Chapter 41: Hermione

Revelations

"… it was strange how revelations felt like they happened all of a sudden, but in reality, it took many small, almost indiscernible moments over the course of weeks, months, and years." ― Jennifer L. Armentrout, A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire

Wednesday, August 29, 2007
The Daily Prophet

SINISTER WEREWOLF CONSPIRACY EXPOSED: DEATH EATER THORFINN ROWLE UNMASKED AT EUROPEAN QUIDDITCH GALA

Jacqueline Jensen
Foreign Correspondent

The werewolf attacks that have plagued Europe since March reached a shocking conclusion last night. In a dramatic turn of events at the European Quidditch Championship Gala, it was revealed that the infamous Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle was the mastermind behind the plot of terror.

Rowle (58) was convicted of murder, kidnapping, torture, and multiple uses of the Unforgivable Curses while in service to the Dark Lord Voldemort in 1998. He infamously escaped with fellow convict Antonin Dolohov during transport to Azkaban from a Ministry holding cell on the evening of March 10, 1999, killing the Aurors Kieran Osman Flanagan and Apollonia Pinkery in the process.

Today, Rowle finally rests in French custody.

A night meant to celebrate France's hard-fought victory over England—in the longest-ever-recorded European Championship Final—instead erupted into chaos when werewolf-like attackers stormed the gala, which took place at the National Stadium in Provence. However, authorities soon discovered that the so-called werewolves were not magical beasts but ordinary witches and wizards using highly advanced, experimental transfiguration to mimic the terrifying traits of werewolves. British citizens Thorfinn Rowle and Nolan Priscus were among the perpetrators; see page 3 for a complete list of the accused.

French Auror Ben-Denis Ensor died during the battle after falling down the cliffside adjoining the stadium.

The deadly plan, allegedly orchestrated by Rowle, sought to sow division and fear across Europe's magical communities, further stigmatizing werewolves and undermining international magical cooperation.

The successful capture of Rowle and his conspirators rests with the French Auror Corps and several members of British Law Enforcement who jumped into the fray, including Senior Auror Harry Potter (Order of Merlin, First Class) and Junior Auror Hermione Granger (Order of Merlin, First Class). Civilian gala attendees Lord Draco Malfoy and Lord Theodore Nott also contributed to Rowle's capture.

[…]

Friday, August 31, 2007
The Daily Prophet

BESPOKE MALFOY POTION EXPOSES FALSE WEREWOLVES AT GALA

Stephen Stephenson
Investigative Reporter

[MAGICAL PHOTOGRAPH: Draco Malfoy, coated with dust and blood, walks toward the camera. His left sleeve is missing, exposing a frightening gouge on his shoulder and the remnants of his Dark Mark. On either side of him, Malfoy leads blood-smeared Thorfinn Rowle and Nolan Priscus, whose arms are tightly bound with ropes.]

Lord Draco Malfoy's groundbreaking potion, "The Imposter's Downfall," was instrumental in unmasking Thorfinn Rowle's false werewolf attackers at the European Quidditch Championship Gala, revealing them as witches and wizards using experimental transfiguration to mimic the deadly forms of werewolves.

The potion, which temporarily forces subjects to revert to their true physical forms, is now under review by the Potion Masters' Guild. Lord Theodore Nott, an "unprecedentedly close friend" of Lord Malfoy's, confirmed its application, stating, "There is also an international patent pending!"

Lord Malfoy (27) inherited his title after his father Lucius Malfoy's Wizengamot conviction for terrorism and conspiracy to commit murder in 2000. The current Lord Malfoy, forced into service of the Dark Lord Voldemort at just 16 years old, was exonerated of all crimes after the Second Wizarding War and has maintained a reclusive lifestyle ever since.

The Prophet has investigated Malfoy's professional endeavors and can now exclusively report that in 2002, Malfoy founded the Charitable Potions Trust, a not-for-profit 12987-F organization, which currently supplies St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries with twenty-nine percent of its standard potion's supply free of charge as well as fifty percent of specialty brews.

Lord Malfoy and representatives from St. Mungo's were unavailable for comment.

Saturday, September 1, 2007
Witch Weekly

DRACO MALFOY — THE WIZARDING WORLD'S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR?

Romilda Vane
Staff Writer

Draco Lucius Malfoy, the enigmatic Lord of the Malfoy Manor and Estates, has cast more than a few spells on our hearts following his recent heroics at the European Quidditch Championship Gala. His invention, The Imposter's Downfall, unmasked the attackers who terrorized the event, earning him accolades from the DMLE, the French Ministry, and the Potion Masters' Guild. But it's not just his intellect that has the wizarding world abuzz—it's the man behind the potion.

