Chapter 2: The Path to Paris
The Ministry of Magic, its corridors steeped in history and grandeur, hummed with an almost tangible magic as Hermione stepped out of the briefing room. The weight of the dossier in her hand felt like a tangible reminder of the monumental journey ahead.
Pausing, she allowed the gravity of her new role as a senior researcher and now a key member of this critical mission to sink in. Regardless of what lay ahead, her actions in the coming days would reverberate far beyond these ancient of Form
Draco Malfoy, who had been unusually silent during the briefing, broke his reticence as they walked down a corridor lined with whispering portraits of past wizards. "Granger, we should start by reviewing these dossiers, understanding the runes is paramount. Let's head to your office." His voice, devoid of its usual haughtiness, carried a seriousness that Hermione hadn't ever heard during their time at Hogwarts.
It was a directive that grated on Hermione's nerves, but she begrudgingly nodded in agreement.
"Yes, and we'll need to strategize our approach to the Paris catacombs carefully. It's a labyrinth down there, and the last thing we want is to tip off anyone else in pursuit of these artifacts," she retorted sharply.
Their steps echoed through the now-empty halls, marking the beginning of their unlikely partnership.
Hermione couldn't help but feel a tinge of irony at the situation. Years ago, the thought of working alongside Malfoy would have been unimaginable, yet here they were, their fates intertwined by the mysterious runes.
Reaching the Department of Mysteries, Hermione's workspace transformed into a hive of frenetic activity. Various maps of Europe had been delivered by the Ministry and lie sprawled across tables, each marked with potential locations of interest. The dossiers, handed to them by Kingsley, turned out to be a tangle of cryptic notes and perplexing sketches of runes, each more enigmatic than the last.
Malfoy leaned over a map, his pale fingers tracing the intricate, winding tunnels beneath Paris. "We should start here," he suggested, pointing to a hidden section of the catacombs. "If our intel is correct, the first artifact might be hidden there."
Hermione, following his gesture, studied the map with a critical eye. Her frown deepened. "Starting there seems obvious, Malfoy, but it's exactly what they'll expect," she countered, her voice tinged with caution. "We can't be so naive to think we're the only ones piecing this together. Whoever is behind this might be anticipating our moves."
Malfoy's silver eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his features. He was not used to having his suggestions immediately challenged. "And what do you propose, Granger? We can't just sit here theorising while artifacts could be slipping into the wrong hands."
A tense silence settled between them, reminiscent of the years of rivalry they had endured at Hogwarts. But now, standing in the shadowy confines of the Ministry of Magic, as hard as it was, she had to remind herself that they were allies, united by a common goal. Hermione broke the silence, her voice steady yet contemplative.
"We need to approach this with strategy, not just haste. The catacombs are not just a maze of tunnels; they're a historical puzzle, a remnant of old Paris. Many sections are off-limits to tourists. Those hidden areas are where we're most likely to find what we seek. We should consider a covert approach, perhaps even dividing our efforts to cover more ground or gather additional intelligence."
Draco scoffed, his scepticism barely veiled. "Split up? You're suggesting we weaken our position by dividing our forces in unknown territory when we have yet to fully grasp the magnitude of what we're dealing with?"
Their exchange was abruptly cut short by the arrival of a message delivered by a silvery Patronus. It was from an Auror stationed in the heart of Paris, reporting suspicious activities that might be linked to their quest. The urgency in the message was palpable – time was not on their side.
The rest of the day unfolded under a heavy shroud of charged silence, with Draco and Hermione each buried in the extensive dossiers that lay sprawled across her workspace. They scrutinized every detail of the ancient runes, each lost in their own thoughts, neither one bothering to share with the other.
This icy atmosphere seemed to set the tone for their unlikely partnership. It was a collaboration forged not out of mutual respect or camaraderie, but out of sheer necessity, driven by the pressing urgency of the task at hand. The air was thick with unvoiced thoughts and unacknowledged tensions, remnants of a past filled with animosity.
As they delved deeper into the lore and mysteries encrypted within the runes, an unspoken awareness of each other's presence hung heavily in the air, yet they both stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. The occasional rustle of paper or the gentle scratch of a quill on parchment remained the sole disruptions in the prevailing silence.
The next morning dawned with a sense of foreboding as Hermione and Draco prepared to depart for Paris. The early light filtered through the stained-glass windows of the Ministry, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the stone floor.
Hermione was the first to arrive in the apparition chamber, her bag packed with essentials and the dossiers securely tucked inside. The chamber, usually bustling with activity, was eerily quiet. She checked her watch, her impatience growing with each passing minute. Despite their differences, she knew that time was of the essence.
Draco arrived moments later, his expression taut with concentration. He gave a curt nod to Hermione, acknowledging her presence.
"Ready, Granger?" Draco's voice broke the silence, his tone business-like.
Hermione nodded, her mind racing with the countless possibilities and dangers that lay ahead. "Let's go. We can't afford any delays."
With a shared look, they turned on the spot, the sensation of apparition whisking them away from the familiar chambers of the Ministry and into the heart of Paris.
They materialized in a secluded alley near the entrance to the catacombs, the city just beginning to awaken. The early morning light barely penetrated the narrow space, casting long shadows on the cobblestone pavement.
Hermione adjusted her bag and surveyed their surroundings with heightened senses. "We need to be discreet. The catacombs are monitored, and we might not be the only ones interested in what lies beneath," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the distant sounds of the city.
