O
MNEMOSYNE
Memory
"What I'd quite like to know," Harry said, a week later. "Is why Edgecombe was so sure Bulstrode is alive. We know why Hope thought that and it makes a modicum of sense. But the drawings in Alex's letters could have any number of explanations, and Hope didn't even tell Edgecombe about the galleons being in France because she didn't want to get James into trouble. On that subject, I've managed to get all trace of his 'research' erased. Bill was owed a few favours."
"That's good," Hermione murmured. "One less thing to worry about."
Harry was still staring at the papers in front of him. "So what? Edgecombe came to you and insisted Bulstrode was alive on the word of a student who - from the sound of it - she didn't even like that much?"
"I know." Hermione was poring through her own notes. "It is really odd."
Harry made an irritated huffing sound and threw aside his quill.
"Any advances on Jugson or Nott?"
"None," Hermione sighed. "No one I've talked to has been able to tell me anything useful. Jugson was widely regarded as a blunderer but her mistakes during The Surge are well documented. Nott is trickier. He was a secretive man and even those who knew him don't have much to say. I've spoken to most of his former colleagues and I'll meet with Orla Quirke when she's back from leave, but I'm not expecting much there - she was very junior and switched departments before The Final Surge even happened."
Hermione straightened her stack of parchment so that all the edges lined up neatly then fixed Harry with a pointed stare. "We need to talk to Cynthia Flint, Harry. She's Bulstrode's sister and she's Marcus Flint's wife. She has to be the best starting point we have."
The stubborn set to her friend's jaw reminded her forcibly of fifteen-year-old Harry Potter, determined to do things his way or not at all. It was rare for said Harry to make an appearance these days, but the recent revelations on The Surge had shaken him, and he seemed resolutely set on involving as few outside parties as possible.
"I've already been through this with Tonks," he said. "Cynthia Flint does not respond well to questioning. She has been interviewed on multiple occasions in connection with Flint and she never speaks. Insists she knows nothing of her husband's business, and while we suspect that's a lie, we have no supporting evidence to the contrary or any right to question her under Veritaserum. Ginny was in the same year at school and says she has always been like this - withdrawn and difficult."
"I know that, but -"
"And, more importantly, we are not risking Flint being tipped off until we have something concrete to pin on him. He's managed to wriggle his way out of all investigations around this stupid, bloody drug saga. He's not getting out of this too."
Hermione's expression was dour as they continued working in silence. It had not been an easy week. With Harry's determination to keep the investigation under wraps, all research was being conducted in addition to their other duties, resulting in late nights and prickly tempers between the two old friends. Tonks, at least, was back to her usual cheery self and was currently down in the muggle archives researching disappearances around the time of The Surge. If Bulstrode had faked his own death, that meant another human being had been used for his body. A corpse created by duplicating charm would not have withstood the force of the explosion, nor the two weeks that elapsed between his discovery and his cremation, and there were no known wizarding disappearances at that time. Only Zabini, whose body had turned up in the Thames a week later.
"Nott's wand was never found, was it?" Harry broke the thickening silence after a further twenty minutes. His thoughts had led him off on a slight tangent. "Or Bulstrode's?"
"No," Hermione confirmed. "Of the three who died in the house, only Jugson's wand was on her person. Although, hang on, there was something a bit strange there -" She screwed up her face, tapping her neat, short nails against the bridge of her nose, trying to remember as she muttered to herself. Her ability to recall information she hadn't visited in decades never failed to impress Harry.
"Neither wand was ever recovered," Hermione confirmed at last, remembering. "But Nott had signed out a Ministry tagged wand that very day, claiming to have lost his own and wanting a temporary replacement while he tried to find it. That wand was then found when his house was searched. I think we drew the conclusion that he had wanted to avoid having his own wand scanned at work - he was overdue a spot check - and had never lost it at all, but that it was then obliterated when he died."
