Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Warning – Prison abuse, non con, magical compulsion
Chapter 44
Bellatrix stared at the spot where Hermione vanished for a few seconds, then shoved the remnants of the prison memories aside. Unless she really focused on them, they stayed on the edges of her consciousness, fuzzy and indistinct, but the pain and indignity remained just as potent, like a corrupting rot inside of her. She looked at her injured finger, and then down at her lame leg; she now knew exactly how they happened. Shame bloomed, and although she tried to convert it to anger to fuel vengeance, she wilted under its crushing weight, and sat down on the bed. Just a few hours ago, in the afterglow of the night they shared, she was certain she'd be able to win Hermione back. Now, after seeing her in her cell, at her weakest and most helpless, unable to fight back, or sometimes even conceive of fighting back…
"I was at the top of Wizarding Britain, first daughter of the most powerful and influential noble house," she thought, "everyone respected me, made way for me… now, they're either going to look at me with hatred, or worse, pity."
She needed to wash.
"You just took a shower," she thought, but that was before recalling what had happened. Now, she felt used up, dirty, and discarded, so into the shower she went. Ten minutes under the water and it started turning cold. At first, she didn't care, but as the spray grew closer to freezing, she relented and turned the knobs to the off position, then stood there, dripping and feeling sorry for herself. She hated feeling sorry for herself, but for some reason she seemed incapable of summoning up any other emotion. Eventually the shivering started; she'd only worn the clothes Hermione had lent her for a couple of hours, so after minimal towelling off, she dragged them back on. Water dripped from her hair down her back but she didn't care. There wasn't much in the way of entertainment in the small bedroom, so she took another bite of chocolate to try and drive away whatever remained of the dementors' aura and lay down on the bed.
"The bed we shared," she thought. Memories of their hours-long session, of tender kisses and whispered words, now felt bitter. She looked at her injured hand again and flexed it a few times.
"Who's going to want me now…" she thought.
She rolled to her side as her mind turned to what might have been.
"If only I'd told Hermione Death Eaters might be hiding at Sagesse Fontaine, or apparated to escape the floor Rastaban transfigured," she thought.
But her only thought had been to protect Hermione from the collapsing building.
"Turned out she was fine, and you were the one crushed under stone," she thought. She stood up to limp to the loo to pour herself a cup of water to set on the night table.
"And now you're completely helpless, wandless, barely able to walk," she thought, "Am I permanently ruined, or is there light after this?"
Deep down, she knew it was impossible. The mountain was too steep and too tall; she couldn't even see the top from where she lay, at the bottom of the valley of despair.
"I can take the first step though," she thought, "a single step is easy."
If there was any chance at being with Hermione, she would have to do whatever it took. For now, all she could do was lie back and wait, and hope Hermione succeeded.
Hermione appeared with a crack at Grimmauld Place. With a warrant almost certainly out for her arrest, she didn't want to show her face in public, but behind Harry's wards, she knew she would be safe. She took two steps to the fireplace.
"Shacklebolt residence," she said, and tossed the powder in. It flared green, and she knelt by the simmering magical flames. Despite having made a few floo calls before, she still needed to overcome the animal instinct to avoid putting her face directly into fire, even if they held no heat. The unnatural sensation of her head being in a different place than her legs washed over her, but for the moment, the only thing she saw was a wall of green fire. Then the flames parted like a curtain, and she looked into a richly decorated sitting room, with several figures standing nearby.
"Told you she'd be here," Harry said.
"I did give it a fifty-fifty chance," Dawlish said.
"Come on through, Hermione," Kingsley said, and Hermione felt the resistance to completing the floo transit lift, and she was squeezed infinitely thin before reality snapped back to normal on the other side. The green tint dropped from her vision as she stumbled out of the fireplace. Standing in front of her were Harry, Kingsley, and Dawlish. Still seated in a leather armchair was Winthrop, a stirrer calmly propelling itself around his glass. Dawlish continued to watch the fireplace intently.
"Where is Bellatrix?" he asked, "I thought she was supposed to be with you."
The Head Auror sent her a concerned look that bordered on accusatory.
"She's safe," Hermione replied, "she didn't feel comfortable tonight, but she's injured, and wandless… she's not going anywhere."
Dawlish held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. He stayed silent, though Hermione was almost certain he wanted to say more.
"Were you able to get proof of abuse?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Hermione replied, "did you bring a Pensieve?"
"The DMLE's has been shipped here, at the Minister's request," Dawlish replied as he gestured to a door at the far corner of the room.
Hermione took a deep breath.
"Good. Right, we should probably get to it," she said.
Kingsley motioned with one hand and led them from the sitting room to a dining room. Historical paintings from the Middle East, India, and the Far East hung from the walls. In the centre of a large, darkly stained wooden dining table, looking like a centrepiece, stood the stone Pensieve from Dawlish's office.
Hermione started pulling glass jars from her pouch and emptying their contents into the flowing mist held within the stone container, while the others watched silently.
"That's all of them," she said as she placed the last empty jar on the table.
Harry glanced to her with a questioning look; it seemed he was just as surprised as she had been at the number of memories. Hermione shook her head. She was at the same time curious and apprehensive about what currently swirled around the stone basin.
"All right Miss Granger, let's see what you've found," Dawlish said.
The five of them stood around the Pensieve and leaned over. The misty white was far deeper than the bowl, and as Hermione plunged through, it turned darker, grittier, until it eventually resolved into Bellatrix's cell in Azkaban. The pureblood witch stood on tiptoes to reach as far out of the small barred window as possible.
"This must be in her first week," she thought as she got a look at Bellatrix's face, "perhaps even her first day."
The sound of the cell block door unlocking startled the pureblood, and she turned to face the bars of the cell as the door opened, then closed again. Bellatrix struck a defiant pose, facing forward with her arms crossed. Footsteps plunked on the metal floor as someone approached, and then a young man with slicked brown hair wearing Auror blue robes stepped around the corner.
"Clark," Harry breathed. Hermione glanced at Harry for a second, then to Dawlish. The Head Auror stared intently, fingers resting on his chin and jaw, as the memory played out.
"What do you want?" Bellatrix asked.
"This, to see you, where you belong," Clark said as he gestured around the block, "I wish I'd been there at your sentencing, but this will have to do."
"I remember this," Harry said, "he said the same thing to me, right after she was sentenced. He took the first round."
"Go on and gloat if it makes you feel better; I never did any of those things," Bellatrix said.
Clark took a step closer to the bars.
"Say that all you want, but my sister is dead because of you," Clark said, "you, and your Death Eater friends, sick fucks."
Bellatrix looked confused.
"You really don't remember? You tortured me, used the Unforgivable, and you tied her up and let them take turns while you made me watch," Clark said.
"That wasn't me, I never did anything like that," Bellatrix said as she shook her head, and Hermione struggled to reconcile Julia's voice echoing around the dungeon with the vision of Bellatrix behind bars and wearing a prison smock.
"Bullshit, I was there. You kissed me right here," Clark said as he pointed to his cheek, "and you forced me to watch together with you. I was alone when I found her four weeks later though, after she hanged herself. Justice would have been the Kiss, but I'll settle for watching you rot in here."
"Bloody hell," Dawlish muttered.
"That didn't show up on any of the profiling?" Kingsley asked.
"Profiling?" Harry asked as the conversation in the cell continued.
"We're extra cautious if a prospective Auror's family had been killed by Voldemort's followers, or even a pureblood, but it looks like Clark's sister's death slipped through… suicide," Dawlish replied.
"Quiet," Clark said, and Dawlish and Kingsley both fell silent as if he were speaking to them. The command had been backed by an immobulus charm; Hermione noticed the small movement from Clark's wand. Bellatrix stopped mid-sentence, her mouth open, and a few seconds passed where Clark did nothing. He glanced to the door to the block, and then made a few motions with his wand, wordlessly lifting her arms over her head, followed by the prison smock. With Bella unable to move anything but her eyes, Hermione still felt the fear radiating from her as she stood nude in her cell.
"That's not his wand, is it..?" Harry asked as he stepped closer to the muggleborn Auror.
