rays of the setting sun against the still-blue sky. Harry walked up the winding path to the front door and knocked. He waited a minute and knocked again, but there was no answer, so he walked around to the rear of the house to the garden, at the end of which stood a small, white tombstone.

Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf.

So busy was his schedule, Harry had only been by once to visit since the Battle. At the time, the ground had still been a bit rounded, but now it had completely flattened and grown over with healthy green grass.

"What should I do, Dobby," Harry asked. She'd been the one to kill him, with a thrown silver dagger, as Dobby rescued them from Malfoy Manor before Voldemort arrived to finish them off. He'd been brave, true to himself, and loyal to Harry to the point he died saving Harry's life. He sighed as he contemplated to the sound of the ocean, as blinking green lightning bugs came out of hiding in the nearby brush.

"What would you think if I let your killer out of prison?" he asked.

Dobby didn't have a malicious bone in his body; he wouldn't wish a dementor filled existence and death for anyone, not even Bellatrix Lestrange, and that settled it.

With dusk setting in, Harry apparated back to London for a bite to eat.

The following morning, he scribbled a note to Hermione before he left for work.

I'm in, but everything has to be by the book.

---

Hermione checked the letter box out front of her house and returned empty handed.

"Not that the Ministry would use a letter box," she thought as she stared at the slot in the front door, but she had started to grow desperate. At first, she'd been hopeful when Harry said he would apply for an exception to bring a wand and a potion into Azkaban, but as the days since their meeting started to blur together, she started to worry.

Safe in her bedroom, she pulled out her wand.

"Expecto patronum," she said, but only a silvery mist sprayed out from the tip of her wand.

"Focus, happy memory," she thought.

She repeated the incantation, and her patronus' brilliance filled the room and cast dark shadows on the wall.

"Tell Bellatrix don't give up, I'll see you when I can," she said. Her otter vanished into a point of light and took off through the ceiling. She didn't know if her messages were getting through, but as the days rolled by, casting the spell had become more difficult as her happy memories grew tainted by anxiety and despair. She checked the answering machine again, just in case she'd slept through a call, but once again, nothing from her parents or anyone else. She drummed her fingers on the counter.

"I can't just sit here," she thought. She changed into robes and headed out to the Ministry.

A few minutes later, she sat across from Harry in one of the DMLE meeting rooms. Dark circles under his eyes grew more pronounced every time she saw him.

"It's the Ministry, everything takes forever," Harry said, "I put in the initial request and they asked which potion I wanted to bring in, and whether it was certified by the Council of Master Healers or the Ministry, which, of course, it's not yet. They haven't said yes or no, so I suppose the decision is pending the Master Healer certification. Have you heard anything from them?"

Hermione shook their head.

"No, I'm planning to follow up later today," she said.

She huffed.

"There must be something we can do," Hermione said, "what if we requested a blanket investigation into abuse of prisoners at Azkaban?"

"We could…" Harry said as he rubbed his chin, "an investigation might uncover abuse for us, then we wouldn't need any exceptions… I'll ask about it."

"Great," she said, then she bit her lip for a moment, "I'm worried… I'm worried we're running out of time."

"I know," Harry said, "but I mean… if there's a legal path for us to follow, we have to follow it; we can't go running around doing whatever we want, that would lead to chaos."

"I know, I know," Hermione said as she wrung her hands, "and you and Ron are Aurors and I appreciate you're helping, it's just…"

"It feels like we're not getting anywhere," Harry said, and he put a warm hand on hers, and they stilled, "I get it. Remember what Dumbledore said though, happiness can be found-"

"Even in the darkest of times," Hermione finished, "Yes, I remember. He's gone though. It really is up to us."

"Don't give up," Harry said, and the sheer confidence he projected, as if he knew, more than hoped, he really knew there was a way forward and everything would work out for the best, infected her. For a split-second, she thought saw a bit of Dumbledore in the calm, tired experience behind his glasses.

Hermione closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly.

"Okay," she said as she opened her eyes, "I'll let you know if I make any progress with the Council."

Harry bumped his fist on the table and stood up.

"And I'll tell Dawlish I think prisoners are being abused," he said, "he'll move on it if he thinks it would reflect poorly on the DMLE; he dislikes the press as much as we do."

Hermione smiled at that.

"Who doesn't?" she said.

Harry had limited free time as it was, so Hermione left him to head to St. Mungo's. After an hour waiting to speak to someone other than a receptionist, she was told to return the following day. Hermione considered going back to the registration office to try and convince the young wizard who'd accepted her submission to try and dig up some information, but a better option presented itself right at that moment, as the dark-haired Healer with green tinted specs, who healed her shoulder after New Year's, walked past the waiting room. Hermione rushed into the hall.

"Healer Yarr," she said.

The white-robed healer turned around and smiled when she caught sight of her.

"Miss Granger," she said, "not injured again, are you?"

"No, I'm okay, and the shoulder is good as new, thank you," Hermione said as she flexed her arm.

Healer Yarr smiled and nodded, and apparently knew Hermione wanted to ask her something as she waited.

"I was hoping you might do me a favour," Hermione said, "err, you don't have to, of course, but um… I've submitted a cure to the Council of Master Healers, and.. they've pushed off the demonstration twice."

"They're notoriously slow," Yarr said, "it's almost a running joke around here."

"Right, but every time I try to get an answer, they tell me to come back tomorrow. It's been three days of the same thing now," Hermione said, "I was hoping you might… ask around or take a look and see what the delay is?"

Yarr looked hesitant.

"I'm not… what's the proposed treatment?" Yarr asked.

"It's a cure for obliviation," Hermione replied.

Yarr's eyes widened.

"And it works? Every time?' she asked, "side effects?"

"Yes. And no side effects," Hermione said as she internally breathed a sigh of relief. Yarr was certain to help her now.

"Hmm," the healer said, "I assume that would be something they would take up right away. Let me look into it."