"But is that normal?" Harry was asking himself as much as Hermione. "For no trace of it to be found? Not even pieces of the wand? We searched that house from top to bottom."
Hermione contemplated this. "I mean, you saw the destruction first hand. I didn't. But from what I've heard it was catastrophic, particularly the back half of the house, over Bulstrode's working area, and the state of Nott's body was further proof of that. The damage originated from Bulstrode's potions lab and if the wands were there they wouldn't have stood a chance. We know from witness statements that there was Polyjuice, Detonation Draught and poison in that house, to name a few, and yet you'd have been hard pushed to detect traces of it within the wreckage, wouldn't you?"
"True," Harry sighed. "Very true. Maybe I'm questioning where I don't need to - I'm doubting everything at the moment."
"You and me both," Hermione said. "We will get to the bottom of it though. We have to."
O
"I might have a lead." Tonks did not reappear in the office until that afternoon and when she did was holding a muggle newspaper clipping. "There were many disappearances all over the country that December. Several of whom have never been found. One in particular I think might be of interest."
She held up a page which bore a picture of a teenage girl with blue eyes, straight dark hair and crooked teeth that nevertheless gleamed pearl white as she grinned into the camera.
"Kyra Ross," Tonks provided. "She lived up in Pitlochry and worked in a cafe half a mile from Bulstrode's house. She disappeared without a trace on December sixteenth after finishing her daytime shift and her body was never found. Muggle police had a few suspects, but nothing came of them."
Tears clouded Hermione's brown eyes for a moment. Harry slumped forwards and rubbed his knuckles against his forehead. Tonks knew they were thinking the same as she was. It would be difficult to prove, with Bulstrode's body twenty years to ash, but it was possible, in light of their recent findings, that Kyra Ross had spent her last living moments in Bulstrode's house, forced to drink a disgusting substance unknown to her, before transforming into a clone of her captor.
Harry was the first to speak.
"Thanks Tonks. If you could follow that up with the muggle authorities that would be good. We'll see what Hermione can get from Orla, and after that we might have to dispatch a search to the Alpine hamlet that James found out about. Bulstrode being alive is looking more likely. But I have to say." He stared at the picture of Kyra, expression still somber. "The chances that he's innocent are fading pretty damn fast."
o
o
Hope had not spoken much to her parents since telling them about her detective work. She knew there was an investigation being conducted and she was now perfectly happy to hand over to more experienced individuals. How Harry, Ron and Hermione had spent all seven years of their time at Hogwarts embroiled in adventure, solving mystery after mystery, she had no idea. One stint at it herself and she was exhausted.
It took her a couple of days to get over the "Edgecombe saga," as she christened it, but she managed to push the incident to the back of her mind. She made the last necessary edits to her Carlos Institute application, sent it off well before the deadline, and received an automated message to say that it had been received and that she would hear back by the end of June if she was successful. In the end she put both Flitwick and Edgecombe as references and hoped for the best.
That weekend, Hope came into her Sunday lunch shift to find a new collecting tin on the side of the bar.
"What's this for?" she asked, inspecting it. It was orange and had the St Mungo's logo emblazoned across it.
"Oh yeah, Oliver Chesher came in earlier," Michael told her.
"Matt's boyfriend?"
"Yes. You know he works for St Mungo's fundraising team? He wants to do a quiz. Here, on Monday nights. It will draw in some extra business for us and he'll charge a few sickles for entry - half the profits go to the jackpot to keep customers interested and the other half to St Mungo's."
"That's a great idea."
Hope dug in her trousers, looking for change, and found a couple of coins in the back pocket.
"I thought so too," Michael said. "And Mum will approve, I'm sure. Plus we can join in the quizzes, and that will be fun."
Hope grimaced. "My general knowledge is terrible. I doubt I'll know any answers."
"Ah, they're only a bit of fun."
"Easy for you to say. You know everything."
His mouth was forming some sort of amused retort when he paused, looking down. "Hey, you dropped something."
