Chimera: Lion and Snake

Chapter One


If nothing else, Hermione thought to herself as she took the heating charm off the old kettle, the house certainly fit the atmosphere, having lost none of its 'charm' in years since she had last been here. Although the layers of protective enchantments on 12 Grimmauld Place filtered out any noise from the bustle of Muggle London it did not stop the sight of rain lashing against the windows in the already-dark autumn afternoon: highlighting the downpour with the occasional flash of lightning, giving the whole place the oppressive atmosphere of an Agatha Christie murder mystery. Kreacher's occasional grumbling in the background as she worked, going on in broken and rambling rants about mudbloods and traitors soiling master's old house was in its own way oddly comforting – just like old times. She didn't have long to reminisce before the door opened in the foyer, letting in the noises from the outside world for a brief moment, and bringing her out of her thoughts.

"Cor, it's rotten out there, innit?" Ron's voice was cheerful enough, like he was taking a pride in being out in such weather. Hermione came out into the foyer loosely holding her wand and giving the lanky redheaded man a fond smile.

"It's a bit nasty," she admitted, idly waving her wand at him and drying him off as he threw an umbrella into the troll-leg umbrella stand at the front door with perhaps a touch more force than was strictly necessary.

"Thanks, love. Bloody umbrella hasn't worked at all since Fred borrowed it. I think he jinxed the water to come in, to be honest. I swear, one day I'll arrest him and then we'll see who's laughing." He grumphed, but with more resignedness than any real heat.

"Of course you will," Hermione agreed, her lip tucked into a thin line of a smile as she fixed his collar with her hands, fussing with his robes and patting him down. "Sorry, I'm fussing," she said after the third pat-down. "Just, well you know."

"Yeh, I do," Ron replied, looking more serious as he followed Hermione back out of the foyer and into the kitchen of Grimmauld place, looking every bit as out-of-date and mildewed as when they'd last been here in ninety-seven. At least there was tea.

"I see Kreacher hasn't done much with the place," Ron noted, pulling out a mismatched seat and sitting down tiredly, legs splayed.

"Mmm," Hermione made a noise, sitting down next to him. "Well... I supposed if he's happy..." she trailed off, not really having anything to say about that one way or the other.

Ron snorted. "More than he deserves. Anyway, so who else is coming, and what's this all about... and why here? I'm honestly surprised we can still get in, do you think all the old charms are still up? Who even owns this place now?"

Hermione shrugged, not particularly concerned. "Well, I checked yesterday to see if I could still enter, or I would have found someplace else. This just feels appropriate, and who else would even know about it? I asked Kreacher and um... well, he just said I had no real business inquiring and no real business being here. Maybe somebody else knows."

Ron hmmmed. "Who's coming then?"

Hermione paused, looking slightly unsure for the first time in the evening. "Minister Shacklebolt, of course. And I owled the Headmistress. She's bringing Dumbledore and Snape. I'll explain later," she interrupted herself at Ron's raised eyebrow. "Um... I didn't want to invite too many people, not for this. But Remus and Tonks – they deserve to know too." She nibbled her lip.

"You should have told me that ole' Nymmie was on the invite list – we could have come from the office together."

Hermione shrugged. "It was a very late addition. I went back and forth but thought it best in the end."

"Fair enough."

"And... Nymmie?"

"Tompkins called her that today after she rung him out for botching the Avery raid – don't tell her I said that."

"Ah."

"So," Ron's face turned shrewd, and Hermione remembered once more that for all her fiance's various antics and tactlessness over the years, he had a way of cutting through to the base of the cauldron – a skill only enhanced in the past few years working in the DMLE as an Auror.

"The Minister, the Minister's principle private secretary, two Aurors, the Headmistress of Hogwarts with the portraits of her two predecessors along for the ride, and a werewolf. Sounds like a lewd joke or something very, very bad is about to happen. And given we're here and not back at the pub, I'm guessing this doesn't end with a warlock's knob and a blushing veela." He eyed Hermione for another moment then his face softened. "How bad is it, love?"

"Bad."

Any further delving into just how bad was interrupted by the front door banging open and then shortly thereafter slamming shut, the crash of a loud object (presumably the troll-leg umbrella stand and its contents by the sound of it) and a string of vitriol that would likely have sent the troll leg up in smoke if it hadn't previously proven itself to be impervious to such attacks.

