cclxvi. the inquisitorial squad
November swept over the castle with a speed that took Hermione's breath away.
It felt as if the weeks had been crawling by with all the speed of a dazed flobberworm, and all of a sudden the month changed, and the days passed too quickly, the equinox and its looming election marked much too close on Hermione's busy calendar.
She read the papers every morning like a woman possessed, devouring every bit of information she could get on Amelia Bones, Gaunt, and how their platforms were being laid for the public. Gaunt naturally picked at the faults of others and those he said actively worked against his establishment, while Bones struck a surprisingly strong contrast. Though she claimed to have never had aspirations for the Minister's office, she wasn't a foolish witch; she knew how to campaign, and she knew what people wanted to hear.
Time in office had worked against Gaunt; those who might have otherwise supported his agenda were growing disillusioned by his leadership, pressuring members of the Wizengamot to vote with their community rather than solely on their family's own feelings. The unremitting strictness of his anti-Muggle policies had negatively impacted the economy; many wizard craftsmen procured their raw materials through the Muggle markets, and one of Gaunt's early moves had been to outlaw that practice, assuming wizards would fill the gap for production. It was a sound idea—if the British Wizarding world hadn't just suffered a debilitating war. There simply weren't enough people.
Coupled with that was the prevalent extinction of established families who left no one to claim their inheritance. It meant the goblins reclaimed many vaults in Gringotts and any wealth therein—taking thousands and thousands of Galleons out of the market by putting them back into the hands of a foreign nation. The goblins despised Gaunt, and they throttled the dispersion of currency among Wizarding kind. Attitudes were tense, and the public had been demanding Gaunt do something for years.
Bones, in contrast, had tackled the issue from a moderate stance. Magical Britain didn't react well to radicalism, change, or unfamiliar faces; Bones fed into their desire for tradition, being a recognizable, pure-blood witch while also promising to fix those issues the public thought Gaunt had failed to deliver on. Hermione had doubts how much change she could really affect—but, at the end of the day, a daft goose would be a better choice than Gaunt for Minister. So long as he was out of office, the Wizarding world could start uprooting his insidious influence.
It all seemed to be happening too quickly and not quickly at all. Hermione felt like an owl trapped in tar, frantically beating her wings while getting nowhere at all. All the while, her stress concerning the midterms continued to mount. Horrors and fears of failing every class filled her dreams, waking Hermione in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat.
"You're going to burn yourself out," Elara had told her as she handed over a cloudy vial. "And overdose on Calming Draught. This is the third I've gotten from Pomfrey, and she's not an idiot. She must know I'm giving them to you after you reached your limit."
"I just need the one," Hermione had lied, because she'd needed another the next morning, and the morning after, just to get through the day without breaking down into tears as she imagined horrid what-ifs and possible futures wherein she didn't have any accreditation or means of earning a living.
"That's dumb," Harriet had said with her typical blunt candor. "There's no future in which Hermione Granger can't find a way to make a living. There's not future in which me or Elara or Sirius or Remus would ever let you be—what? Destitute? Don't be a twit."
Gruff reassurances aside, Hermione still worried, and not just about her own fate, but the fate of all Muggle-borns and pure-bloods and anything in between. She worried about her parents and wondered if they were doing well in a reality where magic didn't steal their child away.
So she took her Calming Draughts and tried to breathe through the anxiety and spiraling apprehension that tightened her chest every morning—but not today. Today was a meeting day.
Twice a week, the Coven of Hogwarts secreted itself away in Ravenclaw's Aerie, and though not everyone could attend each time, Hermione made it a point to go whenever Harriet hosted a session. Passing through a Moon Mirror into the room they'd set aside for lessons felt like walking under a cool waterfall, and the transition somehow managed to wash away Hermione's concerns. Inside the Aerie, anything Gaunt was doing outside of it ceased to matter—there was no war, no impending election, no Umbridge or Inquisitorial Squad. Once Hermione passed through her reflection, it was time to learn.
Ironic, considering the origins of the group, but Hermione wasn't about to scoff at a good thing.
Today was particularly special. Today, Harriet was teaching the Patronus spell.