At 27, Malfoy has proven to be as generous as he is clever. For years, his Charitable Potions Trust has supplied life-saving brews to sick patients at St. Mungo's, and Malfoy has soughtnorecognition for his selfless work.

Intelligent, altruistic—and handsome! The Lord Malfoy's striking features have dominated press clippings this week, particularly the dramatic and roguish shots of him escorting the criminals Thorfinn Rowle and Nolan Priscus to the French authorities. This author is not ashamed to admit that these images might have caused a swoon or two in the Witch Weekly offices!

Rumors abound about Malfoy's love life—or lack thereof. Five years have passed since he and the pureblood socialite Astoria Greengrass called off their engagement, and he hasn't been seen in public with a witch (or wizard!) since. There's no denying that his recent public appearances have left witches wondering what kind of partner it would take to thaw the icy composure of Lord Malfoy.

One anonymous source close to Malfoy described him as "the best and most wonderful, handsome, perfect, lovely Lord in the world. Plus, he has a ravishing estate, even though some other estates nearby are a bit bigger—that's not innuendo, just fact, although—"

So, is Draco Malfoy, the wizarding world's most eligible bachelor? The combination of wealth, wit, and smoldering good looks makes him a contender. The only question is: Who will be bold enough to capture his attention?

Monday, September 3, 2007
Department of Magical Law Enforcement, London

"Minister Shacklebolt says the Night of Terror Act may be repealed by the end of the week," Robards told them.

Hope fluttered in Hermione's chest, though she dared not put any stock into the Ministry's promises, even Kingsley's.

She and Harry were seated in Robards' office along with Zacharias Smith and Megan Wang, the two Aurors who had been leading the werewolf investigation over the last few months. There was hardly enough space for them, and Harry and Zach leaned against some filing cabinets instead of chairs.

"That's it then? Rowle's in French custody, and this major legislation gets the boot?" Megan inquired with her usual acerbic tone. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I'm not going to sugarcoat it, especially with Granger here. We all knew the Night of Terror Act was about optics. It was practically a pet project of the DIMC." Robards shuffled through some papers on top of his desk. "Alright, let's go through this. Potter, Granger—I know you've done this before, but for the sake of the paperwork we will all need to file, would you take us through the attack at the Gala step by step?"

And so, Hermione and Harry, for the fifth time in the last three days, recounted their evening at the European Quidditch Championship Gala: Hermione's knowledge of the lunar eclipse, the faux wolves descending from the stands, the messy confrontations, and then Malfoy's potion helping them realize the truth of it all.

Malfoy, too, had been deposed by the French authorities and was slated to give a statement to the DMLE later in the week. He was still in France. Hermione had written a letter to Theo and learned in his reply that Theo's gouging by Rowle had been more severe than they initially thought. He had to stay in hospital "to have his tendons re-strung" and Malfoy was keeping him company.

"The Imposter's Downfall," Robards read off a Prophet clipping in the case file Hermione had put together that morning. "Nifty bit of magic."

"It's amazing," Hermione agreed because she certainly had some complicated feelings toward Malfoy, but she was unapologetically enamored with this thing he created. "It's a smaller scale version of the Thief's Downfall inside the lower Gringott's vaults. It's temporary but effective, even with one drop, and easy to use in high-stress scenarios. No recorded harmful side effects yet, but the Potion Masters' Guild really should invest in some testing."

"Potter, you've worked with Malfoy before. Do you think he would be interested in a government contract?" Robards asked.

Harry shrugged. "Potentially."

"Look into it, would you? Get someone from admin to write up a draft. I want every undercover Auror to have a vial, and I want our holding cells and interrogation rooms stocked."

"Really?" Hermione could not help but wonder out loud.

Robards gave her a gruff nod. "Yes. If it works on these blasted transfiguration cuffs, who's to say it wouldn't work on Polyjuice? If you think about it, this sort of thing should be standard. Are we interrogating the right people? Basic revelios and finites don't work on more advanced glamour charms."

"What exactly do we know about these cuffs?" Zach's nasally voice asked from behind Hermione. "They fooled multiple magical governments into thinking regular wizards were werewolves."

"Thanks to Granger, we smuggled one away from the crime scene," Robards revealed, and Hermione blushed at the mention of her quiet criminal act. "The Unspeakables are still looking into it. The French investigators haven't seen anything like them before. However, there is a distinct possibility that the rune stones and these cuffs are using the same magical process."

"You think they're connected?" Hermione asked, genuinely shocked. It had not occurred to her that the bomb that had injured her and the cuffs that Rowle and his accomplices were using—came from the same source.