Hermione nodded.

"Thank you, I'll pay you back somehow," she said.

Healer Yarr waved her off.

"A working cure for obliviation would be more than enough payment," she said, "I have patients to see now, but if you'd like to come back at the end of the day, I should have something… or should I owl you?"

It was already after lunch.

"I'll meet you here," Hermione said.

Yarr nodded.

"See you soon, Miss Granger," she said as she continued on her way.

Hermione ate in the hospital cafeteria, then returned to the hallway where she met Yarr and sat down in one of the wooden chairs against the wall. Attendants and healers crossed in front of her, but the most anyone spared her was a glance as they walked by, perhaps a shared whisper and that was all. Left alone, her thoughts once again turned to Julia, her smirk, the way she twirled her wand when she was bored or agitated.

"Stop it, she's a fabrication," Hermione thought.

She rummaged around her pouch and pulled out another one of Milford's texts, this one on landmark cases and precedents set over the course of the twentieth century. It wasn't exactly exciting reading and it made references to books she didn't currently possess, but it helped simultaneously keep her mind off Julia White and pad the number of titles on her purchase list. Every now and then, she glanced down the hallway, but it wasn't until the administrative wing of the hospital was nearly deserted that she spotted the young healer walking towards her. Hermione stowed the book and stood up.

"Walk with me," Yarr said quietly.

Hermione fell in step next to the healer.

"There's no official reason, but rumour is a number of the Council refuse to allow any kind of cure if Bellatrix Black is credited," Yarr said.

What?

"That's preposterous," Hermione said, "think of how many people could be helped, and-"

"I know," Yarr said, "unfortunately there's not much I can do, I'm only a junior healer."

"So… what's going to happen?" Hermione asked.

"They'll continue putting it off until you remove her name. It's actually common for promising treatments to take extra time to go through approval," Yarr replied.

"Ugh, why didn't they just say so?" Hermione asked.

"Officially, they can't cite that as a reason," Yarr replied.

"But why? You'd think they'd want to put new treatments in as soon as they're proven safe," Hermione said, "they should be trying to help as many people as possible, and cynically speaking, it's more money for the hospital."

"Well…" Yarr said, "There's a rumour, just a rumour, mind you, some senior healers might use unapproved treatments privately, outside of the hospital, perhaps even outside of Britain, to skirt the law," Yarr said, "sort of a… private, offshore consultation, for those who can afford treatments pending approval."

White hot anger seared through Hermione at that.

"What? So they'll… they'll profit off of my, our invention, while denying it to people who actually need care?" Hermione said, "for how long?"

"Keep your voice down," Yarr said as she glanced around, "months, maybe a year or more. It's not exactly common, but it supposedly happens more than you might think. At any rate, you should take her name off the proposal and submit it again."

"A year? I can't wait that long," she thought.

Stubbornness rose to the fore.

"No. If they think they can get away with this, they've got another thing coming… I'll publish it and make it available for free before I let them get away with…with… stealing our work," Hermione whispered, "and I'll make sure everyone knows how they tried to keep it to themselves when they could have helped people."

Yarr frowned.

"Common wizards might hurt themselves though, if they try to create a home brew remedy," Yarr said, "and you won't be able to receive any royalties or official recognition-"

"I don't care, better that than people who can afford a 'private, offshore consultation' or whatever they call it, benefiting while others wait," Hermione replied, "besides, I already have an Order of Merlin First Class, and have more fame than I can handle as it is, what do I need with more awards?"

Healer Yarr stopped and turned to face her.

"Hmm. This is where we should probably stop talking," she said, "I… sympathise with you, but I have my career to think about."

Hermione stopped to face Yarr. The brown-skinned young healer looked a cross between guilty and embarrassed.

"What, did you think you were going to become friends?" she thought.

"Well… thank you for all you've done," Hermione said, and she meant it. Without Yarr's insight, she would have been at a complete dead-end.

"I'm sorry I can't do more," Yarr replied, "I'll… if I ever have a patient whose suffered obliviation damage…"

"I'll help them," Hermione said.

Yarr nodded.

"Good luck, Miss Granger," she said.

Hermione nodded wordlessly, turned to find the floo, and took it to Diagon Alley. She wandered the streets for a good twenty minutes, ostensibly searching for a place to eat dinner, though she wasn't hungry.

"If St. Mungo's is that corrupt, what are the odds the investigation of abuse by the DMLE will turn anything up? Even if it does, will it be swept under the rug?" Hermione thought.

Harry said Dawlish hated the press… would the Head Auror consider finding and ending abuse of prisoners more important, or ensuring any abuse was never reported?

She found herself mentally cataloguing the potions ingredients she still possessed, left over from their experiments at Hogwarts.

"I just need lacewing flies," she thought as her steps took her through Diagon, "not that I'm planning to use Polyjuice potion, but… better to have some on standby, just in case, right?"

She probably could have gone to any apothecary, but perhaps spending so much time alone had started to make her extra cautious, or perhaps Terry's paranoia had started rubbing off on her.

"What if the Ministry is watching my purchases?" she thought.

She ducked into an abandoned shop, one filled with melted wax along one wall, and pulled out a black cloak from her pouch, one whose hood concealed her face. In Knockturn Alley, the shadows seemed just a little bit darker, and the buildings a little bit grimier, but beneath her dark cloak, Hermione fit right in with the witches and wizards who kept to themselves as they slithered here and there. Hidden inside the cloak's sleeve, she gripped her wand tightly; no sense in being caught unarmed. After passing by several extremely shady looking apothecaries, she settled on a relatively newer looking general emporium, one with a large 'J' on the sign out front.

Finding what she wanted from under the cloak's hood was more difficult than it appeared, but she didn't want anyone to see her. After walking the narrow aisles twice, she gave up and approached the counter.

"Lacewing flies?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think we have some, let me check," the slight young man said. Hermione didn't dare lift her head enough to see his face, because it meant he would be able to see hers.

