Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Chapter 42
Hermione sat on the hard wooden stool with her legs crossed tightly beneath her robes. Her hands lay folded loosely in her lap, and she fought the urge to clench them. Sitting behind individual wooden podiums, the Council of Master Healers looked down at her.
"These processes exist for a reason, Ms. Granger," Arcturus Peregrine said.
Healer Peregrine, one of the senior healers at St. Mungo's, twirled a finger about a few white strands of his long, thick beard. He currently spoke for the twelve master healers she sat before.
"Surely treatment could be approved on a case-by-case basis," Hermione said.
"Further, we hesitate to give credit to a maximum security inmate of Azkaban, in Bellatrix Black," Peregrine continued, as if he hadn't heard her, "and as an addendum, the requirement of a Hag's Eye makes yours an impractical cure. Unlike most proposals, there exists a hazard in that releasing this formula to the public, could end up causing more harm than good."
Hermione had not considered that; if obliviation could be cured with a Hag's Eye, more witches and wizards might seek them out.
"Which is exactly what happened with us," Hermione thought as she recalled their brush with death facing off against a pair of hags in the Forbidden Forest.
"But-" Hermione said.
"I am sorry, but the decision of the council is final," Peregrine said, "we appreciate all that you have done Ms. Granger, and all that you will likely accomplish in what almost certain to be a brilliant career, but there will be no expedited approval; you will follow the same process as everyone else."
Hermione knew a dismissal when she heard one, and reasoned she would not get anything further out of the Council, not today anyway.
"Thank you for your time," she said as she stood up.
A half hour later, she sat across from Harry at a muggle café near the wizarding hospital.
"… and they say it's not practical because it needs a Hag's eye for older obliviations," Hermione said.
"They have a point," Harry said.
Hermione glared at him over her cup and scalded her tongue as she took a larger sip of coffee than she intended.
"How is the abuse sweep going?" she asked.
"Supposedly I'll find out tomorrow, but I haven't heard anything at all, so… I suspect it's going to be bad news," Harry said, "err, not bad news, but no proof of abuse. I asked about checking for obliviation damage too. Seems that because dementors so often cause memory loss, it's impossible to tell if any inmates in Azkaban have been obliviated."
"Convenient," Hermione muttered.
"I can try for an exception-" Harry said.
"We can't let her stay in there, you said yourself she's worse and worse every time you see her," Hermione said.
Harry pursed his lips.
"We can, and we will, because doing anything illegal would make us vigilantes, just like Dennis Creevey and the 7's," Harry said, "imagine if everyone took the law into their own hands?"
"I know," Hermione said as she frowned and folded her arms across her chest, "it doesn't mean I have to like it."
Harry patted her on the shoulder a few times. She knew he was trying to be reassuring, but she wanted to shout at him that it wasn't helping the situation at all.
"Don't worry, we'll find a way," he said.
Hermione nodded. She did her best to swallow her frustration, and realised how self-absorbed she'd been.
"Speaking of the 7's, are there any new developments?" she asked.
"They found the body of another former Snatcher yesterday," Harry replied, "same sort of thing, with the mark on the forehead. Tracers are supposed to have the report ready tomorrow. Other than that… still nothing."
"Harry's still risking his life…" she thought.
"Even with everything going on, if you find anything, if you need anything…" Hermione said.
"I know," Harry said with an easy smile, "I'll let you know about the abuse investigation results tomorrow, but right now I need to get back to work or I'll be at it until midnight again."
Hermione nodded.
"The DMLE is still understaffed," she thought.
He started towards the empty department store that served as a front for St. Mungo's, no doubt to take the public floo back to the Ministry. Hermione finished most of her coffee and then took the same route, except she apparated directly home as soon as she passed the threshold into Wizarding Britain. The familiar empty rooms and blank answering machine greeted her, and she hiked the steps up to the loo. The closer she got, the more apparent the scent of brewing Polyjuice became, until she opened the door and almost had to hold her breath.
"Only another few hours," she thought as she checked the bubbling mixture.
The Council of Master Healers was a dead end. The DMLE was a dead end. It was becoming clearer and clearer that if she didn't take matters into her own hands, the girl who had helped bring her parents' memories back and that she had shared a bed with for months was as good as gone.
"She's only in there because of me," Hermione thought.
She finished up making adjustments to the potion and carefully closed the door behind her, then drew her wand in the hallway.
"Expecto patronum," she said, but only white mist sprayed from the tip.
"Come on," she said as she shook her wand a few times, "expecto patronum."
More white mist. Again and again, she went through the motions of the charm, her search for happy memories growing ever more desperate, until she couldn't even summon up the shield charm, and her wand remained completely inert. She thought of Julia, alone in her cell, waiting for a few seconds of a patronus that came once or twice a day. Waiting, and waiting, and nothing would come.
"Would she think I've put her behind me?" she thought.
Hermione sank to her knees on the carpeted floor and stared at the little bit of vine wood in her hand.
"It's because the situation is near hopeless," she thought, "she's dying in there, and there's nothing I can do."
Even with a batch of Polyjuice, even if she could she get in, get Bellatrix, and get out, what then?
"Unless I can recover the memories we need to prove her injuries are from Ministry abuse, we'd be hunted by the Ministry for the rest of our lives," she thought.
She shook her head; it would be no way to live. She rolled her wand between her thumb and forefinger and recalled how Julia used to twirl it when she was bored or deep in thought. She tried to mimic the gesture and while she didn't drop her wand, it wasn't nearly as smooth or fast as Julia had done it.
"Think, Hermione. Think of it as a problem to solve," she thought, and the beginnings of a plan started to take shape.
Harry sipped his coffee as he walked from the Tracers' offices back to his desk. In his other hand, he balanced stacks of reports from all of the Death Eaters and Snatchers the 7's had claimed in the past few months. In his peripheral vision, Harry saw a pair of Aurors passing the other direction in the hall, and one of them brushed past him, knocking the files to the ground. Parchment fluttered and scattered.
"Oops, sorry Lieutenant," the other said in possibly the most unapologetic tone of voice possible, while the first snickered.
Harry glared at the back of their heads. Incidents like this had been increasing since the internal investigation into abuse of prisoners and general non-compliance with protocol and process had begun. Harry knew there was a charm to pick up all the papers and set them in order, but he wasn't sure what it was, so he set his coffee down and started gathering them by hand. Back at his desk, he sorted through the photos and reports, looking for some connection aside from the double-seven lightning bolt cut into each of the victims' foreheads. Even though Dawlish had told him to let it be, Harry felt, no, he knew the sevens had something to do with him personally, and they didn't necessarily have his best interests at heart.
"Otherwise, why haven't they tried to contact me?" he thought.
His wand vibrated.