"That's how he beat the wand inspections at least…" Dawlish said.
"How does it feel, to be completely at someone else's mercy?" Clark asked.
He glanced to the door again, and then appeared to come to a decision. With a few quick wordless gestures, he spun Bellatrix around and bent her over so she knelt with her cheek pressed against the metal ground, arse in the air. Then he transfigured the bars and stepped into the cell.
"Oh no," Kingsley said.
"Are we really going to watch this?" Harry asked.
Nobody said a word though as Clark hit himself with a contraceptive charm, pulled his robes up and trousers down to reveal his already semi-erect member, knelt down, and had his way with his helpless victim. Hermione turned away; even the light slapping sounds of flesh on flesh made her want to retch, but then she forced herself to watch.
"She went through it; I owe it to her to at least watch, but oh god this is horrible," Hermione thought as she stared wide-eyed at the grossly violating act, "she can't move but she's fully aware."
It only lasted a few minutes. Clark finished, then, still breathing hard, he stood up, straightened his robes, and retransfigured the bars to their normal straight form. He pointed his wand at the still kneeling Bellatrix.
"Obliviate," he said, "confundus. Put your clothes back on."
Bellatrix blinked and looked around, then pulled the prison smock back over her head as Clark walked quickly back towards the entrance of the block.
The memory faded to black, and the next played out almost exactly the same way, though without the banter in the beginning. Clark entered, told her she was the reason his sister was dead, then immediately set about immobilising her and transfiguring the bars.
"I think we've seen enough. She's definitely been abused," Harry said.
Dawlish shook his head.
"There may be additional information. Clark may not have been the only one, or he may have said something else important," Dawlish said as Clark set about penetrating his helpless victim again, "you all don't need to watch if it makes you uncomfortable."
Nobody moved to exit the Pensieve though. Although he always ended with an obliviate and confundus, starting from the third visit, Clark began varying his methods. Instead of an immobulus charm, he conjured a wooden chair and ropes to bind her hands behind her, and her ankles to the armrests, so he could pull her hair to force her head back and look her in the eye. Almost every time, Bellatrix tried to fight back, but wandless and weakened from her confinement, there wasn't much she could do. One time she almost managed to grab his wand, but he bent her fingers back until her pinkie broke with an audible crack, then healed it without setting it first.
Worst of all were the times Hermione witnessed the moment she gave up. When she stopped struggling and resigned herself to her fate, her expression changed from desperation to a blank stare, and the fight went out of her. Hermione wiped tears from her eyes as the memories progressed, and Bella's ribs grew more prominent in each one.
"I brought something for you," Clark said as he slid a metal plate into her cell through a small gap near the floor. Fresh sliced fruits. Bellatrix eyed them suspiciously.
"What's the occasion?" Bellatrix asked.
"Our one-month anniversary," Clark replied. Hermione could tell she was starving as she picked up the plate, but she hesitated.
"Coacto," Clark said, "eat it."
Bellatrix's hand hovered over a sliced strawberry. Her eyes snapped to Clark's, and she whipped the plate through the bars. Fruit splattered around the inside of the cell.
"Agh," Clark said as the metal plate clipped him on the side of the head, "bitch!"
"Even as beaten down as she is, she still broke free," Hermione thought with bitter pride, even though she knew the eventual outcome.
Clark responded with a wordless bludgeoning curse through the bars, and Bellatrix's leg crumpled with a crunch, the bones shattered. She grunted and writhed in pain on the ground, but grit her teeth and refused to cry out.
"Imperio," Clark said, and she stopped moving, "take your clothes off, then lick the fruit off the floor."
Under the far more powerful Unforgivable Curse, Bellatrix slowly did as she was told while Clark healed the small mark on his face and vanished whatever had landed outside the cell. After crawling around the cell and eating the fruit directly off the floor, a dreamy expression came over Bella's face. She dragged herself to the bars and propped herself into a semi-seated position by hanging on with both hands.
"I… I know you," she said as she looked up at Clark, "I love you."
She reached through the bars longingly.
"Tell the truth, do you love me?" Clark asked as he pointed his wand at her.
"Yes, oh yes," Bellatrix replied, pain mixed with desire on her face. Hermione wanted to heave her last meal as she recalled Winthrop's lesson, that love potions were not considered Dark magic in Britain.
"But they should be," she thought as the memory continued.
"Lie back and touch yourself, make yourself ready for me," Clark said. Again, Bellatrix did as instructed, wincing in pain as she spread her legs and brazenly fondled herself on the floor of her cell. Hermione's gut twisted again as proud Bellatrix Black completely debased herself under the influence of what must have been a powerful love potion. Clark grinned and watched for a moment, then transfigured the bars to let him pass, removed his trousers before casting the contraceptive charm this time, and hitched his robe up. Bellatrix cried out when he put weight on her hip.
"Does it hurt?" he asked as he ground the heel of his palm into her broken pelvis.
"Yes," Bellatrix replied as tears leaked from the corner of her eyes.
"Good, you deserve it," he said, then he rammed himself into her, eliciting another cry of pain. Through all that, the love potion had her coaxing him to finish, even though every thrust was clearly excruciating.
"Say you deserve it," Clark said.
"I… I..ah," Bellatrix said as she fought through the agony, "I deserve it."
"You deserve to hurt," Clark said.
"I deserve to hurt," Bellatrix repeated as tears leaked from her eyes due to the pain. She grit her teeth as he pounded into her to finish, then panted as he withdrew, and even so, she still gazed at him longingly.
"Pity you won't remember this one," he said as he pulled his trousers on, but Bellatrix did not respond; she had lain back, naked on the floor of the cell, almost catatonic except for her shuddering breaths.
"Brackium emendo," Clark said as he waved his wand in loops over her hip and leg. The bones mended, but not very well, leaving the limb twisted and misshapen. Then he stepped out of the cell and re-transfigured the bars.
"Obliviate," he said.
Several more memories played, and then mercifully, they were back in Kingsley's dining room. Hermione took a shuddering breath and wiped her cheeks. The soon-to-be-former Minister opened a cabinet and poured a measure of Ogden's finest into a squat glass. He downed it, then poured another. Dawlish motioned for one as well, as did Winthrop. The Head Auror wordlessly held a glass out to Harry, who hesitated then accepted it and took a sip. Winthrop held one for Hermione, and with everyone else drinking, she felt obliged. The firewhiskey burned its way down her throat and warmed her stomach. Normally, she detested strong spirits like this, but she did find it took a bit of the edge off. She realised she had been unconsciously scrunching up her shoulders, and she deliberately relaxed them.
"Merlin, I never thought I'd feel bad for Bellatrix Lestrange," Kingsley said.
Even Dawlish appeared lost in thought as he sipped his glass.
"He'll spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, certainly," the Head Auror said.
"Is that even enough?" Hermione asked.
"That's not for me to decide," Dawlish replied, "the Wizengamot will determine his sentence."
Kingsley set his glass down.
"Well Potter, a deal's a deal, I'll have her released to your care under the Wizard's Council decree, as long as you can assure she's not a danger," Kingsley said.
Harry glanced to Hermione, who gave him a small nod.
"Yes," he said, "thank you sir."
"Excuse me," Dawlish said as he also placed his glass on the table, "what exactly are you talking about?"
Kingsley turned to the Head Auror.
"Sorry for not telling you earlier John, it was need to know. There is a Wizard's Council decree from 1584, that was never rescinded," Kingsley replied, "among other things, it allows the head of a noble house whose unmarried family member is abused in custody to request they be released to his care, if the Chief Warlock agrees. Potter is the head of House Black, and Bellatrix's marriage officially ended when the Ministry declared her dead last year."
The Head Auror took a moment to process what Kingsley had said.
"You're joking," Dawlish said.
"I'm afraid not-" Kingsley said.
"How is that possible? It's a blatant flouting of justice," Dawlish said, "we're not talking about a set of arbitrary rules to be cast aside whenever convenient; this is the principle upon which society functions."
He tapped two fingers into his palm to emphasise his point.