He bent down to pick up the piece of tattered paper that had fallen out of her pocket, even as Hope realised what it was.
"It's… the teams Beth wrote down for me that time," she said quietly, turning it over. The paper was so scrunched up it now had a furry quality to it. "Back in January, remember? I haven't worn these trousers since."
"You never contacted them?"
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze.
"How come?"
"I dunno really. I guess I -" she twisted the paper in her hands, unsure how to explain. "I used to love quidditch more than anything," she blurted out at last. "I was good at it. Really good at it. Everyone said so. It was my thing. But then I abandoned it and life got complicated and I didn't want to think about flying anymore."
Despite these words, she was unable to part with the scrap of paper in her hands.
"You miss it, don't you?"
There was no denying the truth of this. For a long time she hadn't, having been too unhappy to spare the headspace for anything other than her own recovery. Now, in a better place, moving on from the difficulties of the past year, it was hard to avoid the simple fact that flying had been part of her life, and refusing to think about quidditch had not sealed the empty space that quitting the wizarding sport had left behind.
"I do," she said. "When I think about it. But I'm... scared… to go back. I don't think it will ever be the same. As before."
She felt stupid admitting it, but Michael's tone held neither scorn nor mockery as he considered her words carefully.
"I understand that," he said. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it won't be the same. You might try again and realise it's not for you anymore. But if you don't try at all, how will you ever know?"
"I won't, I guess."
"Exactly. And you might always wonder."
O
Hope sent off the letters that evening. She briefly described her situation and explained that she hadn't played quidditch since school but had enjoyed it immensely at the time and wanted to start it up again. The letter was duplicated and sent off to all three of the teams Beth had felt most worthy of recommendation.
Solent Suns got back to her on Monday with thanks for her interest but to say that, regrettably, they could not take new recruits at this time.
Wiltshire Warlocks replied on Wednesday. They had some open spots but their training took place on the weekends. This was not ideal. Flexible shifts were all very well, but Saturdays and Sundays were busy at The Leaky Cauldron and Hope owed a lot to the Longbottoms. It wasn't fair to abandon them at the busiest time of the week, every single week.
The third reply came that same evening.
Dear Miss Lupin,
Thank you for your interest in playing for Devon Fiendfyre. I feel obligated to tell you that we are oversubscribed for chasers at the moment. However we welcome participation from everyone at our training sessions and if you would like to come along please feel free. Our practice times are Tuesday and Thursday evenings 6-8pm - the location details are below. I might not be there tomorrow but I will let the assistant coach know of your interest should you wish to come.
Yours,
Leopold Wheelicker
"What a name," Michael laughed, as she showed it to him the next day. "Are you going to check them out?"
"Yeah," Hope said, with determination. "I am. I mean - if it's OK to finish a bit early today and make it up tomorrow?"
"You know it is. How do you feel about it?"
"Still scared," she admitted. "But excited. I flip between the two."
"I feel that way about going travelling," he said. "But there's an old quote I heard once. That fear is simply excitement without breathing. I like thinking of it like that."
It took Hope a moment or two to get her head round this, but it struck a chord, given the number of times that Martina had impressed upon her the importance of steady breathing during her counselling sessions. That being said, no amount of breathing could stop the nerves jangling in her stomach many hours later as she arrived at the Fiendfyre training ground, grateful that she finally had her apparition license. It was off the beaten track but at least she was obviously in the right place. There was a quidditch pitch, for one thing, smaller than the Hogwarts one but with standard sized hoops on each end. Players were arriving with their brooms and a tall man in dark quidditch robes was bending over a sack of equipment at the closer end of the pitch.
Resisting an overwhelming urge to turn around before anyone noticed her and return home immediately, Hope clutched a hand round her broom handle and strode purposefully towards the man.
"Excuse me, are you Leo-' She stopped short as he straightened up and turned to face her. It was definitely not Leopold Wheelicker. It was, in fact, Callum Burchess, looking much the same as he had when she had last seen him, four years ago, only with a different hairstyle and a more filled out build.