"Bollocks, that'll be the meeting with Dawlish in five," he thought.
He checked the pad from Ginny quickly before he went in, and saw a note from her.
"What's your Azkaban schedule look like?"
"Tomorrow," Harry wrote.
"What about Ron?" Ginny wrote.
"Saturday, why?" Harry wrote.
"No reason… ..." Ginny wrote.
Harry thought about it again.
"Bloody hell, it's my birthday," he thought, "bloody hell, Ron's working on my birthday."
That meant Ginny was probably planning a party, and it would probably be Friday. Now with a small smile, he made his way to the Head Auror's office.
"Good morning sir," Harry said as he entered the cluttered office and closed the door behind him.
"Morning Potter," Dawlish said as he motioned to the only chair not covered in parchment or folders.
Harry sat down.
"Did they find anything?" he asked.
Dawlish shook his head.
"Aside from minor violations of protocol, nothing," Dawlish said.
"And the mole-" Harry said.
"Either they aren't on the list, had themselves obliviated, or found some other way to dodge the probe, just like last time," Dawlish said.
"Damn. So… that's it then?" Harry asked.
Dawlish ran a hand over his stubbled jaw.
"We don't have the budget to chase shadows, Potter, plus there's morale to think of," Dawlish said.
Harry's eyebrows came together slightly in confusion.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"A few Aurors still think something rotten is going on, Robards and Clark among them," Dawlish said, "but, and you may find this hard to believe, most people don't like a great deal of scrutiny on every detail of their professional lives."
"I get that," Harry said.
"A lot of the Corps just want to do their job, get their pension, and get out with all their limbs intact," Dawlish said, "and we can't risk alienating them, or it makes all our jobs harder, make sense?"
Harry nodded. He didn't like it, but he supposed that was the way the world worked. He tried to see it from the older Aurors' point of view: brand new Harry Potter comes in, makes them all look bad by killing a few Death Eaters after they'd been stumped for half a year, is suddenly promoted over them, and now is making their lives more difficult for no apparent reason.
"Still, the end of the official investigation doesn't have to stop me from conducting my own…" Harry thought.
"What do you think, sir?" Harry asked, "is something going on?"
Dawlish frowned and shook his head.
"That's not what matters. Without evidence, there's piss-all either of us can do," Dawlish said, "so if you find any, I suggest bringing it straight here."
"Yes sir," Harry said.
"Right, back to work," Dawlish said.
Harry saluted and exited the office.
Later that evening, he, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione relaxed in his living room at Grimmauld. Ginny sat right up next to him on the couch, while Ron and Hermione each had their own cushioned chairs. Ron leaned his seat back to balance on two legs, and Hermione gave him a withering stare as if to question why he couldn't be more mature. Ron ignored her, and Harry smiled.
"I'm glad things are more or less back to normal with them," Harry thought. He'd been worried that with Tracy's death, and Ron and Hermione having broken up recently, his best friend might still be a bit raw, but if this evening was anything to go by, he seemed to be coping well enough.
"Training camp starts next week; I won't be able to attend the meetings anymore," Ginny said.
That meant he would have to nominate someone else to take the Black seat for the upcoming Minister vote. Perhaps Andromeda, if she could find someone to watch Teddy.
Kreacher appeared with a plate of small sandwiches cut into triangles, and a separate platter with a steaming tea set. The aged house elf expertly set both of them down on the table in front of the couch.
"Does Master Harry require anything else?" Kreacher asked.
"Thank you Kreacher, that's all for now," Harry said. The elf bowed low, then vanished with a soft pop.
Harry looked back to the plate to find Ron already held a pair of the small sandwiches, one in each hand.
"Is there really a chance Professor Winthrop could be voted Minister of Magic?" Hermione asked.
Ron nodded as he chewed, then swallowed.
"If our tally is right, and that's a big if, Macnair and Macmillian are both going to fall a few votes short," he said, "My dad says neither of them are going to be able to peel any votes away from the other, so that means it'll have to be a third candidate, which looks like it could be your Winthrop."
Hermione smiled.
"Maybe I'm biased, but I think that would be best for Britain," she said, "he really is brilliant, he listens, and he's very much in favour of additional rights for Beings, which would have multiple positive benefits for everyone."
Ginny glanced at Hermione with a somewhat puzzled expression but kept her mouth shut.
"I still want to meet with him again," Harry said.
Ginny sat up straight.
"Oh, I almost forgot," she said as she let go of his hand opened her mokeskin pouch. She rummaged around a bit and produced a piece of ratty parchment: The Marauder's Map.
"George finally took a look at it; he said it seems to be working fine," she said as she handed it to Harry, "it was tuned to the wards, and since the wards were destroyed and recast, and a large portion of the castle had been rebuilt, it's a bit twacked. He said if you wanted, you could try to convince McGonagall to let him make a trip to Hogwarts to try and repair it. Err, 'Cannons will win the Quidditch Cup before that happens,' he said."
"Wanker," Ron muttered.
Harry frowned and ran his fingers over the folded and creased parchment; it almost felt like cloth in his hand. The map was one of the only things he had of his father's. For a few seconds, he actually considered asking McGonagall for a favour to let George give it a go. Then he shook his head.
"I have enough on my plate as it is," he thought, "and I don't really need to see who is wandering around Hogwarts these days anyway."
"Thanks Gin," Harry said, and she nodded.
The following day, Harry sat in Winthrop's office again and tried not to be distracted the picture on his desk, that of a phoenix taking flight over and over.
"Mr. Potter, I'm a strong believer in right and wrong," Winthrop said.
"That's all well and good, but I really need to know which specific initiatives you're going to push for," Harry said.
Winthrop leaned back and steepled his fingers.
"Well, we need to think about what's best for largest number of people," Winthrop said, "first order of business is to get the crime wave under control. We can do that by letting the dementors run all of Azkaban again."
Harry started to protest; removal of the dementors was one of Kingsley's key achievements, even though it was only partially complete. There was no need to subject wizards convicted of minor crimes to the soul sucking Dark creatures. Even if they didn't feed on them, their aura was enough to damage some people for weeks. Winthrop held up a hand to stop him before he got started.
"Temporarily, temporarily, just until we can fill out the Auror Corps and the rest of the DMLE," Winthrop said, "sending our Aurors to patrol Azkaban instead of our streets, in the middle of a crime wave, doesn't make any sense. We need to amend the WEA as well, as a matter of national safety."
"All true," Harry said as his thoughts turned to the goblins, and the promise he'd made, "what about Beings?"
Winthrop nodded.