"Wotcher, Ron. Secretary Granger." Tonks – who insisted on the name even though she was not even a Tonks anymore, but a Lupin – greeted the pair when she finally made it to the kitchen, full of bravado and a cheeky wink at 'Secretary'. "Good night to get up to no good," she went on airily. "Was just telling Remus the other day, you know what Remus, life's too quiet these days. Teddy's out of nappies, mum's happy at long last, work is nothing but one botched up prosecution being papered over after another... how about we get the old gang back together and form an underground vigilante group, spice things up."

"It's good to see you too, Tonks."

"Ah, I'm just moaning, don't mind me," Tonks waved away the apology, taking the seat next to Hermione as Remus filed in behind, following quietly in his wife's wake. "Least you've got the tea on yeh, all's forgiven," and with a lazy flick of her wand a battered teacup whizzed across the kitchen, landing harder than strictly desirable in front of Tonks as the kettle came by at a more leisurely pace – pouring, to Hermione's shock, a perfectly calm cup of tea in one smooth pour. By Tonks's smirk, that was completely intentional and she'd caught Hermione staring.

"Mum made me polish up on the domestic spells after Teddy spilled the beans."

Thankfully, small talk remained small as the remaining members of the group arrived very quickly after – Hermione had chosen Friday evening precisely for that reason of course; even the Headmistress should be able to leave the castle quickly and without arousing suspicion, and nobody would want to arrive later than necessary.

Soon the number of teacups around the monstrous wooden table at Grimmauld numbered six.

"Thank you all for coming," Hermione began as soon as Kingsley Shacklebolt sat down, looking like he'd aged a decade in the past year, his aura of youthfulness looking more haggard than rugged and the muscles of the famed wartime Auror slowly losing ground to the paunch of a minister's desk.

"I know I was very vague in my missives to each of you, and I appreciate your trust as to the gravity of the situation for hearing me out." Her throat tightened – this was the moment to admit the unthinkable. Ron's hand folded over hers, giving her a squeeze, and she gave him a grateful smile. His trust, even if he was just as much in the dark as the others, meant everything.

"I believe a coup against the legal government of Great Britain is about to be launched. I believe the culprit is Harry Potter."

Hermione plowed forward before the gasps turned into cries of denial.

"I wish to reconvene the Order of the Phoenix to prevent the fall of Magical Britain to Harry Potter."

Uproar, denials, shocked outrage.

"Oi! Shut up, you lot." Ron thundered after the hubbub passed the three minute mark with no sign of end in sight. It worked – though Ron's ears turned bright red as he realized that 'off the clock' and very much 'off the record' they might be, he'd just lumped his boss, his boss's boss, and his former Headmistress and Head of House from a mere five years ago as 'you lot', who apparently needed shutting up.

Hermione jumped in before anyone could turn on Ron. "Please, let me explain."

The looks around the table suggested that she had a very narrow window to do so.

She gulped.

"Point the first, a list of demands, anonymously delivered and with no signature, arrived on my desk two days ago without going through any proper channel. A list of demands that if made public let alone considered, could bring down the ministry. They just appeared on the desk and only The Minister's personal stationary carry that sort of magic in my office. To infiltrate the ministry... only a tiny number of people could even be considered, and only one that we know that did such a thing in the – in the last war."

"Potter infiltrated the minister's private offices in the last war?" Tonks interrupted, obviously distressed by this discovery more than the idea Harry Potter might have infiltrated her desk just this week. "Have we done anything about this? Did my predecessor know? How come I didn't know about this?"

Kingsley looked uncomfortable, maybe – dare she suggest it – embarrassed. He spread his hands. "Harry Potter and I had a very strong relationship during and immediately after the war, and it was his very public recommendation that pushed us over-the-top of what was at the time a very legally ambiguous administration into the legitimate authority of Magical Britain. The idea that he would be infiltrating an administration he put into power never even crossed my mind, and then he hasn't been seen in Britain for two years? Three? It wasn't an issue."

