XII. Indiscipline
"You're late, Ginevra," Draco drawled.
He absentmindedly spun the signet ring, a symbol of his lineage, around his little finger. His grey eyes followed the young woman's entrance, flanked by a Death Eater. Draco nodded at the masked man, who obeyed the silent gesture and left.
"I was held up at the Ministry," Ginny explained, her gaze darting around the room uncertainly.
They were in a private lounge of the Imperial Augurey, the Malfoy family's hotel. This room was reserved for select gatherings with a limited guest list. Draco had made himself comfortable in a velvet armchair situated in the centre of the opulent room.
Draco's day had been exceptionally gruelling. Managing a hotel of this caliber proved complicated and was well beyond his experience. He had learned to appreciate the importance of having experienced staff around him to manage the minor details, enabling him to focus on more strategic matters. Ever since the hotel's grand opening, Draco found his days overrun with trivial emergencies.
Over the course of the week, he had interviewed several potential hotel managers, hoping to find someone to whom he could delegate certain responsibilities. One candidate had successfully navigated all the recruitment stages and, much to Draco's relief, received Narcissa's final approval. He shifted his gaze to Ginny Weasley, who continued to cautiously appraise her surroundings.
"Why are we here?" she finally asked.
"For the sake of discretion," Draco replied, as if it should be obvious.
Their meetings in his carriage had become too conspicuous; his vehicle was easily recognisable. He couldn't risk being seen by anyone in Warrington's circle. Draco had dispatched a Death Eater to escort her from the Ministry to the Imperial Augurey. He had made sure she used a secluded entrance, normally reserved for hotel staff. Draco motioned for Ginny to occupy the velvet armchair opposite his own, a gesture she complied with, casting him an anxious glance.
"Are we to witness another outburst from you?" he inquired, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Rarely had he encountered someone who displayed their emotions s so openly. In his world, emotions were deemed inconsequential, and from childhood, he had been taught the importance of maintaining an unwavering impassive demeanor.
"No," she replied, shaking her head and offering a contrite smile. "Not today."
Her mood was notably better than during their last encounter aboard his coach, where she had teetered on the edge of hysteria, nearly plummeting from the sky.
"I've learned my lesson," she admitted, grimacing with discomfort.
"Excellent," Draco declared, a note of satisfaction in his voice, before rising.
Striding to the bar, Draco selected a bottle of white mead and two glasses, then returned to the table nestled between the armchairs.
"Care for a drink?" he proposed, fixing his gaze on Ginny.
She hesitated, seemingly weighing her options, and after a moment's pause, nodded.
"It's been a long day," she remarked, appearing more relaxed.
Draco nodded, poured the mead into both glasses, and offered one to Ginny. He reclaimed his seat, reclining into the chair and crossing his ankle over his knee. He sipped his drink, observing the young woman intently.
With deft movements, she unfastened the clasp of her crimson cloak, sliding off the heavy garment to place it beside her on the armrest of the sofa. Beneath, she revealed a sleek black dress, its cinched waist accentuating her figure and its flared hemline cascading gracefully to her knees.
Draco couldn't help noticing a change in her appearance. Ginny Weasley appeared significantly more presentable than the defiant girl he had encountered at Burke's shop. Undoubtedly, this transformation was influenced by her role at the Ministry and her expanding network, including acquaintances of Warrington's stature. He was surprised to see how quickly she had adapted to these unspoken rules. Initially, a tinge of malicious glee had accompanied the thought of her struggling in an environment so alien to her heritage and upbringing. Now, although he wouldn't admit it aloud, he found himself secretly impressed.
Sensing his lingering gaze, Ginny awkwardly swept a hand through the back of her neck, feigning particular interest in one of the wall paintings. She leaned forward, revealing a cascade of fiery red hair that was unlike anything Draco had ever encountered, as she reached for her glass of mead. She took a hearty swig, her disregard for refined etiquette evident, before clearing her throat and returning her gaze to Draco, seemingly waiting for him to break the silence.
"How are things faring at the Ministry?" he eventually inquired, his finger idly tapping the rim of his glass.
"Quite well. I've had a promotion—of sorts," she added after a brief pause.
With an arched eyebrow betraying his intrigue, Draco's curiosity intensified, silently encouraging her to provide more details.
"Governor Warrington has requested my assistance in organising her upcoming charity event, the Hellebore Ball," she announced, clearly pleased.
Draco remained silent, his mind racing. The Hellebore Ball was among the most eagerly awaited events of the Season within the British magical elite. He himself would be attending this year. Although Narcissa gracefully declined the invitation, she entrusted Draco to represent the Malfoy family. While the subdued animosity between Narcissa Malfoy and Cressida Warrington was widely known, to acknowledge it publicly would be a breach of decorum.
Ginny reached into her bag, retrieving a carefully rolled parchment and handed it to Draco.
"The guest list and seating arrangement," she explained. "These asterisks indicate the donors. Governor Warrington was quite particular about their seating arrangements."
"Interesting, indeed," began Draco, his eyes scanning the parchment.
A guest list of influential donors was widely considered a treasure trove of information. It contained details about individuals with the means and inclination to make substantial financial contributions. Cressida Warrington headed the country's most prestigious philanthropic foundation and held the nation's most valuable network of contacts. He spotted several familiar names from the Department of Justice. Some placements piqued his curiosity, leading him to ponder their significance.