He returned with a glass jar buzzing with the green insects.

"Five galleons fifteen," he said.

Hermione counted out sixteen galleons and left the change as a tip, then stowed the jar carefully in her pouch, exited into the alley, and apparated straight home. The first thing she noticed was the small red blinking light on the answering machine. She pressed the large silver button.

"Hi sweetheart, just wanted to call and let you know everything's okay. We're not going to be able to get away for a visit for at least few weeks, but let us know if you want to make another trip to Oz," her mother's voice said, "love you!"

Happiness at hearing her mum's voice again quickly gave way to disappointment as she learned she would not be seeing them any time soon.

"Did you really think they were going to drop everything and come rushing back to London?" Hermione thought. If she were honest with herself though, that was exactly what she'd expected.

"Equal parts hope and naivety," Hermione thought.

She traipsed up to the second story and glanced around her old bathroom.

"Well… it wouldn't be the first time I brewed Polyjuice in one," she thought as she rolled the throw rug up and started unpacking her Potions equipment on the tiled floor, "I'll just have to use mum and dad's shower for a month."

---

The scratching sound of Harry's quill on parchment reminded him of assignments from Hogwarts.

"I never imagined I'd feel this way, but I'd rather be writing sixteen inches on doxies again instead of these," he thought. Mid-year performance evaluations were due soon, and while he'd been initially excited at the prospect of additional pay for added responsibilities that came with the Lieutenant rank, at the moment, the extra galleons didn't seem nearly enough. He'd learned to mostly tune out conversations from others passing by his cube, but something caught his ear.

"…we're the ones getting abused, getting sent there all the time," one man said.

He lowered his head closer to the parchment so they wouldn't see him.

"Honestly, give me two minutes alone with the entire top floor and I'll fix our budget problem," another said, "they can bump my pay half what it costs to feed and water them and keep the rest. They're never getting out anyway, win for everyone."

"Except the dementors," the first said.

"Fuck 'em," the second replied.

Harry poked his head up after they passed by, but he didn't recognise them from behind. It had been over a week since he had requested the investigation into abuse of prisoners at Azkaban. Dawlish had sent him for questioning and wand inspection first, but somehow word had gotten around the DMLE about what was going on, and that Harry had been the one to request it, and he'd been receiving a lot of accusatory stares in the past few days.

A few hours later as Harry ate lunch at his desk, Auror Clark knocked on his cube wall.

"Mind if I come in?" he asked.

Harry rolled his seat back and Clark pulled Ron's vacant chair around the corner to join him.

"Just wanted to ask what's going on, word is you asked for an internal investigation on abuse of prisoners, that true?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied with a nod, "I think there's a good chance there's something going on."

Clark shook his head.

"The wand inspections are a bridge too far though, you have to admit," he said, "everyone's busting their arse around here, sometimes we have to cut some corners, that's life, and now we've all got Robards breathing down our necks about some charm or other that wasn't mentioned in an incident report, how's that making things better?"

"Bloody hell," Harry thought.

"I had no idea the wand inspections were going to happen," Harry said, "I'm not even involved with the investigation, I just raised the flag because a scandal is the last thing we need right now."

Clark pursed his lips.

"Look, I'm still on your side, but a lot of people have got it out for you now, especially the older chaps. Keep your nose clean, yeah?" Clark said, "because they're gonna be lookin' for any excuse to take you down a peg now."

Harry nodded.

"Like my life wasn't complicated enough," he thought.

"Have they found anything yet, abuse I mean?" Clark asked.

Harry shook his head.

"I have no idea," Harry replied.

The muggleborn Auror regarded Harry, as if weighing his next words carefully.

"Right well, let me know if you want me to put out some feelers," Clark said.

"Thanks, but I wouldn't want you getting in trouble on my behalf. Probably better just let Robards do his job," Harry replied.

Clark nodded and was about to say something else, but a letter with the Wizengamot seal rounded the corner and landed on his desk.

"I'd better read this," Harry said.

Clark took the hint and returned Ron's chair back to its usual spot while Harry opened the envelope.

"Notification of snap election to determine whether the current Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, shall continue in his role for a second term. All sitting Wizengamot members are hereby requested to attend…"

Harry put the parchment down.

"It's like Kingsley said," Harry thought. He glanced down at the parchment again… the date was tomorrow.

---

The following morning, Harry slouched back in his chair at the Wizengamot and openly scowled. Tiberius Ogden tapped the marble globe down with a crack that reverberated around the chamber.

"The Wizengamot hereby calls for an election of a new Minister of Magic within four weeks' time. The current Minister will continue to carry out his duties until the swearing in of the new Minister," he said, then slumped back in his chair.

"That could have gone better," Arthur whispered next to him.

Despite Harry, Ginny, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Longbottom, and a few other allies of the Order voting to keep Kingsley on, the final tally wasn't even close as both Macnair and Macmillian rallied their respective blocs to drive the Minister of Magic out. Winthrop too, voted for a new Minister.

"Short-sighted. Kingsley did the best he could with the cards he'd been dealt," Harry thought, but he quickly realised it wasn't about that, at least not for the political elite; they saw an opportunity to create a vacancy to benefit themselves, and they took advantage of it.

Thoroughly disgusted, Harry stripped off his plum coloured Wizengamot robes to reveal his Auror blues beneath. As he unceremoniously stuffed the Ministerial robes into his pouch, someone cleared their throat next to him. He looked up to see one of Macnair's assistants, a young man with short cropped brown hair, wearing professional black dress robes.

"Lord Potter, Mr. Macnair would like to speak on the topic of who the new Minister should be," the assistant said, "can I schedule a meeting this afternoon?"

Harry glanced across the chamber to see Edmund Macnair watching him closely.

"This evening, after work," Harry replied, "eight o'clock."

"At Mr. Macnair's office?" the assistant asked.