"It still might not be an issue," Ron added. He raised his hands in a placating show as she turned toward him with an audible snap. "Not that I don't believe you, lo- Hermione, but those were ridiculously specific circumstances last time round, and you're nothing like Umbridge. Yeah, Potter did it, but we helped him, and I doubt you helped him sneak something onto your own desk! Plus Harry's still loads popular even if nobody's seen him in years, if anything he's like some legend out of the Beedle – if he wanted the Ministry to do something he could just come back to Britain and there'd be a riot if we didn't at least seriously consider it. He doesn't need to be slinking around the back offices like Malfoy's dad used to do, the pillock."

Hermione huffed. "Well, I doubt that the public would be all to keen on their hero demanding a blanket pardon for everything from mass murder to the brazen thievery of a royal fief!"

"A what?"

Hermione shut her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath as she did so. "Also two days ago, the um... a royal fief disappeared from somewhere. Five hundred muggles showed up in Dover mumbling about some disaster that made them flee their homes, though none of them could remember where home was. The Muggle government is going spare this week. It was... bother, I can't remember."

"You can't remember," Ron said, sounding concerned. "You're working too hard."

"No, I mean I can't remember." Hermione snapped. She took a breath. "Sorry."

"S'alright." Ron frowned. "Sounds like that spell we used to have on Grimmauld. You know, the um..."

"Let's move on," Remus interrupted, shaking his head as if clearing it of a confunding. "A threat to the ministry that required some rather fancy magic and a possible case of large scale muggle baiting that took place... someplace? Not good, but I still don't see how this narrows it down to Harry."

"Well, the letter came with this," Hermione pulled a galleon out of her pocket and put it down on the table with a satisfying clunk.

Ron's eyes widened. Everyone else looked nonplus.

"Harry sent – allegedly sent – you money?" Tonks asked, looking around the group to see if anyone else understood what was going on. "What, did he owe you a Gal from school or..."

"Hermione, I love you to pieces," Ron said slowly, voice equal parts affectionate and strained. "But you really should have led with that instead of the muggle thing."

"The muggle thing is important, Ron. Just bec-"

"The Galleon, Ms. Granger."McGonagall broke in for the first time.

"That's not a regular Galleon," Ron replied for Hermione, sounding excited now. "It's one of our old DA coins from fifth and sixth year – uh, Dumbledore's Army we called it... I guess you know all about that," he gave an apologetic grin to Shacklebolt, who snorted, the first good humor out of him for the evening

"– from when the toad was at Hogwarts. There were only thirty of those ever made -"

"Thirty-two."

"Right, thanks Hermione. Thirty-two then. But either way, that narrows down the number of suspects."

"Not so fast, Weasley," Tonks broke in. "You're thinking like a rookie again. Thirty-two originals, and let's say this is one of those. It could have been stolen, or maybe a perfect replica." She paused, letting out a long breath, clearly gathering her thoughts. "But, ok," Tonks sighed, "This is definitely a strong start that ok, maybe Potter did something. I know a number of the kids you had in that club and no offense but getting an E on the defense OWL is as much of a magical achievement some of them are ever going to manage... You have a list of everyone though – even if this isn't some once-in-a-life-time Dark Lord Potter, we should be ready to follow up on this with DMLE, we'll need a comprehensive list of suspects, even the ones who couldn't infiltrate their way onto the Knight Bus."

"Oh and fuck me," Tonks added, suddenly looking at the coin with renewed horror. "You tampered with a Galleon. We'll have to get the Goblin Liaison Office involved too – what a shitshow."

"Yes, um... sorry."

"Sorta hope this is a colossal government upending crisis now to be honest, least then we won't have to show this to the goblins. Hate working with the buggers."

Having dealt with the goblins during the war herself, this was one aspect of creature equality Hermione was willing to let slide for the time being, even if Tonks was perhaps being slightly over-dramatic.

"So..." Hermione prodded, "are you willing to believe me on the evidence so far that the ultimatum sent to the Ministry might, might, genuinely be something sent by the highly secretive alleged war hero, Harry Potter."

Glances and stares across the room. Remus didn't look particularly thrilled, mouthing 'alleged' to his wife when he thought Hermione wasn't looking.

"I am willing, however reluctantly, to accept the possibility," McGonagall said at last. Ron, Tonks, and at long last even Remus nodded.

Kingsley looked even more haggard than he had a moment before, which was a tragic accomplishment.