"Could be," Robards said. "I'm waiting for the analysis. And if they are, this entire situation—runes, werewolves, and all—is British in origin."

"Rowle is British in origin," Megan stated.

"But he has not been seen here since his escape. Where exactly was all this planned?" Robards countered. "If it turns out that this mess went on for so long because our department couldn't follow the thread of these stones … well, we're in for a mess, and not just with the Minister."

"What's next? Will we get the chance to interrogate Rowle?" Harry looked stern, and Hermione wondered what he felt, considering that the followers of Tom Riddle were still causing chaos and destruction.

"Yes, but not for a long while. The French want him, which is understandable since the Montauroux incident started this all, and now one of theirs is dead. No … I think we have to get to the bottom of this rune nonsense."

"Have we considered Malfoy?" said Zach.

"For what?" Hermione turned in her seat to face the blonde Auror.

"Guilt," Zach replied imperiously. "He and Nott were here in March in connection to the rune stone investigation—and now theyjust happento be at the Gala, and Malfoy just happens to have a potion in his possession that's perfect for revealing the conspiracy." Zach looked at all of them, who remained silent before he concluded with, "Collusion!"

"Please, Zach," Harry muttered under his breath in a tone that matched Hermione's thoughts exactly. "Malfoy wasn't even called in for questioning in March. He was only here as a legal representative for Nott."

"Exactly—Malfoy and Nott are friends!" Zach quipped.

"It's not … impossible," Hermione muttered, though she didn't believe it. She had felt unreasonably guilty since Malfoy walked away from her on the pitch. Why had she scolded him in that way? He was only trying to help. And why did Hermione feel so disappointed and twisted about the situation?

"Malfoy has been entirely forthcoming," Harry declared, giving Hermione a confused look. "We have a lead on one of the conspirators' homes because of him—Nolan Priscus. Have we gotten the permit to raid his building yet?"

"Should be coming from the Minister's office this afternoon, and Rothschild is monitoring the street until we have the go-ahead," Robards replied. "To make sure no one else visits before us."

"Malfoy and Nott could have turned on their collaborators—is that impossible? Believable?" Zach pressed.

"We go on evidence here, Smith, not insinuations and hearsay," Robards stated with a tone of finality.

The meeting broke apart soon after that—Robards to a meeting with the Minister's office and the DIMC, Smith and Wang to check in on the Unspeakables, and Harry and Hermione to fill out yet more paperwork about the Gala Attack. International incidents required the most tedious forms.

"Granger," Robards said before running off. "It's moot at this point, but still worth saying—consider your ban on werewolves over."

"Sorry, it's just been so busy," Hermione told Joseph over her mobile as she queued at a Muggle food truck. She needed to leave the Ministry for at least ten minutes. The whirlwind of meetings and parchments had begun to suffocate.

"I can imagine," came Joseph's reply. He, too, was busy on a complicated case at work that day. "I would like to see you, though."

"I'm just waiting for a raid to finish on one of the attacker's apartments and a report on the transfiguration they were doing from the Department of Mysteries."

"The weekend then?"

"I'll call you."

"Blood magic?" Hermione repeated, looking down at the report on Megan's cubicle desk.

She exchanged an alarmed look with Harry, who was also hovering as Megan gave the latest rundown on the silver cuff from the Unspeakables.

Megan nodded, gesturing at the report. "The theory is blood magic in combination with an incantation that activates through the runes. They say it's practically impossible to decipher without knowing the incantation itself because four different alphabets are inscribed on the thing, and they all have different grammar. I'm unfamiliar with runes, but … that's what they said."

Hermione was reeling. She had never heard of, never evenread, anything about runes and blood magic and transfiguration, all in combinationand encased in an object. It seemed like an entirely new field of magic.

"But the rune stones don't have evidence of blood magic, do they?" Hermione asked.

"No," Megan confirmed.

"So they're not connected." Hermione felt relieved at the idea, if only to assuage some of her guilt for not making more progress on the rune stone investigation last month.

"Well, not exactly," Megan said, and Hermione deflated again. "The report says that they use some of the same alphabets. They're both hybrids or something. I … don't get it."

"So, maybe, maybe not?" Harry suggested wryly.

"Sounds about right." Megan agreed.

Megan went to deliver the report to Robards, and Harry and Hermione huddled in a corner of his office.

"Maybe it's worth looking in the Black library," Hermione wondered aloud to him in hushed tones. Grimmauld Place had no actual library but rather a collection of horrific publications and manuscripts that Sirius had banished to the attic when they first cleaned out the place over a decade ago.