"Sure," Harry replied.

He nodded to Macnair, but Ron's words rung in his ear.

"Don't commit early. The longer the fight goes, the more concessions anyone is going to have to make, so you can get more if you wait more… don't wait too long though; if someone gets enough votes without you, or if you back the losing side, you get nothing," Ron had said.

A few days later, as Harry climbed the metal steps to the top of Azkaban prison, he shook his head as he recalled the meeting, where Macnair flat out asked if there was anything he could do to win Harry's endorsement for Minister. Harry's response all but ended the meeting. The following day, Macmillian asked Harry essentially the same question, and Harry had again demurred. Even with his limited political acumen, Harry could see a bruising, no-holds barred showdown looming between the more traditional elements of the Wizengamot backing Macnair, and the more progressive wing behind Macmillian.

"It doesn't help that there's no love lost between the two of them, at all," Harry thought.

That would not be good for Britain… they needed a strong Minister with Wizengamot backing who could push through legislation that might be unpopular. Political strategy fell to the wayside as he approached Bellatrix's cell. She lay curled up on her metal cot.

"Hello," Harry said.

"Go away," she said. She turned away from the light of the patronus, but not before Harry spotted a faint bruise on her cheek… whether from a dementor feeding or a self-inflicted injury, or something else, Harry couldn't say, but he resolved to tell Hermione.

---

Back at the café outside the Ministry, huddled around the table beneath a large umbrella to keep away from the drizzle, Hermione watched Harry's face intently as he relayed the story of his latest Azkaban patrol.

"She doesn't look good at all, definitely lost weight, and too fast from just being Azkaban alone… I think she isn't eating," Harry said.

Hermione's hands massaged each other as she counted down the days until her next visit.

"Still weeks away," she thought.

"You're doing it again," Ron said.

Hermione put her hands in her lap, beneath the table.

"Any word?" she asked.

Harry shook his head.

"The investigation is still ongoing, but there was a leak… whoever was doing it might have been able to cover their tracks," he said.

"How did word get out?" Hermione asked, "isn't this type of thing supposed to be kept secret?"

Harry shrugged helplessly.

"Kind of difficult when you're verifying the entire force… plus they never found the mole, so…" Harry replied, "it's a right mess."

"Could say that again," Ron added, "what if we asked them to test her for obliviation damage… wouldn't that prove someone was abusing her?"

Hermione sighed.

"She already has obliviation damage," Hermione said.

Ron shrugged.

"So?" Ron said, "all the better then."

"Can't hurt to ask," Harry said.

"I'm worried we're running out of time," Hermione said, and she kept talking as Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, "I know, I know, we have to follow the law, or we're just vigilantes, like Dennis Creevey."

It made logical sense, but Hermione couldn't simply sit around and wait… her thoughts turned towards the Polyjuice brewing at home.

"Well, we should figure something out soon," Ron said, "my dad told me yesterday that Tiberius Ogden's stepping down due to his health… so that means Kingsley will be the acting Chief Warlock until someone takes his place. It's the best time to get her pardoned, or whatever it's called, before the new Minister is sworn in. Kingsley's got nothing to lose."

"If we can convince him," Harry said.

"That's what we should do next," Hermione said, "better someone that we know."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair.

"Alright, I'll try to schedule a meeting…" Harry said.

Harry and Ron returned to work, while Hermione stayed to finish her coffee. She searched her thoughts for someone else she could trust to try and help, and Professor Winthrop came immediately to mind. As she was already near the Ministry entrance, she decided to try her luck. A few minutes later, she stood, only slightly damp from the rain, just outside his office.

"He voted to send her to prison, you shouldn't tell him anything," Hermione thought, "he could bring up a vote to change the law."

Logically, the more people who knew what she was up to, the greater the risk the law would be changed before she could act. Still, she felt Winthrop had her best interests at heart. She took a deep breath and stepped around the corner, through the open doorway, and came face to face with Winthrop's receptionist: blonde hair pinned in a tight bun, a touch of makeup on her face, Hogwarts former Head Girl, Daisy Vane.

"Granger? What are you doing here?" Vane asked.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, "you're working for Professor Winthrop?"

"Clearly. And they said you were the brains of the Golden Trio," Vane said with an air of superiority, "I hope you didn't come here looking for employment."

"N-no," Hermione said, "I wanted to see Professor Winthrop about something."

Daisy leaned back in her seat and smiled sweetly.

"He's a very busy man, what with the election of a new Minister coming," she said, "but you can give your message to me and I'll pass it along."

"I… it's private," Hermione said.

"Well, you could schedule an appointment," Daisy said as she opened a large calendar, "I think I might be able to find a slot next week."

"Next week? I can't possibly wait that long," Hermione thought, "she's just being difficult."

"Honestly, I'm sure if you ask, he'd be willing to see me-" Hermione said.

The rear door clicked noisily and opened a crack.

"Send her in, Daisy," Winthrop said from somewhere inside.

Daisy Vane narrowed her eyes but Hermione didn't spare her another glance and breezed past. Winthrop sat behind his large desk, scribbling on a piece of parchment as she closed the door behind her. He signed it with a flourish, then set it to the side.

Hermione noticed he had moved most of the decorations from his office at Hogwarts to the Ministry, including the grandfather clock, the map of Europe, and the moving photograph of a phoenix taking flight.

"I'll always have time for someone of your talent," Winthrop said, "what can I do for you?"

Hermione's heart swelled at the praise, but Winthrop's vote at the trial still stung; she had to know why he had voted against them.

"You were at Bellatrix's trial, you know she was Julia, why did you vote to send her to Azkaban?" she asked.

He folded his hands on the desk in front of him.

"I owe you an answer there, I suppose," Winthrop said, "we all must pick our battles, Miss Granger. My vote would have not changed the outcome, but by voting another way, I may have alienated some people whose assistance I will need in the coming months."