"At my order, Ms. Granger has kept the list classified to her person and myself up till now, but given the deadline expressed in the letter, we have until Monday to act one way or another." He gave a very bitter chuckle. "There's a very good chance no matter what we do, the government will fall next week once this leaks. Between the werewolf massacres, this muggle baiting nonsense, and the rash of sympathizer's escaping, I'm going to go down as a second Fudge."

Hermione's heart pulled at that. They were – had – accomplished so much in the past five years, on her meteoric rise in the Ministry. The sky had been the limit, in these heady years since the fall of the old order at the end of Potter's wand. And then he had disappeared as well, leaving a vacuum for new blood determined to make the Wizarding World a better place to step into. That she – that they – could not only end up failing, but be dragged down in such a humiliating way...

Sometimes she didn't think Magical Britain deserved her, or Ron, or Kingsley or the other brave souls seeking the reform the Wizarding World so desperately needed. But it couldn't be done in a day!

"It won't come to that, Minister," Hermione said, voice gruff. She turned to McGonagall. "Headmistress, do you have the portraits I requested?"

"I do," McGonagall said with such a short clip, it came out more as ado, a sure sign the aged Headmistress was not pleased with the trajectory of events. She was holding a box in her hand the size of a matchbox. "I'm willing to entrust them to this group – with my supervision." She sighed. "I don't know what good it will do; Hogwarts portraits are charmed to be unable to speak about any student, past or present, to anybody except that person.

"Normally, yes." Hermione admitted. "But that particular geis can be removed in very specific circumstances for a limited period." She paused, unconsciously wringing her hands in her lap. "Such as for a defined period as agreed by the Minister of Magic, the Headmaster or Headmistress of Hogwarts itself, and the unanimous consent of the Wizengamot.

"Two of whom are conveniently present," McGonagall drawled sardonically. "But I do not think even you yet Ms. Granger can pull the entire Wizengamot out of your hat, let alone get them to agree on anything."

Hermione turned pink and stared very intently at her teacup.

"No... but they unanimously agreed not to vote against the request made in the authority of the minister till no later than a minute after midnight on Monday."

Absolute silence.

"Cor, you're more dangerous than I ever gave you credit for," Tonks said at last, deadpan. "Remind me to never ever cross the DMLE's path with you. I'd probably accidentally sign my own arrest warrant."

"And how did you convince them all to go along with such a thing, Ms. Granger," McGonagall asked, and the others leaned forward.

"Well, probably because they didn't know the request was there to be vetoed," she admitted. "It's packed in the bottom of their weekend boxes and might have accidentally slipped in somewhere toward the middle of the umpteenth redraft of the Muggle Protection Act."

"Hm."

"They'll never find it," Hermione defended the more practical aspects of the fait accompli of circumventing a core protection of Hogwarts autonomy and magical portraiture in general.

"Well, that's that then," Tonks said cheerily. "So we're gonna what, interrogate a couple of paintings about what Potter got up to after hours at ole' Hoggy Woggy? Not how I pictured my evening but I suppose I'm down for something new."

"Not just portraits, no. And not just any portraits, but Headmasters Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape."

Tonks looked like she bit a lemon as Hermione said the second name, and Hermione swore she literally made her skin pinch itself.

"Not just portraits," Remus prodded.

"Yes, um... well, ok, now that we are all on the same page as to the possibility that Harry Potter might be you know, an international terrorist seeking to overthrow the government, and that we might need to engage in a fact-finding mission, I have something else to show you. If we can go to the living room?"

"International terrorist?" Ron mouthed as the others, grumbling, started to stand up.

"Dark wizard, then," Hermione hissed.

Hermione led the way back out into the foyer, passed the stairwell now thankfully absent of that dreadful insane Black witch and over to the 'family' side of the townhouse.

Hermione steeled herself, then tapped the door with her wand once. It opened with a theatrical and deliberate creak.

"What was wrong with the kitchen, that we have to come over here?" Tonks voice floated in behind her. "Last I remember this room was just as rotten as th- oh sweet Circe's saggy tits, Hermione what did you DO!"

The drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place was as everyone present had remembered it, down to the cobwebs trailing down from the floo that never disappeared no matter how many fires were lit in it, to the grotesque display of elf heads above the mantle, to the drab furniture that had resisted the very best charmwork of the Weasley matriarch to make the place even the slightest bit cozy to the undesired house-guests.