"Or the Horcrux books," Harry agreed. Hermione shuddered at the thought of reopening those vile tomes. She had removed them from her beaded bag after the war, and they were now tucked in a locked and warded trunk in her room at Grimmauld Place.

"You don't think the Unspeakables would already have things like that?" Hermione had considered pursuing the Department of Mysteries while she was at Hogwarts, and the idea that she would not have had access to theright bookswas unfathomable.

"No clue."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Luckily, Rowle is in custody."

"There could be others out there, though. I wonder about Dolohov." Harry had that dark and determined glow in his eyes that Hermione knew well. His instincts were usually right.

She thought of Dolohov's scarred, cruel face and hoped Harry's instincts might be wrong this time.

The Next Day—
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Department of Magical Law Enforcement

"The Priscus flat was empty," Harry told her as they walked toward one of the interrogation rooms. "Except for some cutlery. Total dead end. The entire building had already been cleared out."

Hermione knew this from reading last night's report, but she nodded nonetheless. She would have mustered the ability to engage in further conversation, but she was a bundle of nerves.

Malfoy had arrived to give his statement, and Hermione had not seen him since that night on the pitch in Provence, since they had danced, since they had fought side by side, and since she had partially blamed him for enabling Rowle and Priscus.

"Ready?" Harry asked her as he reached for the doorknob.

"Let's do it," Hermione replied with false confidence.

Harry held the door open so that Hermione could step in first. As she did, her eyes immediately fell on Theodore Nott, who was lounging in his chair, his left arm in a sling. Malfoy sat beside him, stiff and composed, his expression unreadable.

Theo's face lit up when he saw her. He shot to his feet with a dramatic flair and maneuvered to hug her, making Hermione instinctively raise a hand to prevent jostling Theo's bandaged shoulder.

"You look ravishing, not covered in blood and dust, my dear," Theo declared as he kissed her cheek.

Hermione arched an eyebrow but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Be careful with that arm."

Theo waved her off, grinning. "I'm mostly healed. The sling is just a precaution for another twenty-four hours."

As Theo retook his seat, her gaze shifted to Malfoy. He remained seated, his posture ramrod straight. His eyes flicked up to meet hers as he inclined his head slightly. "Granger."

"Malfoy," she replied, feeling uncomfortably formal. "Thanks for coming in."

He nodded curtly, his expression unchanged, and Hermione appraised him. He looked good—too good. His robes were tailored and dark, with stitched trimming along the cuffs. His chin-length blond hair, neat and loose, framed his face. A sudden, maddening urge to run her fingers through that hair welled up in her, and she clamped down on the thought with ruthless efficiency.

Harry stepped in behind her and gestured toward the table. "Hello. Let's sit."

Hermione found herself directly across from Malfoy and Theo, with Harry seated at the head of the table. He leaned forward over his prepared documents.

"As you both know, this is just a formality," Harry began, "but would you please recount your experience on the night of Tuesday, August 28, 2007, at the French National Quidditch Stadium in Provence? The parchment will record your statements."

Theo opened his mouth first. "Well, I woke up that afternoon after a feverish sleep where I dreamed of Puffskeins riding magic carpets, of all things—"

Harry cut him off with an exasperated look. "You can begin with when the werewolves first started attacking."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, his disdain clear. "Obviously, you tosser," he muttered to Theo. Hermione suppressed a laugh.

Theo shrugged, utterly unbothered. "It was a lovely dream," he said, grinning.

Hermione settled into her chair, forcing herself to focus as they recounted their perspectives on the battle. She noted Malfoy's careful, precise language when describing his potion, The Imposter's Downfall, and couldn't help but smile inwardly at Theo's adamant insistence that he'd come up with the name.

When the story wound to a close, Harry nodded. "Thanks for that. And Malfoy, thanks for the lead on Nolan Priscus's residence." He sighed. "Unfortunately, the building was already cleared out by the time we arrived."

Malfoy frowned, his brows knitting together. Hermione studied him closely, relieved to find no flicker of guilt in his gaze.

Malfoy seemed to debate something internally before he added, "Have the French explained why their vampire guards never intervened during the battle?"

Harry leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed, and sighed. "No, but that's still a good question. I should follow up on that."

Malfoy's tone remained sharp. "You know my opinion on those particular guards."

"I don't," Hermione interjected. What had happened between Malfoy and Harry? She recalled Theo telling her that Malfoy had more experience with vampires than he did.

Malfoy gave Harry a withering look that spoke volumes. Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly as she realized there was something Harry hadn't told her.

"I'll fill you in later," Harry said sheepishly. "Promise."

