Manipulations
In the waning years of the 16th century, a figure of extraordinary prowess emerged—Emeric Sylvan Blackthorn, a wizard shrouded in the mysteries of the arcane. Born into an ancient lineage, his dark aura proved both his boon and bane.
Emeric's destiny intertwined with that of Rosalind, his betrothed, in an era ruled by magic and discord. A disagreement, fueled by the very essence of their magical pursuits, led Emeric to cast a curse upon Rosalind in the throes of anger, heedless of the dire consequences that would soon befall her. The curse, once uttered, wove its malevolent threads into the fabric of her essence, mercilessly draining her life force.
Haunted by guilt, Emeric, a master of the dark and forbidden arts, sought remedy in ancient tomes, counsel from fellow wizards, and the wisdom of the most venerated Healers of the were brewed, incantations recited, yet the curse resisted all conventional attempts at undoing.
In his relentless quest for a cure, Emeric travelled far up north, where he confronted a formidable mountain troll that defied mortal wounds with unnatural resilience. Pursuing the creature, it led him to the heart of the Scottish Highlands, where a rare Moonstone, said to hail from the moon itself, awaited in the troll's cave. Recognising the stone's pulsating healing energies, Emeric took the stone by stealth before delivering a fatal wound to the troll.
With the ethereal gem in his possession, Emeric fashioned a ring of potent enchantment. The Moonstone's mystical properties, fused with the wizard's skill, imbued the ring with unparalleled healing abilities. Hope rekindled, he hurried to bestow the ring upon Rosalind, seeking to undo the curse that had befallen her at his own hand.
Tragically, upon his return, Emeric discovered Rosalind's life had fled, leaving her body warm but bereft of vitality. Overwhelmed by grief and burdened by remorse, he concealed the enchanted ring—a poignant relic of love lost and redemption sought.
Legend has it that the moonstone ring, also known as the Lunar Heart, lies concealed somewhere underneath Hogwarts grounds.
Hermione traced the last sentence twice with her eyes before lifting her gaze from her lap.
"'Somewhere underneath Hogwarts grounds," she quoted, "that's hardly a substantial lead, is it?" she added, her tone a fusion of scepticism and frustration. "Even someone as resolute in clawing back fortune and sway as yourself wouldn't embark on an escapade armed with such scant information."
"Indeed," Lucius concurred slowly, with a clear intention to say more. However, he found himself interrupted by Hermione, who closed the book with a deliberate snap and pushed herself to her feet, squarely facing him.
"Great," she sighed, glancing around his study, "But it could be anywhere beneath the castle grounds. It's like searching for a Knut in a dragon's hoard of Galleons. We had cleared leads when tracking down Voldemort's horcruxes."
"Will you cease, Granger?" Lucius interjected, his tone laced with disdain. "Or are you enamoured with the sound of your voice? They do say there's a certain type that becomes a teacher…" he let the cutting words linger in the air.
The unexpected insult briefly silenced her. Simmering wordlessly beneath the surface, she contemplated potential comebacks, yet none readily manifested.
Meanwhile, Lucius resumed, "I was meaning to mention that there is something else…" His words trailed off purposefully as he observed her closely, awaiting her reaction.
"What is it then?" she quizzed, dropping her shoulders and releasing the tension that had knotted there.
"Miss Granger, surely you wouldn't expect me to divulge it without the assurance of your collaboration," said Lucius, a sardonic edge slicing through his words.
She levelled him with an intense glare.
"You can keep indulging in that stare, my dear. I'm well aware of the effect I have on witches," Lucius drawled, a self-satisfied smirk curling the corners of his lips, as if savouring the tension.
"Don't flatter yourself. Besides, you're the one to talk! Between the two of us, you're an ex-Death Eater and convict, while I'm the one with integrity. But, for the sake of discussion, let's say I'm open to the idea of collaboration. What's the information you're withholding?" she challenged.