"Cal?"
"Hope? Wow. Hi!"
He gave her a hug, surprising her with the warmth of it.
"This is a surprise!" he exclaimed, drawing back. "What are you doing here?"
"I - I came to train. I did send a letter. To Leopold."
He gaped at her.
"You're the new person Leo said might turn up? He said some girl who played a bit at school and was interested in taking it up again."
"Yes, some girl would be me." She managed to force out her cheerful grin, but part of her was still wishing she hadn't come at all. Cal had put his faith in her in the first place, and she had always felt she had let him down by bailing from the team in the end. "Thing is, I haven't played for ages. Haven't even flown. I gave it up, in my seventh year."
"I know," Cal said. "Louise told me. Caused a bit of a stir by the sound of it."
Hope had forgotten Cal had a half sister in Lily and Hugo's year.
"Could say that, I suppose," she mumbled.
Cal appeared to understand that this was not a subject she was keen to elaborate on and shrugged. "Great that you want to get back into it. It would be a waste for you to give it up completely."
Part of Hope was afraid she would get back on the broom and fall straight off again, but she tried to keep smiling.
"How long have you been back in the UK?"
"Nearly a year."
"Do you still play?"
"Not competitively.'' Cal held up his arm ruefully and Hope noticed he was struggling to lift it above shoulder height. "I was injured at work and it never fully healed. I've always loved coaching though, so I looked out for some when I got back to Britain. This one wasn't far from home… and here we are."
The other members of the team were up in the air now, warming up or else hovering next to each other, chatting. Cal took out a quaffle from the large sack and threw it to her.
"Come on Lupin. Let's see if you've still got it."
Rusty as she was, the feeling of flying again was incredible, as if poison she hadn't even known existed were being drawn from her body as she soared back and forth across the pitch. Beth had been right about the scrappy play, and the session's momentum was paused on many occasions by fumbled passes and dropped quaffles, but the regular breaks came as a welcome relief to Hope. She was not in good shape and tried not to think about how stiff her muscles would be in the morning.
By the end of the two hour session Hope had found her stride again, and she knew, even while trying to be modest, and even in the knowledge that she was horrendously unfit and would be paying the price in the morning, that she'd outflown the other chasers by a country mile. A couple of them were shooting her suspicious glares as they hit the ground at the end of the session.
"Remember we only have two matches left this season," an older man named Joe said to Cal. Hope didn't see the need to be quite so aggressive. "Not a good idea to change up the team at this stage."
"That's not my decision," Cal said calmly. "Leo will have final say on the line up for those. And for the summer league too."
"The main league's almost over for the year," he added to Hope, as the man stalked off, still looking put out. "I don't think Leo will change up the team for the last matches, even once he's seen you play. But the summer tournament is coming up and that will be fun. I'm sure you'll get a chance to play in that."
"I don't care," Hope said truthfully. "I just want to fly again. That was… It was good. Great."
Great did not do justice to the feeling now swelling inside her but she thought Cal understood. Then, very casually, as he checked he had all the bludgers accounted for, he said,
"How's Dom?"
Hope wondered if he had wanted to ask that from the start.
"She's well. She works for Quality Quidditch Supplies now. For their robe design team. I actually live with her. And Rox. In London."
Cal nodded and did not elaborate. Hope's mouth twitched a little.
"Shall I tell her you said hi?"
O
"Well?" Both Dom and Roxanne looked up eagerly as Hope arrived back at the flat, hair still windswept and cheeks pink.
"It was amazing!" Hope said, throwing down her bag and broom in the corner as Dot bounced towards her to say hello. "So incredible to be flying again. I'm going to be in pain tomorrow though. I didn't realise how unfit I was."
"Ooh I'll draw you up an exercise plan," Roxanne said. "And I'll make sure you stick to it."