"She maintains a close relationship with several Wizengamot members," Ginny elaborated, her tone hinting at the potential influence involved.
"How on earth did you come by this information?" he queried.
"I snooped through her assistant's things during his lunch break. He keeps an updated schedule," Ginny confessed, a sheepish tone betraying her sense of impropriety.
Draco found himself astounded by her resourcefulness. In just a short span of time, she had provided him with valuable and insightful information that proved to be exceptionally relevant. Once more, he silently commended himself for his clever stratagem. Relying on someone of her background, whom others underestimated and dismissed as inconsequential, proved to be a stroke of brilliance.
"Impressive, Ginevra," he acknowledged with a nod. "You seem to have more surprises up your sleeve than I gave you credit for."
"It's not the first time you've underestimated me," she retorted, her voice carrying a hint of superiority.
Her abrupt change to a tone of disdain took him by surprise, and he glanced up at her. In the young woman's eyes, the uncertainty had disappeared, replaced by a spark of defiance. Once he had regained his composure, Draco allowed a smirk to grace his lips, betraying his amusement. She was far more intriguing when she displayed such spirit and assertiveness. In their last encounter in his carriage, he was almost let down by her dejection over recent setbacks at the Ministry.
"Clearly an oversight on my part," he replied, somewhat reluctantly.
Draco was usually stingy with compliments and hated admitting mistakes. However, he knew that the young woman's loyalty, even under the guise of conditional support, would prove to be incredibly valuable. And perhaps due to his particularly taxing day, he didn't have the energy to put her down, as he had so enjoyed doing in the past. Ginny's eyes widened, thrown off by his admission. She seemed to take pride in his indirect compliment and appeared more resolute as she spoke up again:
"I'll see what I can dig up about the reasons for these meetings," she suggested.
Draco shook his head.
"Don't push too hard. I don't want you to get caught. That could place us both in a precarious situation," Draco admonished with firmness.
He knew it would be a long-term operation. Her discretion and patience would be crucial for its success.
"For the time being, keep a low profile and keep doing what you're doing. I need more time with this document," he said, pointing to the parchment. "I'll contact you with further instructions."
"Understood," she responded, disappointment evident in her tone, having seemingly expected a different outcome.
Ginny paused, seemingly on the verge of speaking, then opted for another sip of her mead instead.
"What about… my request?" she finally ventured, her voice laced with a hint of newfound bravery.
This explained her dedication to the task at hand. When Draco had offered her something in return for her cooperation, he hadn't anticipated the motivational power this aspect would hold for Ginevra Weasley.
"It's in the works," he replied evasively.
Of course, this was far from the truth, but she didn't need to know that. Draco knew that a Ministry Clemency was not easily obtainable. He was unfamiliar with the Weasley family's background, which would be essential for his bargaining leverage. He was also aware that he'd need to involve his father, a prospect he found particularly unappealing.
He planned to defer Ginny Weasley's request until she could provide more substantial intelligence on Cressida Warrington's secretive activities. Draco observed a glimmer of newfound hope spark in the young woman's eyes.
"I won't keep you any longer," he said, deftly folding the parchment she had presented to him.
Ginny nodded, visibly relieved to be dismissed. She retrieved her cloak and clutched it tightly around herself.
"I guess I'll see you soon," she remarked, giving Draco a questioning look.
Draco couldn't be bothered to respond and reclined into the sofa, finishing his glass of mead in one single gulp. However, as the young woman turned to leave, Draco caught himself watching her with an intensity that surpassed the bounds of decorum.
/
Hannah jolted at the creaking sound of the door opening. Every time the lock mechanism clicked, she tensed up. Relief washed over her upon recognizing Dean Thomas. She had spent two days confined in this dank room. Other than the occasional visit from the unpleasant woman who checked her ankle and brought her bland, unidentifiable mush, Hannah had been left alone in this desolate place, her isolation deepening with each passing day.
"How is your ankle today?" Dean inquired, approaching the bed where she was seated.
"Much better, I'm able to walk now," Hannah responded, with a hint of shyness.
"That's good news. I've brought you some food," Dean said as he placed a tray bearing a bowl of bland porridge and a glass of water on her bed.
Her face twisted in disgust at the sight of the grayish mush that had been her constant companion since her arrival.
"Sorry, I know it's not exactly appetising," Dean replied, giving a short laugh upon seeing her disheartened expression. "Unfortunately, this is all we've got. We're still waiting on the next shipment of supplies. For now, it's just unidentified leftover mush. You'll get used to it eventually. At least there's food."
Hannah nodded, not wanting to seem ungrateful.
"You must be tired of being cooped up here. Let's step outside for a while, I can show you around," Dean suggested with a smile. "You'll get a chance to stretch your legs a bit."
Hannah nodded and tried to get up, leaning on the edge of the bed for support.
"Here, let me assist you," Dean offered kindly, extending his arm to her.
With Dean's support, Hannah took a few tentative steps and soon found her balance.
"Go slow," he cautioned gently.
Gradually, her steps grew steadier, regaining a more stable gait. The pressure on her ankle was bothersome, yet the pain was minor compared to her initial agony. They stepped out of the room into a dimly lit, grey hallway. The hallway was in disrepair, with cracked and partly broken walls. Wooden planks covered some of the openings in the walls. Doors lined the corridor at intervals. A draft sweeping through the hallway sent a shiver down her spine.
"Where are we exactly?" she inquired, surveying her surroundings.