"So, it was a political vote," Hermione thought. She quickly drove away her disappointment by justifying his actions as correct, from his point of view.

"That can't be why you asked to see me today," he said.

"Not the only reason," Hermione replied, "I… I'm worried she's going to die in prison-"

"That is the intent of the sentence, yes," Winthrop said, and despite the sting of his words, Hermione knew he wasn't intending to wound her, only ensure she understood the truth of the situation.

"Yes, but it's not right, you know her, you know she's not a danger," Hermione said, "I came to ask for your help."

"Help, what… help commute her sentence? It's impossible," he said.

"It's not impossible, there's a way, a legal one," Hermione said, "but it's not easy… I can't do it alone."

"Hmm… interesting," Winthrop said, and he did look intrigued, "I do know her, but I do not know that she is not a danger. She is a witch, after all, and quite a skilled one. Plus, that particular course of action, releasing her from prison, would be unpopular with many people."

"I'll deal with that later," Hermione said.

"It wasn't your reputation I was concerned with," Winthrop said with a smile, "And what would you do if you manage to succeed against all odds, flee the country? Travel and see the world together, a grand adventure, perhaps?"

Hermione warred with herself. On the one hand, fleeing the country would be safer for Julia, and possibly herself. On the other, Britain was all she knew, and she knew Winthrop had plans for Being inclusion… she wanted to be part of that. Plus, what if her parents returned from Australia? She couldn't abandon them when she just got them back.

"I… it does sound like a possibility, but I don't know… I haven't thought that far ahead," Hermione said, "all I know is I can't let her die in prison, not if I have the power to prevent it… and neither should you."

Winthrop smiled as she all but quoted him, but the expression never reached his eyes.

"That's true, if it costs you nothing, but this will most assuredly cost more than that… If you want my help, you must convince me," Winthrop said. He steepled his fingers.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Come now, you earned an Outstanding in my NEWT class, and attended the extra sessions, and the field trips, for nine months," Winthrop said, "show me you've learned something."

Hermione's brain stuttered for a second, then realised it was presented with a solvable problem, and kicked into overdrive.

"What would Professor Winthrop say in class to explain why it might be better to release a dangerous prisoner than keep them locked up?" Hermione thought, and the answer came to her as if summoned.

"Together, we cured obliviation in less than a year; I couldn't have done it without her," Hermione said, "imagine what we could do with additional funding and facilities. The loss to society for wasting such talent may be beyond measure. We would need to ensure she doesn't break the law, perhaps some kind of monitoring charm, like an ankle bracelet… but it would be worth it in the long run."

Winthrop smiled at that, a real smile this time.

"All true. So, what help do you need from me?" he asked.

Hermione felt an almost overwhelming urge to explain the entire plan to Winthrop, but she held her tongue… Although she was sure she could trust him, she and Harry and Ron had sworn themselves to secrecy, so and she hesitated to tell anyone, even him, before she discussed it with them.

"I… I can't go into specifics right now, but… you'd have to convince the Chief Warlock to follow the existing law," Hermione said.

Winthrop frowned.

"That doesn't sound too difficult, except the Chief Warlock is incapacitated, so that would mean convincing the soon to be former Minister, or the next Minister," Winthrop replied, "Shacklebolt and I have had very limited contact."

Hermione was about to speak, but Winthrop held up a finger.

"I will help you, Miss Granger, but my price is this: you will convince Harry Potter to support my bid to become the next Minister for Magic," he said.

Hermione's mouth dropped open; she hadn't even considered that Winthrop might be in the running.

"If he becomes the next Minister, he'll definitely help get Julia out of prison," Hermione thought. She almost agreed on the spot, but she held her tongue; she needed to speak with Harry first.

"I'll speak with him," she said.

"I look forward to his response," Winthrop said.

Hermione nodded, stood up, then paused.

"Daisy?" she asked.

"She is capable, and follows orders well," Winthrop said, "I would have asked you first, but I sensed you had enough on your plate. Keep that to yourself, if you would."

He gave her a lopsided grin, very out of character for the professor she knew, and Hermione smiled.

"If you are successful, and if you do decide to stay, there are a few innovations I'm thinking of that the two of you might be able to help with," he said, "if you're interested in employment, that is."

All thoughts of leaving Britain paled in comparison to working on a Frances Winthrop research initiative.

"One thing at a time…" Hermione replied with a smile.

---

Harry listened as Hermione summarised her meeting with Winthrop.

"So… if he ends up Minister, that would also work," Hermione said.

"It would actually be brilliant, we worked on some legislation before," Harry said, "I need to test the waters a little bit though… I can't throw my weight behind him if he's going to lose. I have another meeting with Macnair coming up; I'll feel him out, see what he thinks."

"Okay," Hermione said, "I really think it's coming together."

She smiled; it had been so long since Harry had seen her genuinely happy and hopeful that he couldn't help but smile too.

"Steady, lots to do still," he said.

"Right," she said as she schooled her expression again. Harry paid for their coffee and returned to the Ministry entrance.

Macnair wore a dark blue robe with silver trim as he shook Harry's hand.

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we, Lord Potter?" Macnair said, "have you come to any conclusions on the subject of our last meeting?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"We need a unified leadership… things are more serious than most people realise, but I think you're different. I know both you and Macmillian are aiming for the top post, but I want to know if you would consider a compromise candidate," Harry said.

Macnair maintained a neutral expression, no doubt honed through years in politics, and Harry couldn't gauge anything of his mood.

"I'm listening," Macnair said.

"What about Frances Winthrop?" Harry asked.

Macnair's eye twitched slightly, but that was all.

"He has some… interesting notions," Macnair said as he leaned back in his seat.

"Better than seeing Macmillian as Minister though?" Harry asked.

"It almost sounds like you'll back Macmillian instead if I don't go along with this," Macnair said, then immediately laughed as if it had been a joke.