"I don't disagree," Kingsley said, "but I don't write the laws, and neither do you. We are both bound by the same oath to uphold them, regardless of whether we agree with them."
"Don't lecture me, I placed higher than you on the entrance exams, remember?" Dawlish said as he pointed at Kingsley, then he spun to Winthrop.
"Did you know about this?" the Head Auror asked. Winthrop set his glass on the table.
"Miss Granger came to me, yes, once it became clear I might end up the next Minister for Magic," Winthrop replied.
Dawlish rolled his eyes.
"Great, so I'm the only one who didn't know," he muttered, "Rebecca is going to have a fit."
"Fawley, head of the DMLE," Hermione thought.
"Sometimes you have to prove something is broken before people will agree it needs to be fixed," Kingsley said.
"Easy for you to say, you're on your way out," Dawlish said with a dismissive wave, "the press is going to have an absolute field day."
He ran a hand through his hair, and Winthrop cleared his throat.
"If it is any consolation, I met with Miss Black several times at Hogwarts. I do not believe she is a danger," he said, "and clearly, we cannot leave her in Azkaban."
They all fell silent again at that, and Hermione shuddered as she recalled the images and sounds she'd witnessed.
"She lived it, all of it," she thought, "oh god..."
"I left her alone," Hermione said, "I-… I need to go get her, but where should we go? St. Mungo's?"
"Yes," Kingsley said, "I'll get the paperwork processed this evening, but she's obviously injured, and probably will need to see a mind healer as well; I'll leave that to the professionals to decide."
Hermione nodded and gained even more respect for the outgoing Minister.
"Kingsley, we'll need an arrest warrant for Brandon Clark, too," Dawlish said, once again all business.
"Granted, I'll take care of that this evening as well," Kingsley said.
The Head Auror turned to Harry.
"Potter, go with Granger. If Bellatrix is there, consider yourself temporarily reinstated. Escort them to St. Mungo's and arrange a rotating guard schedule," Dawlish said, "then meet me back at HQ."
Harry nodded and glanced to Hermione.
"My place first?" he asked.
Hermione nodded. The two of them returned to Kingsley's sitting room and Dawlish closed the door behind them. She heard raised voices for a second, and then silence as a privacy charm was cast. Hermione watched as Harry vanished in green flames, and then she followed him through the floo. Kreacher had already greeted him as she stepped out of the fireplace. Harry turned around to face her, shock at what they had just seen now easily visible in his expression.
"I had no idea," he said.
"Me either," she said. Her chest ached; she would probably have nightmares tonight.
"Imagine how it must be for her," she thought, "you have to get over there as quickly as you can."
She held out her arm.
"I'll have to side-along you," she said.
Harry nodded and held on with two hands. Hermione turned on the spot and appeared back in the hotel room. She looked around and spotted Bella sitting up crosslegged on the bed, and her heart fluttered for an instant, until she recalled the dozens of memories she'd just watched, and then she just wanted to lend Bella her strength, scoop her up and hold her until she felt better. Mindful that Harry was in the room though, she didn't move a muscle.
"Potter… are you here to arrest me?" Bellatrix asked.
Harry held up a finger as he bent over and waited for the side-along nausea to pass.
"Not today," he replied as he stood up straight again. Then he looked her in the eye and an empathetic expression crossed his face.
"I'm so sorry," Harry said.
"That's exactly what she doesn't want," Hermione thought, and Bella narrowed her eyes slightly.
"Spare me," Bellatrix said, "so what happens now?"
"We're taking you to St. Mungo's to have your leg healed, and anything else," Hermione replied, "then… I don't know."
"We'll see what happens afterwards, but Kingsley granted us the petition, so you're not going back in, at least, not for being a Death Eater," Harry said.
Bellatrix nodded and then hopped off the bed. She only put weight on one leg, but otherwise had energy to spare.
"Right, when do we go?" she asked in a chipper tone.
"She seems… okay," Hermione thought, "she must be hiding it, using Occlumency or something. Nobody can go through that kind of trauma and come out the other side like nothing happened."
"I'll take her, meet you at the reception area?" Harry said.
Hermione nodded. She wanted to be the one to take Bella, but understood where Harry was coming from.
"First things first," he said as he waved his wand over Bella's head. She slowly vanished from view, then he pulled out his invisibility cloak and threw it over his shoulders. With both of them disillusioned, took a moment for Bella to find Harry's arm, but eventually they connected.
"Right, let's go," Harry said.
He apparated first and Hermione was right behind him. Heads turned when she appeared in the reception area of St. Mungo's. The chequered floor was just as she remembered, and various non-critical magical accidents and injuries were on display on the bodies of a dozen witches and wizards seated around the edge of the room, waiting for their number to be called.
"Head upstairs to one of the empty rooms, we'll get her in a bed first and then you can find a healer," Harry said quietly, "I want as few people to know she's here, for as long as possible."
Hermione nodded and made her way to the lift.
"Slow down," Harry whispered, and Hermione remembered how painful it was for Bella to walk. She pretended she was lost, checking every sign they passed.
Eventually they made it to the lift and took it to level four.
"Spell Damage," a cheery automated witch's voice proclaimed as the doors opened.
It took them some time to find a vacant room. Hermione closed the door behind them as she heard Bella shuffle to the bed, and an indentation appeared on the sheets.
"Bloody hell," Bellatrix said, breathing hard with effort.
"Expecto patronum," Harry said, and the room filled with the light of his patronus.
"Find Ron, tell him to come to St. Mungo's, level four, room twelve," Harry said, and the stag shrank into a point of light and flew off through the ceiling.
"I'll find someone to examine her," Hermione said, "see you soon."
Bellatrix lay on the bed as the room spun. Just that small exertion had her panting as if she'd run a marathon, and she could barely move. Eventually, her breathing slowed and she was able to drag herself into a sitting position with her back against the headboard. It was an odd sensation to look down and see the depression in the bedsheets through her still disillusioned body.
"So, you're the head of House Black," she said.
"You're welcome, by the way," Harry replied. His voice came from near the door. Bellatrix paused. If she was ever going to get back together with Hermione, she needed Harry to not despise her.
"You're right, I never thanked you, for helping get me out," she said.
"Because Hermione asked me to, thank her," Harry said, "It's wrong what happened to you, but you wronged a lot of people too. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but what's done is done."
Bellatrix nodded, even though he couldn't see her.
"I'm not the same person as the old Bellatrix, you know that, right?" she asked, "I'm not the Dark Lord's follower."
"Hermione told me," Harry replied.
Bellatrix fell quiet. She got the sense he didn't really want to talk. Another minute passed in silence, and then someone thumped into the door from the other side. Harry unlocked it and ginger Ron Weasley burst in.
"Harry?" he whispered. Potter closed the door and removed his invisibility cloak, and Bella felt the disillusion spray off her body.
"Bloody hell, it's really her," Weasley said as he stared.
"Take a photograph Weasley, it'll last longer," Bellatrix said. He ignored her.
"Dawlish is worried someone might try to take a shot at her while she's recovering, can you take the first shift?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, of course," Ron replied, "so… what happened?"
Harry paused, glanced to Bella, and then back to Weasley.
"I'll tell you later," he said.
"I hate this," Bellatrix thought. The memories of her abuse resurfaced, and although the details were fuzzy, the helplessness and the pain remained crystal clear. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, or crawl into a hole, or kill everyone, and somehow, she felt these things all at once. On the outside though, she remained perfectly still, perfectly calm.
Hermione returned then, along with a darker skinned healer with green tinted glasses, and she carefully closed the door behind them and locked it.
"Healer Yarr," Harry said.
The young healer glanced at each of the Golden Trio twice, as if not believing they were all in the room together with her. Then she looked to the bed and scrunched up her eyebrows as she held a finger to her specs.
"Is that..?" she asked.
"Yes," Harry replied, "she's been injured and requires treatment, and we need to keep it quiet. Auror Weasley is going to stay and watch the door for the time being, and we'll set up a rotation."