I suppose there's no harm in continuing the conversation. I'll figure out a way to turn this around later, she concluded in her thoughts, determined to navigate these uncharted waters with caution while safeguarding her principles. Engaging with a man like Lucius felt like a compromising manoeuvre but in the face of desperate times, she acknowledged the necessity for unconventional measures.
"Oh, hold your Hippogriffs, Granger." Lucius drawled, elongating the moment for effect. "I'd require some collateral first."
Arching her eyebrows, she asked pointedly, "Collateral? What exactly do you have in mind?"
"Ensure my entry into Hogwarts first, and I'll divulge more details," Lucius replied with directness, his tone carrying an air of expectation.
Hermione inhaled sharply through her nose, stunned by his audacious request. He had some nerve.
"Do you take me for hopelessly naive? What guarantee do I have that you won't fall silent later? Hand over the information now, and I promise to aid you in getting into Hogwarts. You're the one in a tight spot here. I can stroll into Hogwarts whenever I please."
Lucius, clearly taken aback by her firm denial, retorted, his voice cool and strained with restrained emotion, "In that case, I wish you the very best of luck locating the ring without a single extra clue."
Hermione shot right back, "Best of luck making your way to Hogwarts solo. I'm guessing the Board members weren't as accommodating as you expected, or you wouldn't be reaching out for my assistance now."
Now it was Lucius' turn to positively seethe. While Granger wasn't exactly dim-witted (just irritatingly bright), he hadn't quite pegged her to be so tough a negotiator. Perhaps he had miscalculated the level of her desperation. Without knowledge of the details surrounding her curse, he considered the possibility that she might not be willing to go as far as he had initially assumed to free herself from it.
"I require the information right now, Mr Malfoy, or we can go our separate ways," Hermione reiterated Hermione, inwardly wishing that he wouldn't see through her bluff and back down first. The desperation for the cure was nudging her perilously close to accepting Lucius' terms, no matter how distasteful they might be.
Lucius studied her for a moment, his expression carved from stone
before he responded, "Very well, Miss Granger," his voice held a note of calculated deliberation. "But if I'm to entrust you with the information, I expect something in return. Something that will, shall we say, test your commitment," he added with a cryptic half-smile.
Hermione's brows knitted together, a perplexed furrow marring her forehead as she met Lucius' gaze. Whatever he was alluding to, her imagination couldn't conjure anything palatable that would "test her commitment" to use his expression.
"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to conceal any hint of anxiety in her voice.
"Leverage your favour with the Minister to ensure Draco secures a new position," Lucius announced with a triumphant gleam in his grey eyes.
Hermione fixed him with a genuinely incredulous glare, "What? Absolutely not. Besides, I thought you already pulled some strings to get him a job in the International Cooperation Department. Did he get sacked already?"
Lucius' back instinctively straightened, and he clasped his hands behind him, his posture composed. "Not at all, Ms Granger. However, the income from that position falls far short of sustaining the Manor's lifestyle. We're accustomed to a certain standard of living here, you see."
"Of course you are," Hermione huffed. 'I've forgotten your machinations during the post-war trials likely racked up the bill, not to mention those conspicuously generous donations."
"Worth every sickle, I assure you, especially when weighed against the grim alternative of finding myself back once again in an Azkaban cell again. Terribly drab," said Lucius, making no attempt to deny the implied accusation."However, let's not digress. So what do you say, Miss Granger? Will you help Draco in securing a new post? With your extensive talents, it should be a task well within your capabilities."
Her eyes rolled in response to the casual manner in which he made his request. Evidently, he was intent on provoking her further.
"Oh, I suppose you're already got the perfect dream job all figured out for Draco, haven't you?" she asked, her tone sharp.
Lucius acquiesced with a lazy nod.