"That is the second order of business. I aim to introduce legislation for expanded rights for most beings, including veela, vampires, goblins, house-elves, and leprechauns, in addition to the werewolf act already passed," Winthrop said, "we give them a place where they can live and work on equal footing, and I assure you, they will come, along with their gold and tax revenue. Alongside that, I want to clean up the waste in the Ministry. You and I both know it is horribly inefficient. It may be a painful transition, but we need more witches and wizards actually out and creating things, not less. It will be better for everyone in the long run if we have less paper pushers."
Harry nodded.
"That sounds brilliant, do you think you'll be able to get it all done?" he asked.
Winthrop smiled.
"If we have the support of the Wizengamot, why not?" Winthrop replied, "and that's where you come in. There are a number of new, young Wizengamot members which could sway many close votes. If we're going to be successful, it might be in both our interests if you were to form a bloc that votes together."
Harry thought about it for a moment. Two of the younger members Winthrop was talking about were Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy, and he didn't expect either of them would be too keen on joining up with him.
"I'll… have to think about it," Harry said.
"It's just a thought," Winthrop said, "We have this golden opportunity to make real change for the better, and it won't last forever, Mr. Potter. One of life's biggest regrets is looking back and feeling more could have been done… something I think we may have in common."
Harry nodded again. He had been sceptical of Winthrop, despite how much Hermione fawned over him, but the man definitely had a way with words, and had done his research; he seemed to know Harry well already, after just a few meetings.
"Maybe he really could convince the Wizengamot to go along with his initiatives," he thought, "if he can do even half of what he's mentioned, that would be a huge step towards reforming Wizarding Britain entirely."
"Alright, I'm convinced," Harry said as he stood up, "We'll see about the bloc, but I'll do what I can. I have some thoughts on goblin property ownership, that would be good for the economy as well."
Winthrop stood up as well.
"Anything that helps put gold in the pockets of wizards will help build support for additional Being rights," he said, "I look forward to working together on more legislation, Mr. Potter."
They shook hands, and Harry departed to return to the DMLE. His thoughts swirled with the very real possibility of making some radical changes in Wizarding Britain, actually reforming their archaic society.
"It's something Hermione would be perfect for, actually," he thought.
As he approached his desk, though, he spotted a young wizard wearing a Ministry employee robe, holding a very familiar looking crate.
"Harry Potter?" the mail boy said. Harry nodded.
"This is for you," the employee said as he held out Crookshanks' crate. A loud 'meow' followed by the sound of scrabbling paws filled the air.
"Again? Where did they find him this time?" Harry asked as he picked up the crate.
"Department of Mysteries, they told me you would know what to do with him," the Ministry employee said.
"Thank you," Harry said. He set the crate down and looked at Crookshanks between the slats.
"What are you doing down there?" he asked. Crookshanks only meowed at him.
Harry drew his wand and sent a patronus to Hermione to ask her to meet him and pick up her cat, again.
Harry fidgeted nervously as the official Wizengamot vote counters tallied the ballots for the second time that day. The first two vote had been split, with Macnair and Macmillian receiving slightly more than a third of the votes each. The rest were split between Winthrop, who garnered about ten, and several Wizengamot members who voted for themselves even though they had no chance of winning.
"Still holding out for larger concessions," Harry thought. He did some mental arithmetic and tried to figure out if either of the front runners had enough votes to win if they managed to sweep all the stragglers up. He had tried his best to convince both of them to throw the support of their followers behind Winthrop in the event neither of them won outright, and they had seemed agreeable, but this was the moment of truth. He glanced at Kingsley, who currently sat in the Chief Warlock's seat, while the Minister of Magic's chair remained vacant. Across the space in the centre of the room where the scribe sat, Andromeda Tonks, fully made up and looking almost regal in brand new official plum-coloured robes, sat upright in the Black seat and watched the proceedings.
"Kind of ironic. She was cast out of the family, and now she's sitting in their seat at the Wizengamot," Harry thought. He smiled to himself.
One of the ballot counters stood up, approached Kingsley, and passed a slip of parchment to him. Harry's heart thudded in his chest. He wasn't sure why he was so apprehensive; he felt he would be able to work with any of the three frontrunners.
"Perhaps it's because it's the first time I'm seeing a new Minister elected," he thought.
Kingsley stood up.
"With thirty-five votes, a clear majority, Frances Winthrop has been elected as the next Minister for Magic," Kingsley said, "swearing in will take place in twenty-one days."
He tapped the black globe on its cradle and a resounding crack echoed throughout the chamber. Wizengamot members swarmed Winthrop to congratulate him and shake his hand, and camera bulbs from the balcony flashed. A few seconds later, the press pushed into the chamber itself.
"Thirty-five votes, just short of seventy percent," Harry thought. He spotted Kingsley on his way out of the chamber, and stepped down the carpeted steps to intercept him. Unlike Winthrop, who was surrounded, nobody seemed to care about the outgoing Minister.
"Thank you, Minister," Harry said.
"Potter," Shacklebolt said, "didn't get as much done as I'd hoped, but at least the wheels didn't come off completely."
"What are you going to do now?" Harry asked.
Kingsley chuckled.
"Take a holiday," he replied, "then we'll see."
Harry nodded.
"Good luck," he said.
Kingsley nodded and made a small wave of acknowledgement as a few flashes went off as he crossed the threshold. Harry glanced over to Winthrop, who was still surrounded.
"I should say congratulations," Harry thought. He pulled out his wand.
"Tempus," he thought. The time appeared quickly in glowing blue figures.
He tucked his wand away and, figuring he could meet Winthrop any time in the next three weeks to push for the changes he wanted, he attempted to duck out without being noticed. He should have known better; reporters descended on him, and flash bulbs left spots in his vision.
"No comment," he said as several members of the press followed him to the lift.
Five minutes later, he took the floo home, but the instant he stepped out of the fireplace, a chorus of cheers greeted him.
"SURPRISE!"
This was followed by an excited baby's scream.
Harry blinked as Ginny, Neville, Andromeda and Teddy, Ron, Liz, and Matt all cheered and applauded and went into a discordant rendition of 'Happy Birthday', sung in varying keys. A multi-coloured banner reading 'Happy Birthday Harry' had been strung up from the ceiling, and bright coloured balloons tied to weights completed the decorations.
He looked at his fellow Aurors.
"Aren't you lot supposed to be at work?" he asked.
"Skiving off for an hour," Ron replied with a grin, "here's hoping our team leader doesn't report us."
Harry chuckled, then looked around again.
"Where's Hermione?" he asked.
"She was here earlier, the balloons were her idea," Ginny said, "but she said she had to take care of something and she'd be back soon."
"She said don't hold up the cake on her account," Ron said.
As if summoned by the word 'cake', Kreacher appeared with a soft pop, a platter supporting a frosted white cake twice the size of his head held awkwardly in two hands over his head.
"Kreacher wishes Master Harry many happy returns," Kreacher said as he placed the cake on the coffee table.