"I can't give you the exact location, but this is a hideout for the Defiant Ghouls. It's one of our many bases scattered around the country," Dean explained. "This used to be an old potion supplies factory. The elders somehow moved the whole thing underground."
That explained the complete lack of natural light in the place, Hannah thought. The window in the room where she had been locked up was boarded up with wooden planks. She had convinced herself it was a way to prevent her escape. She now realised that no window could lead outside.
"How long have you been here?" Hannah asked curiously.
"It's been seven years," Dean answered, pausing to think. "That's when my area fell. Lucky for me, I evaded the Death Eaters; otherwise, it would have been instant execution, being Muggle-born and all."
Hannah's eyes widened in panic at the mention of 'Muggle,' a term prohibited under the regime due to severe reprisals. Officially, Muggle-borns were called 'Mudbloods'. As for non-magical individuals, they were simply not referred to at all.
Dean seemed to notice her sudden discomfort.
"You won't be punished for saying 'Muggle' here," he assured her, laughing heartily.
He seemed to think for a moment and added:
"Just avoid speaking in favor of the regime around others here; it won't win you any friends," he said, winking.
"Thanks for the heads-up. I'll be sure to avoid that," Hannah replied, smiling faintly. "I doubt it'll be hard."
Smiling felt like a foreign concept; she hadn't smiled in what felt like ages.
"Shall we move on? Let's continue the grand tour of this impressive base," Dean suggested theatrically, drawing a laugh from Hannah.
"The room you were in is our infirmary," Dean explained. "These doors along the corridor are all dormitories. I'll have Tonks find you a spare bed in one of the women's dorms."
"How many people live here?" Hannah inquired.
"Around fifty at this base," Dean replied, pausing briefly. "But it changes. Some move between bases; others are out on missions."
"What about the other bases?"
"Not sure. Only the leaders know the full details about the other bases – for security reasons, in case any of us get captured or decide to run away."
"Why would anyone run away?" Hannah asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Some people come here thinking they want to join the fight against the regime. But they often don't grasp the dangers or the sacrifices involved. Life here isn't easy, as you've seen. For some, it's too much. And being underground, not seeing the outside world and the sun for long periods, affects mental health," Dean said solemnly.
"Do you just let them go? Seems risky," Hannah remarked, puzzled.
"At first, we would cast a Memory Charm on them. Lately, we've adopted a different method," he added somewhat evasively. "Ah, here's the mess hall."
They entered a vast room, artificially lit, occupied by about twenty people. Long wooden tables filled the room. Mismatched chairs and assorted furniture congregated around a fireplace on the opposite side, conjuring up the feel of a makeshift common room.
"This hall serves as our common room. It's the largest in the base and is used for dining, relaxation, meetings, and training," Dean explained, gesturing towards a corner.
Following Dean's gaze, Hannah's eyes landed on what appeared to be wooden dummies used for training. Two wizards cast spells at the dummies, which nimbly dodged each attack.
"Hey, everyone!" Dean announced, drawing all eyes in the room to them.
Hannah shot Dean a look of panic, acutely aware of the many eyes suddenly fixed on her. She tensed up, nervous.
"This is Hannah, our newest recruit," Dean announced to everyone.
A man raised his thumb and index finger to his forehead in an 'L' shape, proclaiming, "Liberty and dignity, Hannah!"
"Impure be the blood!" a woman added enthusiastically.
"Vanished be his reign!" another person proclaimed, sparking raucous laughter throughout the room.
Dean's laughter melded with the others', and Hannah managed a small, somewhat forced, smile.
"Everyone here is quite friendly," Dean said, smiling. "Well, except Mad-Eye. But don't mind him – he's always been grumpy."
They continued the tour of the Defiant Ghouls' base. Despite limited resources, the group had managed to create a surprisingly comfortable hideout. Dean pointed out a cordoned-off and guarded section of the base, explaining it was exclusively for the leaders. As they concluded their tour, Dean said with a hint of pride:
"It might not be much, but to us, it's home."
"Let's head outside," he finally suggested.
Hannah looked at him confusedly as they descended the staircase to a basement. Dean noticed her puzzlement.
"It's not exactly the outdoors," Dean clarified. "Since we can't go to the surface for security reasons, we've brought the outside in."
They entered a room designed to mimic an outdoor garden. Underfoot, a carpet of fresh grass spread across the floor. Foliage decorated the walls. Two trees with sprawling branches reaching up to the ceiling had been installed. The ceiling, enchanted to replicate a clear blue sky, added to the illusion.
"This is the work of one of our top enchanters. It can't quite mimic fresh air, but the illusion is quite convincing,' Dean explained. "Almost too convincing; sometimes it even pours down rain, and there's nothing we can do about it."
"It's beautiful," Hannah remarked in awe.
Near one of the trees, Hannah's attention was drawn to three individuals deep in hushed conversation. She stiffened upon seeing one of them. The man's face was marked by deep burn scars that extended to part of his skull, leaving it bald and revealing pinkish scar tissue. He returned her gaze, and Hannah quickly averted her eyes, embarrassed at being caught staring so intently. Her nervousness increased as he approached them.
"A new lost soul, then?" the man inquired, giving Hannah a mocking look.
Now that he was closer, Hannah noticed that even his arms and hands bore traces of burns.
"She's a new recruit," Dean confirmed. "Hannah, this is Terrence Higgs."
"Call me Higgs," he said nonchalantly, motioning to his scarred face. "I see you've noticed my little souvenir," he added, indicating his familiarity with such reactions.