"Naturally. Though I wouldn't go as far as to call it a' 'dream'.I was rather thinking something more modest for a beginning. Let's say- International Magical Liaison Officer. Now, I've heard there's an opening, and it happens to be quite a lucrative position, from what I gather," he said, patting his pocket, looking rather smug.
"And how, pray tell, might I go about securing a recommendation for Draco? Even if I were inclined to do so, which I am not, I am but a Muggle-born Professor, I don't have the Minister's ear, contrary to the mistaken perception some may have."
Lucius regarded her thoughtfully. He brought his hand down to his mouth and gently pinched his lips between his thumb and forefinger.
"Your friend, Potter, fancies himself the bigwig at the Auror Department. I'm positive he possesses the influence to subtly sway recommendations in Draco's favour, doesn't he?"
"Harry?" Hermione shook her head in disbelief, her honey-laced curls bouncing against the collar of her dress. "Surely, with your history of nosing around the Ministry, you're aware that Departments operate independently, with minimal external influence." She noticed him tense, and the previously cool, indifferent expression in his eyes gave way to a fleeting flash of indignation. "Besides, Harry and Draco are hardly friends, so his involvement is highly improbable, even if I were to ask him," she added.
Lucius waved her off with a sweeping gesture of his large, ringed hand. "I don't doubt your persuasive abilities, Miss Granger. After all, how else would you manage a bunch of obstinate, hormone-driven students? If you wish to lay eyes on those files again, put that prodigious brain of yours to work."
They locked eyes until Hermione defensively declared, "I'll send an owl to Harry tonight." She harboured little hope, knowing it would necessitate some mental gymnastics to persuade Harry to assist Draco.
"Good girl," Lucius acknowledged with a condescending nod, fueling an almost irresistible urge in Hermione to abandon niceties and scratch him, perhaps draw a bit of blood. "I expect to hear from you soon, once you've successfully managed the deal."
Lucius lingered in his study for another half an hour before finally emerging. The audible protests of his stomach became increasingly difficult to ignore, a reminder that he had nothing since breakfast, other than two glasses of whiskey right after Granger's departure - an attempt to dissipate the tension that had wound in his stomach during the uncertain moments preceding her reluctant agreement to his terms.
Although he was confident he had concealed it well, his exchange with Granger admittedly caused him some disquiet. Fortunately, her apparent desperation to rid herself of the curse intrigued Lucius, prompting contemplation of its details. Yet, these musings were momentarily set aside as he gracefully assumed his place at the dinner table.
Seated across from his son, Lucius unfolded a napkin and deftly arranged it on his lap with meticulous precision.
"Seems you had an extended meeting with Granger," Draco commented wryly, spearing a veal steak with his fork and guiding it towards his mouth.
"So I did," Lucius replied, his words delivered with a distant air as though Draco's words had barely registered, lost in his own thoughts. "Get ready to move your workplace belongings, you'll be moving to a more spacious office than this broom closet-sized cubicle " he announced, eliciting a yelp of surprise from the young wizard.
"What? Why?" Draco, allowing his fork to descend back to the plate with a gentle clink.
"I'm orchestrating your transition to the new position of International Magical Liaison Officer," Lucius responded, undisturbed by Draco's reaction, effortlessly letting his knife glide through the tender meat.
Draco put down his fork and propped his forearms on the ebony surface before him, "Father, I don't need your assistance. I can manage my career on my own."
"Career?" echoed Lucius caustically, his attention finally shifting from his own plate to his son, "Yes, precisely how you navigated the past twelve months without a job before I got you into the International Department."
Draco's lips compressed into a slender line.
Technically, his father's observation wasn't wrong. For the past several years, he battled severe depression, lacking motivation to go through the motions. The pursuit of a job was the furthest thing from his mind until he sensed the tendrils of depression gradually releasing their grip on his last December, with the help of his now girlfriend, Astoria Greengrass.