"Thank you Kreacher, and everyone," Harry said as he looked at Ginny. She smiled, and Harry thought she looked absolutely radiant in her yellow sundress. Something didn't seem right though, like he was missing some small detail. Teddy distracted him though as he toddled over to his calf and hugged it. Harry picked him up held him in the crook of one arm, to excited giggles. He glanced at Liz and Matt, and noticed Matt had floo dust on his shoulder.
"Did you just arrive?" Harry asked.
The big man nodded.
"Weasley was lookout at the Wizengamot chambers, we got here just before you did," he replied.
Harry grinned.
"Wow, I don't know what to say, thank you all so much," Harry said.
He held Teddy and watched as Ginny placed candles on the cake and lit them with a wordless incendio, but something still seemed off. Hermione wouldn't miss his birthday celebration. A sinking feeling grew in the pit of his stomach.
"Where did Hermione say she was going?" Harry asked as casually as he could.
"She didn't," Ginny said, "only that she would be back soon. Bad luck that she missed the surprise."
"No… she wouldn't," Harry thought. He deposited Teddy back with Andromeda, then picked up the large knife next to the cake and blew out the candles. With two long, neat slices, he perfectly quartered the cake and set the knife to one side, then turned to Ginny again.
"Can I talk to you for a moment, alone?" Harry asked.
He didn't wait for a response, just took Ginny by the hand and led her towards the kitchen.
Matt whistled for about a second, but stopped when Ron glared at him and Liz smacked him in the stomach with the back of her hand. He cleared his throat.
"Sorry," he said.
Harry closed the door.
"What's wrong?" Ginny asked.
"Nothing. Well, nothing for certain yet," Harry replied, "you asked me about our Azkaban schedules… was Hermione involved in that at all?"
"Yeah, and a good thing too," Ginny replied.
"No…" Harry thought. Ginny kept talking.
"She mentioned a surprise party. I knew you wouldn't have Azkaban patrol tomorrow, but completely forgot about Ron… why?" she asked.
"Nothing, I just… I need to check something," Harry said. He pulled out his invisibility cloak and threw it over his shoulders, then drew his wand. Ginny's mouth dropped open; she must have sensed something was possibly very wrong.
"Go on head back out there and enjoy the cake, I'll be right back," Harry said.
Ginny looked incredulous as he asked her to host guests at his own birthday party, without him.
"Seriously?" she said loudly, just as he apparated.
Hermione gave up trying to sleep, rolled out of bed, and padded to the shower. She took a deep breath as the warm water cascaded down her front. For weeks after she'd returned home, whenever she lay alone in bed or stripped down for a wash, she'd had to fight to keep her hands from wandering. It was almost as if her body had grown used to regular sessions and expected more. Then, about a week and a half ago, those feelings had died down. No more tingling between her legs, no more urges to strip nude between her sheets, no more warm coiling sensation in her belly; it was almost as if she'd returned to the state she was in before she started having those types of feelings at all.
"Of course, it could just be anxiety and stress," she thought. She finished dressing and went through the checklist of everything she needed for the day one more time, and every passing minute had her tensing more and more. Finally, she drew her wand and turned on the spot. Hermione's heart pounded as she apparated directly to the small stone platform protruding from the North Sea. The sea-spray mist, cold even in the middle of summer, immediately chilled her bare arms. She had spent the past several days mapping out this insane plan, but now the moment was upon her.
"It's not too late to call it off," she thought. The crossing of the Rubicon wouldn't come until she was at the top of the prison, assuming she made it that far. The fact she could still turn back enabled her to walk, one step in front of the other. She knew neither Harry nor Ron would be in the guard house, and this was by design; either one of them knew her well enough to see through her ruse, but she doubted another Auror would.
"At least, I hope they won't," Hermione thought.
She scratched the inside of her arm several times, tearing at the glamoured wounds, then she opened the door to see the dark-haired Lieutenant Jenkins by the check-in station. A brown haired, younger Auror sat at a desk to her left and pointed his wand at her.
"Hermione Granger to see Bellatrix Black," she said, "…Hello Lieutenant, good to see you again."
"Miss Granger, come inside," Jenkins said as she closed the door behind her, "you know the procedure?"
Hermione nodded as she deposited her wand in the metal box provided and held her arms out to her sides. Jenkins ran a thin golden wire, a probity probe, over her. It beeped as it crossed her left arm.
"Oh no, I forgot… I have a glamour," Hermione said.
"You'll have to drop it please," Jenkins said. Hermione let her mouth drop open slightly.
"I… I can't. Can we…. Is there something we can do so I don't have to drop it?" she asked.
"I'm sorry, it's procedure," Jenkins replied, "you'll have to drop it, or you could come back again tomorrow."
She shook her head.
"No, she's a maximum-security prisoner. I can only visit once a month, and I pre-registered this visit. If I back out now, I'll have to wait until the end of August," Hermione said.
Jenkins shook his head.
"I'm sorry Miss Granger, we have to follow procedure," Jenkins said, "you can drop the glamour and submit to a physical pat-down, or I have no choice but to deny you entry."
Hermione tapped into the anxiety built up in her over the past few weeks, her desperation and frustration at no longer being able to cast a patronus charm, the fact she'd shared a bed with the woman who had tortured her, and yet couldn't stop thinking about her. Much easier than she'd expected, a lump appeared in her throat and tears welled up; she squeezed her eyes to force them out and down her cheeks.
"Please?" she whispered.
Jenkins glance at the other Auror, then turned back to Hermione.
"I'm sorry, the procedures are there for a reason," he said, "there's nothing I can do."
"Okay… okay, I'll release the glamour, but please keep this to yourselves… I don't want anyone to know," she said, her voice dying down to a whisper.
The Auror in the rear now looked extremely curious, and even the lieutenant raised an eyebrow. Hermione mentally tugged on the thread to unravel the partially unbound transfiguration and glamour, and she prayed that the spell which sat right next to it activated the way it was supposed to. She'd tested it multiple times, but still…
"Merlin's beard," the younger Auror muttered as the blood-streaked slur became visible along the entire length of her arm.
"These look almost fresh," Jenkins said, and he looked her in the eye, "when did this happen?"
"During the war. It was a cursed blade… I'll have them forever," she said, "please, you can't tell anyone."
Jenkins shook his head, whether in disbelief or pity she couldn't be sure.
"You have my word," Jenkins said. He glanced at the other Auror.
"Me too," he said.
Hermione held her arm out again.
"Moment of truth," she thought as the probe passed over again. She thought for sure the Aurors would notice her carotid artery practically leaping out of her neck, but when Jenkins ran the golden rod over her arm, it didn't make a sound. He set it aside and started to pat her down.