The white robed healer moved closer and started waving her wand over Bella's body, and then zeroed in on her leg.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Bludgeoning curse, and a botched heal, among other things," Harry said. He paused before continuing, "She may need a mind healer, too."
"Fuck that, I'm fine," Bella said, "I don't want anyone poking around in my head."
Harry shook his head.
"We can work that out later," he said, "can she be cured?"
"Yes… it will take a while though. We need to re-break or shrink the improperly healed bones first, then regrow them," Yarr replied.
"Do it," Harry said, "I need to get back to the Ministry."
"Potter," Bellatrix said, "you saw what happened?"
He paused by the door and nodded without turning around.
"Find the bastard," she said. He left without responding.
Harry flooed directly from St. Mungo's to the DMLE. Still wearing civilian robes, he picked up a few odd glances as he walked past the Auror cubicles to Dawlish's office. Katherine, Dawlish's secretary, nodded and motioned for him to go straight in. The Head Auror sat behind his cluttered desk, and spared him a short glance, then sifted through a few papers.
"Potter, come in," Dawlish said, "was she there?"
"Yes," Harry said as he sat down, "she's being attended by a healer at St. Mungo's now, and Ron and Hermione are both with her. I told them to keep it quiet but I don't know how long that will last."
"It doesn't matter much," Dawlish said as he motioned to a copy of the evening Prophet proclaiming an escape from Azkaban across the front page. The Head Auror scribbled on a parchment and slid it to Harry.
"You're reinstated," he said. Dawlish stood up fished around a pocket of his robe, and dropped a few small objects into Harry's hand, his Auror and Lieutenant pins, "put them on later, go stand in the corner there and disillusion yourself."
Harry shoved the pins in his pocket and swirled his wand about himself to vanish from view, then stood next to the door as Dawlish opened it.
"Katherine, send Brandon Clark in please," he said, then he closed the door.
"When he sits down, stun him," Dawlish said.
Harry's heart pounded, and then he heard the door open. Something about Dawlish's demeanour must have tipped Clark off though, because he never entered the office. Instead, Harry's vision went entirely black. It took him a split-second to recognise what had happened.
"Peruvian Instant Darkness!" he thought. He felt a spell from Dawlish whiz by him and impact the wall outside the office.
"Stop him!" Dawlish yelled, and Harry was off in a flash.
"He'll be aiming to apparate, but he needs to get out of the Ministry first," Harry thought, "Right turn… here!"
Harry ran full tilt with one hand in front of him to soften any potential impact, and then he cleared the darkness and nearly stumbled as he scanned the exit; Clark was nowhere to be seen.
"Shit, the emergency floo," he thought, and turned right again to sprint past the cubes. He spotted Dawlish running in the same direction.
Harry rounded the corner and spotted the young Auror already in the emergency floo, powder in hand. Harry pulled up and fired off a single spell.
"Tacet indago," he muttered, but unable to see the tip of his wand, his aim was slightly off, and the spell impacted the brickwork just above Clark's head, and then he was gone in a flash of green.
"Where did he go?" Dawlish asked the Auror on duty.
"Diagon," he replied.
Dawlish practically leapt right through the floo, with Harry not far behind. He stumbled out into the night air and spotted Dawlish looking around grimly.
"Apparated," he said, "did you manage to tag him?"
Dark spray fizzled off Harry as he let his disillusionment drop. He shook his head, and Dawlish ran his fingers through his hair.
"Sorry sir," Harry said.
"No, this one's on me," Dawlish replied, "bloody hell, the press are going to eat it up. Nothing for it now, come on."
They flooed back to the DMLE and Harry ignored the stares as he followed the Head Auror. Dawlish handed Clark's arrest warrant to Katherine.
"Get some wanted posters made up, and have them distributed to the Corps and the press," he said.
Harry followed him into his office.
"Go get changed, and then you're to serve these," Dawlish said as he handed two more parchments to Harry.
He scanned them quickly.
"Arrest warrants for Bellatrix and Hermione?" Harry asked. They were signed by Rebecca Fawley.
Dawlish nodded.
"Despite bringing to light 'corruption' within the DMLE, Granger broke someone out of Azkaban, and although Black was released into your custody, she never stood trial for falsifying her identity, or requesting a house elf to steal someone's wand," he said, "I spoke with Fawley, and given what's transpired, she's going to let them both plead guilty and reduce the penalty to community service."
"No jail time for Hermione, that's good," Harry thought.
"What kind of community service are we talking about, sir?" he asked.
"Clearing out gnomes or doxies, or dragon dung, that sort of thing, maybe reversing the occasional magical accident," Dawlish waved his hand dismissively, "Mind numbing or messy work nobody wants to do."
Harry folded the warrants and tucked them into his pocket as the Head Auror continued speaking.
"Minister Shacklebolt has called a meeting of the Wizengamot, probably to close that little loophole you and your friends found," Dawlish said, "also, since you allowed a convicted Death Eater to escape Azkaban, the incident will be permanently reflected on your Personnel file."
"What about my team?" Harry asked.
"They were in the dark, so no action for them," Dawlish replied.
Harry nodded. It wasn't good, but given the circumstances, it was about the best he could have hoped for.
"Thank you, sir," Harry said.
"Don't thank me just yet, this is going to be a gigantic headache for weeks, at least," Dawlish said, "now, you have a stack of paperwork to get through, so I suggest you get started, while I try to deal with the press."
Harry saluted and returned to his desk; he would change into Auror robes later. When he got there though, he found a large wooden crate sitting against the side of the cube. The parchment stapled to the top listed it as 'Personal Effects: Bellatrix Black'.
"Everything she owned when she was arrested," Harry thought.
He sat down and looked at the stack of parchment next to the crate.
"Ugh. Right, first things first," he thought.
He featherweighted the crate, picked it up, and returned to St. Mungo's. He spotted Ron's lanky form first, leaning against the wall next to the door, and then Hermione next to him, speaking to him in hushed tones.
"Damn, forgot to set up the schedule," Harry thought.
"Hey Ron, d'you mind waiting here a bit longer?" he asked, "I'll get the rotation set up, just need to take care of a few things first."
He gave the crate a small shake.
"Sure, no problem," Ron replied, "what's that?"
"All her stuff," Harry replied, "I guess they gave it to me because… you know."
He didn't want to say out loud that he was the one who requested her release.
"So… what did Dawlish say?" Hermione asked.
"Community service, for both of you and her," Harry replied. The relief was visible on her face.
"Clark got away," he added. Hermione's expression went from relieved to shocked.
"What? How?" Hermione asked.
"He knew something was up," Harry replied, "ran before we could arrest him. Don't worry, we'll find him."
Hermione nodded.
"How is she?" Harry asked as she glanced at the door.
"Sleeping now, she's going to be in here a few days at least, according to healer Yarr," Hermione replied.
Harry hefted the crate.
"Come with me to Grimmauld? There's a few more things to go over," Harry said.
Hermione nodded and the two of them waved bye to Ron (with Harry again promising to fill him in on everything later) and took the floo to Harry's house.
Hermione appeared in Harry's living room and dusted some ash from the front of her robe. The crate already sat on the coffee table.
"What were you thinking?" Harry asked, "you could have been arrested."
His hands were on his hips, Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen him this angry, at least not with her. Apparently, he'd been saving it up until they were alone.
"I had to Harry, she was going to die in there, you said it yourself," she replied.
"We agreed, by the book," Harry said as he chopped a hand into his palm, "that doesn't mean go behind our backs, break her out of Azkaban, and almost get me sacked."
"You weren't even supposed to be there!" Hermione said.
"Neither were you!" Harry said.
Hermione huffed.
"You saw what was happening to her. You can't possibly tell me we should have left her in there even for another day," she said.
"Of course not, but we didn't know that at the time, and there are so many ways this could have gone sideways," Harry said, "did ever think about what it would have been like for me to have to walk past your cell ten times a week? You should have told us; we could have helped."
That brought her up short. Harry wasn't angry at her for breaking the law, he was angry she did it on her own. It was true, if anything had gone wrong it might be both her and Bella in Azkaban, instead of both of them free.