The room seemed to shift subtly when Malfoy spoke next, his voice calm and deliberate. "Another thing, Potter. Nolan Priscus …"

He paused, reaching under his chair to produce a satchel Hermione had not noticed before. He pulled out a thick, ancient-looking book with gilded edges and a spine that seemed barely held together by magic. "I took the liberty of examining his lineage in Theodore's magical records of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Families."

Theo's jaw dropped in exaggerated horror. "You stole from my manor?"

"Yes," Malfoy said simply, without looking up.

There was a beat of silence before Theo broke into a delighted grin. "I'm so proud of you."

Malfoy ignored him, setting the book on the table with a soft thud and opening it. The pages were aged parchment, covered in cramped, swirling script. As he flipped through them, Hermione leaned forward, unable to suppress her curiosity.

"You have to go back eight or nine generations," Malfoy explained, carefully turning the pages. "An offshoot of the Priscus family intermarried with Muggles. In the eighteenth century, unfavorable marriages were formally disinherited, not blasted off family trees. These older records update themselves and remain accurate."

He stopped and unfurled a massive, intricate family tree, a fold-out that extended across the length of the table. Hermione leaned closer, her eyes scanning the densely packed names.

"There." Malfoy pointed at a tiny, unassuming branch near the bottom of the tree. "The half-blood branch of the Priscus family changed surnames several times. But they still have one living descendant …"

Hermione's eyes followed his finger and stopped on a name: Livingstone, Yelena. Her breath hitched audibly.

Harry's gaze darted between Hermione and the tree. "What is it?" he asked.

"Yelena Livingstone is related to Nolan Priscus," Hermione said, her voice steady but tinged with urgency.

Harry's eyes widened. "I have to get Robards." He pushed back his chair and strode out, leaving the parchment and notes with Hermione.

As the door closed behind him, Hermione looked up at Malfoy, who sat back in his chair, his expression impassive. "How did you know …?"

Malfoy cleared his throat, his voice low and measured. "I was looking into Priscus. He threatened me in April, and I wanted to be prepared for anything the investigation might bring up. When I saw Livingstone, I remembered her. She was close with Greyback, who often brought her to Malfoy Manor … back then."

Hermione nodded slowly, the insinuation of his words settling heavily between them. She wondered what he must have seen, what he must have endured during Voldemort's reign.

Malfoy added, "It seemed suspicious that a true werewolf would be blood-related to Priscus when he was feigning being a werewolf."

"Thank you, Malfoy," Hermione said quietly.

Their eyes met, and the room seemed to shrink around them. Hermione's heart began to pound, and she was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were sitting—the interrogation room table was much narrower than she recalled. She could see the faintest crease of a frown between his brows, the way his pale lashes caught the light, and a tension in his jaw, as though he were holding something back.

Theo's voice shattered the moment. "Hermione," he said, his tone light and teasing, "don't you have a birthday coming up?"

Hermione blinked, startled. "Yes. How did you know that?"

Theo smirked. "I'm nosy. Anyway, I was wondering if you have any plans, and if you'd like to join us at the Dueling Arena. A private evening in honor of Hermione Granger. September Nineteenth, correct?"

"I don't think that would be necessary…"

"But no plans?"

Hermione hesitated, then shook her head. It was true—she hadn't had time to think about her birthday amid the chaos.

Theo nodded sagely. "Well, please owl me. I'm a sucker for rites of passage. Every birthday is special. Don't you agree, Draco?"

Malfoy didn't respond. Hermione glanced at him, surprised to find him studying her with quiet curiosity.

"It'll be a Wednesday," she said, shrugging. "I could stop by after work. I usually celebrate with the Weasleys, but not until the weekend."

"Lovely!" Theo clapped his hands together. "It's a date! Invite all your buddies if they'd like to sign up for a membership. And your Lord Avery, too!"

Hermione's heart stuttered. "Oh, we're not—"

"I insist," Theo declared, cutting her off.

Hermione was flattered but also profoundly uncomfortable at the thought of Theo throwing her—something. Would it be a party? She hoped not. She hated to be the center of attention.

She tried changing the subject. "How's Pansy?"

"Deeply irritated that her French vacation was derailed by an interminable final match and an inconveniently timed battle," Theo supplied. Hermione could imagine Pansy saying such a thing quite easily. "She had already left the stadium when Rowle decided to join the festivities."

Hermione nodded, glad that Pansy had not been there. Ginny, too, had already left before the fighting started. Hermione needed to catch up with Ginny before she left for Wales to rejoin the Harpies roster.

Theo stood, grinning. "Well, if we're done, I'll accost an old friend."

Malfoy frowned, clearly confused. "What old friend?"

But Theo was already gone, the door closing behind him, leaving Hermione and Malfoy alone.