"Can we avoid the frisk?" Hermione said when he reached her arm, "it hurts."
"I won't touch the wounds, but we still have to follow procedure," Jenkins said.
Hermione nodded, and she closed her eyes as he ran his hands down the back side of her arm and avoided the front.
"Alright, follow me," Jenkins said, and she forced herself not to breathe a sigh of relief.
Her eyes remained forward, but all her attention was on the sticking charm on the inside of her elbow, a charm which securely held her disillusioned mokeskin pouch. The mokeskin pouch upon which she'd cast a special silencing charm that only activated when the glamour dropped… that silencing charm prevented anything from making any noise within exactly nine inches of the pouch, far enough to dampen the probity probe. The Auror lieutenant led the way across the second half of the walkway to the prison itself. As she followed him into the prison itself, Hermione counted her steps to help find the way back. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature ran down Hermione's spine, and only grew more intense as they climbed the metal stairs. She shivered, and the Auror summoned his patronus, a small swallow, to clear the path before they reached the top.
"You're aware of the rules, correct?" he asked.
"Yes, this isn't my first visit," Hermione replied.
He nodded and led the way past several identical metal doors until they arrived at the block that housed female Death Eaters, with its lone occupant. He opened the door and stepped across the threshold, then sent his patronus to glide down the length of the block and back to ensure no dementors were inside.
"Fifteen minutes," Jenkins said as he stood at the entrance to the block.
Hermione nodded and stepped through the doorway into darkness, and the metal door closed behind her with a resounding boom and echoing clank as Jenkins locked her in.
"Step one complete," she thought.
She walked to the end of the cells. Bellatrix lay curled up on the metal cot, the pale soles of her feet just barely visible in the gloom.
"Hello?" Hermione said, "wake up."
Bellatrix lifted her head to peer at her.
"You. What are you doing here?" she asked, "you should leave."
Even in the dim light, Hermione saw how her cheeks had sunken in, and her arms and legs had grown noticeably thinner.
"If I don't do this, she'll die before the end of the year, probably sooner," Hermione thought. Worries about all the ways her scheme could go wrong caused doubt to start creeping in and infect her thoughts.
"Stop. It's the dementors. Stick to the plan," she thought. Now that she knew Bellatrix was awake, it was time to initiate phase two.
Using the plan as a shield against the despair of the dementors' aura, she walked back to the entrance of the bloc and knocked on the metal door.
"Lieutenant? Are you there?" Hermione asked, her voice an octave higher than normal.
"Yes, is everything alright?" Jenkins asked.
"I think you'd better come in, she's not moving," Hermione said.
The door unlocked and opened, and Jenkins made eye contact with her, then briefly glanced at the open wounds on her arm before taking the lead with his luminescent swallow hovering next to him. Hermione let herself trail back a few steps, then, heart pounding as she kept her eyes on the Auror's back, she opened the invisible pouch and reached in for the item she'd deliberately left near the top. The well-used handle presented itself, and she drew it out in one smooth motion… walnut, just short of thirteen inches long, with a dragon heartstring core, a wand the Ministry had been very interested in and had questioned her about in the immediate aftermath of the Battle. For some reason, she had lied about still possessing it, the wand that had tortured her, and Frank and Alice Longbottom, and killed Sirius: Bellatrix Lestrange's wand, cold and unyielding in her grip.
Silently, Hermione aimed it at the unsuspecting Auror Jenkins' back.
"Stupefy," she thought, and a red bolt shot out and hit him square, dropping him to the ground in a heap. The swallow patronus vanished in an instant, plunging the block into chilly gloom. Hermione wordlessly summoned Jenkins' wand and stowed Bellatrix's back in her pouch, then ran to the entrance of the block to close and lock the door.
"Colloportus," she thought as she reinforced the lock, "that should keep the dementors out… I hope."
She ran back to the unconscious Auror and levitated him to the last cell, where she deposited him on the floor.
Bellatrix was now on her feet with her face pressed to the bars.
"Are you mad? What do you think you're doing?" she asked.
"I'm getting you out of here," Hermione replied as she knelt next to Jenkins' prone form.
"You can't… they'll catch you, and then you'll be in here too," Bellatrix said, but it was Julia's voice, and Hermione clearly heard the worried tone. She put it out of her mind as best she could; she needed to focus.
"I have a plan," Hermione said as she pulled a pair of bottles, Polyjuice potion, from her pouch. She hit the Auror with a feather-light charm and began undressing him. She took his robe and boots, then faced Bellatrix. Hermione locked eyes with the witch in the cell, and her gut twisted in revulsion. She averted her gaze to look down somewhere around Bellatrix's knees.
"It won't work, it's hopeless," Bellatrix muttered.
"That's the dementors talking," Hermione thought. Part of the reason inmates so rarely escaped from Azkaban was because the dementors sapped their hope and resolve, until they couldn't even conceive of escape.
"You have to trust me," Hermione said, "I can get you out, with a legal pardon. I'm sure I can. Ninety-five percent sure. Well, maybe ninety percent."
She chanced a look at Bellatrix's face again, and saw confusion mixed with the tiniest bit of hope there, then she had to look away again.
"Can I trust you to do as I say?" Hermione asked.
There was a long pause.
"Okay," Bellatrix whispered.
Hermione plucked a hair from Jenkins and herself, and placed one in each of the potions, which fizzled and bubbled as the final ingredient was added.
"Take off your clothes, you're going to be me," Hermione said. She then stripped out of her t-shirt, jeans, socks, and trainers. Any embarrassment at being seen in her bra and knickers was drowned out by her mentally recounting the steps of her plan she still had to enact, and the chill of the metal floor on her bare feet, which brought home the very real possibility she could be caught and thrown into a cell for a very long time.
Hermione passed her clothes through the cell bars.
"Put those on," she said, then looked at the potion which would turn her into Jenkins. She realised she still wore her undergarments and it would not be a good idea to transform into the much larger and very male Auror while still wearing them, but she wasn't about to strip naked in front of Bellatrix.
"Not like she hasn't seen it all before," Hermione's brain thought at her as something like a lump of granite settled in her stomach.
She picked up the Auror robes and boots, took a few steps to get out of sight, quickly stuffed her remaining clothes into her pouch, then downed the potion.
"Ugh, tastes like motor grease and peppermint," she thought.
The Polyjuice roiled her insides, and a burning sensation spread out from her core all the way to her limbs. It wasn't the first time she'd gone through the transformation, but that didn't lessen the discomfort in the slightest. She struggled to refrain from grunting in pain as her skin bubbled and changed. Her shoulders broadened, and she actually felt her bones lengthening. When she came to her senses, she found herself on all fours on the ground. She stood up and started to put the Auror robes on, but stopped when she noticed the very obvious and very male package between her legs. When she had disguised herself as Harry and changed clothes, she'd purposefully worn boxers, and inspecting his anatomy had been the furthest thing from her mind.
