They appeared in the gap between two pale buildings in Westminster. Hermione squeezed Harry's hand, asking for a moment for the nausea to settle, before taking stock of their surroundings. The familiarity of it all — the Muggle-ness— nearly took her breath away.
Harry directed them onto the street, where they lingered by a lamppost until they spotted a pair of men trying to look unobtrusive. Careful to stay close together beneath the Cloak, they shuffled down the street several yards until they came up against the two idling men.
"Hey, it's us," Harry whispered.
"Great," replied Ron, who was sporting dark brown hair, olive skin, and a neat moustache. Only his eyes were recognisable. "Did you notice everybody's moving in that direction? I think that's the employee entrance."
"I s'pose using the visitor's entrance wouldn't be very discreet, would it. Bright red telephone box."
"Yeah, well, seeing as it's all underground, I don't think we have any other options, unless" — he turned to Draco beside him — "you've got something to offer, Malfoy?"
Draco's eyes darted everywhere. Hermione wondered if he'd ever been in Muggle London before. "No," he answered shortly. "My fa— I've only ever come to the Ministry through the Floo, but that can be traced, so…"
"Right," declared Ron. "Employee entrance it is, then."
The four of them set off in the direction of Whitehall.
"You know, this is great," said Harry eagerly, "because if we can get in easily, we can also practise getting out. Shouldn't be too hard."
"What if they ask us for something? Identification?" asked Draco.
"Confundus Charm."
Even though his features had been altered, Hermione could see Draco was not satisfied by that answer. She wished she could reach out and squeeze his hand.
In silence, they walked onwards. Hermione took care to match Harry's steps whilst scanning the landscape through the veil of the Invisibility Cloak, trying to discern who was wizard and who was not. There were several people in unusual clothes carrying odd-sized briefcases and hurrying down the footpath. They all went in the same direction, and they all turned the same corner. Hermione supposed that was where the four of them ought to go.
Sure enough, Draco and Ron crossed the street, making sure to leave enough room for Harry and Hermione to follow. When they finally turned the corner, however, they found themselves facing a rundown entrance to the London Underground. Hermione blinked several times.
"Did we make a wrong turn?" asked Harry, restless beside her.
Ron opened his mouth, closed it, and then squinted at the tape criss-crossing the entryway. "I thought — I thought this is where everyone else was going, too… Sign says it's dangerous, though."
"Should we go back?" asked Draco hopefully.
But then a small woman in bright lilac robes and matching hat swept past them, walked straight through the police tape, and disappeared. She left no trace of herself behind; not even the tape fluttered in her wake.
"Well," said Ron, "I suppose that explains it."
"It's just like Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters," realised Hermione.
"I wonder if it's always been like this," mused Ron. "I never thought to ask my dad."
"They might've changed it," said Harry, craning his neck to try and see past the tape. "Maybe there's something they wanted to add… security… or they want to screen their employees somehow…"
"Well, may as well see if it lets us through."
Ron was right, despite how much Hermione would prefer to ascertain exactly what they were about to walk into before they — well, walked into it.
Copying the handful of wizards around them, they strode forwards, as though it were a perfectly functional station and they were bordering on late for their train. Hermione's footsteps did not falter beside Harry's, though she held her breath as the tape neared. But then her mind went to King's Cross, to the brick barrier and the irrational confidence of running into it — through it —
And, just like the wall guarding the platform, they passed through the tape as though it wasn't there at all. Suddenly, they were on a moving stone staircase, like a cross between Hogwarts and a Muggle escalator, and surrounded by other wizards all being transported downwards. Hermione squeezed Harry's hand so hard she was sure his fingers must be numb. She was pressed so tightly against him that she could feel his excited breathing.
The magical stairwell was in a huge, arching hall done in the same tiling as the Ministry Atrium. Hermione could not see where it ended; it seemed to go down forever and the realisation that they could not turn around and go back struck her with full force. She tried to swallow, to calm herself, and nearly choked.
The crowd seemed to be getting denser. She felt someone brush up against her and flinched, only to realise it was Ron, shifting so that the inexplicably empty space they occupied was now surrounded by him and Draco. If the Atrium turned out to be even more crowded, Hermione worried she and Harry would have to stay near the walls. The Sticking Charms might prevent people from accidentally de-cloaking them, but it wouldn't explain an invisible mass bumping into people on their way to work.
"Is that you, Weasley?"
Ron started beside her, just as a heavy knot of dread secured itself in Hermione's abdomen, but the wizard several steps above them who had spoken didn't seem to notice at all.
Two steps down, a red-headed man turned.
"Percy," gasped Hermione.
Beside her, Ron had gone very stiff, and his transfigured face looked murderous.
"Good morning, Lewis!" called Percy up the escalator. "How's your report coming along?"
"I'll tell you at lunchtime!" replied the wizard named Lewis. "Got a meeting I'm late to, now."