"And then the same thing might have happened to you," she thought with a shudder, "Still…"
"It worked out though, so… it's fine," she said.
"Fine," Harry repeated with air quotes, "did you consider what Neville will think, or Andromeda, or any of a dozen other people who she hurt before the battle?"
Hermione stayed silent; she had no response to that. Of course she had considered, but knowing what she knew now about Bella's treatment in prison, could she really have left her in there? What if they found out after she died? She might never have forgiven herself.
"Or does it not matter who you hurt, as long as you get what you want?" Harry asked, "It doesn't seem like you, is something wrong?"
"Is there something wrong with me?" she thought, but she quickly pushed the notion aside, "no, the ends justify the means; I couldn't leave her in there, and everything else will sort itself out."
"We couldn't leave her in there to be raped over and over, and eventually killed," Hermione said, "I mean you saw it Harry. The other stuff… we'll see, I'm sure it will get better with time."
Harry sighed and lifted his glasses up to massage the bridge of his nose.
"Are you going to keep dating?" he asked.
She shook her head.
Moans in the dark, bruises on my breast and thigh, starry eyes I could get lost in for days…
"No, that's over," she replied as she feigned a disgusted shudder, "I mean, would you?"
Harry snorted and smirked.
"Good," he said, "there's something else."
He pulled a parchment from his robe.
"You have to sign a guilty plea to accept the community service," he said.
"What?" she asked as he passed the Ministry parchment to her. She scanned the text.
"This means I'll be guilty of a crime, it'll go on my permanent record," she said, "those bastards, they're the ones who were in the wrong; there shouldn't even be dementors in Azkaban, or the possibility of that kind of abuse. Why are they trying to punish us?"
"Hermione…" Harry said, "you literally broke a convicted Death Eater out of Azkaban. If you don't sign this, they're going to make me arrest you, then it'll go to trial, and they're not going to hold back. You will be found guilty, and you will go to prison."
"I…, I don't know, I have to think about it," Hermione said as she folded the parchment and tucked it into her pouch.
Harry shook his head, then gestured to the crate.
"These are her things, where's she going to stay?" Harry asked.
"Oh… umm, you're her Head of House, isn't she supposed to stay with you?" Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head.
"There's no requirement in the law," Harry replied, "and before you ask, absolutely not. I don't want her in my house."
"Oh," Hermione replied, "oh umm, to be frank, I hadn't really thought this far ahead."
She felt heat rise to her cheeks.
"Why does that not surprise me," Harry muttered, "alright then, what are we going to do? Are your parents back in London yet?"
"Oh no," Hermione thought. She immediately saw where he was going, and she hadn't considered the consequences of what would happen after Bella was released from prison.
"Living alone together in the same house? A million opportunities to come in contact with one another… if she tries to seduce me, I'm done for," she thought.
"I…I don't think that's a good idea-" she said.
"None of this is a good idea," Harry said with a gesture, "but we have to work with what we've got."
"Maybe a rented flat? She's a Black… isn't she supposed to have a stipend or something?" Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head.
"That's no longer an option," he replied.
Hermione was confused.
"Is he refusing to spend money on Bellatrix, or is there some other issue?" she thought.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Nothing, just… you got her out, she's your problem," he said.
Hermione blinked as the denial stung, but perhaps she'd been a bit too forward. She had more or less taken advantage of Harry, kept him in the dark and went behind his back, and potentially could have gotten him in a lot of trouble.
"Alright…," she said, "sorry, I shouldn't have asked."
"Forget it," Harry said, "let's just… I'm glad you're out, I'm glad you're safe. I'm glad Bellatrix is away from Clark. I'm even glad she's out of prison. Kind of. Jury's still out. Anyway, we'll find him, and then we can put this whole thing behind us, somehow."
Hermione nodded and took a deep breath, then took a step forward, tentatively at first, and then with more conviction, to embrace Harry tightly.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He sighed heavily and hugged her back.
"You don't have to keep secrets from us, okay?" he said. She nodded.
"I won't," she said.
"What happened in the room in Scotland is private; that doesn't count as keeping a secret," she thought, even though she knew it was pure rationalisation.
After Hermione left with the crate, Harry retrieved his Auror robes and returned to the DMLE to set up relief for Ron. On top of the stack of parchment on his desk was a fresh paper aeroplane: a request from Winthrop to meet at his office. Harry quickly scribbled out and dropped off the rotating guard request form at Scheduling, then headed over to the incoming Minister's office. Blonde Daisy Vane sat in the secretary's seat, her hair in a tight bun. She flashed him a perfect smile and waved him in.
Winthrop's office was in a state of disarray, with boxes scattered about the floor and most of the furnishings already removed.
"Come in, come in, Mr. Potter," Winthrop said as he folded up a letter he'd been writing, "I apologise in advance for the mess, prepping for the move."
Harry sat in the chair in front of the desk; he wasn't sure if Winthrop wanted to discuss what they'd seen in the Pensieve, or something else, so he kept his mouth shut.
"You're probably wondering why I've asked you here," Winthrop said, "the new administration is coming together nicely, and I think there will be enough of a furore over the whole Bellatrix Black situation to push through amendments to the WEA."
"That's an odd thing to say," Harry thought.
"Oh, well, at least something good can come out of it," Harry said.
"Never let a good crisis go to waste," Winthrop replied with an almost playful grin, "we might even have enough political capital to put your goblin outreach program into place. Would you mind going through it with me again?"
Harry sat up straighter.
"Uhh… sure," Harry said, "the basic premise is…"
Harry launched into an explanation of how to address one of the main grievances the goblins had with wizardkind and jumpstart the economy at the same time: by using goblin gold both to pay off muggle property owners and hire wizard contractors to build out and enchant the new properties, and thereby integrate goblins more with wizarding economy without squeezing wizards out of their own homes.
"The specifics need to be worked out, and the goblins brought on board, but if it's a fair proposal I don't see why they wouldn't," Harry said, "being locked out of purchasing properties has been a grievance of theirs for decades."
"I'll assign a committee to crunch the numbers," Winthrop said as he continued scribbling notes, "your friend Edmund Macnair has accepted a role as Head of Department of Magical Resources and Revenue."
"Oh… brilliant, that's right up his alley," Harry said.
"I thought so too," Winthrop said, "I need someone to take over as Head of International Magical Cooperation… I thought perhaps, with your relationship with the goblins and this proposal on the table, maybe an interim role would suit?"
Winthrop looked at him expectantly.
"What? Me?" Harry thought. He had a hard time believing Winthrop was asking him to take on a head of department role.
"Surely there must be someone better, with more experience," Harry replied, "and wouldn't I have to deal with the International Confederation of Wizards, and other magical governments?"
"There certainly are, and yes, that would be part of the job, but it would be simple for someone like you," Winthrop said, "everyone already knows and respects you, Mr. Potter."
The incoming Minister smiled.
"I…" Harry said, "I'm honoured, really, but I can't, not until the Death Eaters are caught. The DMLE is already hurting, and if someone on my team gets injured or dies because I wasn't there… I don't think I'd be able to live with myself."
Winthrop regarded him momentarily.
"You're a nobler man than I, Mr. Potter," he said with another smile, "what do you think about Angus Macmillian for the job instead?"
Ernie's dad had been in politics for a long time; he certainly had the experience for the job, and his heart was in the right place too.
"I think he'd be brilliant but err.. why are you asking me?" Harry asked.
Winthrop regarded him patiently.
"If this legislation is to be worked out, we will need these two departments to work together on the budget and outreach to the goblins," he replied, "my gut tells me it might be advantageous to have someone on call to act as a go-between, should relations grow frosty."
"Could have just said so," Harry thought.
"You don't need to worry about that, I'll help out if I can," Harry replied, "I want this to succeed as much as anyone else."
"Excellent," Winthrop said. He stood up and extended a hand for Harry to shake.
"Oh, one more thing," Winthrop said, "I understand that Miss Black and Miss Granger have been given a plea deal for community service in light of… what happened."
Harry nodded. He didn't even want to think about what they'd seen in the memories.