"I definitely did not think this through…" she thought, "Come on Hermione, stick to the plan!"
She shoved her arms through the sleeves of the robe and jammed her new, larger feet into the boots and laced them up. When she returned to the front of the cell, Bellatrix had already changed into the clothes Hermione had entered the prison with. Hermione used Jenkins' wand to transfigure the cell bars, bending them until a space large enough to pass through opened. Bellatrix stepped out, and Hermione levitated Jenkins' body in, then returned the bars to their original shape.
"Sorry," she thought as she looked at the unconscious Auror lying next to the discarded prison smock for a second. She pulled a blanket from her pouch and slipped it into the cell as well.
Satisfied, she turned to Bellatrix to find her staring up at her curiously. Jenkins was much taller than her, and it was odd looking down at her so much when they were normally about the same height. She averted her gaze again and picked up the second Polyjuice potion.
"Drink this," Hermione said as she handed potion to Bellatrix. She realised her voice had not changed, and pointed her wand at her neck.
"Mutatio vocis," she said. She cleared her throat.
"Testing, testing," she said, and felt it was at least a passable imitation of Jenkins' voice.
Bellatrix quaffed the potion down, and Hermione watched as her skin bubbled, her form expanded slightly to fill her clothes, and her hair changed colour and texture to her own wild and bushy mane. It took a moment, but eventually she stood up straight, and Hermione found herself looking down at her doppleganger. Bellatrix looked at her arm and traced a finger over the bloody letters, then back up at Hermione with an apologetic expression. Hermione ignored her.
"Okay," Hermione said in Jenkins' voice, "Phase three. I'm going to cast a patronus to get us off the top levels, then when we reach the ground floor, I'll give you this…"
She pulled a small red capsule from her pouch.
"It's a bloody puking pastille," Hermione said, "it'll make you vomit blood. Don't worry, it's harmless and I have the antidote, but this will be the distraction to get us past the guard house. So… the more the better. Once we're through, we walk to the stone platform, and then we side-along."
"I guess we have no choice, now," Bellatrix whispered as she glanced back into her cell, "please don't get caught."
Hermione nodded, then led them to the entrance of the block and undid the locking charm. Her heart thudded… she hadn't been able to properly cast the charm in nearly a week.
"Expecto Patronum," she said.
Only a white mist sprayed from the tip of her wand.
"Come on," she thought. If she couldn't produce a corporeal patronus, they would have to risk running the gauntlet of dementors swirling about the upper levels, something she was definitely not keen on trying. Hermione closed her eyes and summoned up memories of laughing with Ron and Harry, of getting her parents' memories back, the quiet moments just after the Battle of Hogwarts. She knew before she said the words though… it wouldn't work. Everything was tainted by despair and doubt, the fact she wasn't using her own wand, the post battle memories stained by the friends they'd lost in the war against Voldemort, how Julia should have been there when she restored her parents…
"Expecto patronum," she said, and again, only white mist.
"You have to do this Hermione, you have to believe it can work," she thought.
Julia slipped her hand into hers, and even though it was much smaller than she remembered, it still felt the same, and a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the hope that they could get out of this, and whatever truth there was to a girl named Julia White would survive and find happiness. And just like that, she knew it would work.
"Expecto patronum," she said, and her familiar otter burst into being. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as the dementors' aura was driven back by the strength of her patronus. She looked down at the girl next to her, who wore her face, and her eyes were closed, basking in the light of her otter.
"Have I ever looked that content?" she thought. Her mental timer of how long the Polyjuice would last ticked away the seconds.
"Let's go," she said in Jenkins' voice. Bellatrix opened her eyes and nodded. Hermione stepped out of the block and turned left, but Bellatrix slowed their progress as she limped every other step. Once they reached the steps, she let the patronus fade and cast a feather-light charm on her to lighten the load so they could increase the pace. Hermione supported her as she half-limped, half-slid down the steps, then again when they reached the ground level.
"Okay, here we go," Hermione said, "you don't need to do anything, just vomit as much as you can."
Bellatrix swallowed the pill, and they started the journey to the guard house. About halfway there, she doubled over and bloody vomit splattered onto the stone.
"It's okay, you can get it on my shirt," Hermione said, "that's why I wore white, it'll make a bigger impression."
By the time they reached the guard house, the entire front of Hermione's t-shirt was stained red with blood, and it even had what looked suspiciously like chunks of food mixed in.
"George has really outdone himself this time," she thought.
She pushed the guardhouse door open and all but dragged Bellatrix inside.
"Bloody hell," the young Auror said as he stood up, "what happened?"
"I don't know, but she needs to get to St. Mungo's, now," Hermione replied. She opened the metal box and pulled out her vine wood wand. The young Auror was casting what Hermione recognised as a diagnostic spell.
"Forget it, we don't have time," Hermione said.
"But.. protocol-" the Auror said.
"Fuck protocol! Or do you want to explain to Dawlish why Hermione bloody Granger died because we didn't get her to St. Mungo's straight away?" Hermione said.
Bellatrix chose that moment to vomit all over herself and the floor, and the young Auror, white-faced, stepped back. Hermione pushed through the door and onto the second walkway. She could see the platform ahead of them as it appeared out of the mist.
"Just a few more metres," she thought as she all but carried Bellatrix the last few steps.
Then she stopped cold, for hovering in the air and blocking her path, just a few feet from the edge of the stone platform where she would be able to apparate, a disembodied hand had appeared in mid-air, holding a wand. A very familiar wand.
"No!" Hermione thought, "he's supposed to be at Grimmauld Place, that's his alibi!"
"Hermione," Harry said quietly, "have you lost your mind?"
Hermione realised the wand was pointed at Bellatrix.
"Harry," she said in Jenkins' voice, and the wand shifted slightly to aim at her. She let the voice altering charm fade.
"Listen to me," she said in her own voice, "I know she's being abused and obliviated. I can restore her memories, and I'm going to bring them as proof… we can get her out legally. And if there's no abuse, I'll turn myself in, I swear."
The wand didn't move, but Harry didn't say anything either.
"You know it's the right thing to do. We can't just let her die in there, not when we can save her life," she said, "not when you can save her life. Tell Kingsley, I'll bring the memories to his home in London tomorrow night. Tell him to bring a Pensieve. And if I'm wrong, I'll bear the consequences."
Still, the wand remained motionless as Bellatrix vomited again, the bloody bile splattering on her trainers and the stone walkway.
"I don't want you to bear the consequences," Harry said, and for a moment, Hermione realised what a terrible spot she'd put him in. She had no choice but to push forward though, to see the plan through to the end.