What had not been in the room last time – or any time prior – was a witch, twenty-two years old, piercing blue eyes framed by jet black hair flitting just past her shoulders, a nose slightly too strong for her face and full lips that turned into an aloof sneer as the group entered. She would have reached somewhat taller than the average witch had she been standing, rather than been bound and tied to an antique Chippendale with Auror-grade manacles.

"Ms. Granger, what is the meaning of this?" McGonagall hissed, her face a picture of shock at seeing one of her former students sitting in the dreary drawing room as if she were one of the worst Death Eaters of the last war on trial before the full Wizengamot. Before Hermione could continue, McGonagall flicked her wand at the girl, transforming the manacles into ribbons, though admittedly – and it was a testament to her patience to the former Head Girl and current PPS of the Minister – that the ribbons still held the witch, still very much a prisoner.

"Thank you, Headmistress."

Hermione had the grace to look abashed. McGonagall gave her a very tight frown and enlarged the matchbox she had been holding, levitating out two portraits onto the corner table while Hermione hurriedly introduced the group to this unexpected turn of events.

"Everyone, this is Daphne Greengrass. She was Ron and my housemate at Hogwarts, and in our year. Her parents-"

"We are all well aware of who the Greengrasses are, Ms. Granger, both in general and this one in particular." The oily voice – now literally as well as figuratively – came from the now enlarged portrait of Severus Snape. "Whatever is going on that justifies this... scene," he said the word full of every negative implication the ten inch painting could muster, nonetheless making Hermione feel very much like a first year schoolgirl once more. "I doubt listening to such trivium is the point."

Nobody, technically, disagreed with Snape, so Hermione plowed forward over the niceties.

"Right well – she was thick as thieves with Potter throughout our school years; more than anyone else. If Potter's plans began back then, she would have a better idea of them than anyone else."

"S'true," Ron finally popped in supportingly, her first such sign after the insane scene she had introduced the others to. "Even when Potter and I were mates, he was always standoffish with everyone except her and her little group. If Potter's told anyone in Britain what he's up to, good chance it's her."

"Right, well. Nonetheless I apologize for the circumstances, Ms. Greengrass," McGonagall added at last, applying sticking charms to Dumbledore's portrait and turning back to the bound witch, gesturing vaguely at the ribbons holding her tight.

"A mere inconvenience, but thank you," Daphne replied with an airy nonchalance, like the Headmistress had regretfully informed her she wouldn't be able to make afternoon tea. She gave the rest of the group an imperious sniff, though Hermione noticed it dropped slightly when she turned to the portrait of Dumbledore.

"Headmaster." An ever-so-slight bowing of the head. The portrait nodded back. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Right well," Hermione fought to regain a sense of purpose to the tableau unfolding out before her. This was not going the way she had hoped, though in retrospect she couldn't fathom why she was so optimistic earlier.

"On a... hunch, I tracked down Ms. Greengrass this morning at her residence in Suffolk. It was fortunate I did, as Greengrass Hall had been stripped of its furnishings and Ms. Greengrass was preparing an illegal portkey to..." Hermione trailed off with a scowl, "I can't recall. But to the place where we think Potter... might be. Wherever it is." She sounded quite helpless.

Tonks muttered, "that spell, it's got to be."

"Potter," Greengrass supplied.

"Yes, that's what I said," Hermione snapped, mind still foggy from... something. She needed another drink – this was going to be a long night.

"No," Daphne let out a cold, tinkling laugh. Hermione hated that laugh, had ever since the Yule Ball. Greengrass with her smug little smirks and cruel laughter, and Potter always playing the hero to sooth the stings of Greengrass's barbs even as he stood beside her, never going so far as to say for example just stop the littl-. This wasn't the time for digressions.

"Potter." Daphne repeated as if speaking to a particularly dimwitted child and not the youngest PPS in history, or the minister, or even two highly respected members of the DMLE. "I am not Ms. Greengrass. I am Mrs. Potter." She paused. "I supposed it's technically Potter Hall now as well, though I've not yet bothered to send in the parchment work for that. Honestly I couldn't care one way or the other, but I suspect father is spinning in his grave at the very thought, which would be reason enough to see it through, don't you think?"

Silence met this idle afterthought.