"If they're interested, I have a project, and could use their assistance," Winthrop said, "I'm fairly certain we could use the hours spent to offset their sentence."
"I'll talk to them for sure," Harry replied, "what kind of project?"
"Research, similar to what they did with the cure they were working on at Hogwarts," Winthrop replied, "I think there may be a way to improve upon their solution."
"Oh, brilliant," Harry said, "I'll ask her just to be sure, but I'm sure Hermione will say yes to that."
"If it works, it'll be good for Hermione too; she did say she was having difficulty getting the cure through the Council of Master Healers," Harry thought.
"It certainly beats clearing out pox infested dragon dung," Winthrop said.
"Yeah," Harry said with a chuckle. Winthrop had a way of making him feel at ease, and Harry left the office in a better mood than he'd arrived.
Bellatrix stared at the glowing tip of the healer's wand as it moved over her lower body.
"Physically, you're healthy," Yarr said, "keep taking the nutrient potions and gradually ramp up exercise intensity and you should make a full recovery."
The glow went out and the brown-skinned healer regarded Bellatrix seriously.
"I understand you have declined obliviation of the traumatic memories," she said, "are you certain?"
The allure of going back to the way she was, before she restored her memories, tugged at her all over again.
"But everyone else would still know," she thought, "that might be even worse."
Yarr was still talking.
"-could experience symptoms well into the future, months or even years later," Yarr said, "emotionally, it could damage you, perhaps permanently."
"I don't care," Bellatrix said.
"There's no way I'm taking the easy way out of this," she thought, "other people might have problems after something like that, but I'm stronger."
Perhaps if she thought it over and over, it would become true. If there was one thing she despised, it was weakness. She had to convince herself, prove to herself and everyone else, that she was stronger. The door opened and Harry Potter entered, this time with what looked like one of the master healers of St. Mungo's, given the length of his pure white beard, along with a young attendant wearing hospital white. Potter signed a piece of parchment held by the administrative assistant.
"Alright Lieutenant, she's all yours," the master healer said.
Harry nodded. He produced a set of clothing from a mokeskin pouch and lay them on the back of a chair next to the bed.
"My robes, and shoes, from Hogwarts," Bellatrix realised.
"Mr. Potter, she needs to see a mind healer, at least for a diagnosis," Yarr said quietly to Harry.
"I understand, but we can't force her," Harry replied, and then he spoke up louder, "could we have some privacy please?"
A curtain drew itself around her bed, and Bella slid off the side to put her feet on the cold ground. The bottom of the curtain didn't quite reach to the floor, and she felt exposed as she pulled on her undergarments beneath the hospital smock. Harry and the healers spoke in hushed tones as she discarded the hospital issued gown, tugged on an undershirt, and threw her robe around herself, then slipped her feet into her old shoes.
"How long as it been?" she thought. She tried a squat to make sure her leg worked properly, then with a flourish, flung the curtain aside.
"Well, it's been fun, can't say I fancy returning for a visit any time soon," she said. The older healer looked at her with undisguised contempt, but healer Yarr merely seemed curious.
"One can only hope," the master healer said.
Harry didn't mince any words, he waved his wand over the top of her head and she felt the semi-familiar sensation of a broken egg dripping down over her as she vanished from view.
"Stay close to me, we'll side-along as soon as we get past the wards," he said. He held out an arm and she grasped it.
"Where are we going?" Bellatrix asked as they walked the hallways towards reception.
"Hermione's parents' house," Harry replied, "she's there."
Bella's heart did a little leap at the prospect of seeing her again; Hermione hadn't visited since the first day of her treatment. Then Bella saw a crowd of people gathered around the apparition drop off point. The instant they caught sight of Potter, flashes started erupting, and she instinctively shielded her eyes with her hand, though of course, her invisible flesh did nothing to protect her eyes.
"Mr. Potter, are you here to collect Bellatrix Black?"
"Will there be any additional punishment?"
"Was the abuse in Azkaban really as extensive as they say?"
"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!" the voices all ran together, and Bellatrix felt cracked, brittle, as if she might shatter at the smallest touch. She couldn't understand it, but she clutched Harry's forearm as he led her past the crowd to the empty space the wards did not protect. Then she was spinning through space and landed in a muggle kitchen. She touched down on linoleum floors and heard a pop and a fizzle. Nausea washed over her and she and bent over to avoid heaving as the fizzling sound continued.
"The living room, Harry, apparate into the living room," Hermione said.
"Sorry, I forgot," Harry said, "it was a bit tense on the way out."
Bellatrix looked up but only saw the back of Hermione's bushy hair as she reached behind a muggle appliance to unplug it, then stared at it, hands on her hips.
"Well, that's the microwave gone again," she said.
"I'll pay for it…" Harry said.
Hermione waved her hand dismissively, took a deep breath, and turned around. Bella's stomach nearly leapt into her throat.
"Hi," she said.
"Hello," Bellatrix replied. Her heart raced as if it were trying to leap out of her chest, but on the surface, she remained calm and relaxed.
Harry cleared his throat to break the silence.
"You'll be staying here for the time being," he said, "and you need to sign this."
He pulled what looked like a contract from his pouch and laid it on the counter, then produced a quill and inkwell.
"It's a guilty plea for stealing a wand, asking a house elf to commit a crime, and forging your identity," Harry said.
"What's the sentence?" Bella asked as she skimmed through the document.
"Community service, with Frances Winthrop," Harry said.
Bellatrix snorted.
"I don't trust Winthrop," Bellatrix said.
Hermione shot her a glance.
"He's fine," Hermione said, "he really is brilliant, and we'll be working on improving the obliviation cure. He says he needs both of us though, so you have to join too, because I don't particularly fancy shovelling dragon dung or whatever else they'll have cooked up for us. We might be able to do something to really benefit society, too."
"What's her angle, I wonder," Bella thought, but it didn't matter.
"When you put it that way…" she muttered as she signed with an extra large 'B' for her surname.
Harry rolled up the paper and stuck it back in his pouch.
"Any luck finding Clark?" Bella asked.
"No, but we'll get him eventually, don't worry," Harry replied.
A rumble of footsteps heralded Ron Weasley as he came walking around the corner with his nose stuck in a copy of the Prophet.
"Listen to this," he said. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"For all her fame at being a high achieving muggleborn, it appears that Hermione Granger is no different from a common trolgot, doing whatever it takes for a chance at a pureblood princess," Ron said, "even one that is tainted goods."
"They know about that? Us?" Bellatrix asked as she looked at Hermione. Her hope at making eye contact faded as Hermione avoided her gaze.
"What's a trolgot?" Harry asked.
"A bit of a rude word for a half-blood or muggleborn bloke who pulls out all the stops to marry into a pureblood family," Ron replied as he continued reading, "They know everything, by the way, been running articles daily for a week now. Sometimes twice a day."
"Great," Bellatrix said as her heart sank. She had hoped their relationship at Hogwarts would remain relatively unknown, if only to protect Hermione's reputation, but that had apparently been wishful thinking.
"Don't pay any attention to it," Hermione said, "if we lay low, this will all blow over in a few weeks or a month."
"I don't know, have you seen what people have been writing in?" Ron asked as he waved the paper.
"You know half of those are probably made up," Hermione said.
"It doesn't-" Ron said.
"What do they say?" Bellatrix asked before they could start arguing.
Ron clomped his mouth shut and scanned the page.
"Err.. here's a good one.. 'who cares what happens to anyone with a life sentence? Should have used one spell to put her out of her misery instead of fixing her up in St. Mungo's.'" Ron read, "uhh… here's another one, 'it's not abuse. No punishment is too extreme for someone like her…'"
"Hmm, and did they print the name of the people who wrote those in?" Bella asked.
"Uhh…. No," Ron replied unconvincingly as he slowly folded the paper.
Bellatrix smirked.
"Come on, don't even joke about that," Harry said.
"Oh who cares, as long as I'm joking and don't actually do anything," she said.
"Half-joking, anyway," she thought.
Ron looked down at the back page of the paper.