"His first reaction is his true one," a cold voice whispered to Harry, "he feels you threatened him."

"As chance would have it, I have spoken with Mr. Winthrop several times," Macnair said, "he and I share similar views on a great many subjects, and he respects the old ways."

"I thought you might be concerned with his stance on Beings-" Harry said.

Macnair leaned forward.

"I am, believe me, but pragmatism takes priority," Macnair said, "the truth of the matter is, the situation has evolved this year, and not for the better. As much as I hate to admit it, if we do not bring new workers and tax revenue in, there is a good chance another crisis could cause a catastrophic economic collapse."

That was the first Harry had heard of something so severe, though it would explain why they had been having budget issues ever since he joined.

"Is it really that bad?" Harry asked.

"Likely so. We'll have to wait for the mid-year reports, but I'm not hopeful," Macnair said, "Macmillian, his heart is in the right place, but he would squander any additional revenue on non-productive initiatives. Or not levy taxes on new workers in the first place. If forced to choose, Winthrop is far more capable of steering us through a crisis."

"So you'll back him?" Harry asked.

"Assuming I cannot win the vote outright, he would be an acceptable compromise," Macnair said.

Harry's meeting with Macmillian the following day went fairly similarly… Ernie's father had reservations about Winthrop's traditional values, but seeing as he had a public stance of inclusivity on a number of Beings, he saw him as a viable compromise candidate.

"It seems almost too easy," Harry thought. A concern crept from the shadows in the back of his mind, that Winthrop's path to Minister of Magic, from his sudden return from Europe followed by a father murdered by Death Eaters and inherited seat, seemed almost too convenient.

"He got the werewolf legislation through though," Harry thought, "I'll just have to keep my eyes open."

---

"Sorry about the vote," Harry said.

He, Ron, and Hermione sat in front of Kingsley's desk. Stacks of folders, ready to be archived, sat on top of the filing cabinets near the rear of the room, and the desk had already been cleared of Kingsley's personal effects, in case a new Minister was voted in early.

"It wasn't your fault," Kingsley said, "now, I assume with you three asking for an emergency meeting, and all of you looking especially sombre, that something incredibly important, or dangerous, has happened, or is about to happen."

"Not really, not yet," Harry said.

"Well, that's promising," Kingsley said wryly.

"We just want to make sure that you'll uphold the law as written, until your last day," Harry said.

"Of course I will… why do you ask?" Kingsley said as he narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

Harry sighed.

"I have to ask that you'll hold what we talk about in strict confidence," Harry said, "we're trusting you with this information. I'm trusting you, that you'll keep the secret."

Kingsley made a motion with his hands.

"As long as I am not compelled by my duty as Minister, you have my word," Kingsley said.

Harry glanced first to Hermione who gave him a small nod, then to Ron, and then back to Kingsley.

"There's an old Wizard Council decree that allows the head of a Noble house to demand the punishment of an unmarried member be handled in-house," Harry said, "if they are mistreated while in custody."

Kingsley closed his eyes.

"Bellatrix," he said.

"The Chief Warlock has to agree," Harry said.

"And with Ogden out, you're coming to me," Kingsley said.

"Well… err, not yet, we're… I'm looking for your agreement that you'll uphold the law," Harry said.

Kingsley closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I know there's history between you and Lestrange-" Kingsley said.

"Black," Hermione said.

Kingsley pinned her with a look that signified in no uncertain terms that he did not care at all whether she was called Bellatrix Lestrange or Black.

"Did you put him up to this?" he asked.

Hermione nodded.

"She doesn't belong in prison," she said.

"The Wizengamot disagrees with you," Kingsley said.

Harry recalled the numerous times in his life when nobody but a scant few had believed him, and how those closest to him had stuck up and tried to convince others. Now it was his turn to do the same for Hermione. He put every ounce of conviction he could into his next few words.

"Sir, if it wasn't for Hermione, we never would have defeated Voldemort. I know she's right," Harry said, "but more than that, the law is the law; it has to be applied evenly."

Kingsley shook his head.

"Well, that depends, assuming the Decree is written the way you claim, I still need to be convinced there is abuse," Kingsley said, "do you have evidence to show?"

"Umm… we're still working on the hard evidence, we just wanted to confirm that… if there was, you'd uphold the law," Harry said, "also to give you time to look it up yourself, so it doesn't come as a shock later."

Kingsley closed his eyes again and sighed.

"And you think this is something that might happen in the next two weeks?" he asked.

"It's possible," Harry said.

"Then, by Merlin, I hope you don't find anything until I leave office," Kingsley said, "I've enough to deal with without having to worry about this."

"And-" Harry said.

Kingsley held up a hand.

"Yes, I'll uphold the law, and keep your secret… even if only to stick it to a Wizengamot that should have closed this loophole a long time ago," Kingsley said, "it's only fitting it bites them in the arse now."

Harry chuckled at that.

"Thank you sir," Harry said, and Hermione echoed him.

"Just doing my civic duty. Now, if you'll excuse me," Kingsley said.

The three of them left the office.

"Mate, that was brilliant," Ron whispered as they walked Hermione to the lift, "I think you could have convinced Neville's mum just now."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yes, that was really good," Hermione said, "you've definitely gotten better."

"Hmm. Yeah, I guess it did go easier than I expected," Harry said.

"Maybe all that practise dealing with colleagues and the press helped somehow," Harry thought.

---

"Crookshanks?" Hermione called.

She had a meeting with Harry in a few minutes, but Crooks had gone missing, his breakfast untouched. She searched every room, but the house was deserted.

"Blasted cat, I swear I'm going to put a trace charm on you…" Hermione muttered. She was out of time, and with one last glance around the kitchen, she apparated with a pop.

