…
"Where you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to never was there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it."
― Flannery O'Connor, Wise Blood
…
Trust
…
Senior Auror Shemkins was not having a good day. Ever since his partner, Ron Weasley, got himself poisoned, he was perpetually pulling double duty. It was bound to fray a man's nerves eventually.
He dearly wished that the magical criminals and low-lifes would take a break this summer. Between Weasley lying in St. Mungo's unconscious and the Surrey case still being in a standstill, the Auror department was a hectic place for anyone, but especially Shemkins. On top of all that, the election for the new Minister of Magic was coming, and the three candidates insisted on treating the whole department to mandatory galas and dinners in hopes of winning the support of the Aurors. It did not win any support from Shemkins; he was annoyed that the Aurors' time was being cut into by pompous politicians.
Meanwhile the harpies at the Prophet were all crying how the Aurors were not taking their jobs to find Potter seriously enough.
Every article Shemkins picked up made sly accusation that Ron Weasley (the one in the coma!) was using his privileged position as a top wizard cop to aide his old school friend in remaining free to terrorize and murder. Shemkins thought this was exceedingly unfair.
Worse still, the aurors had made no headway in figuring out exactly how one of their own was poisoned, or by whom (though Shemkins suspected that the slimy git locked in the holding cells might be responsible). All the Junior Aurors displayed signs of paranoia, and for good reason. The more seasoned aurors probably felt it too, but were more stoic, and acted liked it was just another day on the job 'Bah, you think this bad? During the nineties, our own Minister was tortured and murdered by You-Know-Who. Now that was a scary time. This is nothing. Weasley probably just got himself into some bad oakmead, you know how he is…' Head Auror Toadle, who was grey and knobbly, and generally resembled an old mushroom, had lectured all the juniors when they expressed concerns.
There was one ray of light in Auror Shemkins' life. Yesterday he had received an owl from a certain ministry worker on whom he had his eyes for quite some time. She was exactly what he was looking for in a woman: quick, ambitious, clever, and handsome… She was also his partner's old paramour. But Weasley had been married to another woman for ages, so he wouldn't mind would he? No, he wouldn't, Shemkins thought. He wasn't even going to know about it, what with not being awake and all. So upon receiving the owl, Shemkins wrote out a reply.
I would be very glad to meet with you. Gemini for lunch sounds like a brilliant idea. I will see you there.
-Montgomery Shemkins
Shemkins tossed out a few (dozen) crumpled parchments before finally settling on the above. He did not want to sound very desperate, but he also did not want to sound cold. He had never been a charmer, and truthfully he still had trouble asking women on dates. The whole ordeal made his heart race uncomfortably, and his palms would sweat non-stop. So he was happy that Ms. Granger had been the one to come forward.
It was 11 o'clock when Junior Auror Hilt brought a slim file into his office and put it on Shemkins' desk. She had been Shemkins' understudy when she was going through training, so the two had a casual manner between them.
"It's the report on the bins in Nottingham. It's pretty much wrapped up." The young auror told him. Shemkins looked it over. The writing in the report was very dry, when it told the story of what actually happened. Some tosspot had enchanted about thirty public trash canisters to bellow obscenities at muggles passing by. Needless to say, the clean up was odious and the obliviation squad had been swamped.
He read the report, and filed the necessary paperwork to the DMLE Head, and the Auror Head. When he was finished, it was 11:45. He quickly changed out of his red auror robes into what he thought was a handsome, midnight-blue doublet and robe, and left his office.
…
Ms. Granger was already at Gemini when Shemkins arrived. He quickly made his way to the table, and sat down nervously.
"Good afternoon. I didn't make you wait, did I?" He asked, with apologies in his voice.
"Not at all. Thank you for coming." Hermione Granger replied. She was dressed in the muggle fashion. The clothes she wore were simple and beige, more suited for work than a date. Shemkins felt he might have overdressed.
The witch smiled politely at him, and told him this was her favorite place.
They chatted amicably about the wizarding elections, and the chances of each candidate. Hermione mentioned muggle politics, but Shemkins confessed he knew nothing of them. He told her about the candidates' insistence on wining and dining every auror, and how it had been at exactly the wrong time. Hermione sympathized with him.