"All magic responds to emotion, but none more so than the Patronus Charm," the bespectacled witch explained to her gathered pupils, holding her hands behind her back, keeping her posture straight. Hermione knew she kept her arms like that so she wouldn't fidget with her fingers or pick at her nails, but she thought Harriet looked remarkably like Professor Slytherin, what with how she stood and how she dressed in her black tailored robes with the silver and green accents. Of course, Hermione had enough tact not to tell her.
"In order for it to work, you have to fill yourself with a positive feeling. I guess the most basic way of explaining how to do this is to think of a happy memory."
"Is that really all it takes?" asked Wendy Darker. She'd been one of the more reluctant joiners, and Hermione postulated it was because the Darker family were notorious fence-sitters, and Wendy had been keen on being Slytherin's apprentice before being woefully outclassed. Hermione once heard her saying to Artemis Barlow at the sinks in the loo that she wanted to get an apprenticeship to have an excuse to move from home without marrying.
"No, not really." Harriet rocked on her feet for a moment, gathering her thoughts.
"I've heard you can't cast it if you're not a seventh-year. At least, that's what my uncle said," commented Florence Frilende from Hufflepuff.
"Not true at all," Harriet replied, shrugging. Her glasses caught the Aerie's odd, ubiquitous light whenever she turned, every slight shift of her head obscuring her eyes. The effect came off as quite eerie, in Hermione's opinion. "If you're younger, it'll be more difficult to manifest a full Patronus. That just has to do with your magic being smaller. I was taught that your casting power is a bit like a muscle." She formed a small circle with her hands, interlocking her fingers. "The more you stretch it, challenging the kinds of spells you cast, practicing, the bigger the muscle gets." She widened the circle. "The bigger the muscle, the easier it is to cast more powerful spells. So, it's simply more possible if you're older, but not im-possible when you're younger."
As they considered this, Harriet gave her wrist an easy flick, and her wand slid into her open hand. "So, the easiest place to start with the Charm is to think of a happy memory, but that's not all you have to do. Sometimes, it's not just a memory but a series of them. What you're really after is the feeling. It was once described to me as 'the encapsulation of sheer, unfettered joy.'"
Hermione huffed through her nose. That's definitely Professor Snape.
"In my own experience, it's not just a feeling of happiness, but also…hope and safety and…love. It's about letting all those warm thoughts and emotions fill you up until anything else disappears. Casting it here is a lot different than casting it in front of a Dementor, but if you can memorize the feeling—."
She paused for a moment, then twisted her wand. "Expecto Patronum."
Gasps burst from the spectators as Harriet's silver crow bloomed into being, and it flowed over their heads, casting the room in a crisp, spangled light. Hermione held her breath as she felt the outpouring of Harriet's emotion. She almost shivered as she remembered what it was like to be really happy. She hadn't experienced such joy in years.
When the Patronus dimmed, Hermione exhaled, and she knew the others felt the same sense of loss, the abrupt cessation of contentment that cut almost painful across their senses. Tears warmed her eyes, and she exhaled, breath shaking.
"It's not just effective against Dementors. All Dark creatures are repulsed by the Patronus' presence, and it can lessen the damage of Dark curses, act as a guide, and send messages. Not quite sure how the latter works, but I've been told it's possible." Harriet laughed—a small, self-effacing noise that she cut short with a cough. "Er, anyway. Who wants to give it a shot first?"
Naturally, everyone did, and no one was successful. Harriet didn't let their collective frustration bring the mood down, instead encouraging them to try again. "Take a moment, if you need it," she said. "Really think about your memory. Let it sit with you, let yourself feel it."
Normally, this kind of wishy-washy indecisiveness in magic drove Hermione up a wall; she hated anything so unquantifiable as a feeling being part of a spell, but she listened to Harriet's instruction and crossed her arms as she leaned against the wall.
It was more difficult than she anticipated. She thought of her favorite memories, but when she really considered them, so many dimmed under the overarching shadow of her daily worries. Her first kiss with Terry. Her childhood home. Her first perfect spell. Everything drooped beneath the heavy rain cloud following Hermione.
Someone leaned against the wall next to her, their elbow brushing hers. Hermione blinked, turning her head to see Draco.
"Come on, Granger. You haven't got it down yet? I'm surprised."
