clxix. morsmordre

The rest of the summer proved…interesting for Hermione Granger.

After the World Cup, she, Harriet, and Elara spent a sleepless morning at the Flamel residence. It wasn't surprising no one got any rest after the night they'd had. Hermione had never met the Flamels before and had to swallow a few dozen questions when she found herself sitting at the breakfast table with two world-famous alchemists so as not to disturb the somber mood.

The morning Prophet displayed the scene at the campground in vivid detail—including the ghastly image of the Dark Mark splayed over the stars like a gruesome constellation. Looking at it turned Hermione's stomach, and she barely touched the food Perenelle Flamel set in front of her.

"C'est des ordures," Master Flamel grumbled as he flipped through the paper, dark smudges under his eyes. He continued in gruff, tired French, and his wife only sighed as she poured him another coffee.

"It could not have been foreseen, Nicolas," she said. Flamel only groused and disappeared behind the wrinkled pages.

Hermione didn't repeat to the others his mutterings on how it'd been foolish for them to be allowed to go to the World Cup in the first place. She understood his worry, but she disagreed; it simply wasn't fair or right for them to forgo everything in life simply because there was a measure of risk involved. Hermione refused to live in a box.

The Flamels sent them out to explore the garden, and by the time they returned indoors, Headmaster Dumbledore and Sirius had arrived, the latter sporting several scuffs and abrasions on his hands and face. Hermione could tell the adults had spent their time trading tense words given the thickness in the air. Flamel had dragged a hand through his hair several times, and Professor Dumbledore had a pensive look on his aged face.

They returned to Grimmauld Place, but not before Master Flamel extracted a promise from each witch to write when they could. He touched Hermione's shoulder before she stepped through the Floo, and when she looked up at him, he leaned closer to her ear.

"Look after Harriet for me, oui?" he said in French, his eyes warm. "Things are not good in Britain. Keep yourselves safe."

"I will."

"Write me if you need anything."

She followed the others after that, Trefhud disappearing in a whorl of ash and green flame. Hermione promised herself she wouldn't abuse the privilege, but if she did write Master Flamel asking if he had a spare Embolized Cauldron sitting out, she didn't see the harm in it.

Back at Grimmauld Place, Sirius caught much of the blame for the three of them ending up in the woods alone; those who passed through the house always had a brief comment or a word of reprimand for him. Professor Snape especially always threw out a cutting comment.

Hermione didn't think Elara's father deserved the censure. Really, he'd made the best decision possible for the situation.

Sirius could not have Apparated away with three additional people, and in the chaos, he couldn't have Apparated with two and reliably come back for the third. Hermione couldn't say he would have been capable of Apparating at all in his tired and mildly hungover state. St. Mungo's reported a large spike in splinching incidents the day following the Cup.

Additionally, Sirius seemed a competent and clever wizard—for the most part, Hermione thought. But he wasn't on the same level as Professor Dumbledore or Master Flamel, which meant he couldn't magic up a Portkey on command or hope to fend off a raid of Death Eaters while running with three underage witches.

Really, he made the best decision possible.

Speaking of Death Eaters—Hermione had formed the unfortunate habit of being in the wrong place at the right time. Or so she would claim if any of the older witches and wizards managed to catch her lurking on landings or on convenient steps. She gleaned more information about those who'd been at the World Cup than the adults had seen fit to give them.

Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape did not think the raiders had been Death Eaters; in Snape's own words, they'd been nothing more than a crowd of "dithering degenerate drunkards" and not at all like You-Know-Who's real followers. Indeed, almost all of those who'd set fire to the camp fled in terror when the Dark Mark appeared—a spell apparently only known to true Death Eaters.

Hermione gathered from the rest of his snide explanations or retorts that Death Eaters, specifically, did not much exist anymore. Not outside of Azkaban.

Master Flamel disagreed. He didn't believe the wizards needed to be "tried and true" to propagate You-Know-Who's message. For the Flamels, one didn't have to be baptized by the Dark Lord himself to be considered a "Death Eater"; donning the robes and terrorizing Muggles was enough.

Hermione's own opinion was mixed. Indisputably there'd been at least one Death Eater there. At one point or another, the person who'd cast the Dark Mark had sworn themselves to You-Known-Who—not to Slytherin, or Gaunt, who did not teach their followers that magic. According to Snape's reply to McGonagall, it did not fit their agenda to use the insignia of Lord Voldemort.

The other Dark wizards at the Cup had run at the sight of the Mark. Wizards knew about mob mentality; Hermione questioned whether or not it was possible a single group of Dark-leaning sympathizers simply incited the chaos by encouraging others who had their inhibitions lowered after the game. Had they acted against their better judgment? Hermione would bet her new allowance from Sirius that many of those in the raid were traditionally anti-Voldemort proponents.