"Oh shit, here's a Skeeter article calling on Dawlish to resign," he said.
"Give me that," Harry said as he snatched the paper out of Ron's hands.
"Hey!" Ron said.
Harry compromised by moving to the granite counter and spreading it out so they could all read. Bellatrix sidled up next to Hermione, close enough she could smell her shampoo.
"I can't believe we're here, in the same house together," she thought, "but… everything's changed now. She's not going to want anything to do with you, not after she saw you… like that."
She crossed her arms and shoved the bitter thoughts from her mind before tears sprung up, then tried to distract herself by reading the article.
"If the internal investigation into abuse had been conducted properly, or proper controls were in place to ensure prisoners are not abused while serving their sentences, Black would still be incarcerated," Harry read aloud.
Ron took a deep breath and his cheeks puffed out as he exhaled, and Hermione shook her head as she finished the article first.
"This is an 'I-told-you-so' piece, for nobody taking her seriously when she couldn't find anything on Julia White," Hermione said as she stared at Bellatrix.
Bella didn't hear a word she said as she relished every second Hermione's eyes were on her.
Harry shrugged.
"She's not wrong," he said, "there's no use speculating; who knows what might have happened."
"Do you want to read this?" he asked as he held up a corner of the paper.
"Leave it with me," Bellatrix said, "I need to catch up on what's been going on."
"Are you sure?" Hermione asked.
Bellatrix nodded.
"Better to know," she replied.
"Right, we have to get back to the Ministry," Harry said, "let me know if there's any issues, either of you."
"Bye Harry, thank you again," Hermione said.
"See you," Ron said, and the two Aurors disapparated with a pair of pops.
"Alone with Hermione, in her house," Bellatrix thought. She turned to Hermione to find her already looking at her, and it was all she could do to maintain her composure and not throw herself at her.
"Right, I'll show you to your room," Hermione said as she turned away. Bella followed her up carpeted steps and stared unabashedly at her arse as she climbed, wanting nothing more than to rip her muggle jeans off and have her way with her.
"Do you want her to hate you even more?" she thought, "she doesn't want to have anything to do with you now."
Hermione led her to the end of the hall, to a small guest room with a single bed. A wooden crate lay on the ground next to the bed.
"Your things are in there," she said, "I'm going to do some shopping… you can sleep or wash up or… watch the telly I suppose. Try not to break anything."
Bellatrix put a hand on her hip.
"I'm not completely incompetent, you know," she said.
Hermione nodded.
"If you need anything…" she said.
"I need you," Bella thought, but she hesitated, "say it, say 'I need you'."
The moment passed. Hermione nodded and departed without another word, and Bellatrix heard the front door close. Figuring she would be staying for some time, she quickly unpacked and found the loo to take a shower. As soon as she opened the door, she inhaled deeply.
"This is where she brewed the Polyjuice," she thought.
After washing up and dressing in muggle clothing, Hermione still hadn't returned, so Bella explored the house.
"Parents' room with walk-in closet, ah, Hermione's room," she thought.
Trophies and ribbons from muggle school hung from a cork board, alongside a picture of gap-toothed Hermione as a small child beaming as she held up a trophy, first prize at some academic competition.
"Before she knew she was a witch," she thought. It was difficult to imagine the shock. The more she looked around, the more she felt like she was intruding on a different Hermione, a muggle Hermione.
"You shouldn't be here," she thought.
Downstairs, she found more photos, this time of Hermione's parents, a stereo system she had no idea how to operate, and the den with a large television set. She glanced at the remote control on the end table, then at the windowed door to her right. It opened onto a rear patio, and Bellatrix stepped outside into the summer heat. The chairs and table were just as she remembered, only now the umbrella was fully opened to provide shade. She sat down and recalled the prior Christmas, when she and Hermione had sat in these exact spots after drinking eggnog. The sounds of summer reached her ears… children laughing, birds chirping, muggle engines running in the distance. Despite the beautiful weather and clear blue sky, she found she greatly preferred that dark, freezing Christmas evening.
Harry sat at his desk and turned to the next page of the case brief. A red stamp with the word 'internal, confidential' marked the top of every page. Resources and Revenue had reported a misplaced file, the list of every incoming muggleborn student, for every magical school in Britain. Normally this would not be an issue for the DMLE to handle, but given that the list of registered werewolves circulating just a few months ago had been used to target them, the Ministry was taking no chances.
"Plus, one of the Death Eaters, or their allies, has infiltrated the DMLE; they may be planning an attack," Harry thought.
He figured the best place to start was at the department itself, so he took the lift to Resources and Revenue. He heard the commotion before he reached the door, and as he rounded the corner, a scene of organised chaos greeted him. Young staffers ran this way and that, some of them carrying stacks of parchment, and others shifting cabinets and furniture. Edmund Macnair stood at the far side of the room with a wand to his throat. He caught sight of Harry, but kept addressing the division.
"Forty-two minutes, ladies and gentlemen, plan appropriately," he said. He removed the wand from his throat and weaved his way through the traffic to Harry.
"What's going on?" Harry asked.
"Reorganising the floor so the departments who interact with one another most frequently are seated adjacent," Macnair said, "what can I do for you, Auror Potter?"
"I know it's from before your time," Harry replied, "but the list of-"
"Excuse me," a wizard said as he stepped between Harry and Macnair, followed closely by an ambling, large wooden cabinet.
"The list of incoming muggleborns was reported missing," Harry continued, "I don't suppose you'd know who was in charge of… whatever department was responsible for maintaining it?"
Macnair thought for a second.
"List of…. Follow me," he said.
He weaved his way between moving desks, chairs, entire cubicle walls, and Ministry employees to a door marked 'Records'. He pushed it open and beyond, Harry could see multiple filing cabinets standing in several rings about the centre of the floor.
"Hadrian?" Macnair called.
"Sir?" a voice replied, and Harry spotted a bespectacled face pop up near the rear of the room. Macnair motioned him over and the Ministry staffer set down a few files and walked quickly to the front of the room.
"Mark Hadrian, Harry Potter," Macnair said as he introduced the two. Harry shook his hand quickly as Macnair kept speaking.
"Hadrian, didn't you mention you find a list of some kind yesterday morning?" Macnair asked.
"Yes sir, list of first year muggleborn students starting next month," Hadrian replied, "it was sitting behind one of the filing cabinets."
Macnair nodded and turned to Harry.
"Would you like to see it?" he asked.
"Yes please," Harry replied.
Macnair looked at Hadrian, who retreated and walked towards one of the groups of filing cabinets. Harry saw him wave his wand a few times before opening one.
"Warded," Harry thought.
"Seems like a bit of good fortune; we found it as we were moving," Macnair said quietly as he watched Hadrian, "though, why would the DMLE be interested in a missing file?"
"Concerns they might be targeted by Death Eaters," Harry replied.
"Ah," Macnair replied. He looked thoughtful for a moment.
Hadrian returned and passed a thick folder to Harry.
"The magical seal is still intact," he said.
Harry looked over the thick brown file, clearly marked as 'secret, authorised personnel only'.
"Is there any chance someone could have opened it and then returned it?" Harry asked as he turned the folder over.
"I… suppose it's possible," Hadrian replied, "but if they could do that, then why not return it to where it's supposed to be?"
Harry shook his head and handed the file back.
"Schedule another training session for all junior staff, we need to ensure nothing like this happens under our watch," Macnair said.
Hadrian nodded and walked off with the file in both hands, to return it to its proper storage location.
"Honestly Potter, it seems like lax enforcement of security protocol," Macnair replied, "my predecessor did mention there had been issues with some of the new recruits. I don't want to throw him to the wolves though; it appears this is more cockup than conspiracy. That being said, my resources are at your disposal if you wish to continue your investigation."
"That won't be necessary, Minister," Harry said, "it looks like you have enough on your plate as it is. Plus, to be perfectly frank, we've been due for a soft quaffle case like this one for some time."
Macnair smiled and nodded, then held out a hand to shake.
Harry almost skipped on his way back to the DMLE.
"Can put this one to bed, record time," he thought.