Simultaneously, he often pondered how his father, despite his dark history, had retained a sliver of influence that proved instrumental in securing Draco's job. The glaring hap spanning nearly a decade on his CV, coupled with his scarce work experience- save for a brief and misguided stint as a Death-Eater- hardly painted an appealing professional picture.
During his childhood and Hogwarts years, he valued the support and security his father provided. Nevertheless, the era of relying on familial connections was behind him, along with the "My father will hear about this" days. For the first time, Draco yearned to carve his own path. As his relationship with Astoria flourished, he sought not only to prove it to her but also to himself that he was capable of making it on his own.
"I didn't mean to belittle your efforts, Draco, but we both recognise that the Malfoy name has lost its former prestige. Your current position, though not easily earned, particularly considering you're answerable to that Mudblood idiot, Hemsworth, is beneath your dignity. Lucius huffed disdainfully, "However, that's not the primary reason for this discussion."
"Then what is, Father?"
"You're well aware the Malfoy vault is dwindling, and our need for funds is reaching a desperate point. If you're as enthusiastic about pursuing the relationship with Miss Greengrass as you claim, you should know that her father wouldn't give his blessing unless he's certain she's well-settled and financially secure."
"I'm aware," Draco admitted with a painful gulp. "But a Liaison Officer? It seems highly unlikely for them to hire a former Voldemort's ally."
Lucius dabbed his mouth with a napkin before addressing his son's concerns, "You were underage during the War, and I'd like to remind you we were acquitted of all charges. I utilised our savings to ensure that outcome, and I do expect a measure of gratitude now. Rest assured, Miss Granger will take care of that matter for us."
Draco thought that by greasing the palms of the Wizengamot, Lucius was likely just securing his own hide, ensuring that the hefty donations served as a subtle reminder to its members not to have a sudden change of heart. In truth, Draco was never truly in risk of facing a sentence, especially with Harry testifying on his behalf.
"Is that why she rolled in today?" Draco questioned, disbelief plastered all over his face. "No way am I letting her help me. Seriously, Father, I'm astounded by your suggestion." Draco's features contorted with a mix of confusion and disgust, "I mean, a Malfoy accepting help from someonelike her of all people?"
Lucius' tone remained measured, "While I share your sentiments, Draco, allowing yourself the luxury of offence is not something we can afford at this moment. The stakes are too high. Furthermore, Granger isn't exactly volunteering; believe me when I say the deal is mutually beneficial. Perhaps more so for us, but she's yet to catch on."The corners of his lips lifted imperceptibility, a subtle note of assurance in his demeanour.
Meanwhile, Draco's bewilderment intensified,"Salazar's hat, how on earth did you even manage to persuade her?"
"Let's just say I pitched an offer her way. The first rule of successful negotiation, advantage goes to the person who is most comfortable walking away without a deal. Take my word for it; she was in quite the desperate spot."
Draco gave him another incredulous look. Though he hadn't the faintest idea what Lucius was talking about, after careful consideration, he no longer opposed. The idea of adopting a simpler lifestyle didn't perturb him as much as it might have in the past. However, Astoria Greengrass was the best thing that had happened to him in years. He recognised that her family wouldn't view their official courtship favourably, if, on top of the waning influence of the Malfoy name, they uncovered a notable decline in their wealth.
"I guess a few more galleons in the pocket wouldn't hurt. I'm due for a new set of winter robes, and I've had my fill of trying to snag a decent one at Madame Malkin's, not to mention the maddening crowds. Those bloody queues are enough to drive anyone nuts."
"I understand your frustration, Draco," Lucius acknowledged with sympathy. "Last month's bank statement forced me to cancel my order for Black Embers cigars. While Merlin's Misties aren't entirely unpalatable, they do leave a rather peculiar aftertaste."
Having said that, he held the goblet by its slender stem, giving it a light tap with his wand. The rich, crimson-red liquid flowed into the vessel, reaching the three-quarters mark. Sensing the conversation was over, Draco picked up his fork again and focused on his own food. Savouring each flavourful bite, he couldn't help but feel a touch of gratitude for the fact that of all the house-elves that had left after the war, Puddy, the kitchen elf, had chosen to stay at the Manor.