"But you have always been a good ally to the Auror Department." Shemkins said. It had been true. Hermione had moved through various departments in the ministry, starting as an Unspeakable, then moving to working with magical creatures; but her most recent place was in Wizengamot Administration Services. Shemkins knew that Weasley and Granger had been friendly, and by extension she was friendly with the other aurors. The Ministry was a small place, and it helped to have friends in high places. The Head always relied on her to 'clear the tape,' or so he put it.
"Of course I have. It's our most important department. And the hardest working." She said, shrugging her shoulders. Shemkins blushed.
"Thank you."
The pair ordered food. After the waitress took their orders, she winked at Hermione. Shemkins thought he recognized the waitress from Hogwarts, but could not remember her name.
When the food arrived, Shemkins found that he was actually very hungry, so he dug in.
"So, has there been any headway into the attack on Ron?" Hermione asked with a concerned tone. Shemkins looked up. He supposed it was natural for the witch to enquire after her old school friend. He would have to be careful what he told her.
"Not much," he answered. He took another bit of his food. It was really delicious. Perfumed rice, with roasted vegetables, smothered in some sort of coconut-esque sauce. He felt a warmth spread over him as he swallowed.
"Hm, thank you for bringing me here. This food is...wow!" Shemkins said, and took another bite. He felt himself relax as the cares of the day faded away.
"So there are no suspects?" The witch across from him asked.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Shemkins said. A pleasant hum filled his head. He wondered if it were an effect of the pretty woman sitting with him. He smiled lazily at her. "We think it might have been Snape, but it's hard to figure out how…"
The woman's eyes widened.
"Snape? But he hasn't resurfaced since the war..." She said.
Something was scratching at the back of Shemkins mind. An annoying voice told him that something was wrong here, but he happily ignored it.
"Oh, we caught him, did you know?" He tried to smile enigmatically at her. That ought to impress the witch. The capture of Severus Snape had been kept as hushed as possible. Only a few Senior Aurors had been in the know. Toadle, obviously, since he was the Head. Weasley (and by extension, Shemkins), since they thought Weasley had the most experience with 'Voldemort Era' criminals.
"I did not know." Hermione replied, leaning into the table. "Did you capture him?" She whispered.
"Mhmm," Shemkins nodded happily. "Well, I was there anyway. We got him in Godric's Hallow of all places. He was visiting a graveyard."
"How is it that no one knows about this?" Hermione asked, her eyes clearly displaying her interest.
"We made a deal with the Head of the DMLE. We thought we could use Snape to find the rest of the old death eaters. Wouldn't work so well if they caught on to the fact that we have the old Potions bat." Shemkins chewed his food thoughtfully. Something was still bothering him, but he told himself there was nothing to worry about, as he spilled more of his story. "The only other people in the know are the Head, Weasley, me, and Tonks. We had to tell Tonks since we're keeping Snape in their department. You worked there didn't you?"
Hermione nodded her head.
"So you know all about the holding cells in the Mysteries Department. Most secure place there is, short of Azkaban." Shemkins said. The pleasant warmth had spread all over his body. He decided that he really ought to get out more.
"How long has he been caught?" Hermione asked.
"More than a month, now," Shemkins answered. Hermione gave a little gasp of surprise. "It was right before the Privet Drive murders. And then soon afterwards, Weasley gets himself knocked out of the game. He was visiting the old death eater almost daily, but here's the thing…" Shemkins paused dramatically, "whatever Weasley discussed with the old snake, he kept to himself. He was putting a report together for Toadle, sure. But whatever was in that report is still a mystery." Weasley was a good auror, Shemkins thought, and a good partner. But the man was not organized. They searched for the report, but had absolutely no luck. Toadle was, understandably, furious.
Shemkins took another bite of his amazing food, and after chewing thoughtfully, kept talking.
"No one's been able to get a word out of the bat since. Whatever he told Weasley, well it stayed with him. Blimey, I hope he'll be alright..." Shemkins trailed off, thinking of his partner.
"What about the Privet Drive murders?" Hermione asked.
Shemkins waved his hand dismissively.
