Chapter 61
April 3, 2002
Early afternoon
The owl post wasn't without its surveillance dangers. Conveniently though the wizarding establishment had no understanding of Muggle communication methods, which was why Hermione kept a post office box in the little village where her cottage sat on the outskirts.
A little slip in the box let her know she had a letter she needed to sign to receive with the clerk. Hermione knew that meant that she had a letter from Mrs. Krum.
Dearest Hermione,
We send you this letter to inform you that our firstborn son, Marko, arrived two days ago. He was a large baby, nine pounds three ounces. His father takes credit despite Marko's chestnut hair. His hands look like someday he will be good with plants.
Hermione's mind stopped for just a second as she read the last sentence again. Neville's son. She was telling her that Neville's son had been born. The heir to House Longbottom had been born in rural Bulgaria on the Krum estate.
Poor Neville, she thought. He'd had to miss such an important day. She'd try to reach him today, but he was at that conference. She would send a message to his hotel.
Pass on my regards to your house guests. I hope their health is improving.
We regret that our plans to visit England have to be pushed back even slightly, but we understand the necessity of it. Things do seem a bit out of control. Will you let us know if that isn't the case?
With affection,
Теменуга Krum
How dare Pansy bloody Parkinson insinuate that Hermione didn't have control of the situation! She was managing multiple pieces on the board and caring for Draco and Theo! A second look in the envelope had calmed Hermione some. A small braid of hair with easily three dozen strands for polyjuice sat there. Pansy never gave anything without taking a shot in the meantime.
The hair would keep the Death Eaters 2.0 moving on target for the foreseeable future. She really only needed a few more months of activity in order for the chaos she needed to maintain itself.
Hermione went to one of the shops and picked up a "Congratulations on your new arrival!" card with a cartoon stork with a conductor's cap, writing in it quickly as she walked back to the post office.
Dearest Mrs. Krum,
It was such a pleasure to hear from you today. I was thrilled to hear of the arrival of your bundle of joy. Of course, I will be sending a gift at the earliest opportunity.
Ideally, her gift would have been news that Pansy and Viktor were able to come to London, but in the meantime, some baby grows and maybe a plush lion would have to do as a gift.
You have no idea how your kind words ease my mind in these trying times. Your friendship means so much to me. Do give my love to your husband. Perhaps I should send him some flowers? What blossom do you suppose that he would prefer? Peppermint Geraniums?
Hermione Granger.
She wasn't nearly as good with the double-sided insults as Pansy was, especially without some time to mull them over, but Pansy needed to know that the hair had arrived safely. The flower suggestion would say enough: Invigoration, Inspiration, Healing.
That should tell Pansy enough about how things were progressing.
*
April 3, 2002
6pm
The Lovegood Flat
Kensington, London
Luna has come to the conclusion that living in Muggle London was significantly more discreet than her family home, rural and isolated in Ottery St. Catchpole.
Aurors felt comfortable enough in a magical home. Muggle homes set them off centre. Luna was willing to tolerate whatever restrictions on her magic use at home to have the Aurors afraid of their surroundings when they came to call. Her only concession to the magical world was that the place was hooked into the floo network. It made travel easier, especially with the restrictions on taking Blaise out and about. She wasn't inclined to let the Ministry take more money from his family vaults than absolutely necessary.
At just that moment, Blaise and Marcus were watching football on the television, the volume high enough that they could not hear Oliver and Luna in the kitchen working through which poison to choose. They were both still far too weak to fight off a skilled legilimens and so it was Oliver and Luna's duty to keep their little conspiracy from their beloveds.
Each of the ridiculously rare poisons had been created with drops of Kingsley's blood to ensure that they would affect him and no other.
"The banquet tomorrow is the obvious occasion to do it, but it needs to be one of the slower poisons." Oliver pushed several of the fast acting poisons off to the right, excluding them. "We hardly want him turning purple and gripping his throat like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy. We're going for subtlety." Luna appreciated Oliver's pragmatic nature, she wouldn't have minded a bit of Shakespearean tragedy. Two Unspeakables would hardly be in the running for the lead suspects with two active terrorist organisations.
"I think the one that mirrors Muggle heart complaints or post-Cruciatus syndrome is the best bet." Luna pointed out, examining a deep green vial against the light. "Dark wizards have been cursing Kingsley since the seventies. It's got to catch up with a wizard eventually."
Oliver nodded in agreement. "It's less suspicious if he becomes ill and lingers with it for a bit before the end takes him."
Loud cheering and applause came from the other room as some team or other scored.