The remainder of the meal passed in frayed silence.
With twilight catching her by surprise, Hermione settled into the nearest locale in Wiltshire, The Three Trolls Inn, which certainly lived up to its charming name. Despite her typically organised nature, on that particular day, Hermione had given little thought to her living arrangements after leaving Hogwarts mid-morning. Consequently, as she entered the less-than-inviting ambiance, with greasy tables and floors that seemed untouched by a broom or cloth, she ascended a creaky flight of stairs. All the while, the barkeeper's curious gaze followed her, signalling that she didn't quite fit the typical description of the local patrons.
In the small room with a single squared window, Hermione sat on a sloppily-made bed, the overly soft mattress unpleasantly dipping beneath her weight. Opening the bedside drawer, she discovered a bottle of ink and a ruffled quill. She summoned a notebook from her rucksack and tore out a page. The room, lacking the basic amenity of a desk, appeared to be one intended for more intimate activities, she surmised.
Shifting to make herself more comfortable, her boot hit a small vial peeking from under the bed, of which tacky, red-pink label said "Slippery Bliss". For the three knuts and four sickles they could have at least cleaned the place, she thought. Under usual circumstances, Hermione would never have considered sleeping in such quarters, but depleted both mentally and emotionally from her time at Miss Bristlecone's house and the taxing negotiations at the Manor, she had little energy to seek alternative accommodations.
Speaking of which, the prospect of collaborating with Lucius Malfoy held little appeal for Hermione, but the urgent weight of her situation pressed upon her. Desperate times call for desperate measures, she mused. She truly found herself at the end of her rope, considering cooperation with a manipulative, narcissistic and entirely trustworthy individual like Lucius, even sans his persistent disregard for her on the account of her birth and Muggle heritage.
Her resolve fueled by the realisation that she was now closer than ever to the Moonstone Ring, Hermione flattened the paper against the notebook. She dipped the quill she found in the drawer into ink, mindful not to succumb to the habit of chewing its end, as she composed a brief message to Harry.
Afterwards, she cast a series of Scourgifes and other cleaning charms to make sure that at least her bedding was immaculate. It didn't take long for her eyelids to grow heavy, and soon she settled into a deep and restful sleep.
The following morning, she dispatched the message prior to breakfast, unwilling to risk the questionable, greyish bulging mixture posing as a bowl of oatmeal. Choosing a Muggle protein bar from her personal stash instead, she washed it down with a surprisingly palatable cup of coffee. Opting for expedited delivery, she entrusted the note to a sizeable spectacled owl, the standard alternative- an elderly, blind pigwidgeon- looking on with suspicion, seemingly offended for not being selected for the task.
Hermione was pleased to receive her reply before noon, and she happily departed from the inn after an early lunch. Making use of its Floo-connected fireplace, she seamlessly transported herself directly into Harry and Ginny's lounge.
She enjoyed a delightful afternoon catching up with Ginny, even though her friend was kept half-occupied by the endearing antics of her baby, James Sirius Potter, affectionately known as Little Jamie. In a way, Hermione was grateful for the distraction, as without the demanding care of her child, Ginny, with her perceptiveness would have likely discovered the truth about her curse long ago. As it was, there were no reproaches for infrequent visits, Ginny likely feeling a twinge of guilt herself for being immersed in the demands of motherhood.
"Sorry for the mess, I didn't have time to tidy. Jamie is currently teething, and I barely slept a wink last night. Harry is usually much better in soothing him back to sleep, but he's been coming unusually late from work lately, and I didn't have the heart to wake him," offered Ginny apologetically.