She huffed through her nose. "Forgive me if I can't find the right inspiration."
Draco ran a hand through his hair, and he matched her tired sigh. She noticed the dark circles beneath his pale eyes and the furrow forming between his brows, but he still looked better than he had last term—fatigued, but less drawn and ill. Less hunted.
"I'm not about to ask in front of this rabble, but do you know what memory Potter uses?" The look Hermione gave him must have surprised him because he continued. "She's not what anyone would call joyous, and from I understand, her life has been rather horrid. Yet, she manages to cast a Patronus without difficulty."
"Not without difficulty," Hermione corrected. "She once described it as a series of memories—a sequence of thoughts that conjure the impression of home as she understands it. For most people, a memory is all that's needed; negativity doesn't subsume it. So, Harriet bypasses that negativity by overwhelming it with many good memories."
Draco considered this, then turned his hand, giving his wand a small flick. "Expecto Patronum."
A silver mist formed—not quite solid, but thick, with a definite form lurking just beyond their sight.
"That was close!" Hermione enthused. "What were you thinking about?"
A light flush colored his cheeks, and Draco coughed. "It's…silly."
"Oh? Well, c'mon, tell me. Don't leave me in suspense."
He grunted. "When I was little, we had a Muggle-born living with us. Older, I think. She taught me this Muggle game called 'I Spy.' One day, we spent all summer afternoon in the garden playing and even got mother and father to join in." He cast his eyes down, the corner of his mouth hitching in a small smile. "No matter how many times I ask father for her name, he won't give it."
Others in the room continued with their attempts. None got farther than bursts of mist and hazy silver clouds until—.
"Woah!"
A lioness prowled past people's legs, a long tail swishing through the air as she bounded about and returned to sit by her owner's feet. Walt Murton blushed scarlet as his year mates cheered, and Harriet squeezed his shoulder, grinning. Gabriel Flourish stood by him, red in the face too, though looking decidedly sullen.
"Those two are mad for her," Draco murmured.
"Who?"
"Murton and Flourish. For Potter, Merlin help them."
"Oh. Yes, I see what you mean. Flourish more so, I think."
"Mmm," Draco answered, and Hermione knew by the slight dip in his tone that he didn't agree with her, but didn't wish to argue. "It'll end up being ugly between them."
"Who?"
"Murton and Flourish, Granger. Are you not listening?" Draco shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Let's give it another go. We can't have the third-years outdoing us, can we?"
Murton's achievement triggered a slow snowballing of success, and soon the Aerie was a veritable zoo of blue and silver animals, swirling stars and galaxies of bright, sparkling lights. With the addition of every new Patronus, it became a tad easier for the others to immerse themselves in their good memories, and Hermione better understood what Harriet meant by stringing several memories into one. She thought of how it felt to embrace her best friends, the feeling in her middle when she could settle in her bed at night, loved and accepted by a family of her own choosing. She shut her eyes and infused her incantation with that emotion—.
"Is that a hyena?" Elara asked, puzzled, watching as the four-legged scavenger gambled around Hermione.
"A Spotted Hyena, if I'm not mistaken," Hermione said, matching Elara's confusion. "It's not precisely what I would have expected, but I'm pleased. What's yours?"
Elara grimaced, her cheeks pink. Hermione grinned.
"Are you embarrassed, hmm?"
Draco, still attempting to make his Patronus corporeal, snorted. "It was a snake. I saw it from over here."
Elara swatted his arm.
"Come on, tell me, then."
Sighing, the taller witch finally relented, muttering, "A Runespoor."
"A Runespoor? One of those serpents with three heads? Fascinating!"
As the lesson progressed, Harriet turned her attention to assisting students with other areas of Defense. Krum found himself surrounded by Quidditch enthusiasts, much to his chagrin. Hermione helped Draco perfect his pronunciation of the spell.
"You're being much to posh about it," she insisted.
"No, I'm not."
"You're saying 'expectoooo, when it should be much more concise about it. You sound like your father."
He rolled his eyes. "I do not. Has anyone ever told you you're a know-it-all?"
"Believe it or not, they have." Hermione propped her fist on her hip. "You know I'm right, Draco Malfoy. Stop being stubborn."