The silence was palpable. Hermione forced a chuckle. "Theo seems to have recovered well."

Malfoy scoffed. "He sure milked it. It's not even a cursed wound. He's got baby-fresh skin under there."

Hermione laughed, glancing at him before quickly gathering her parchments on the table. Malfoy also put away his book of lineages. When she straightened, Malfoy stood, his tall frame too close for comfort.

The air between them grew heavy again. Hermione hesitated. "I'm sorry for—"

"Nothing, Granger," Malfoy interrupted.

"No, I was—"

"You were perfectly correct," he said, his face slightly pinched. "I should have said something about Priscus earlier. I'm not … I don't live an altruistic life, Granger. It did not even occur to me to report him for idly threatening me and walking around Knockturn."

When he put it like that, Hermione felt even more foolish for reacting the way she had. And now Malfoy seemed to be taking responsibility for something he was not even involved with.

Hermione searched his expression, wondering what he was thinking. She had no idea. "Well, thanks for your help," she said softly.

Malfoy held out the thick book toward her. "Take this. For evidence."

Hermione was too startled to do anything but accept the book. "This seems irreplaceable."

Malfoy pulled his hands back and tucked them into his pockets. "Owl it back to Theo when you're done."

They stood in silence for a second or two beyond the appropriate time frame to stand in silence with someone.

Malfoy broke the reverie. "Granger …"

Hermione blinked. "Yes?"

"This situation with Priscus and Livingstone … such distant lineage is certainly not common knowledge, but it's also not unknowable. I was always raised with news of scandal when the extremities of prominent Pureblood families were …" he winced and finished, "tainted, for lack of a better phrase. You might be cautious with some of the older Wizengamot warlocks who maintain those ties."

"Do you know something?" Hermione asked. She was alarmed at Malfoy's openness to discuss this topic with her.

"No." Malfoy shook his head. "But …" He hesitated and let out a harsh breath before continuing, "My father has expressed that he is being increasingly welcomed back into British circles. I suspect it is not just because of his columns in The Prophet."

"Oh," came Hermione's startled reply.

"I don't know anything," Malfoy hastened to add. "I just wanted to convey information where I did not do so in the past."

Malfoy was speculating about the machinations of his father—to Hermione. To say she was shocked would be an understatement.

"Thank you, Malfoy. I'll take that under advisement."

"If you or Potter need further statements, you can reach me or Theo at Nott Manor."

"Nott Manor?" Why was Malfoy not at his estate?

Malfoy inclined his head. "Yes. Goodbye, Granger." His voice was low, almost a murmur, and then he turned and left.

Hermione remained still, her heart racing. Had Malfoy just apologized? No. He did not say sorry, but Hermione felt more than ever that Malfoy did not need to say sorry. Why should he regret not aiding an investigation that he knew nothing about?

She did not know what his life was like. Priscus had threatened him and happened to live near a building that had already been raided. Malfoy might deal with threats every day of his life. She witnessed him getting harassed at Westbrook's for just trying to purchase a potion ingredient. For all Hermione knew, his life was a constant series of threats and unpleasantness.

And then the strangest desire washed over her. She wanted to know more about his life, this peculiar wizard who had once hated her and had now saved her life, danced with her, risked his own life in battle, and whose work was helping society. She caressed the spine of the book in her hands.

Two Days Later—
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Hermione stood stoically in the dimly lit observation room, her arms crossed tightly as she gazed through the one-way mirror. Yelena Livingstone sat on the other side, near-snarling as she faced Harry and Robards with a metallic table between them. Her yellow, predatory eyes were beacons in the cold lighting, and her sharp teeth, filed into cruel points, flashed each time she sneered at a question.

"They're not going to get anything out of her," Hermione murmured, more to herself than anyone in the room.

"Not yet," Octavia Randall replied with a sigh. She stood beside Hermione, gazing intently at the scene. Zach and Megan, the other two observers, exchanged glances but remained silent.

Inside the interrogation room, Harry looked weary, his fingers twitching on the tabletop as Yelena let out a bark of laughter at Robards' latest attempt to extract information. Robards's shoulders sagged, his patience fraying, and after a long pause, he turned to Harry and said, "Get the Veritaserum."

Hermione stiffened. "Veritaserum?" she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief. Since the war, it had become exceedingly rare to use the truth serum in interrogations, given its ethical implications and the strict regulations. Kingsley had passed significant restrictions on its use when he became Minister.

Octavia's gaze slid to her. "Minister Shacklebolt pushed for immediate approval the moment he heard she was connected to the attackers."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but closed it again. Her stomach churned at the idea.