It was no secret many in the Wizarding world held magic dear and feared the unknown. Person to person, they might harbor no ill-will to Muggles, but toss them into a larger congregation, and they would feel less guilt or reluctance in harming them.

Whatever the truth, the system was flawed, and with Gaunt at the head of their society, Hermione didn't see it improving any time soon.

Suddenly, September came upon them, and Hogwarts was due to begin. Elara and Hermione returned to Diagon Alley with Professor McGonagall to find their supplies while Harriet remained safe in Grimmauld Place. They spent much of the day and night before the first of the month trying to find all of their possessions and pack. Hermione hadn't been at the house terribly long, but already her things seemed to wander into every room.

For all its gloom and oppressive decor, she liked Grimmauld Place. She adored the mystery of it, the history, and the feeling of home. She'd grown more comfortable at Malfoy Manor, but there'd always been a line between her and the residents, a knowledge of her impermanence and status. At Grimmauld, she was simply…family.

The morning of their departure didn't start on a good note. Sirius proved morose and surly at the prospect of everyone but him leaving the house. He dragged breakfast out into a lengthy affair, much to Professor Lupin's irritation. He'd never struck Hermione as the kind of man who stirred to anger easily, but Sirius seemed apt at irking the normally docile werewolf.

Then, while dragging her trunk downstairs, Elara missed a step on the stairs and fell, rolling her ankle. Professor Lupin and Sirius spent a further forty-five minutes squabbling over what to do—neither being much of a medi-wizard. Hermione finally huffed and wrapped Elara's foot until Madam Pomfrey saw her at school.

By the time they stepped through the Floo, they barely had a moment to take a breath before they had to race for the train. Professor Lupin almost fell when the Express lurched into motion while he pulled Harriet and her luggage off the platform. Students hung out of windows to wave at their parents and younger siblings still crowding the station, a long, deep whistle signaling the start of their journey.

Professor Lupin exhaled in relief. "You three go on and find your friends," he told them, slightly out of breath. "I'm going to go find myself a seat in the dining car."

Hermione and the others dragged their trunks along behind them as they went in search of an empty compartment or someone they knew. Ginny was the one who came to find them and brought the trio to where she and Luna were sitting.

Conversation naturally turned toward the World Cup.

"We were really worried about you lot," Ginny said as she tucked her hair back behind her ears. She already wore her school robes, the color slightly woebegone from age. "But it was impossible to find anyone. Fred and George and me got separated from Neville and Ron and Dean almost from the start."

"I'm surprised Longbottom didn't throw himself into the thick of it and get cursed," Harriet said. She dug out a potion bottle from her bag and offered it to Elara to dull the pain in her leg. Elara downed it and slumped into the bench, sighing.

Ginny shook her head. "Even Ron isn't thick enough to let him do that. They did nearly get trampled, though. They ended up finding Neville's dad and sheltering by the stadium." She looked at Luna, who idly pulled on a long strand of her pale hair. "It's a good thing you didn't go. Your dad would have had kittens if something else happened to you."

Smiling, Luna shrugged, bulbous, roughly cut gemstones glinting on her earlobes. "Daddy thinks it wasn't Dark wizards at all."

Elara blinked. "What on earth does he think it was, then?"

"He says it was a mass hallucination brought on by the growth of Fibblefluff Flowers in the area. The pollen causes delusions, you know."

The four witches stared at the Ravenclaw until Harriet broke, asking, "What's a Fibblefluff Flower?" At that point, Luna yanked a copy of her father's paper, The Quibbler, out of her satchel and showed Harriet an article.

As they chatted about non-existent foliage, Hermione let her familiar out of his basket and hummed in thought. Crookshanks turned his gaze toward Cygnus' cage and made the wise decision to look away. "Ginny, did you see who cast the Dark Mark? Did Neville or Ron? Or your dad?"

Again, Ginny shook her head. "Neville claims he heard the bloke who did it, but it was too dark to see."

"He heard them?"

"Yeah. Said the incantation was, 'morsmordre,' and Dad told us that lines up with what they know of the Dark Mark."

That was more information than what Hermione had been able to dig up in old Prophets or the Grimmauld Library. It did lend credence to the idea of an actual Death Eater being present.

But who was it? And what was their motive?

Movement outside the compartment window caught her eye, and Hermione turned her head in time to see Malfoy walk by with Goyle and Crabbe. He must have been preoccupied if he didn't see fit to stop and harass them.

I wonder….

Hermione shooed Crookshanks off her lap. "I'll just be a moment."

Harriet looked up from the Quibbler she shared with Luna. Apparently, when opened to a specific page, the paper belched glitter on its reader. Both Harriet and Luna had gold flecks on their faces. "Where are you off to?"

"Just to have a word with someone. I'll be right back."

"Okay. D'you want something from the trolley if it comes?"

"No, thank you."