Harry kept an eye on the crowd of reporters and select witches and wizards who had been chosen to attend Winthrop's speech in person. The press room was standing room only, filled to capacity, and it was impossible to ensure every single individual had no ill intent, so Dawlish had dedicated an entire team to security. Harry half-listened to the newly sworn in Minister of Magic as he spoke on strengthening the threads that bound magical society together. Ron and Matt flanked the Minister, a very visible Auror presence protecting him, while Harry and Liz, he under his invisibility cloak and she disillusioned, patrolled the cordoned off perimeter of the room. The speech ended and the floor opened to questions. Most of them were about plans to reign in the crime wave and stimulate the economy, then a question about Being inclusion caught Harry's attention. He kept his eyes on the crowd as he listened in.
"What would you say to those who are concerned about the dangers of allowing these… creatures into our society?" the reporter asked.
"They are Beings, and they're already in our society, just in the shadows where they're more likely to turn to illegal activities," Winthrop replied, "give them a stake in the country they live in, and they will help build it together with us."
Several questions were shouted at once, until Winthrop pointed at a familiar, fuchsia clad reporter.
"Why aren't Bellatrix Lestrange and Hermione Granger serving jail time? It seems like a double standard," Rita Skeeter asked.
"That's not the purpose of this press conference, but Black was released under existing law, and both were assessed penalties under the previous administration," Winthrop replied, "as we look to the future, there are many pressing matters to address-"
"But surely she remains a danger to society," Skeeter said, "and Hermione Granger broke a Death Eater out of Azkaban, seems counter intuitive for an administration supposedly tough on crime to let her off with a slap on the wrist. What of the scores of innocents who were harmed, both directly and indirectly by Lestrange? What would you say to them?"
Winthrop shot her a withering look.
"As I said, that was under the previous administration," he replied, and Skeeter looked about to ask another followup, but he raised his hand, "however, if it were within my power, I would take the same actions as Minister Shacklebolt on the case."
Murmurs erupted from the crowd at that.
"These two young women cured obliviation in under a year," Winthrop said, "dozens of wizards and witches whose minds were destroyed will remember their families again, as soon as the procedure is approved. Both Granger and Black will both be watched, and should they step outside the bounds of the law, then of course we will bring the full weight of Wizarding justice down on them, but if not… why deny the rest of us the fruits of their labour? I understand the calls for punishment, I might call for the same if it were my loved ones who passed beyond the Veil during the war. But I am tasked with doing what is best for Wizarding Britain, and I believe, along with a majority of the Wizengamot, we are better as an open society. We alienate, oppress, and drive the talented away at our own peril, and it's time we stopped."
The room erupted in more shouted questions, but Winthrop stepped off the podium and out a door in the rear of the room, along with Ron and Matt. Once the ruckus died down and the room cleared, Harry made his way back to the DMLE to find out from Dawlish how the search for Clark was going. When he reached the office though, he found it much cleaner than usual; he could actually see the top of the desk, upon which a large cloth satchel sat. Then he noticed none of Dawlish's personal effects, the picture on the wall and his quill holder and engraved inkwell, were visible. It reminded him of when he'd walked in on Professor Lupin at the end of third year.
"You've been sacked?" Harry asked, "because of the press scandal?"
"No, I resigned," Dawlish replied, "If I've guessed correctly, the powers that be are waiting to see if the negative press blows over, but I don't fancy waiting, so I'm making it easy on them."
"But… why?" Harry asked.
Dawlish looked at him.
"Close the door," the Head Auror said. Harry numbly shut it and turned around to face his boss and mentor.
"I'm done, bloody exhausted, haven't slept properly in months," Dawlish said, "probably over a year. I only stayed as a favour to Minister Shacklebolt, and he's out now."
Panic welled up within Harry; Dawlish was by far the most capable and experienced Auror on the Corps; Harry couldn't think of anyone who could replace him.
"Sir.. we haven't found all the Death Eaters yet," Harry said.
"And we won't, not until we have the resources to do it," Dawlish said, "I'm tired of banging my head against the wall trying to get the help we need, and then taking the blame when we don't and everything goes tits up. Maybe my departure will be the kick in the arse they need to actually give us the proper funding and allow us to hire."
Harry stood in stunned silence, partially because he was still processing the fact that Dawlish would no longer be Head Auror, and partially because of the more casual way he spoke. Dawlish continued packing.
"Oh, one thing, Clark must have had help, someone inside the Corps," Dawlish said as he stuffed several parchments into a folder, "because how else could he beat the internal investigations? It's most likely obliviation, but all the obliviators passed the Veritaserum tests. It's possible they obliviated themselves, perhaps, something to look into."
"What about Clark himself?" Harry asked.
"Not a sniff after he stopped by his parents' place to pick up a few belongings," Dawlish replied, "it's not surprising, considering he knows all of our procedures. Odds are he's hiding out in the muggle world, but we don't have an extensive presence there."
Dawlish clipped the clasps of his satchel shut, lifted it from the desk, and held out a hand for Harry to shake.
"Anyway, I'm sure you'll get to the bottom of it. Best of luck Potter," Dawlish said, "you've got the makings of a good Auror, given a couple years."
"Uhh, thank you," Harry said, still somewhat panicked that Dawlish was leaving so suddenly, "erm, what will you do now?"
John Dawlish smirked.
"Sleep for about a week, collect my first pension instalment," he replied, "and then, we'll see."
"You'll still be around though, right? If I had any questions perhaps?" Harry asked.
Dawlish shrugged noncommittally.
"Sure, we can meet for coffee," he replied.
He fished around his satchel and produced a small blue gift box, then opened the door.
"Thank you Katherine, for everything," Dawlish said as he rounded the corner. Harry walked over to the picture of remaining Death Eaters as Dawlish spoke with his former secretary.
"Rookwood, Travers, Alecto Carrow, Rastaban and Rodolphus Lestrange," Harry thought, and then he glanced to the faceless box above Augustus Rookwood, the one with a large question mark, "and whoever impersonated Avery."
Harry sat on the small barrier cordoning off the replica of Big Ben, which rose up above him to the second story of the mall. He felt alone and exposed out in the muggle world, as teenagers, some not much younger than himself, passed by in groups of varying size, chattering to one another and occasionally breaking out into titters or guffaws.
"Somewhere out there, blending in with these people, is Brandon Clark," Harry thought.
"So why'd ye want to meet out here?" a rough voice asked.
Harry looked over to see Mundugus Fletcher wearing a patched brown blazer and cloth cap, looking every bit the part of a blue-collar muggle.
"Figured it might not be best for you, to be seen talking to me," Harry replied.
"Well, that's awfully considerate of you," Fletcher said, "what can I do for the great Harry Potter?"
"I need that favour you owe me," Harry replied.
"Always willin' to do a favour for the Ministry. I'm listenin'," Fletcher said.
"You know Brandon Clark is wanted, right?" Harry asked.
"Might've heard somethin' about that, yeah," Fletcher replied, "gave it to ol' Bella Black pretty good, I heard."
Harry ignored the comment.
"We think he's hiding out in the muggle world," he said, "you wouldn't… happen to have any connections, or better yet, information, would you?"
Fletcher smirked.
"Why do ye think Dumbledore kept me around all those years?" he replied, "I'll do some digging, see what turns up."
Harry nodded and internally breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thanks, I appreciate it," he said.
"I expect to be well compensated if my information leads to an arrest," Fletcher said, "oh, while you're here… I got somethin' for ya."
He produced a small plastic baggie with a little bit of dried leaves sealed inside.
"Seems someone's got it in their head to sell Bertie Bott's every flavour Mary Jane to the muggles," Fletcher said, "this stuff's everywhere. Might want to look into it."
Harry opened up the baggie and inhaled the unmistakable scent of butterbeer, combined with another distinctive smell he couldn't quite place.
"Thanks, I will," Harry said as he slipped the baggie into the front pocket of his jeans.
"Don't say ol' Dung never did anything for ya," Fletcher said. He tipped his had and whistled a cheery tune as he walked off towards a clothing department store.