Hannah flushed deeply, embarrassed that she was so transparent.
Dean leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Higgs was once a Death Eater," he confided.
Hannah's jaw dropped in surprise, and Higgs looked amused by her reaction.
"We all make mistakes," Higgs said, snickering. "I come from a first-rank Pureblood family. In our tradition, every child—except the eldest son in each generation—must join the Death Eaters upon coming of age. It's seen as a sacrifice for Voldemort's cause. When my time came, I couldn't do it. The sight of the atrocities they committed daily horrified me. I was only a kid, after all. I endured weeks of physical and mental torture as they tried to force me into their ranks. Each time I refused an order, they would 'discipline' me. With them, once you're a Death Eater, there's no going back. You're bound to serve the regime until death. I fled at my first opportunity, remaining a fugitive for weeks before finding refuge here. Ever since, I've been fighting on the other side."
As Higgs recounted his story, a flicker of disgust shadowed his features, rendering Hannah speechless and deeply horrified. She had never thought to question the identities of the individuals behind the terrifying Death Eater masks. They all seemed like Inferi, utterly devoid of empathy. It seemed they had forsaken their humanity in favour of nameless barbarity. She could only imagine the horrors Higgs endured for defying their orders. Once more, a knot of anger formed in Hannah's stomach, and she clenched her fist. With each passing day, her hatred for the regime intensified.
"Higgs is our explosives expert," Dean said in a neutral tone.
Hannah couldn't help noticing Dean's strangely cold demeanour towards Higgs. He had lost the enthusiasm and cheerfulness he had displayed with her and the other base members.
"The only upside of my tenure with the Death Eaters," claimed Higgs, his eyes reflecting a calculating intent.
"Let's keep moving. There's still more to show you," Dean urged, clearly eager to end the conversation.
Hannah followed him down the stairs, bewildered by his attitude. Despite his claim, Hannah knew they had already seen everything on the tour. They headed back towards the infirmary, and she was relieved to find the stretcher. The lengthy walk had rekindled the pain in her ankle.
"So, what do you think? I imagine all this information must be quite overwhelming for you," Dean ventured, leaning against the wall opposite her.
He had regained his warm smile and his friendly demeanour.
"I appreciate the tour, Dean. It's hard to believe a place like this even exists," Hannah said sincerely. "You know, I heard about the Dissi—I mean, the resistance, but you're nothing like what the government portrays."
"I suppose they label us as dangerous terrorists, hell-bent on causing social anarchy," Dean speculated patiently.
"That's pretty much it," Hannah confirmed, somewhat sheepishly.
Dean let out a deep sigh, as though about to reveal something troubling.
"As I mentioned, we have bases scattered across the territory. However, not all our groups share the same peaceful approach. There are extremists among us, people filled with anger, pushing for open war," he admitted, grimacing. "I've never personally lived under the regime. But others have suffered horrendously. I can see why people like Higgs hold such deep hatred for Voldemort's regime."
Hannah remained silent. She too had been a victim. Her heart sank at the thought of Alfie, her late son, and she had to fight back tears. A mixture of profound sorrow and visceral hatred.
"Some bases don't always see eye to eye, leading to disagreements. That's where the Phoenix comes in – trying to unite us across the country into a coalition strong enough to pose a real threat," Dean stated proudly.
"The Phoenix?" Hannah echoed, sounding confused.
"That's what we call our new leader, to keep his identity a secret," he explained. "He visits various resistance groups, persuading them to join the Freedom League of the Insurgent Phoenix. Most have already joined."
"What exactly do you do to fight the government? And these missions you mentioned, what are they?" Hannah asked eagerly.
She needed to stay busy. She had spent the past two days alone with her thoughts. She knew Terry would be incredibly worried, intensifying her guilt over not having figured out a way to contact him. Hannah ashamedly acknowledged that he hadn't been her foremost concern since her arrival. Despite the deterioration in their relationship following their shared tragedy, Terry remained her husband.
"At the moment, I'm not at liberty to discuss specifics. You'll go through the same integration phase as everyone else. Once that's complete, the leaders will assign you a role. We have a range of responsibilities here. Some involve missions outside or infiltrating enemy ranks, while others are about supporting our camp and keeping things running smoothly," he explained. "For you, we first need to check if you're on the Aurors' wanted list."
"How do you get that kind of information?" Hannah asked, astonished.
"We've got infiltrators within the regime, some even at the Ministry, who can access that information," he revealed.
Her eyes widened in shock.
"This is our strategy in fighting the regime. Engaging in open warfare is a risk we can't afford; we're outnumbered by the Aurors and Death Eaters, and we simply don't have the resources for direct combat. We focus on creating disruption and sabotaging the enemy's plans. Disrupting their operations is our primary goal. The key lies in leveraging the access and influence we gain through our infiltrators. It's how we secure supplies and materials," Dean elaborated.
Hannah listened, fascinated, taken aback by the breadth of the underground network operating right under the Ministry's and the Sacred Coven's noses. She realized she was glad to have taken this unexpected turn. Finding a new sense of purpose in her life proved to be an unexpectedly exhilarating journey.
/
Upon his arrival at Damasus the Decadent's Theatre that morning, Theodore felt a surge of excitement, uncharacteristic for him. After an impatient wait for the morning auditions to conclude, Theodore headed to the private library. There, he saw Hermione, deeply engrossed in a parchment, chewing on the end of her quill, her brows slightly furrowed.