Hermione rose and stepped into the corridor, sliding the door shut behind her. She turned in the direction Draco had walked and began searching the compartments. Hermione peered through each window she passed until she found Draco sitting with the other Slytherin boys of their year. He had his chin propped on his hand, gaze fixed on the countryside outside.

Hermione opened the door, and five heads turned in her direction.

"Out and about without the other losers, Granger?" Zabini asked. Honestly, Hermione had heard more creative insults, and Zabini's voice lacked bite. "No Potty or Mad Black?"

Nott scoffed, turning a page in his book. "I dare you to call Black mad to her face."

"Merlin, no."

"Too afraid?"

"I have self-preservation, I'll have you know. I saw what she did to Longbottom's face in second-year."

Hermione huffed. "Draco, do you have a moment?" she asked, ignoring Zabini and Nott. The blond wizard straightened and nodded, getting to his feet. Goyle said something to Crabbe that Hermione didn't catch, elbowing him, and Malfoy kicked him hard in the ankle.

Once in the corridor, Malfoy cocked a brow and leaned on the door at his back, crossing his arms. "So, Granger. What do you need?"

Hermione turned in both directions, eying the nearest student, who stood about four compartments farther down and thus out of earshot. She didn't have much hope for this fact-finding mission, but she might as well try. "I need you to tell me the truth," she said in a strained voice. "Was your father there at the World Cup?"

"Well, of course. We had seats in the top box, best tickets given—." Malfoy froze when he caught the meaning of Hermione's sharp look, and he flinched, banging his elbow into the door. "No! Not—no, not then. Merlin, Granger, are you mad? You were in the manor. You know what Gaunt—what he's like when upset." Draco swallowed. "Do you really believe Father would participate in such nonsense when he works with the Minister?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know, do I? And don't deny your father's disdain for Muggles. It's not hard to think he'd approve of what those monsters were doing."

"Disliking Muggles doesn't mean he goes out flipping children in the air like a game of Exploding Snap." Malfoy actually sounded insulted by her question. He sneered at a second-year Hufflepuff coming down the way, and the poor boy almost tripped over his own feet in his rush to get away.

"Well, to be honest, I was wondering if Gaunt had a hand in it. If he did, then maybe—." Hermione glanced away from Draco, looking out the window at the trees whipping past. "But if your father wasn't there…."

"That's absurd, Granger. The Ministry did not come out looking good after most of the crowd got away, and next year is an election year. The Minister was not pleased."

"It could be a ploy. Creating his own enemy to overcome and present a false sense of valor." Hermione's heart wasn't in the theory. She'd also considered, abstractly, if Professor Slytherin had anything to do with the raid in a bid to destabilize Gaunt—but, if he had, Professor Snape would surely know and wouldn't have suggested the event was an anomaly.

"You don't believe that."

"No," Hermione allowed. "Are…are your mum and dad all right?" Goodness, it felt odd asking after the Malfoys of all people, but Hermione remembered Mrs. Malfoy had done her utmost to protect her from Gaunt, ensuring her relocation to the Black house, and Mr. Malfoy, for all that he was a bigoted man, had never abused Hermione or let her go wanting. She didn't' wish them ill.

Draco blinked, surprised by her question. It might have been her imagination, but Hermione thought he blushed. "Yes, perfectly fine. Father took us home when—things escalated." He cleared his throat and then stuck his nose in the air, some of his more self-assured mannerisms returning. "I lost my wand when that riffraff came through. Mother had to take me Ollivander's to buy a new one."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "How did you manage that?"

"If I knew the answer, I wouldn't have lost it, would I?"

"I hope you remembered to report your old one as missing."

"Of course I did. Do I look as brainless as Potter to you?"

Outraged, Hermione opened her mouth to tell him off, when she noted the slight tip of his lips. "Honestly, Draco. Do you want another toad in your hair?"

He sniffed. "Horrid little goblin. No respectable witch would go about throwing toads."

"I might throw a toad at you as well for that remark."

"Hey!"

Hermione waved off his sputtering comment and bid Malfoy goodbye, hearing the tell-tale clatter of the lunch trolley's wheels. She returned to her compartment, finding Elara had fallen asleep with her head propped on Harriet's shoulder while Harriet talked Quidditch with Ginny. Luna smiled at Hermione's return but chose not to say anything.

Sitting again, Hermione gathered Crookshanks in her arms as the bandy-legged half-Kneazle came to settle on her lap, turning over her thoughts like stones in her mind.

Abandoned on the other bench, the Quibbler bore an image of the Dark Mark in the night sky, green and ghoulish and haunting. Even a disreputable conspiracy-theorist paper had covered the event after the World Cup.

Hermione had more questions than answers, and it frustrated her. A Death Eater had been at the campground—either as part of the marauding group or against them, but inarguably there. Someone had to cast the Mark into the sky. If they were not one of Gaunt's, and not one of Slytherin's, then who? And why now? What did it mean?

Hermione didn't know, and that terrified her.

A/N: Going back to Hogwarts woo!