Harry left the room and returned moments later with two other Aurors in tow. One immediately moved to bind Yelena to her chair with thick, glowing magical cords. She thrashed against them so hard that the chair creaked. The other Auror uncorked a small vial of water-like liquid and tipped a dropper into her mouth.

Yelena fought it, of course, lips pressed tightly together, head twisting violently, but the guards overpowered her. As the potion trickled down her throat, her struggles grew sluggish, her resistance slowly eroding.

"Did you aid your cousin Nolan Priscus in his efforts to mimic the form of a werewolf?"

"Yes," she hissed with a deranged smile across her face.

"How?"

"I gave him blood."

Everyone in Hermione's room stilled, and then Megan nodded at Hermione. "Blood magic."

Robards pressed on. "Did any other member of your pack give blood as well?"

"Yes," Yelena hissed through closed teeth.

"Who?"

"Five of my pack."

"What was the blood for?"

"I don't know."

In the interrogation room, Robards leaned forward, his expression impassive. "Why did you give blood to Nolan Priscus?"

Yelena's muscles twitched, her jaw tightening, but the Veritaserum took hold. After a long, tense silence, she rasped, "Freedom. He promised."

"What are his plans?"

Yelena glared at him, her voice dripping with contempt. "I don't know his plans."

Hermione watched Yelena closely, noting the struggle on her face as she tried to resist the potion's effects.

"Who else is Priscus working with?" Robards pressed.

"I don't know their names," Yelena growled, her words less reluctant than before. "Most of his fake pack wannabes are foreigners. They hate what we are—our traditions. But I didn't care about their motives."

"What about Thorfinn Rowle?" Robards asked sharply.

"I don't know him," she hissed. "I never spoke to Rowle. But Priscus is a blithering fool. It was obvious he wasn't working alone."

"And the silver rune transfiguration cuffs?"

Yelena's laugh was bitter. "I don't know. I gave my blood and minded my business, waiting for that freedom. It was delicious, you know … the fear. The terror. I don't think it will be over soon." She smiled and laughed.

After several more minutes of questioning to ensure Yelena knew nothing of the rune stones, Robards straightened and gave a curt nod. "That's enough for now. We'll continue when we have more leads."

As the Aurors in the room began unbinding Yelena and preparing to escort her back to her holding cell, Hermione stepped back from the glass, her mind racing with what they had just learned.

Octavia turned to her, her expression unreadable. "Hermione—first thing tomorrow morning. My office."

Hermione nodded, watching as Octavia swept out of the room.

Yelena glared at the one-way mirror directly at Hermione as if she could see through it.

The Next Day—
Friday, September 7, 2007
The Office of Octavia Randall
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures

"We'd love to have you back finally, Hermione." Octavia gave Hermione a rare smile from her spot behind her desk.

Relief washed over Hermione in waves, like the ocean over a dry shore.

Octavia continued, "But …"

"What?" Hermione blurted as anxiety stopped those waves in their tracks.

"Robards has requested you stay with the DMLE until the rune stone and Rowle cases are closed."

Hermione's immediate reaction was dread. The cases might drag on for months or years and never be closed.

Octavia read her mind. "Until there's a natural stopping point—until the active work and investigations are concluded."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Alright … is this an extension of my mandatory leave?"

"No," came the curt reply. "You are officially reinstated as my Deputy Head. But you are on an extended loan to the DMLE as a Special Interdepartmental Consultant."

Hermione felt better about that. Felt good. Except … "It seems atypical for a departmental Deputy Head to be lent to a different department."

"It is, but you are an atypical witch, Hermione. Your expertise and skill set are ideal for seeing these cases through."

"You want me to return, though? To the department?" Hermione could not help but ask, carefully guarding her expression. She could not shake the dreadful notion that Octavia and the entire DRCMC felt relief in her absence.

"I insist on it. Your filing system has gone to the dogs, and it now takes a full day to locate the appropriate records," Octavia admitted ruefully. "The dogs being your subordinates and direct reports. And Anderson, of course."

"I can fix that," Hermione rushed to offer. "I can refile right now—"

A bright red parchment memo soared into Octavia's office and landed in the middle of her desk, bouncing up and down with urgency. Octavia rushed to unfurl the memo, which carried a parchment scroll in its depths. She opened it and read the text rapidly as Hermione watched.

"Hermione, we better call Potter and Robards for a meeting," Octavia said, standing up from her desk and maneuvering toward a cabinet behind her. "And you better help me locate the vampire files right now."

"What do you mean they'regone?" Harry asked. "The coven fled?"