For several moments, Theodore observed her in silence, utterly captivated. Her face was remarkably expressive during these moments of contemplation. Occasionally, she talked to herself or let out a sigh of boredom and frustration.
Her normally voluminous hair was tidily pulled back into a French braid. Every so often, she brushed back stray strands that fell across her face, tucking them behind her ear. Eventually, Hermione set down her quill and leaned back, a triumphant smile lighting up her face. She looked up, jumping when she noticed Theodore standing in the doorway.
"I'll stop doing that," Theodore promised, "catching you off guard when you're so focused."
"When did you get here?" she asked.
"Only a few minutes ago," Theodore responded.
"I'm relieved. If you had come ten minutes earlier, you would have caught me in the midst of a total meltdown. Not my finest moment," she admitted with a hint of humour.
Theodore walked up to the table and took the seat opposite her.
"Sorry, I can get quite intense when I'm working. It's taking longer than I anticipated. The references are quite disorganised," she said, her lips pursed in disapproval.
"My apologies for the disarray. Organizational skills aren't our forte in the Nott family, given our artistic inclinations," Theodore explained. "Of course, that's hardly an excuse."
He added this with an embarrassed tone, which seemed to amuse Hermione.
"Are the auditions finished?" she asked, curious.
Theodore nodded.
"We've secured all the principal roles," he announced, a note of satisfaction in his voice.
A comfortable quiet settled between them, and for a long while, Theodore hesitated, watching Hermione as she busied herself with a new stack of books. Finally, Theodore mustered his courage and blurted out:
"I was considering getting some lunch. Would you like to join me?"
He spoke so rapidly, he wondered if she had completely understood him. Hermione looked up at him, however, clearly taken aback by his invitation.
"I…" she began, her voice uncertain.
Theodore felt disappointment creeping in, certain she would decline.
"I suppose that could be nice," she concluded.
His stomach did a happy flip at her answer.
"Where do you fancy going?" Hermione asked. "I don't know this area very well."
"Frankly, neither do I. My outings are quite rare," Theodore added.
"There's a great spot near Diagon Alley," she suggested, after a moment's thought, her eyes sparkling.
"Diagon Alley?" Theodore repeated, his face contorting slightly. "It tends to be rather crowded, doesn't it?"
Hermione nodded, seemingly puzzled by his question. To her, it must seem like a silly inquiry.
"I tend to avoid public places," he explained. "I'm always accompanied by someone. It might not be very discreet. I'd prefer not to be followed."
"You're never able to go out alone?" she asked, shocked.
"Not exactly," he admitted, grimacing.
All members of the Sacred Thirteen were publicly escorted for security reasons. Governors were accompanied by trained Aurors. Their families had Death Eater escorts for their movements. Even though the latter were discreet and not very noticeable, Theodore hated feeling their presence beside him. His movements were quite limited anyway. His life was mostly spent between his family's Manor, the Theatre, and occasionally Macmillan's Great Librarium.
"But at this moment, you're unescorted, right?" Hermione pointed out, casting a brief glance towards the door.
"They station themselves just outside the theatre," Theodore explained.
Fortunately, his security remained outside the building when he visited the theatre, as the venue was deemed secure enough.
"Perhaps we could sneak out through a back exit?" Hermione suggested.
"Every entrance is either sealed or under surveillance," Theodore warned, clearly frustrated. "They'd spot me the moment I step out."
"Unless they fail to recognise you," Hermione pointed out, her eyes gleaming with calculation.
Ten minutes later, Theodore, with Hermione by his side, cautiously descended the long staircase at the theatre's entrance. His gaze was resolutely fixed on the gates. Two Death Eaters stood guard in the security booth.
They observed the pair leaving the theatre but remained silent. As they passed the gates and left the property for the main avenue, Theodore's eyes widened in realization that they hadn't recognized him.
"We did it!" Hermione exclaimed, excitement clear in her voice, as they reached a corner a safe distance from the theatre.
"I can't believe that actually worked," Theodore said in astonishment.
In the costume room, they had found a cloak that Theodore had exchanged for his own. Hermione had then used a spell to grow a long beard on his face. She had charmed Theodore's hair blonde, and his eyes now appeared a darker shade, concealed behind prescription glasses they found in the props room. These minor physical changes were enough to render Theodore unrecognizable at first glance, unless someone was just a few centimeters from his face. The spell would fade after a few minutes, but it provided enough time to elude the Death Eaters. Initially sceptical, Theodore had to admit that the plan's simplicity was indeed its greatest asset.
"You're remarkable, Hermione," Theodore admitted sincerely.
Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and he found himself both surprised and pleased to elicit such a reaction from her.
"Thank you," she said simply.
Hermione glanced around.
"There's a public Floo station just a short walk from here," she explained, gesturing towards a nearby street.
They began walking, and Theodore felt an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction, stemming from a newfound independence he hadn't experienced since his return. One of his most significant challenges since returning to the UK had been the loss of freedom he'd experienced abroad. There, he was free to move as he pleased. No one recognised him as the heir to a Sacred family. He managed to maintain the anonymity he so craved. In the UK, Theodore often felt alienated, a stranger in his own homeland, with only fleeting memories of his early years there.
Upon arriving at the Floo station, he cautiously surveyed the area. Long queues of wizards were lining up. He trailed behind Hermione as she lined up in one of the queues.