"Nothing. No new leads. Obviously it's Potter, but we've been after him since I was a fresh faced recruit-in-training. We still can't find him. Not a whiff. That man's like a ghost." Shemkins shrugged his shoulders with dejection. Until the Privet Drive incident, most Aurors privately assumed Potter was probably dead, or at least long gone from Britain. They continued searching for him, but it was not a high priority. The death of the Dursleys had put him back in the spotlight.
"Is there anything else you can tell me about Snape? Have you questioned him yourself?" Hermione asked. The question bothered Shemkins. It had suddenly felt like an interrogation But the warm feeling stole over him again, and clouded his thoughts.
"I have, obviously. Fat load of good, it did. We tried veritaserum, and legilimency; but Snape's occlumency is too strong to read his mind. And he seemed liked he was resistant to the truth potion…" so we never got anything from him. Shemkins had wanted to finish. Something was bothering him. He looked down at his food, then looked up at the witch, as the realization made his blood run cold. His food...
"You put veritaserum in this." He stated with horror. Oh, no, this was bad. He was a Ministry auror, he should have known...
"Only half a drop." The witch admitted. "It should be wearing off in a few minutes."
"Do you realize how unethical this is? This… you could go to Azkaban for this!" Shemkins was suddenly very scared. He had told this witch things that had been Top Secret. If anyone found out, he could lose his badge.
"I do. And I know." Hermione looked at Shemkins with pleading look. "I wouldn't do this if it weren't absolutely necessary."
Shemkins looked for the waitress, who must have been the accomplice. She was nowhere to be found. In fact, the little cafe was empty. The damned food… What kind of world did he live in when an auror couldn't enjoy lunch with a woman, without being slipped a potion?
"You seem like a lovely man, Shemkins. I am sorry to have done this to you." Granger said. Shemkins examined her. She did not look very sorry. In fact, she looked like a cat that had caught, and devoured, a particularly juicy mouse. Guess who's the mouse.
"You're not going to get away with this." He said. If he reported the incident to the Head of the DMLE immediately, maybe he wouldn't be too harsh. Grunspell was a fair man. And Toadle would probably have his back. They could hardly afford to lose any more Aurors. Shemkins might get in trouble for getting tricked so easily, but Granger would be the one on trial.
"I am. No one is going to find out." She said confidently. Shemkins reached for his wand discretely, under the table, but found that it was not in his pocket. You keep it in a magically protected holster, or grasped tightly in your hand. Those are the only places a wand should be. Shemkins remember Toadle's words from his training, ages ago. He really should have listened.
"I'll return that to you, don't worry." Granger said with no concern. She took out her own wand, and vanished the half-eaten plates in front of them. Then she pointed the wand right at Shemkins, and said the words.
"Obliviate."
Shemkins blinked a couple of times. He looked at the pretty witch across from him. Now, what were they talking about? Politics wasn't it?
"So what do you think old Diggory's chances are for a re-election?" He asked her, and Hermione smiled at him.
"I think they're quite good." The witch answered.
Just then, the waitress arrived with two plates full of food. It looked and smelled delicious, but for some reason unknown to him, Auror Shemkins did not feel the least bit hungry.
…
Sherlock arrived at a trendy bar only thirty minutes late, which had been an improvement over last time. He sat himself beside Hermione, who had jumped a little when she finally took notice of the detective.
There were many young Londoners milling around the them, and hardly anyone noticed the two boring adults. Sherlock was glad that he was nearly invisible without his signature deerstalker hat.
Sherlock would have asked why Granger wanted to meet here, but he already knew the answer. The entrance to Diagon Alley was only a block away. She must have come straight from there.
"This place is horrid." Sherlock stated, as a matter of greeting.
"You're late. And we're not going to stay." She bit out. Sherlock examined the witch. Something was wrong. She was usually not so abrupt. The witch must have thought she offended Sherlock, because she quickly amended.
"Sorry. It's been a long day. Follow me, please."
The witch got up from the bar stool, and made her way toward the back of the small establishment. She led them out through a backdoor.
They found themselves in an alley, surrounded by overflowing rubbish bins. Thankfully, there was no one else in sight.