"Harry please," Hermione whispered. Finally, the hand and wand vanished back inside the invisibility cloak, and Hermione heard the crack of apparition. She exhaled partially in disbelief, partially in relief, then dragged Bellatrix the last few remaining steps to the platform. Hermione placed Jenkins' wand on the ground and used her own to cast a sticking charm on it, to ensure it stayed until someone removed it.
"Hang on tight," she said as she held out her arm. Bellatrix gripped her forearm with both hands and looked up at her face. Hermione looked down into her own brown eyes and blood smeared chin, then turned and apparated.
Harry appeared back at Grimmauld and lifted the hood of the invisibility cloak, and immediately the others peppered him with questions.
"Is everything alright?"
"What happened?"
"Where's Hermione?"
Numb and still trying to process what just happened, Harry didn't answer at first. Kreacher apparating in with a pop snapped him out of it.
"Master Harry has returned," the house elf said with a bow.
"I think… I think Hermione may have just broken Bellatrix Black out of Azkaban," he said. Stunned silence greeted him, followed by even more questions. All of them overlapped with each other and he couldn't make out a single one, not that he was really listening anyway.
"It's only a matter of time before they realise she's missing, and then they're going to question me, probably under veritaserum," he thought, "shit, I have to report this, right away."
"I've got to go," he said. He looked around at Ron, Matt, and Liz.
"All of us have to go, right now, I need to tell Dawlish," he said, "and they're going to mobilise you to look for them."
He took the floo to the Ministry, and five minutes later, Harry stood in a small nook between the Auror cubicles and the meeting rooms as Auror headquarters buzzed all around him. Dawlish stood not five feet away.
"Sweep the Forest of Dean, too," the Head Auror said.
"She won't be there, she's too smart to have gone back," Harry said.
"We have to check anyway," Dawlish said to him. The Head Auror glanced around at the staff running here and there, and nodded.
"Potter, Robards, with me," he said.
Harry followed them both to the Head Auror's office. Robards locked the door behind him, and Dawlish, as Harry predicted, went straight to the small vial of veritaserum. Harry sat down in front of the overloaded desk, and Robards moved a stack of parchment to sit in a chair adjacent to them both.
"You know the drill, Potter," Dawlish said as he held up a small dropper.
Harry nodded and tilted his head back as Dawlish administered three drops. A sleepy, calm feeling washed over him.
"Do you know where Hermione Granger is now?" Dawlish asked.
"No," Harry replied.
"Did you have foreknowledge of her plan to break Bellatrix out of Azkaban?" Dawlish asked.
"No," Harry replied.
"Did you have an opportunity to stop her?" Dawlish asked.
Harry hesitated for a second.
"Yes," Harry said.
Dawlish shook his head in disbelief.
"Why didn't you stop her?" he asked.
"I believe she's telling the truth," Harry said, and he continued before Dawlish could ask, "that Bellatrix is being abused in prison."
"You've got to be bloody kidding me," Robards muttered.
"She's going to meet us at Kingsley's house, tomorrow night. She asked me to ask you to bring a Penseive. She swore she'd turn herself in if she was wrong," Harry said.
Dawlish paused, and Robards glanced back and forth between the two of them, an unreadable expression on his face.
"That remains to be seen," Dawlish said, "but you didn't take into account we now have potentially one of the most dangerous Death Eaters on the run, and you didn't stop an escape from Azkaban. So, while this all plays out, you're suspended, turn in your rank insignia."
Harry reluctantly pulled off the official DMLE Auror and Lieutenant pins from his robe and placed them on the desk.
Dawlish held the dropper out again.
"To verify everything you just said," he said.
Harry tilted his head back and received another two drops, and the sleepy calm feeling washed over him anew, along with a slightly nauseous sensation in his stomach.
"Have you told any lies during this meeting?" Dawlish asked.
"No," Harry replied.
"Right," Dawlish said, "go get some rest-"
"Do you know who the mole is in the DMLE?" Robards asked.
"No," Harry replied.
"Have you ever conducted any Dark rituals?" Robards asked.
"N-No," Harry replied as the resurrection of Voldemort in the graveyard came to mind, but he didn't conduct that particular ritual, Wormtail did.
"Why didn't you destroy Voldemort earlier?" Robards asked.
Harry's eyes widened in panic as his mouth started to move on its own.
"We couldn't," Harry replied, "we needed to ensure the last of the ho-"
Dawlish, quick as a flash, stood and drew his wand in one fluid motion, and pointed it to silence Harry, whose mouth kept moving.
"Out," Dawlish said to Robards, who continued to stare at Harry.
"Now," the Head Auror said as he pointed his wand at the door, opening it with a wordless charm.
Robards gave Harry one last glare, saluted to Dawlish, and exited.
Harry finally stopped speaking, and Dawlish looked at him with an expression that was something of a cross between curious and annoyed. He pointed his wand at the door and Harry recognised a wordless colloportus. Then he released the silencing spell.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Harry asked.
"Look-" Dawlish said, but Harry didn't like his tone at all.
"You're not going to punish him?" Harry asked.
Dawlish sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.
"I'll talk to him. He technically didn't do anything illegal," the Head Auror replied, "and truth be told… truth be told, there is an awful lot about that period of time that I'm curious about as well."
"Yeah, but you know there are good reasons why we're not allowed to speak about it," Harry said.
"Which is why I silenced you, but you have to understand, for Lester… it's personal," Dawlish said, "you know how he and his elder brother Gawain quit the Corps and fought the Death Eaters on their own?"
Harry nodded.
"A few days before the Battle of Hogwarts, they managed find him, Voldemort, blind luck as far as I can tell, but they did it, and they attacked," Dawlish said, "only Lester managed to escape. Gawain was horribly injured and taken prisoner. We recovered him after the Battle; he's nothing more than a vegetable now, in St. Mungo's. If Voldemort had been defeated just a few days earlier…"
"He'd still be alive," Harry said quietly. Suddenly, much of Robards' behaviour made a lot more sense. Not that it changed Harry's opinion of the man… not much, anyway.
Dawlish nodded.
"Captain Robards always looked up to Gawain; he was an excellent Auror. Lester is convinced you'd used some kind of Dark magic to defeat Voldemort, and that if you'd only used it earlier… well, that theory is shot to hell now," Dawlish said.
Harry shook his head.
"I didn't. It was old, powerful magic, and not really mine… just… if the truth became common knowledge, it wouldn't help anyone. Actually, it could cause a lot of pain and destruction," Harry said, "which is why it's a bloody secret."
Dawlish didn't respond, he only stared at Harry with an expression that Harry thought might be apprehension, as if he were seeing him for the first time.
"I'll make sure Robards stays professional with you," Dawlish said, "for what it's worth, he agrees that there are some bad apples on the Corps."