"Why aren't we using those?" Theodore asked, gesturing towards the almost vacant Floo stations.
"They're exclusively for Purebloods," Hermione clarified, looking surprised at his question. "I don't have the authorization to use them."
Theodore remained silent after her response. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hermione stealing glances his way.
"You've never used a public Floo station before?" she asked, looking disconcerted.
Theodore shook his head vigorously.
"My visits to public places have been minimal since coming back," Theodore admitted.
Eventually, it was their turn to approach one of the attendants. Theodore had been watching the actions of the travellers before him closely. He handed a Galleon to the attendant, who rummaged in his metal box for change.
"Keep the change," Theodore said.
The attendant's eyes widened at the sight of the coin, evidently surprised by the generous tip. Hermione cleared her throat.
"Let's go," she urged, stepping into the fireplace and giving Theodore a meaningful look. " Diagon Alley!"
Theodore stepped into the fireplace, aware of the attendant's gaze, a mixture of astonishment and gratitude. Emerging amidst a torrent of green flames at his destination, Theodore was instantly struck by the palpable bustle around him. The streets were abuzz with passersby weaving through the crowd, lingering at the vibrant array of shops.
"A bit of advice – if you really want to go unnoticed, avoid tipping the attendants, especially not that generously," Hermione advised, appearing before him.
"Why not?" wondered Theodore, not grasping the issue.
"Most Unbloodeds live below the poverty line. They can't afford to be as generous," Hermione explained patiently. "Having a lot of money is often seen as suspicious."
Theodore nodded in understanding. For him, financial concerns were foreign. He had never lacked funds, and the notion that a Galleon was significant was unfamiliar to him. A wave of embarrassment washed over him. He couldn't shake the feeling that Hermione might perceive him as utterly out of touch with reality. This wasn't far from the truth. Mingling with the average wizard wasn't something he was accustomed to.
"I think this might actually be my first visit here," he remarked, surveying the area with interest.
They passed a shop where a crowd had gathered in front of the window, observing a new model of flying broomstick. Hermione gave him a stunned look.
"How can that be?" she asked, astonished. "You never came here as a child?"
"As far as I remember, no."
"I assume people like you usually have others do their shopping and visit other parts of the city?" Hermione surmised.
Her use of 'people like you' clearly referred to individuals of Theodore's status—the Sacred Thirteen. He sensed judgment in her words but wasn't offended. He wasn't foolish. Although he didn't fully grasp the extent of the struggles faced by those of lower rank, he recognized that their treatment was unjust. He couldn't fault Hermione for harboring animosity towards people like him. After all, it was they who controlled the regime. However, he appreciated that Hermione didn't make generalizations. Her being with him at that moment was proof that she could distinguish between him and his peers.
"This way," Hermione said, leading him into a quieter alleyway off the main avenue.
They stepped into a quaint, unassuming eatery, its interior cozy with tables nestled close together.
"They serve the best chips in London here," Hermione declared, her smile brimming with excitement. "You won't be disappointed."
She walked up to the counter where a stout witch was bustling about with large containers. Under her watchful eye, potatoes sliced themselves and drifted into sizzling vats of oil. Hermione ordered the house speciality and then headed to the only vacant table in the place.
It might not look like much at first glance, but it's definitely worth it," Hermione explained. "Ginny's the one who introduced me to this place."
"Ginny? Who's she?" Theodore asked.
"A friend of mine. We share a flat," Hermione replied, smiling. "We often come here on weekends. It's become a bit of a ritual."
As two hearty trays of chips were placed before them, Theodore eyed the generous portions with surprise. The chips were generously topped with a thick layer of melted cheese and diced pepperoni.
"Enjoy!" Hermione beamed, watching him with a smile.
Theodore reached for a container of utensils, under Hermione's amused gaze.
"It tastes even better when you eat it with your hands," she assured him, picking up two chips between her fingers and popping them into her mouth.
Taking Hermione's lead, Theodore dunked the chips into the cheese topping before bringing them to his mouth.
"This is...excellent," he admitted, his surprise evident with each bite.
"I told you so," Hermione said, laughing delightedly in his direction.
Theodore finished his portion more quickly than he had anticipated.
"Seems you enjoyed that," Hermione observed, nodding towards his empty chip tray.
"I'm stuffed, but it was worth every bite," Theodore admitted.
"Wait until you try the spicy version," Hermione teased. "That's for the next visit."
Soon after, they re-emerged onto Diagon Alley's bustling main avenue. Hermione pointed out shops of interest and places she frequented. The blend of social classes in Diagon Alley took him by surprise. It was the first time he'd been around so many lower-ranking wizards in the UK. However, no one appeared to give him sidelong glances, unaware of his identity, with the hood he wore aiding him in blending in.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Theodore relished the novel sensation of being just another face in the crowd. The feeling was incredibly pleasant. Strolling alongside Hermione, lost in casual chatter, he found himself enveloped in unexpected joy. Her presence allowed him to momentarily forget his darker thoughts.
Hermione's carefree demeanor was a pleasant surprise, contrasting with her usual reserve. Perhaps it was being in an environment where she was more familiar. Theodore observed her keenly as she spoke. They sat on a bench, not far from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. They paused to indulge in the house speciality—a pumpkin latte paired with anise biscuits, Hermione's personal favorites.
For the first time since they'd met, she seemed more willing to discuss her private life, something she'd been very discreet about. Theodore listened attentively.
"I see now," he said.