He tried again, pointedly cutting his elongated vowels—and the pooling silver mist he'd been producing coalesced, and he nearly fell on his backside in shock when a large bird started running around his legs.
"A pheasant!" Hermione clapped, smiling. "I don't know what I expected you to have, but it fits!"
Draco grumbled, brushing off his robes as the pheasant cocked its vaguely opaque head toward him. He shrugged his shoulders. "Ruddy bird."
"Oh, but pheasants are good luck! They represent nobility, good fortune, and familial loyalty. They're very regal."
Her words cheered him up, and he looked at his Patronus with more appreciation as it began to fade. Hermione opened her mouth to ask what form he'd thought it'd take when a soft pop! of displaced air turned her head.
"Winky?" The little house-elf gave her head a nervous bobble as her large eyes rolled over the busy room full of students. She stood almost beneath a table, her little hand clasping the wooden leg. "Are you all right? Is everything well?"
"Miss Herme-ninny, Winky is having a letter for you."
She retrieved an envelope from within her pillowcase, extending it toward Hermione.
"Oh, thank you. Is there a reason you're giving it to me now? Is it urgent?"
Winky shook her head, ears flapping. "No, Miss Herme-ninny. Winky is being watchful like Miss asked, and she is watching the bad witch. The bad witch is being taking the letters from the owls and reading them."
Hermione's brow rose and she looked at Draco who wore a similar expression. "Umbridge is screening the post? She can't do that."
"I'm sure we'll find a new Educational Decree proving she can," Hermione darkly returned. "We'll have to tell the others tomorrow. There's nothing we can do about what comes in the morning." To Winky, she added. "Thank you, Winky. I appreciate your work."
The house-elf beamed before going about her business, and Hermione opened her letter, peeling back the wax seal.
"Is that from father?" Draco asked as Hermione read. "I recognize the crest."
"Hmm."
"What does he want?"
"Nothing," Hermione bluffed, folding the letter shut again, stuffing it into the envelope. "Just the usual news from the Ministry, nothing worth notice. Oh! Did you see that? One of the Hufflepuffs has a hippogriff for a Patronus!"
Hermione steered the conversation away from the post she stashed inside her pocket. The message concerned her, but not overly much; she simply didn't wish to worry Draco. Mr. Malfoy had written to inform her his contacts within the Guardians were reporting an increased interest in Hermione's activities. She'd postulated Gaunt and his fools would eventually pinpoint her as a source of the increased unrest even after she'd taken Lucius' advice to be more circumspect and aloof with her identity when contacting Wizengamot families. It did make her uneasy, but really, what could the wizard do while she was inside Hogwarts beyond having Umbridge harass her? The harpy already did that.
Hermione exhaled one sharp breath through her nose, not wanting an answer to that question.
xXx
"Er, Granger?"
The lesson had nearly reached its conclusion and probably should have been called thirty minutes prior when one of the younger Slytherins, Liam Godfrid, approached Hermione. She paused her conversation with Elara to look at the shorter boy, arching a brow. As far as she knew, he'd only just come in and hadn't attended the session.
"Did you need something?"
"I don't know," he told her. "I just want to tell you some of us couldn't make it tonight. That lot in Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad has been loitering around a few of the Mirrors and it was too risky."
"How did you come, then?"
He scratched the back of his head, though he looked rather proud. "I got out of the castle and went the long way to the Mirror behind the greenhouses."
"Clever," Hermione replied, distracted. What are those buffoons up to? The Inquisitorial Squad had no means of entering the Aerie; the Tell-No-Tales Curse ensured no member of the Coven could willingly or unwillingly give out the password or location, but nothing could entirely prevent a bystander from snooping and discovering the password through no fault of a member. "Which Mirrors specifically were you having difficulty with?"
"For me and Basil, we couldn't come through the one in the dungeons. Elsie Honeybrook said she saw Warrington lurking on the third floor."
"Have they really nothing better to do?" Elara said. "Warrington isn't a prefect and doesn't have a reason to be loitering on the third floor. Why hasn't Filch called him out?"
"He's been turning a blind eye to Umbridge's favorites." Hermione pursed her lips in a passing impersonation of McGonagall. "And the other professors have been reluctant to tangle with her under threat of probation." To Liam, she added. "You can go on now. Thank you for telling us."