"Well." Kingsley said at last. "I suppose that clarifies whether or not Mrs. ah, Potter, would be useful to any investigation of Harry. It does raise the question of why she would help us." He eyed the bindings holding her in place. "Is she helping us?"

"Yes, and all will be revealed in good time, Minister," Daphne supplied not at all helpfully.

"There's nothing good about this," Tonks grumbled.

"On the plus side, there's not much time, either." Remus attempted for either levity or comfort. By6 Tonks's expression, neither landed.

"Mrs. Greengrass has assured me that she will assist us, in exchange for well, certain personal immunities that might come up in the course of our investigation," Hermione plowed through with gusto, hands fumbling with her robe pockets. "Anyway, it's best to move forward so – ah, here we go." Hermione pulled a small stone thimble from her pocket. With a swish and flick a four foot tall stone pensieve sat in the center of the group.

"Mrs. Greengrass, do you have any place you suggest we start?" Hermione asked.

"No, bugger that." Tonks broke in, incredulous. "This is an interview of a potentially hostile, extremely time sensitive witness. I'm not having her run the clock on us showing us whatever tidbits she likes. "We'll do this properly. Which means as Head Auror, I'm in charge of the interview."

Hermione was ready to protest this outrageous injustice and honestly foolish approach to the interrogation of the witness she had procured by herself, but Ron stayed her with a squeeze and a quick shake of his head.

"Fine," Hermione said shortly. "But I do have a list of questions." She pulled out a muggle notebook.

Tonks held out her hand. "And I'll take these into consideration," she promised. "She looked around the group, making eye contact with one person after another. "I'll take in anyone's questions, but I'll run the interview."

"You're the Head Auror now," Kingsley replied with a nod. The tension Tonks had been carrying visibly left her shoulders.

"Right then." She put Hermione's notebook down on the table, and Hermione kept her peace... for now.

"This is a horrifically bad idea," the portrait of Snape snapped. "Potter and Greengrass were a bane of my existence while I existed. Now I am dead, a mere shade of paint and magic and the two of them have between now and then married one another – this is going to end very badly for all of us, no matter how foolish or shortsighted Potter's ultimate end here is."

Daphne beamed.

"I agree with Severus," Dumbledore replied. "If not for the same merits and perhaps with a higher regard for whatever motives Harry might have, this is only going to end badly." He turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, I implore you to reconsider."

McGonagall looked torn. With a sigh, she turned away from the portraits. "Go on then, Mrs. Lupin – your first question."

Tonks was staring at the bound witch, who was staring back, face serene except for her eyes and a slight upturning at the edge of her mouth, chin jutting out ever so slightly.

"The first moment when you and Mr. Potter became confidantes, do you recall it?" Tonks asked after a moment of thought.

"Of course – our first potions class, a week into our first year at Hogwarts. Gyrffindor's and Slytherin's first joint class of the year."

Snape groaned.

"That's very precise, very specific. It was a significant moment for you."

Daphne nodded. "It was, yes." Was that a pinkness to her cheeks, or just a trick of the dimly lit drawing room and the ripple on the pensieve?

Tonks turned to the rest of the group, and with no objections continued with a comfortable authority.

"Very well then. I'm going to put my wand to your temple. Please recall the memory, and then we will view it, which shouldn't take more than a few seconds."

"Yes, Head Auror," Daphne replied with deliberately mocking poise. Then, with more sincerity. "I'd like to include with it the memory of the sorting... in its own way it set the stage, I suppose."

Hermione frowned at that – she remembered the sorting perfectly well. She'd been there afterall – as had Ron, and McGonagall. Dumbledore and Snape couldn't come into the pensieve of course – not that either seemed keen even if they'd been able to – but they'd been there as well. Nothing of particular note had happened. She bit her lip – what was Greengrass's game here, something to show Kingsley or Remus? But what. No time for that though - Tonks had nodded and two wisps of ephemeral grey threads came form Greengrass... from Potter's temple, before merging into a single long string, which Tonks gingerly placed into the pensieve.

"Right then, let's have a look then." Tonks said, and six heads circled the stone bowl and leant forward, the bowl expanding as they did so to accommodate them as they fell into a memory born almost eleven years prior, the great hall of Hogwarts and forty anxious first years rushing up as they did so.