"Yeah, and he thinks I'm one of them," Harry said as he felt his brow furrow.
Dawlish held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"You do realise you just allowed a maximum security prisoner escape from Azkaban. Go home Potter, get some rest," Dawlish said, "I'll contact Minister Shacklebolt about tomorrow night's rendezvous, assuming it actually happens."
"She'll be there," Harry said, "both of them. She wouldn't hang me out to dry like that."
"We'll see," Dawlish said, "for what it's worth, I hope this works out for you, Potter; it wouldn't be good for anyone for you to end up in prison."
He motioned to the door and Harry stood up, saluted, and exited. He turned right and, ignoring all the glances and stares, walked straight out of the DMLE. On the way to the floo, he pulled out his journal.
"I'm off for the rest of the day and tomorrow, you free?" Harry scribbled. The words faded into the page and the reply came almost instantly: "Yes, your place?"
Harry replied with a single large letter 'Y', and took the floo straight to Grimmauld. Kreacher appeared with a pop.
"Master Harry has returned," he said, then took Harry's Auror robe. Ginny appeared in a burst of green flame and stepped out of the fireplace. Harry couldn't help but smile when he saw her, but she just looked him over.
"And?" she asked.
"I'm suspended until tomorrow night," Harry said, "and then… well, we'll see, depending on how Hermione's insane plan works out."
Ginny shook her head.
"The worst part is, if she actually does prove Bellatrix is being abused, I'm supposed to request her release from prison," Harry said, and he noted Ginny's questioning expression, "some archaic law."
"That's a bit presumptuous on her part, that you'd just go along," Ginny said.
Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.
"We talked about it and I agreed," Harry said, "but it was supposed to be by the book; and breaking into bloody Azkaban was never on the table. I've half a mind to call a Wizengamot session and change the law."
Ginny pulled him over to the couch and sat down next to him. The simple gesture and closer proximity to her, just feeling her next to him, lifted his heart.
"She always knows what to do," Harry thought as he felt some of his frustration dissipate.
"You knew her in school, Julia White. What's she really like?" Harry asked.
Ginny pursed her lips as she thought back.
"Just… normal, I suppose," Ginny replied, "witty and sarcastic. Definitely not an insane lunatic, though she could have been hiding it the entire time. Now that I think about it, she did change part way through the year. She used to be more of a blood supremacist, and then… I don't know, grew out of it or something."
"And started dating Hermione," Harry said.
Ginny shook her head slowly.
"I don't… how does that happen?" Ginny asked.
Harry smirked.
"Well you see, when two hormonal teenagers are working together on a project for hours and hours every day for months on end…" Harry said, and Ginny thwapped him in the shoulder with the back of her hand.
"Prat," she said.
Harry didn't deny it.
"Imagine how Hermione feels," he said.
Ginny's smile faded.
"I don't have to imagine, she lied to you and broke the law to save her," Ginny said, "I think I can guess exactly how she feels. What do you think will happen if her scheme actually works?"
Harry looked off at the opposite wall in thought for a moment.
"Erm… I request Bellatrix be released, Kingsley lets her go, and the press has an absolute field day," Harry said, "and then… I dunno, Hermione's parents are still in Australia, maybe they move into their house in London, or maybe the two of them move to Sydney…"
Ginny looked down at the coffee table.
"You think she would really leave?" she asked.
"No. I didn't think she'd break into Azkaban either though, so, take that for what it's worth," he replied.
They sat quietly for a moment, just holding hands. Harry grew hyper conscious of the diamond engagement ring as it rubbed against his finger.
"Do you think it's safe to let her out?" Harry asked, "honestly speaking."
Ginny considered for a moment, then nodded.
"And if Hermione really is happy with her," Ginny said, then she stuck her tongue out as if nauseous, "then we owe it to her to not let Bellatrix Black die in Azkaban. I can't believe I just said that."
"I can't believe I'm agreeing with you," Harry said, "I don't like it, but what's the alternative? Send her back inside? Send Hermione to Azkaban?"
He shook his head.
"Hermione probably thought all this through before going through with it," Harry thought darkly.
He stood up.
"I need to check something at St. Mungo's, want to take a trip?" he asked.
Ginny nodded.
They flooed over and Harry stepped up to reception.
"I'd like to visit Gawain Robards," he said.
The receptionist, a dark-haired witch in her early forties, opened a filing cabinet, withdrew a file, and flipped through several pages.
"Level four, ward thirty-one," she said.
Harry and Ginny climbed the steps and walked the pristine halls. On the way, they passed by an elderly healer in a white robe as well as a few glassy-eyed residents wandering the corridor.
"Neville's parents are here, and Lockhart, too," Harry thought, "though… now that Hermione's cured obliviation, he could be healed, and then sent to stand trial."
It was something to think about. They arrived at ward thirty-one, and Harry tried the door, then pushed in.
A simple room with a single occupied bed greeted them. A patient lay on the cot, and even from the door he could see Gawain Robards' face was horribly disfigured. It looked like it had been severely burned and healed, though not completely. Beneath the sheets, his body was small and thin, wasted away.
"Probably from lack of use," Harry thought. He stepped over to the bed and forced himself to look down at the vacant stare of a man he'd never met.
"What happened?" Ginny asked quietly.
"He tried to fight Voldemort, him and Captain Robards," Harry said, "this is his older brother."
They watched him breathe for a minute. Robards' eyes slowly drifted over to where Harry and Ginny stood, but they remained vacant and unseeing. Harry got the distinct sense that he was intruding, and he suspected if Captain Robards found him visiting his brother, his reaction would not be positive.
"Harry, let's go," Ginny whispered; she felt uneasy as well.
Harry nodded.
"I can't imagine…" she said as they made their way out of the hospital. Harry also felt a deep despondency, but after a few minutes he resolved to shake it off.
"Hungry?" he asked. Ginny nodded and they climbed the steps to the tea shop on the top level. The sound of regular people, come to visit sick loved ones or receive some treatment or other, chatting as they took a break, lightened the mood significantly. Harry ordered jam and toast for both of them, along with two orange fizzy-flitter drinks. Little orange sparks flew up out of the bottle as he twisted the caps off, and he was rewarded with a small smile from Ginny.
"So, I was thinking…" Ginny said, "you're off for the rest of the day, and quidditch training doesn't resume until Monday."
Harry's heart started thumping in anticipation.
"Maybe we should make the most of it," he said as his thoughts turned to his bedroom at Grimmauld.
Ginny smiled sweetly, and Harry caught a glint in her eye.
"I do owe you a birthday present," she said.
They left the toast half-eaten.
A/N: The image of an invisible Harry confronting Hermione breaking Bellatrix out of Azkaban was one of the first ideas I had for this fic.