Percy agreed and waved before turning back to the front. They were approaching the bottom of the escalator now; she could see a shift where people began to walk under their own power again.
"Fucking — traitorous —"
"Ron!" hissed Hermione. "Stop it! We've got to focus!"
Ron's mouth clamped shut, though he looked no less furious. It was only when Draco gave him a firm kick to the shins that he relaxed into something resembling normal posture.
Hermione let out a shaking breath. How could they have forgotten Percy still worked at the Ministry? Immediately, she wondered if they could persuade him to help, but it seemed unlikely. He was so different from the gallant fifth-year prefect she'd met on her first night at Hogwarts. Or perhaps he was too much the same.
Harry shifted beside her until his mouth was at her ear. "What's that?"
"What's what?" But Hermione could see now what he was talking about: At the bottom of the escalator, steps met flat ground and continued the tunnel onwards into what Hermione could see became the Ministry Atrium. But before the crowd could pass through, a red, veil-like film blocked the way. Hermione watched as dozens of wizards and witches walked right through it as though it wasn't there at all.
"It's obviously magic," said Harry quickly. Beside them, Ron and Draco nervously leaned in to listen. "But what's it do?"
"I'm not sure. I've never seen anything like it…" Hermione squinted. The stone escalator had brought them quite close to the ground, now. Within a matter of moments, they would become part of the shuffling crowd. She looped her arm through Harry's to keep him as close as possible.
"Maybe it's some sort of security?" postulated Draco under his breath.
"It's not affecting anyone," pointed out Ron just as lowly.
But as they got closer, Hermione could see that Ron was wrong. The thin layer of magic was affecting those who passed through it. Hermione noticed it first on a witch whose cheeks suddenly bore several spots after she'd gone through. Similar cosmetic differences appeared on people around her — shorter eyelashes, a sparser bald spot, blemished skin, wrinkled robes…
For a moment, Hermione thought it must make those who touched it uglier somehow, until she saw a wizard's robes shift from purple to blue before her eyes, undoing a very well-done colour charm.
Hermione's feet bumped the unmoving floor and they began to shuffle forwards, cool dread seizing her throat. "Wait —" She slowed, but Harry's fist clenching the clothes at her back pushed her forwards.
"Keep moving!" he hissed.
"But — Harry, it's —" She wasn't certain, of course, but the hunch was enough to send her nearly delirious with fear.
"It's what?"
"It's finite incantatem."
She knew it was coming, but there was nothing she could do to stop it, not once they were caught up in the movement of the crowd. They were relentlessly pushed forward until the warm, tingling sheet of magic brushed against her skin. The Sticking Charm evaporated, and Hermione felt the Cloak flutter around her, relinquishing her to the mercy of the surrounding wizards who hadn't noticed anything unusual, not until the four of them were ejected into the Atrium and Draco and Ron were clutching at their faces beside her.
"Merlin's — is that—?"
"Hey, look at her — doesn't she look like —"
"Oi! That's Draco Malfoy!"
The crowd took on a personality of its own, encroaching nearer until Hermione felt herself surrounded by hordes of people. Her side bumped against someone — she realised it was Draco. Ron was there, too, being swallowed by the crowd in her periphery, but Harry was nowhere to be seen.
She didn't see where they came from, only knew that suddenly there were fleets of wizards in mustard-yellow pouring in around them. Her momentary relief was trampled by fear at the sight of the Dark Mark embossed on their Auror's robes. The D.M.L.E. was not on their side anymore.
The crowd of workers fell back, eager to ogle the spectacle unfolding before them. Hermione groped for her wand, only for Draco's hand to seize her wrist. He pulled her around until they were facing each other.
His eyes were wild with fear, yet he spoke with such control. "Obliviate me."
"What? No —!"
"Yes. You have to — I love you and — I can only protect your secrets if they're not in my head. Obliviate me, Hermione. You promised me you would!"
If I asked you to, would you obliviate me?
He'd pleaded with her back then, and she said yes, but now she found herself totally unable to say the words, her mouth open dumbly as horrible pain wracked her. To obliviate him completely, of all their time together — what would that leave her with? A Draco who looked at her with cool disdain, who would turn her over to the Dark Lord, who she would have to leave behind —
Her wand was taken from her pocket. It brought her more relief than fear; this was out of her hands now. Draco knew this too — the shields of his Occlumency were coming down, cooling his panicked gaze into something self-assured as he slid her wand into the pocket of his robes and grabbed her wrist violently.
"Hands off," he spat at the approaching Aurors. "Can't you see I've got her under control?" He shook her for good measure and some of her hair came free, hanging annoyingly in her eyes. Hermione could hardly hear Draco over her own heartbeat. She hung her head and gave one good jerk of her arms in a show of protest and fruitless resistance.
The Aurors gave them a wide berth, eyeing Draco curiously, though all their wands were aimed at Hermione's head.
"Now," said Draco politely, though Hermione imagined his expression was anything but, "can you please show me to the Dark Lord?"