"I'm going to apparate us to my flat." She said. "It's a form of magic, like teleportation. However, it might be somewhat uncomfortable. I assure you, it will not harm you in the least."
Sherlock only nodded in response. It would not do to tell Hermione that he'd done it loads before.
The witch grasped his hand, and in a second, they were on a doorstep, in front of her neat townhouse. Sherlock thought this was interesting. The witch must have some sort of enchantment over her porch, which would make their sudden appearance invisible to neighbors.
Hermione took out her wand, and lightly tapped the brass door knob. Apparently, whatever results she produced from this small gesture were unexpected. Her brows were furrowed as she glanced as Sherlock.
"Someone's here…" She said.
"Oh?" Sherlock answered. He did not particularly want to have company when he discussed Harry's case with the witch.
Hermione kept her wand out, as she opened her front door and entered. Sherlock hesitated a second, and then went in after her.
"Darina!" Sherlock heard Hermione gasp, as he followed her into the sitting room. There, on the carpet, was a young girl. She had dark, curly hair, and large, serious eyes. The girl was undeniably Granger's offspring, judging by her facial features. She was sitting on the carpet and playing with a fat, ginger cat. The little girl smiled when they entered, and got up immediately.
"Mum!" Was all the child said, before she launched herself at the witch. The cat meowed with disappointment, and slunk away.
"Darina when did you come back? Oh, how I've missed you, love! Where's your father? Is he with you?" Hermione was asking the girl as she hugged her back.
As if to answer the question, a man strode into room. He had dark hair, and awkward way of walking. He must be suffering from recurring rashes, around some very sensitive areas. The detective deduced it was from ceaselessly riding a broom.
"Hello, Hermione." He said. Sherlock detected a Bulgarian accent. He knew immediately that this was Granger's ex-husband, and father to the child currently still clinging to Granger.
"Victor." Hermione said, in acknowledgement. She turned back to her daughter. "Darina, my darling...There are some new things in your room."
"Like presents?" The girl asked.
"Yes! Exactly. Why don't you go up and see if you can spot where I've hid them?" Hermione said, and the child immediately launched out of the room. Sherlock approved of this type of parenting. Leaving children little mysteries to solve would surely aid in their development. He hoped that Granger hid whatever trinkets she bought the child in non-obvious places.
"I need to speak with you, Victor." Hermione said, with cold edge in her voice. Then she turned to Sherlock. "Excuse us."
Hermione strode purposefully forward, grabbed the Bulgarian by his sleeve, and pushed him through a door. Sherlock guessed they were now in the kitchen. He positioned himself so that he was not within sight of the two, but could still hear their exchange, provided that he listen very carefully.
"Iz dat your new man?" He heard the Bulgarian say.
"No." Hermione answered.
"You don't have to lie to me, he must be. A good choice I think; tall and handsome…" Victor said.
"Well why don't you date him then!" Hermione snapped.
Sherlock heard the unmistakable sound of a scoff.
"You miztake me." Victor said, with an affronted tone.
"This isn't what I needed to talk to you about. Why are you here with Darina?"
"You don't wish to see your daughter?"
"Of course I do! But you were supposed to have her for the summer. You have no idea how hard it was agreeing to that, and now you're bringing her back…" Hermione was obviously trying not to raise her voice.
"I had her for the Quidditch Cup. That haz been over for days…" Victor replied calmly.
"But she could still-" Hermione started, but Victor cut her off.
"She said she missed her mother. She insisted on coming back. What waz I supposed to do?" He said.
"O-oh." Hermione choked out. "Well, I see then."
There was a pause.
"Are you in town for the night?" Hermione asked.
"Yes. I waz hoping we could have dinner…" Victor said.
"I am busy tonight." Hermione stated.
"With him." The Bulgarian must have been talking about Sherlock.
"That's none of your business."
"Hmph. fine. I will take Darina out instead. She will be a better date anyway."
"Oh, Victor that would be great, thank you!" Hermione's cold tone suddenly melted.
"Yes, yes. I will go get her, now." Victor said.
Hermione poked her head out of the kitchen.
"Sherlock, I'll be a few minutes. Do you want tea or coffee, or anything while you wait?" She asked.