From her spot on the sofa, Hermione took a look around the room. The coffee table played host to a collection of discarded baby wipes, two pacifiers, and a small array of pain-relieving potions-presumably for Jamie. A half-folded playmat occupied the middle of the carpet, and a well-loved plush Pygmy Puff (Ginny's gift from Harry) sat nearby. Over the well-worn couch hung a baby blanket. Amidst the apparent chas, an undeniable warmth permeated the room- that of the deep love shared within the family, which she recognised from her own family home.
Hermione's gaze was drawn to the sight of the baby bouncing on Ginny's knees while she hummed a melody, "One Little, Two Little, Three Little Cauldrons…"
James Sirius Potter was a beautiful child, with his father's tousled mop of dark hair and blessed with Ginny's chocolate brown eyes, and a smattering of Weasley freckles, visible only in bright light.
"He's such a sweet lil' pumpkin," said Hermione, reaching out to gently lift the baby onto her lap.
"Sure, I'll seize the moment and pop into the loo. Spending three uninterrupted minutes there has become quite the luxury, you know," Ginny concluded with a laugh, handing her the baby. "But I am not complaining; being a mother is not a whole lot different than I expected, though it frequently demands reflexes as sharp as in the Quidditch stadium. Particularly during nappy changes, Jamie has a knack for deciding to pee right at that moment," she added with a grin, rising to her feet and making her way to the bathroom.
"Uncanny," laughed Hermione.
Hermione was initially surprised when a witch as ambitious as Ginny would step away from Quidditch to fully devote herself to her newborn. Nevertheless, Hermione was pleased to observe that Ginny appeared genuinely happy, even glowing, radiating the special aura that comes from the joy of motherhood.
Alone with little Jamie nestled on her lap, feeling the softness of his baby fat beneath her hands, Hermione glanced again around the cosy Poter living room noting the plush corner sofa, the inviting caramel carpet, the armchairs positioned toward the crackling fireplace-. A long sigh escaped her. If she couldn't find a solution to her curse, the dream of having a place and family of her own some day would never materialise. The injustice stung deeply; a random deranged wizard had callously dashed her chances of future happiness with a single flick of his wand, consigning them to oblivion.
Before she could sink deeper into her misery, the front door clicked open. A set of footsteps was heard through the entrance, followed by the sound of the door closing, and a familiar voice announced,"Gin, honey, I'm home."
Standing in the open doorway to the living room was Harry. Little Jamie emitted a delighted squeal and extended his tiny hand toward his daddy. Hermione gently passed the baby to him, marvelling at the scene as Harry lifted Jamie above his head, allowing the little fingers to play with the recently grown beard. Ginny had once shared how Harry's slightly prickly beard added an interesting twist when Harry went down on her, before Hermione cut her off, with a playful, "I think I'll pass on the details of my two best friends' sex life, thank you very much."
After executing enough twirls and tosses with Jamie to ensure his snack wouldn't stay in his tummy, Harry redirected his focus to the guest.
"Hermione, it's fantastic to see you! I'm thrilled you managed to squeeze in time for a visit with old friends. Taking a break?"
"Something along those lines, needed a little breather during the half-term. Likewise, Harry, I hear you've been very busy at work yourself these days," she quipped playfully.
Harry's previously cheerful and carefree expression shifted abruptly to one of seriousness. He took a seat beside her, gently settling Jame onto his lap.
"True, I've been caught up with some things…" He appeared on the verge of saying more, but he quickly transformed his expression back into one of joy as he noticed Ginny returning from the bathroom. She perched on the sofa's armrest, greeting her husband with a lingering kiss.
"Ginny, we hardly see Hermione these days, and you appoint her as Jamie's nanny? You know she's not exactly a child enthusiast, at least until they hit eleven and can churn out foot-long essays on Goblin risings," he teased.
"That's not…" Hermione started but Ginny swiftly came to the defence of them both,"Harry, babe, I must remind you that little Jamie has two parents, not one. Care to share why you're back late once more? I assumed, being the Head of the Department, you'd have some say in the working hours. Hermione has been waiting for you since three."