Hermione turned to him, giving him a puzzled look.
"Why you're so...unlike the others. You didn't grow up under the regime," he added, lowering his voice.
She shook her head.
"So, you don't have any family here?"
"No," she said, a glint of sorrow passing through her brown eyes. "I was separated from my loved ones during the invasion. Like many people here."
"And you never tried to find them?" he questioned.
"It's impossible and also prohibited," she added, glancing around apprehensively as if ensuring nobody had overheard. "It's in the past, and I don't really want to talk about it."
"Of course, I understand," Theodore hastily assured.
He could see from her body language that she'd tensed up. He cursed himself for pressing when the subject was clearly sensitive to her.
"I'm sorry...for what you had to endure," he said sincerely. "No one should have to go through that. No child should ever be separated from their family."
Hermione nodded gravely, then flashed a half-smile.
"Thank you. In some ways, I was fortunate. I was seventeen at the time. Others had it worse. I've heard terrible stories about orphans," she added, shuddering.
In her eyes, Theodore saw a mix of fear and annoyance. He remained silent. Even if he knew perfectly well that it wasn't his fault, he couldn't help but feel some guilt. After all, he was one of the Sacred Thirteen, who ensured that these layers of the population remained in a position of inferiority compared to the Purebloods. Every day, thanks to his name, he enjoyed a certain privilege. Even if he'd never asked for it.
"Shall we head back to the theatre?" Hermione suddenly asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.
It was evident she wanted to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"Not just yet, if you don't mind. How about we continue our walk? Only if you're up for it, of course," he added.
He was enjoying this time with Hermione, away from his everyday life, and he didn't want it to end. A smile gently curved her lips as she nodded in agreement.
For the next few hours, they wandered through Diagon Alley, exploring. Theodore showed particular interest in a music shop. It reminded him of a favourite shop of his in the village near the Grand Conservatory des Tuiles in France. Hermione's interest was piqued as Theodore delved into the intricacies of piano care.
"Extreme temperature fluctuations and humidity can harm a piano. Even its placement in a house is important," he explained.
"I never knew pianos needed such careful upkeep," she commented, intrigued, looking at the piano they had stopped by.
Theodore's explanation was cut short when he noticed a young boy carelessly setting a half-empty bottle of pumpkin juice on top of the piano. Grimacing, he instinctively picked up the bottle.
"And never place anything on a piano, particularly drinks. The wood can easily get damaged," Theodore advised the boy, with a patient tone.
"I'm sorry about my little brother, sir. He can be quite a handful," a blonde girl apologized, approaching Theodore. "How many times must I remind you, kiddo?"
The young boy shot Theodore an apologetic glance, which he returned with a half-smile.
"Sorry, sir," the boy mumbled before scampering away.
When they left the shop, Theodore couldn't help but laugh. Hermione gave him a puzzled look.
"This reminds me of a professor I had back at the Grand Conservatory des Tuiles. Ensuring students took care of the instruments was his constant struggle. He eventually gave up when he retired," Theodore shared, still amused.
"I bet you were one of his favourite students," Hermione said, smiling.
"Oh no, quite the opposite. He couldn't stand me... said I never followed instructions, always had my own interpretation," Theodore admitted, smiling ruefully. "Still, he taught me a lot."
Theodore was deep in thought. During his last conversation with his professor, the latter had given him a compliment.
"At least your passion for music kept you away from playing for those extremist old fools," he had said.
What would his reaction be if he knew Theodore was back in the UK, now playing for the very extremists he had disparaged?
Theodore was abruptly jolted when someone bumped roughly into him. He quickly turned and saw the young boy from the music shop, who clung to Theodore's cloak to avoid falling.
"Sorry, sir, didn't spot you there," the boy said before dashing off down the lane, his older sister in tow.
Theodore adjusted his cloak, smoothing out the wrinkles.
"Shall we head back to the theatre?" he suggested to Hermione, who nodded.
The Death Eaters at the security checkpoint did a double take upon seeing Theodore, now bereft of his disguise. The effects of the spell had worn off, and he knew he couldn't get in without confirming his identity.
"Will this cause any trouble for you?" Hermione asked as they stepped into the theatre lobby.
"Not at all. If anyone should worry, it's them. This only points to a gaping hole in their security, which I'm sure they'll regret," Theodore noted with disdain.
Hermione did not seem entirely reassured.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," she mused, concern flickering in her eyes.
Theodore realised that his experience with the Death Eaters was not Hermione's. For him, Death Eaters were a nuisance, preventing him from living his life discreetly. He had never feared them for what they truly were— a violent and brutal army, ready to enforce blood purity laws at all costs. To Hermione, a witch of lower rank, the Death Eaters represented a real and palpable threat. A surge of guilt washed over Theodore as he realized this. He didn't want to expose Hermione to any danger.
"You're safe, Hermione, I assure you," he said, his hand gently resting on her arm for reassurance.
She nodded, her eyes briefly widening at his touch. He quickly withdrew his hand.
"If I remember correctly from our conversation yesterday, you wanted me to play for you," he reminded her, easing the tension that had arisen.
With an eager nod, Hermione's eyes sparkled, dispelling any lingering fear. Theodore led her into the theatre's main hall, now quiet. By seven in the evening, the theatre had quieted down, with most employees having departed. Theodore sat on the bench in front of his piano and invited Hermione to join him.