Back at their café, Hermione stirred what remained of her coffee as the orange early morning sun reflected off a window down the street and nearly blinded her. A few days had passed since she last spoke with Harry, and yesterday he'd mentioned he had news for her. He had Azkaban patrol though, so Hermione spent the entire day wondering whether the news was good or bad. She spotted him walking up the street, looking utterly knackered. He slouched down at the small metal table and rubbed his eyes. Hermione pushed a coffee at him, and he nodded his thanks.

"Alright… alright," Harry said. He pulled his wand and wordlessly cast a muffliato charm beneath the table to ensure they weren't overheard, and a low buzzing filled the air.

"So?" Hermione asked.

"So, I think I can convince both Macnair and Macmillian to accept Winthrop as Minister, assuming one of them doesn't win the first vote," Harry said, "that, combined with a few others like Ginny and her dad, should be enough… probably."

"That's great news," Hermione said, "you saw her yesterday, how is she?"

Harry shook his head.

"Not good. She's still losing weight, and she seems confused," Harry said.

Hermione consciously stopped her hands from wringing one another by picking up her coffee with one and laying the other flat on the table.

"Okay… so that means we just need to move quicker, any word on the abuse investigation?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head and stifled a yawn.

"Not yet… though it shouldn't be much longer," Harry said, "look, I'll back Winthrop; he's better for Britain than either Macnair or Macmillian… we have to do something first though."

Hermione looked at him questioningly.

"Something's been bothering me… and I just realised what," Harry said, "the attack on Andromeda and Teddy last Halloween, the one Ron and I barely survived…"

Hermione remembered… Harry had almost bled to death and originally, they thought Ron had been petrified by an improperly cast Killing Curse.

"Andromeda has some holes in her memory… she said she was ambushed by Avery on the second story, but there was a duel on the ground floor before I ever got there," Harry said.

"I thought you said Avery was dead," Hermione said.

"I know, but…" Harry said, and he lowered his voice and leaned forward, "I think ownership of the Elder Wand may be at stake, and I want to be absolutely sure."

Hermione nodded. Something like that was too important to leave to chance.

"What do you need, to restore her memories?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded.

"Now that there's a cure," Harry replied with a smile.

"Of course, we can go today," Hermione said, "I have more than enough potion left over from my parents."

A few hours later, Harry and Hermione stood in Andromeda's small cottage, while Teddy slept upstairs.

"It will feel like nothing at first, and then the memories will come rushing back," Hermione said, "when that happens, you should focus on them, to retain as much as you can once the charm fades."

"If it's something significant, I'd like to take the memory to the DMLE for the Head Auror to view in a Pensieve," Harry said.

"Head Auror, is it still John Dawlish?" Andromeda asked.

Harry nodded.

"Okay, that should be fine," Andromeda said. She took a deep breath.

"I'm ready," she said.

Hermione poured out a small measure of the potion from her dwindling stock, and readied her wand as Andromeda drank it down.

"Vivica scopum," Hermione said.

For a few seconds nothing happened, and then Andromeda's eyes widened and her hand went to her chest.

"Oh… oh no," she said, "you have to get this to John right away."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat and Harry took a step closer as Andromeda held her wand to her temple.

"Why, what happened?" Harry asked as he held out a glass evidence jar.

"He's still alive," Andromeda replied as she pulled a pair of gossamer threads out, and tapped them one at a time into the jar.

"Who, Avery? How?" Harry asked.

"I don't know…" Andromeda replied. She looked at the jar in confusion, as if the memory she'd just recalled had somehow betrayed her.

"Right. Okay. Thanks for this," Harry said as he capped the jar, "maybe get some rest… even if Avery is still alive, you're probably safe here… it's been months and months and nothing's happened since."

Andromeda nodded absently, but Harry was already moving towards the fireplace and reaching for the floo powder.

"Ministry of Magic," he said. Hermione was right behind him, and she had to trot to catch up as he strode towards the Atrium.

"Don't bother checking your wand, you're with me," Harry said as they took the lift up to the DMLE. He led Hermione into the department, through a cubicle farm to where Ron sat with his head down on the desk. Harry nudged his leg with his shoe and Ron awoke with a start.

"Wha-?" Ron said.

"We've got to see Dawlish, come on," Harry said. He didn't wait for Ron to acknowledge him, just turned and led the way.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" Ron whispered as he followed along behind her.

"We used my cure to restore Andromeda's memories," Hermione whispered, "Harry has two in a jar. We don't know exactly what's there but it's important. We're going to see it now."

"Bugger," Ron said.

"Is Dawlish in? It's an emergency," Harry said to the receptionist outside of the Head Auror's door.

"He has a meeting in five minutes," she said.

"He's going to want to see this," Harry said as he knocked on the door before opening it.

"Sir, we need to use the Pensieve," Harry said as Ron closed the door behind them. The room was unbelievably cluttered, with parchment and folders covering every inch of every table and chair.

"Good morning, Potter," Dawlish said as he looked up from whatever brief he had been reading; his eyes flicked from Harry to Ron to Hermione and back, "typically one fills out an application to request use of the Pensieve."

Harry took a step forward.

"I could go fill out and submit one, or I could show you these memories from Andromeda Tonks right now, and we can find out why she says Avery is still alive," Harry said.

Dawlish raised an eyebrow.

"This had better be everything you say it is, Potter," he said. Hermione had suspected Dawlish was about to force Harry to fill out an application, but claiming a Death Eater that was certified dead by the Ministry was, in fact, alive, seemed to encourage him to bend the rules a little bit.

"It's that, or he's curious enough he wants to see them straight away," she thought, "bravo, Harry."

Dawlish pressed a button on his desk and a portion of the wall folded away, and a large stone bowl similar to the one in McGonagall's office slid out on a pair of metal rails. Harry poured the memories into the swirling mists, and the four of them dove in face first. Hermione found herself looking at Andromeda and Teddy as she dressed him for bed.

"Hello, anybody home?" a voice sounded from somewhere unseen.

Andromeda picked up her wand and descended the steps to investigate, only to see Layton Avery, wand held by his side, standing in the centre of her sitting room.