Draco scanned the area, his eyes sharp and alert. "Let's split up here then. Keep your communication mirror handy and stay alert."
She was surprised he had agreed to her plan. The strategy they were embarking upon was laden with risks, yet it was undoubtedly the most effective approach for canvassing the extensive catacombs and staying one step ahead of any lurking adversaries.
Hermione inhaled deeply, the weight of responsibility pressing heavily upon her shoulders as she advanced toward her designated entry point. The catacombs, with their shadowed passages and eerie history, lay in anticipation of their arrival.
She navigated the catacombs with practiced precision, her wand casting a focused beam of light in the dense darkness. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to piece together the clues from the dossiers with the reality of the catacombs around her. As she went deeper into the maze, the air grew colder and the sounds of the city above were long gone. She meticulously examined the ancient walls, searching for any sign of the runes. Then, she spotted them - faint, almost imperceptible runes etched into the stone. She crouched down to examine a small section of the wall, "these match the dossier," she murmured to herself, her heart racing. But the runes appeared to be incomplete, like they were part of a larger of Form
She needed to find the rest. This could be key to locating the first artifact.
She continued, her search now more focused, the incomplete runes had given her a new sense of purpose. After what felt like hours of navigating the dimly lit catacombs, she stumbled upon an open chamber. This room was markedly different from the rest of the catacombs; its walls were smoother, and at its very centre stood an ancient stone pedestal, atop which lay a thick leather-bound tome.
Hermione approached the pedestal, her hands trembling as she reached out to open the book. The pages were filled with symbols in a language she did not recognise, interspersed with more familiar runes from the dossier.
"This could be it," Hermione whispered, her eyes filled with a mix of excitement and disbelief. The book might hold the knowledge of the runes they sought. She knew she had to bring it back to the Ministry for further investigation.
As she extended her hand towards the ancient tome, an unsettling sensation crept over her. No sooner had her fingertips grazed the dusty cover than the chamber shuddered violently. Her eyes widened in realisation – it was a trap.
Snatching the book, she sprinted through the catacombs. The sound of collapsing stone filled the air, a cacophony of destruction echoing in the narrow passageways.
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest as she navigated the labyrinthine tunnels, her memory guiding her through the familiar paths she had memorized on the way in. The light from her wand flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Dust and debris filled the air, clouding her vision and making her cough. The once-still air was now a whirlwind of chaos. The ominous rumbling of the catacombs' collapse pursuing her, drawing closer.
And so naturally, she chose that moment to trip on a rock.
She stumbled, her balance lost. A sharp pain shot through her leg as she hit the ground hard, the tome flying from her grasp. She cried out, the sound reverberating through the catacombs, a desperate plea for help in the suffocating darkness.
For a moment, she lay there, disoriented and in pain, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The world seemed to spin around her, the once-solid ground of the catacombs now an unsteady and treacherous surface.
With a groan, she tried to move, but her leg protested with a jolt of pain so intense it took her breath away. The air was thick with dust, making her eyes water and her throat burn. She reached out, groping for the tome she had risked so much to retrieve, but it felt miles away.
As panic began to set in, she heard footsteps echoing rapidly through the catacombs, growing louder and more urgent. Through the haze of pain, she saw a figure rushing towards her. Draco Malfoy emerged from the dust cloud, his face etched with concern and urgency.
"Granger!" Malfoy called out; his voice laced with worry. He was at her side in an instant, his eyes quickly assessing her condition. "Can you move?"
Hermione shook her head, wincing with a sharp intake of breath as she tried to suppress a cry of pain. Her eyes, however, darted anxiously to the tome lying a few feet away. "The book," she gasped, her voice strained. "We can't leave it."
Malfoy followed her gaze, spotting the ancient tome partially covered in rubble. Without a word, he strode over to the book and deposited it into his satchel.
Returning to Hermione, he carefully scooped her up into his arms, mindful of her injured leg.
Draco moved swiftly, his steps sure and steady even as the ground continued to tremble beneath them. Hermione's head rested against his shoulder, her mind a whirlwind of pain and confusion. She could feel the rhythmic beat of his heart, a steady drum in the midst of her disarray.
As they emerged from the catacombs, the bright light of the Parisian morning was blinding. Draco didn't stop, continuing his brisk pace through the narrow streets.
"Where are we going?" Hermione asked through gritted teeth, trying to focus on something other than the pain.
"To someone who can help," Draco replied, his tone firm yet reassuring.
They navigated the cobbled streets of wizarding Paris, the city slowly waking up around them. The curious glances of early risers followed them, but Draco paid them no mind, his focus solely on getting Hermione the help she needed.
Finally, they arrived at a pristine townhouse nestled within the heart of the Parisian wizarding community. Draco, with Hermione still tenderly cradled in his arms moved towards the townhouse's entrance, his footsteps echoing on the cobblestone pathway.
The door before them stood as a testament to wizarding craftsmanship, intricately carved and shimmering with protective charms. With a tentative hand, Draco pressed the ornate doorbell. It responded with a soft, melodious chime.
A moment of silence, then a voice pierced the stillness, its familiar lightness masking the gravity of their unexpected visit.
"Well, if it isn't Draco Malfoy," the voice teased, tinged with a mixture of surprise and amusement.
The door swung open to reveal Astoria Greengrass.