Hermione's arm brushed against his. They sat so closely that he could detect the pleasant fragrance of her hair. Theodore positioned his fingers on the keys and started to play one of his favourites—The Centaur Waltz, a classic. The piece was inspired by an interpretation of one of his favourite poems. It began peacefully, then gradually grew more intense. Beginning at a slower tempo, Theodore seamlessly transitioned to a more expressive pace, his fingers deftly dancing across the black and white keys. When he stopped, Theodore turned towards Hermione.
"That was...magnificent," she breathed, almost in a whisper.
"I'm glad you liked it."
"You once said that playing was a way of communicating for you," Hermione finally broke the silence. "What were you thinking while playing?"
"A sense of peaceful calm, joy, and... freedom," Theodore reflected, pausing as he pondered each emotion. "That's somewhat how I've felt over the past few hours."
Hermione turned her eyes toward him, meeting his gaze.
"I haven't felt this way in quite some time," he confessed. "It may seem strange, considering how briefly we've known each other, but—"
Theodore stopped, hesitating to continue.
"But?" Hermione prompted softly, encouraging him to go on.
"Coming back to this country wasn't easy for me for a multitude of reasons. But since meeting you, everything seems so much more...tolerable. When we're together, like today, I feel liberated."
He was taken aback by his own candour in revealing his feelings. Hermione was silent, but he saw her cheeks flush. It was the first time they had been this close, and Theodore had the leisure to observe every detail of her face. The velvety texture of her peachy skin, her full lips with their deep rose hue, and her sparkling almond-shaped dark brown eyes captivated him.
Hermione had a subtle and unassuming beauty that could easily go unnoticed. In Theodore's eyes, she was exceptionally beautiful. Her extraordinary personality and intelligence made her even more attractive to him.
"I don't find it strange," Hermione finally said, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "This is the first time I feel understood by someone. And it's strange, I never imagined finding that in someone like you."
Hermione's words sent Theodore's heart racing. He had been attracted to the young woman since their first meeting and had convinced himself that the feeling was one-sided. For the first time, however, Hermione didn't seem reserved with him. It gave him immense joy.
He gazed dreamily at her face, as if trying to memorize every detail. Her slightly upturned nose was adorned with a smattering of brown freckles. A faint scar on her upper lip, mirroring the shadows of her voluminous curls. However, what captured his attention was the glint in her eyes—a blend of apprehension and uncertainty.
To his own surprise, Theodore leaned in, gently brushing his lips against hers, as if hesitating to deepen the kiss. The moments that followed seemed eternal, and he began to fear she might push him away. However, after a moment's hesitation, Hermione reciprocated his kiss.
Theodore closed his eyes, relishing the sensation of Hermione's lips against his. They were softer than he had imagined, carrying a sweet taste reminiscent of the anise biscuits they'd enjoyed on Diagon Alley. Their lips parted, and tentatively, almost hesitantly, their tongues met, gradually growing more confident.
As they finally parted, both appeared bewildered. Theodore found it difficult to identify his emotions, likely a mix of excitement, bliss, and a sense of dizziness. Hermione appeared troubled in contrast. She offered a shy smile, which was enough to fill Theodore with a sense of elation.
An unexpected noise from the door caused Hermione to startle, and she swiftly created distance between them, her eyes reflecting guilt and surprise. Near the door, a house elf was busily polishing the handles of the grand golden doors. Hermione gave a nervous chuckle.
"Being caught by the Death Eaters probably wouldn't be a good idea," she said, gradually relaxing.
Theodore was unconcerned with the Death Eaters and their opinions. However, he didn't wish to make Hermione uncomfortable. He returned to the piano and began a sweeping, passionate piece, with Hermione watching amusedly. When he finished, he turned his head towards Hermione.
"Should I translate that for you?" he asked.
She shook her head and let out a short laugh.
"No... I believe I understood the message," she said, her cheeks colouring again.
She cast a brief glance at the imposing clock near the stage.
"I should go. Ginny will be worried," she said. "I had planned on going home earlier."
"I wouldn't want her worrying that something happened to you," Theodore replied, nodding.
"I think she'll be relieved to hear I was with you," Hermione admitted, smiling slyly.
"Have you two been talking about me?" Theodore inquired, surprised.
Hermione seemed embarrassed.
"A bit," she replied, her cheeks tinting.
Her answer filled Theodore with satisfaction. He was happy to know he wasn't the only one thinking about her.
"I'll accompany you out," he stated firmly.
Hermione nodded, and they left the stage, walking down the main aisle among rows of seats. In the foyer, before the theatre's grand double doors, Theodore turned to Hermione, gently pressing his lips against hers again. She responded to his kiss eagerly, and they shared a joyful glance before departing.
He escorted her to his personal carriage and instructed one of the Death Eaters at the security post to drive her to her destination. He observed the carriage depart a few metres before it took off. He eagerly anticipated seeing her again the next day.
Climbing the theatre steps, Theodore instinctively reached into his pocket, frowning upon realizing his Sonuminator was missing. He scowled, returning to the theatre's main hall, but found no trace of the object. Then a memory flashed through his mind. Earlier on Diagon Alley, he recalled feeling a young boy clutch at his cloak after bumping into him. He inwardly cursed, realizing the boy had probably pickpocketed him.
Despite the Sonuminator's rarity and sentimental value, Theodore found himself surprisingly unperturbed. Today, nothing could dampen his spirits. The only thing on his mind was Hermione Granger's smiling face.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know your thoughts :)