"You know the workload hasn't changed; the only difference is the pay," replied Harry, his hand gently stroking his wife's arm. "Hermione, I apologise for keeping you waiting. Things are a little tense at the moment, But I'm all ears. What is that you wanted to ask me to do for you?"
James Sirius Potter, having realised the focus had shifted away from him, started with a gentle moan that threatened to escalate into full-fledged cries. Ginny, commenting that he was now hungry, took him to the nursery for a feeding.
As the sound of the closing door upstairs reached Hermione's ears, she leaned in toward Harry, drawing a deep breath before addressing him, "Harry, I'm not quite sure how to articulate this so I'll be straightforward. I'm hoping you could speak to Pwercy to put in a good word for Draco when he submits his application for the International Magical Liaison Officer post."
Percy Weasley, as the Lead Liaison Minister, held a high-ranking position. While Harry and the third Weasley son hadn't always seen eye to eye, especially when the latter turned his back on his family during the Second Wizarding War, their relationship had undergone a positive transformation in the years that followed. Hermione knew they had become good friends, regularly crossing paths at various family functions. Given Percy's complex history, Hermione speculated that he, of all people, would be inclined to extend a chance at redemption to another wizard. However, she preferred not to dwell on Lucius' potential reaction upon discovering her request for Harry to advocate for Draco with Percy. In Lucius' eyes, families like the Weasleys were branded as blood-traitors, holding no higher status than Muggleborns. Still, he had asked her to be resourceful and she was diligently fulfilling her end of the deal.
Harry donned an expression of utter astonishment when Hermione voiced her request. Seeing his stunned reaction, she decided to emphasise her point further.
"I realise it may sound crazy, but it means a lot to me that he lands this job. I'm sorry I can't provide more details now, but it's deeply personal," she gazed at him with a pleading expression, the quest for the next clue dominating her thoughts.
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. Rising to his feet, he began to pace the room, hand at his forehead, before finally asking, "Hermione, I've got to ask: you're not dating Draco, are you?"
Hermione let out a half-snort, half-laugh. "No, of course not. What a suggestion!" Deciding to be candid with her friend, she admitted, "But I committed to helping Draco in securing that job, as part of an arrangement with Lucius."
At the mention of Lucius's name entering the equation, Harry's confusion deepened. He sank back into the sofa next to her, looking even more mystified.
"Wow." A pause. "Alright, I suppose I can." Hermione hadn't anticipated him agreeing so readily. "They're actually hiring, so I guess Malfoy can give it a shot. I won't even ask why you need to make deals with Lucius."
"Please, don't. It's nothing really interesting, strictly business." Hermione's attempt at deception was far from unconvincing, but Harry appeared too preoccupied with something else to pursue the matter further. Hermione stole a sideway glance at her friend, noticing a few strands of silver amidst the black on his head. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of a sleep that had been interrupted for several nights in a row.
"Harry, what's wrong?" she probed, placing her hand on his arm, and giving it a gentle squeeze. Harry always responded to touch, likely the result of being deprived of it for the first eleven years of his life.
"I haven't told Ginny yet, she's going through all that trouble with Jamie now, and I wouldn't want to add more to her plate. But strange things had happened in the Ministry."
"Harry, Ginny is a resilient woman, not one to shy away from difficulties. I believe she would want to be kept in the loop about what's happening in the space where her husband dedicates so many of his waking hours," she added with a little quip.
"I do plan on telling her, just not yet," Harry uttered wearily. Then, changing the subject, he posed a different question, "Do you recall the Veil in the depths of the Department of Mysteries?"
She did. The unsettling sensation it stirred when Harry and Luna spoke of hearing voices from the other side remained vividly etched in her mind. The mere memory of the chilling draught, reminiscent of a breath of death on her neck when they stood with their backs against the tall, stone-pointed archway, made her skin crawl. Lucius' presence during that time made her briefly question her sanity for agreeing to collaborate with him.