"Avery," she said as she trained her wand on him, "how did you get past the wards?"

"It's not important," Avery said, "I need you to call Harry Potter."

"Why, so you can ambush him?" Andromeda asked.

Avery cocked his head slightly to one side.

"Something like that," Avery replied, "will you do as I ask?"

"Let me think about it," Andromeda replied, but even as she spoke, her wand twisted and fired a red bolt at Avery, but he casually batted it away. She was already casting her second spell though, and Avery responded in earnest as he fell back, the both of them wordlessly slashing and parrying with their wands as scores of hexes and jinxes zinged, blasting the furniture and scarring the walls. Dawlish shook his head though, and Harry knew: Andromeda didn't stand a chance against Avery.

"Bloody unorthodox, but effective," Dawlish muttered as he stepped closer to observe the Death Eater's form and style, "never seen anything like it."

In less than a minute, the Head Auror pursed his lips as Avery finally disarmed Andromeda and forced her to her knees amidst the shattered debris of her living room.

"Tell me how you are to contact Harry Potter," Avery said.

Andromeda grit her teeth, but Avery pointed his wand at her and she buckled under an unseen weight.

"There's a silver sickle, in my pocket," Andromeda grunted, "I transfigure a message on it, and he receives it."

"Some kind of wordless compulsion? Not the Imperius," Hermione thought.

"Simple enough," Avery said, and he waved his wand. The coin levitated out of Andromeda's pocket and into his hand.

"Are there any traps or passwords?" he asked.

"No," Andromeda replied.

Avery regarded her for a second, apparently evaluating whether she was lying, then pocketed the coin. A casual red stun bolt knocked Andromeda out, and the first memory went dark.

"All this time I thought she was the one who called me for help," Harry said, "and so did she… he must have replaced this memory with a false one."

The second memory started with Harry senseless and bleeding beneath Andromeda, who was still pinned to the wall. The room, now even more destroyed than earlier, was tinted blue by the faint ward imprisoning her. Teddy was imprisoned behind a similar ward on the far side of the room. While Avery paced and muttered to himself, Hermione knelt down to get a closer look at Harry; she had not seen this memory before, and he was injured far worse than she had imagined. From the volume of blood soaking his robes and pooling on the ground, it looked as though he might even be dying. Andromeda motioned with her eyes to the wand handle lying in the debris, and Harry struggled to reach it, then drew it and aimed a yellow blasting curse at the ceiling just as Avery spun to stun him down. The second story collapsed into the first in a cloud of dust and debris, including a bed complete with attendant night table and lamp. All was still for a moment except for the clattering of broken wooden beams settling… and then the bedframe slowly levitated away, followed by large wooden supporting beams, and Avery stepped out of the pile, covered in dust and bleeding from the shoulder, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

"What…?" Harry muttered.

A muffled shout came from outside the cottage, and Avery turned his head towards it. With the wards still active though, the windows and open doorway were all black. He flexed his injured shoulder, then pulled a pouch out from an inside pocket of his robe and withdrew a small six-sided die from it. Hermione watched as he waved his wand, and the die untransfigured to resolve into the body of…. Layton Avery.

"Oh, very clever," Dawlish said quietly.

Her mind struggled to catch up with what was happening as 'Avery' used his wand to smash a heavy post into the body's head, and mocked up some other injuries, then buried it back beneath the debris pile. He then pulled a very familiar looking device on a delicate golden chain from beneath his shirt. Hermione's heart sank.

"Is that…?" Dawlish said as he stepped closer.

"A time turner," Harry said as 'Avery' wound the little dial. Just before he released it, he seemed to remember Andromeda was there, and pointed his wand at her. The blue tint of the room faded as the ward vanished.

"Obliviate," Avery said, and Hermione abruptly found herself back in Dawlish's office with the others. Stunned silence reigned, and then Dawlish walked over to a cork board with a set of photographs set on it, some with large red 'X's over the faces, and used his wand to draw a dotted line leading to a square with a large question mark above Augustus Rookwood.

"That wasn't Rookwood, he's not nearly that skilled a duellist. Theories. Who was that? Do his actions make any sense you?" Dawlish asked.

Hermione shared a glance with Ron and Harry. It was clear to her. Whoever had masqueraded as Layton Avery had killed him some time ago and kept the transfigured body to cover his tracks. Worse, he knew about the Elder Wand, had set a trap for Harry, and was currently the owner of the most powerful wand in the world… and she had no idea who it could be.

"No," she said at the same time as Harry and Ron.

"Why didn't he kill you? You were right there, stunned and disarmed," Dawlish muttered, "he had the body of a Death Eater, so maybe he's not aligned with them… but then how did he coordinate with the attack at Diagon…?"

Dawlish narrowed his eyes in thought for a few seconds as he tried to sort out the mystery.

"First things first… I'll… put in a recommendation for Andromeda Tonks to strengthen her wards," Dawlish said, "meanwhile, given recent developments, Potter, you now have additional reports to write, and those memories need to be submitted to the Tracers."

Harry groaned, but Hermione knew him well enough to know it wasn't a genuine reaction; Harry was no doubt consumed by the same questions plaguing her… she followed him out of the Head Auror's office.

"We'll catch up later," Harry whispered as he and Ron flanked her as they walked out of the DMLE, "it's too suspicious if we meet now."

"Who was masquerading as Avery?" Hermione thought, "Who else knows about the Elder Wand? Harry has it under Fidelius, not even Ron or I know where it is."

Faces and names flashed through her mind, and she came up with and discarded a dozen suspects, from another Death Eater to Rookwood himself, to Ollivander, to a reincarnated Lord Voldemort or one of his minions, to whomever Harry had asked to cast the Fidelius. In the end, she was left only with a foreboding sense of unease and trepidation, that the world they had fought to free might very soon drift into a much darker and more dangerous place.

---

A/N: Please review.