Octavia sighed wearily as she addressed Hermione, Harry, and Robards in a locked and warded DMLE conference room. No one was sitting, and the atmosphere was tense. "The coven of the vampire Ersilia agreed with the French Ministry for Magic to protect the Quidditch Gala from werewolves."

They all nodded. Octavia continued, "From true werewolves. The contract was explicit. The vampires would have known instantly that the attackers were not actual werewolves, and so they fulfilled their end of the magical contract by not doing anything. Then, they disappeared. And now, the French authorities have found evidence of an unregistered portkey headed toward England."

"Illegal international transportation for a Class X creature," Robards spat. "Bloodymagnifique."

"Class X Non-Creature Part-Human," Hermione corrected, though she cowed when Robards shot her one of His Looks.

"Ersilia's coven sympathized with Tom Riddle during the war," Harry told them. He was leaning forward with his palms on the conference table, and his expression was dark. He looked harried, with his uniform robes wrinkled and askew, as if he had not sat down all morning. "It's possible they were working with Rowle."

"How do you know that?" Hermione asked. Their file on Ersilia in the DRCMC was sparse, just a few pages of biography that left out most of her 200-year existence.

"Malfoy," Harry replied, and Hermione reeled as her friend explained, "He confided his concerns with Ersilia's coven to me at the Gala. He recognized them from Malfoy Manor when Tom was holed up there."

Hermione could not process that Malfoy was somehow involvedyet again, so she allowed her mind to whir over the implications of this event. She began to think out loud. "We need to get Magical Transportation involved, see where all portkey arrivals occurred last week, and cross-check them with the registered international portkey arrivals to find all possible locations the coven could have arrived. They've had over a week to move again, though. They may have fled the country already."

"It's possible. But they may have closer ties to England than we know. Ersilia and other members of her coven were here in London for the Victory Ball as special guests of the DIMC," Octavia revealed.

"Whatever for?" Hermione asked. And why had she not known about it?

"The DIMC was helping the French Ministry to negotiate the contract at that time, in the aftermath of the first Montauroux attack. That was before May Second." Octavia looked at her guiltily. "I was sent a notification, and our department was not invited to participate. You … had a lot on your plate, Hermione."

Hermione struggled with the frustration bubbling inside her. Octavia hadneverkept work from her like this, to her knowledge.

Robards looked irate as he commented, "So this Ministry helped vampires negotiate for a contract that we now know was manipulated in bad faith."

"It's entirely possible the coven had no idea about Rowle's ruse and negotiated in good faith," Hermione argued. She thought of poor forlorn Darla, which was probably not the best comparison. The vampires she had seen at the Gala were … not like Darla. "Or—yes, collusion is a possibility."

Robards looked between all of them and announced. "I want you on this, Granger. Start with Transportation and see if we can track this coven's movements."

Harry rose to a ramrod-straight posture. "Absolutely not."

"Harry," Hermione hissed in shock. What was he doing?

"No vampires," Harry insisted. He turned to Robards. "She was captured by a vampire from the Arrow Coven case last year—and hospitalized."

"I'm fine," Hermione insisted, gesturing toward her in-one-piece, warm-blooded body. "Obviously. And I'm a beings specialist. I helped locate that coven within three days."

"Hermione should be on this," Octavia agreed. Harry looked deeply unhappy, which Hermione did not care about at all at that moment.

"I'll partner, then," stated Harry, her kind, ridiculousfoolof a friend.

"You're busy, Potter," Robards dismissed Harry's suggestion with a pointed glare, and Hermione nodded. "Rowle, rune stones, roster management—the new recruits are starting next week. It's enough for three full-time positions."

"I can do this," Hermione vowed, trying to convey her sincerity into Harry's green eyes.

"Cross-checking the portkeys is fine, Hermione. But as your manager, I am saying that you will not leave this building alone in any investigative capacity," Harry replied. "For your safety."

"Of course, that's protocol, especially after the explosion," Robards agreed. "But it won't be you, Potter. Who has vampire experience?"

Harry and Hermione made alarmed eye contact and spoke in unison. "Not Terry Boot."

"No … he's not up to this. Too high profile for him," Robards murmured, oblivious to Harry and Hermione's sighs of relief. "Bit of a simpleton, to be honest. Only if there's no one else, but—I can't think of anyone with bandwidth or vampire expertise."

Harry stilled, and the change in his demeanor was such that Hermione focused on him. A smile began to break out over his face. "How about a consultant?"

"We have that budget after Granger streamlined the quill ordering issue." Robards nodded. "Who did you have in mind?"

Harry gave Hermione a guilty look, and Hermione's stomach dropped. No. Harry couldn't possibly be suggesting—

"Draco Malfoy."

Up Next: Draco does not want a new job.