"No." Sherlock replied.
The witch did not come back for some time, however. Usually, this would bother Sherlock, but in this instance he was pleased It was not every day that one got to explore a witch's house.
The first floor of the little house had not been terrible exciting. The most interesting thing Sherlock found was a dozen glass bottles of potion ingredients in the kitchen.
He considered pilfering them, but decided against it. The witch might have protection charms, and it would really be easier to ask her to purchase them from Diagon Alley.
The only other item of note were a few pamphlets lying on the kitchen table. They were for a private psychiatric institution, located in Brisbane, Australia. The name of the asylum was St. Dymphna's Garden.
37 minutes later, Sherlock heard Hermione coming down the stairs. He quickly slipped into the sitting room. When the witch came back, she immediately plopped into an arm chair, and let out a sigh.
"This certainly complicates things." She said. It was unclear if she was talking to Sherlock, or simply talking.
"I don't see how." Sherlock replied, anyway.
Hermione looked at Sherlock with a tired expression.
"I was hoping I could have my daughter in a more safe environment. I believe you deduced that last time you were here." The witch said.
"She's hardly in any danger." Sherlock replied.
"You don't have children, do you?"
"Of course not!" Sherlock said. He did not see why so many clear-headed and logical people chose to reproduce, anyway. Children only complicated life.
Hermione got up from her chair and began pacing the room. She did not say anything, and appeared to be thinking very hard.
"...no, no, I don't think I could do it alone." She mumbled to herself. Sherlock was losing patience with the witch.
"Did you find any of the information I requested?" He asked her, quite directly. That stopped the witch in her tracks.
"Say, hypothetically, I did." She started. Sherlock groaned inwardly. He hated when people played the 'hypothetically' game.
"There are numerous laws in the magical world, as well as the muggle, that protect sensitive information." She continued.
"And of course you broke a number of these. It's to be expected." Sherlock could see what was wrong. Granger still did not fully trust him. Giving him the information he wanted would be the equivalent of admitting to these crimes. And Granger's resolve to engage any danger in order to solve the case was shaken considerably, now that her daughter was back in the country.
"I don't mind jeopardizing my career, but if I'm caught it might mean Azkaban. I can't leave my daughter…" Hermione said bluntly.
"Do you think you're going to get caught?" Sherlock asked with frank curiosity. He knew the witch was far cleverer than most. He trusted that she could be discreet when gathering the necessary data.
"Not if I'm careful." She replied. The meaning behind her words was plain. She was not telling Sherlock because there was a chance he might inform on her. It was a preposterous idea.
"I don't see how we can progress with this case if you do not trust me with it." Sherlock said.
"I've reached the same problem." Hermione answered.
Sherlock was very frustrated. He knew the witch must have stumbled on to something good, or she would not be so paranoid. He knew he needed the information that she was now withholding. He considered trying to coerce her into complying with his wishes, but immediately discarded the idea. Hermione would not take to it, and it would cause irreparable damage in their professional relationship.
He found himself annoyed at the Bulgarian man who was not capable of keeping the child away from Granger, when she was supposed to be solving Harry's case.
The problem boiled down to a simple matter, really. Sherlock needed to gain Hermione's trust. The easiest way to do this was to give her leverage; if she had dirt on Sherlock, she could be sure that he would not be calling the wizarding authorities.
There was one solution. It was elegant, and would really expedite the unraveling of Harry's case. But it was also incredibly risky. Sherlock could stand to lose everything, if it failed. Sherlock steepled his hands in front of his face, and closed his eyes. He imagined every possible scenario that could come out of his 'solution.'
"Sherlock?" He heard Granger's concerned tone.
"Yes. I have an answer to our problem." Sherlock opened his eyes. He would have to do it. With Mycroft's threat hanging over his head, he needed this case solved. This was the only way forward.
"I'm all ears." The witch said in reply.
"Hermione, how would you like to see my flat?"
AN: A quicker update, but a shorter chapter. Never fear, the next one's on the way!
As always, please be kind and leave me a few words of what you thought of the chapter. It really helps to get these out faster. And it helps with writing, knowing how people are reacting to the chapters.