"I'm glad they are enjoying themselves," Luna smiled sweetly. "We also need to exclude any of the poisons that require a second dose. We want to be one and done."
"Agreed. Unless I put Percy under an Imperius I have no idea how I would get a second dose into Kingsley." Oliver scratched his nose as he thought about options.
"That's not a terrible idea," Luna added after a couple minutes of thoughtful silence.
"What?" Oliver looked as though he'd forgotten what they had been discussing.
"Putting Percy Weasley under an Imperius curse. I mean not necessarily for this particular plan, but just generally speaking," Luna shrugged. "You'd have to obliviate him afterwards, but he'd be helpful. We just can't trust him as far as we can throw him."
"Percy was missorted," Oliver admitted. "Slytherin through and through."
Luna nodded thoughtfully, considering their options.
*
April 3, 2002
8pm
Edinburgh, Scotland
The pounding on Neville's hotel room door roused him from bed, he'd dozed off reading about magical fern spores and propagation methods. He carefully marked his page, pulled on his robe and tied it absently and went to the door.
Dean Thomas and Terry Boot stood in the doorway. He hadn't seen either in more than passing since he'd done the flowers for Dean and Seamus' wedding the previous year. They were both in their full formal Auror robes. They had polished their bloody badges for fuck sakes. Did they have no actual work to do?
"Hey Dean, Terry. What's this about?" Neville asked. "I stayed up too late the last couple of days and I'm playing a bit of catch up. If someone complained about the noises it wasnt me."
"Neville," Dean began, nervously fidgeting with his wand holster. "We have some really bad news about your grandmother."
"No you can't. She's safe at home isn't she?" At Dean's shake of the head, Neville swore, his face stretched into a mask of terror. "What's happened? Tell me at once."
"Can we come inside?" Terry asked, looking off to the right where several people were staring.
"Oh of course," Neville said, "Please. I need to know what's happened?" He pleaded as he closed the door behind them.
"I don't know how to tell you this, but your grandmother's gone missing. There was a gardener who came this morning and found neither hide nor hair of your grandmother anywhere and there were signs of a possible intrusion."
"We believe she'd been kidnapped." Dean's face looked tortured by the knowledge.
"Oh no!" Neville fell to his knees to hide the expression on his face.
"We'll get her back, Neville, don't worry." Dean patted Neville on the shoulder reassuringly.
"But I thought the Muggleborn Liberation Front was the one who kidnapped wixen for ransom?! Grandmother was always pro-Muggleborn! We're a light family!"
Dean shook his head. "There's no sign of any MLF calling cards. And they aren't the only ones engaging in kidnapping schemes, just the most active."
Neville let his face fall into his hands and he cried. This he didn't have to fake, he let out everything he had to keep hidden. He cried for his son who was born without him there. He cried for Pansy and Viktor. He cried for himself. He cried for every one they'd rescued from Azkaban.
His sobbing clearly discomfited his former schoolmates.
"Fuck, Neville, I'm so sorry. We'll find her. We'll leave you alone."
"Yes, yes," Neville agreed, clumsily rising to his feet. "I'll be back at my shoppe tomorrow. Please tell me the moment that anything is discovered. I don't know how I'll work until I know Grandmother is alright."
Neville shut the door after them and smiled to himself. He wondered how many days he ought to wait before he started renovating the gardens.
*
April 4, 2002
Daphne Greengrass' Penthouse
London
"I didn't bloody ask you to save me!" Goyle yelled, throwing one of Daphne's law books across her immaculately decorated office. "You should have left me to rot! I earned it, didn't I?"
"I'm not asking your opinion on saving your ungrateful hide," Daphne stomped her foot. "I negotiated it. I made it happen! I got you out of that pit! Me! And I didn't need a bit of your help to do it either! I'm the first witch from the Sacred 28 to be a solicitor. Me!"
"You in front of the Wizengamot! I'll believe it when I bloody see it! How did you even get approved to have me in your home?" Greg yelled, his face a mask of rage. "Does the DMLE even know about us back at school?"
"What about us? Greg! You dumped me like a sack of grain in 6th year because I wouldn't join your little cult and worship at the altar of that psychotic noseless half-blood who was the reason you were in Azkaban in the first place. So fucking get over yourself."
"I don't want anything from you," Greg snarled.
"I don't want anything from you either!" Daphne left the room, slamming the door in her wake.
"I don't want anything because I don't deserve anything," Greg whispered, sitting down on her sofa and letting his head fall into his hands. "I deserved Azkaban." He swallowed back his tears, they'd never done much good anyway. And his father had always said that proper wizards don't cry.
*