Elara folded her gloved hands together and narrowed her eyes as she watched Godfrid hurry off toward the other second-years. "We should tell Harriet."
Hermione looked across the room. Harriet chatted with the Weasley twins and Cho Chang. She laughed at something George said, and she looked so genuinely pleased with how the session had gone, Hermione didn't have the heart to interrupt. It'd been so long since she'd laughed.
"No," Hermione said, slowly. "No, there's no need to involve her. We'll check some of the other Mirrors and ensure we get everyone out of the Aerie without interference from the Inquisitorial Squad. I'll try the one on the seventh floor."
"I'll check the one on the Hufflepuff side of the dungeons. I doubt any of that lot would care to check there."
As discreet as they could be, Hermione and Elara peeled away from the group and approached the waiting Moon Mirrors on the room's far side. Elara departed with the password for the dungeons, and Hermione headed higher. When she hopped the short drop from the frame, she found the corridor illuminated by a single torch on the far end of the passage, the walls bare but for the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach an octet of trolls to dance Rameau's Pygmalion.
She looked both ways, noticed nothing amiss—and still didn't see the spell coming.
"Petrificus Totalus."
Her arms and legs snapped together, toppling her into the wall next to the silver glass.
"Well, well. Look at what I've discovered."
Though she could do little else but blink, Hermione's heart jumped into her throat as she heard the familiar voice come slithering from the dark. Lestrange followed like fire after smoke, the grin he wore nothing short of sinister.
"It's Potter's little Mudblood," he crooned, coming closer one slow, methodical step at a time. "Without her cheating attack dog and the uppity blood-traitor in tow. How fortunate for me."
Lestrange stood not a foot away from her, and Hermione could do nothing but stare and silently panic. He touched the Moon Mirror, but instead of passing through the cold surface, his fingertips brushed solid silver. He grunted and smacked his palm against it, Hermione flinching.
"I imagine you think you're smart. Smarter than anyone else—you and Potter and Black." His dark eyes glimmered with the distant torchlight like small, prickling pits open unto the bowels of Hell. He leaned nearer until Hermione could breathe in the smell of him, an expensive cologne dimmed by the thick saccharine tang of unmitigated Dark magic.
Her pulse raced beneath her skin, eyes trembling. "If Lestrange gets you alone," Harriet's voice echoed in her ears. "He will hurt you."
His other hand moved in her peripheral vision, rising up from his pocket until Hermione could see what he held. She whimpered when the short, black dagger flashed between his fingers.
"You're not smart," he whispered to her as if confessing a secret. "You know what I think you are?" He dragged the flat of the blade against her chin, then dipped it lower along her side. "I think you're an obstinate piece of rubbish who's causing far too many problems for your betters." Hermione couldn't see it, but the dagger's tip pulled against her cuff, tugging on her sleeve, dipping below it. It dug into her skin. Lestrange stepped back to see better, yanking the cloth aside to bare her wrist and forearm to his inspection. "And I think you need a reminder of your place."
Hermione couldn't scream as the dagger pierced her flesh.
A/N:
Me: "Here, this box is for you."
Hermione: "Oh, thank you."
Hermione: "…"
Hermione: "There's nothing in here but angst."
I changed Hermione's Patronus. The Otter represents a sense of playful curiosity, fearlessness, and the water element. CDT!Hermione has left behind that carefree playfulness Canon!Hermione kept close to her heart. Her determination and inquisitiveness has turned much sharper; I selected the hyena among a few other choices (heron, magpie, fox, cat) because the hyena represents cunning, survival, ferocity, and pack bonding. They're curious, and thought to be witches in African folklore.
I chose a Runespoor for Elara. There's a lot of symbolism in the three heads—the planner, the visionary, the critic—that I feel matches the side's of Elara: analytical, mystic, and critical.
Also, another thing we might not think about: the MPA was passed in 1982, so the Malfoys have had other Muggle-borns aside from Ingham and Hermione (and the poor unnamed child murdered by Vol/Gaunt.) Draco's had more exposure to Muggle-borns than in canon. The connotation here of Lucius not telling Draco the girl's name is she's probably dead.