"You know how challenging, virtually impossible it is for anyone unauthorised to get inside that room? Well, Unspeakables on their duty inside simply vanished around Halloween night. The person scheduled for the next shift arrived the following morning only to find the Death Chamber completely empty.
Stunned, Hermione covered her mouth with the palm.
Harry went on, "I assigned a team of select Aurors to investigate. They thoroughly combed the place from top to bottom but discovered no trace of any wizard or witch," he paused before concluding ominously, "nor their bodies." ."
Hermione took a moment to absorb the information. A shiver of discomfort traced down her neck at the unsettling notion of someone or something reaching out from that mysterious veil. She quelled such thoughts, her rational mind supplying plausible explanations, like the possibility of the three missing Unspeakables leaving early for Samhein celebrations that night. However, a jolt of realisation struck her- Halloween had passed a fortnight ago, and the absence of any sign of those individuals could only signify one grim truth: they were gone. The question was: how?
"You don't suppose the Veil…?"
"I don't know, Hermione," Harry signed, rubbing his temple, the creases on his forehead deepening. "I initially dismissed the idea, but what other explanation could there possibly be? Besides, you remember Sirius."
Hermione recalled the moment- Sirius fell through the Veil, struck by Bellatrix' curse, disappearing beneath its shadowy depths. Only a faint murmur of its swaying curtain marked his passage into the realm of spirits.
She nodded, softly pressing her hand against the plush padding of the sofa, her fingers splaying.
"We're diligently working on the case, but with no leads, no alarms triggered, and no hints whatsoever, we're not making any progress. Meanwhile, the families of Unspeakables demand answers and decisive action. How do you approach a witch and tell her and her children that her husband and their father will likely never return home? And one of Unspeakables was a young woman, no older than you or I, with her entire life ahead of her."
Hermione could empathise with that. Suppressing the impulse to divulge her own near-certain death sentence, she asked, her voice tremulous,
"Within the Ministry, who else knows?"
"Only the Minister, the other Unspeakables (who, naturally, are unlikely to talk), and, of course, a small team of Aurors are in the know. We've been trying to keep the news from spreading to prevent widespread panic, though I suspect it might leak out any day now."
Hermione felt honoured that he would confide in her, but it bothered her he had withheld it from Ginny.
"I think you ought to tell Ginny as soon as possible. I wouldn't appreciate my husband keeping such news from me," Hermione insisted.
Harry gave her a weary glance, and neither of them noticed Ginny standing next to the sofa. She had descended with utmost care, making minimal noise to avoid waking Jamie. She had just succeeded in getting him to sleep, cradling him in her arms for the past quarter of an hour until her muscles cried out in fatigue.
"Tell me what?" she demanded, her voice brimming with the insistence for an explanation, with her hands firmly planted on her hips.
Harry's eyes snapped to her, and he ran a hand through his already hair, disheveling it further. Meanwhile Ginny maintained a steadfast silence, fixing her husband with her stare. A
A thought flitted through Hermione that, in this moment, Ginny bore a striking resemblance to Molly Weasley- her stance, slightly pursed lips, hands on hips, and a foot tapping against the wooden flooring.
As if following an unspoken cue, Hermione extracted herself from the situation. She snatched her rucksack on the way and ascended the upstairs, leaving her friends to continue their conversation. Ginny had offered she could stay at their place for a few nights, a gesture Hermione gratefully accepted, eager to relegate her memories of the night in the dubious inn to the distant past.
Having organised the essential items and settled into the spare bedroom, Hermione grabbed her toiletry bag and headed for the shower. With her hands massaging her scalp and water cascading down her back, Hermioe found herself grappling unsuccessfully to make sense of what Harry had shared. The shock that accompanied that information about the mystery in the Death Chamber took precedence, overshadowing even her own contemplations about the ongoing quest.