Hope agreed to this with considerable reluctance. Any exercise regime created by Roxanne was bound to be gruelling, but on the other hand, she needed to improve her physical condition as fast as possible. Her arms were already beginning to ache from the session and she knew the worst of the muscle pain wouldn't kick in until the weekend.
She turned to Dom as Roxanne hurried off to get parchment to start on the project right away.
"Guess who the assistant coach is."
Dom shrugged. "How should I know?"
"Cal."
"Our Cal? I mean," Dom amended herself hastily. "Cal Burchess?"
"Yes. Small world," Hope said. "Although it often is with quidditch, isn't it? He said to say hello and tell you to drop him an owl if you want to catch up."
"I doubt he meant it," Dom replied after a short pause, turning a page in her book. "Probably saying it to be polite. We haven't spoken since he left school."
Hope could tell that in spite of these nonchalant words, Dom was tempted.
o
o
Tonks returned from her undercover visit to the Pitlochry police station on Monday, face like thunder and jaw clenched.
"It was easy enough," she told Harry and Hermione. "Simple cover story and a confundus charm. He gave me all the information we could want on Kyra Ross, although it isn't all relevant. She was supposed to finish when the cafe closed at three o'clock and she was reported missing when she wasn't home later that night. Two suspects were questioned but then released."
Harry took in her expression.
"What have you found out?"
"The guy offered to show me the visual evidence they took during the investigation so I thought I might as well look at their CTV thing - you know, what muggles use instead of omnicorders."
"You mean CCTV," Hermione murmured.
"Sorry," she added, as the other two looked round at her impatiently. "Sorry, old habit… not important… go on."
"A few of the people they identified were questioned," Tonks went on. "Many weren't, either because they had passed by the cafe at the wrong time or because the police couldn't track them down at all. And one of those people-" She pulled a piece of muggle paper out of her jacket and put it down in front of them. Hermione and Harry both leant over to look. The image was blurry but there was no mistaking the man depicted on the paper; tall, hulking and dressed in muggle attire. "-was Marcus Flint."
Harry swore under his breath.
"Placing him within a mile of Bulstrode's house the afternoon of The Final Surge and outside the cafe minutes before Kyra finished her shift."
Hermione had her hands up to her mouth now. "That poor girl," she whispered.
"Shit," Harry muttered again. "That can't be a coincidence. It can't be. But what now? It doesn't change the fact that Flint has sworn under Veritaserum that he wasn't involved in The Surge or with anyone who was. No one was able to link him to the events at the time and nothing has come up since."
"Even Veritaserum is fallible," Tonks sighed. "Clever cover up, I suppose."
"Flint wasn't clever, though, was he?" Harry protested. "I think he got two OWLS and he didn't pass a single NEWT. Yes," he added, correctly interpreting Tonks' scowl. "I know that doesn't necessarily mean anything. But Hope's situation was different and you know it. Marcus Flint was not - is not - an intelligent man, and according to whoever keeps sending tip offs to the Ministry, he's been on drugs for the past quarter century. They won't have done his brain any good. If he was involved in a cover up then he definitely had help. From who? Nott, maybe?"
"Harry, we need to speak to his wife," Hermione interjected, an edge to her voice. "This started with Cynthia, according to Edgecombe, and that's how we're going to advance. I keep telling you."
"And I keep telling you we're going to wait," Harry said. "Your meeting with Orla is on Wednesday-
"I don't think I'll get anything from her."
"And the Minister is back from the Europeen conference at the weekend," Harry pressed on. "He needs to know about this before we proceed. After that, we can decide how to tackle Cynthia Flint."
o
o
"I sent Cal an owl," Dom informed Hope, when she returned home from quidditch practice on Tuesday evening. She was already feeling fitter than last time. Leo Wheelicker, present this time around, had been visibly impressed with her game and said that while he couldn't find her a spot in the team for the remaining league matches, she would definitely have a place in the summer tournament if she committed to regular training. And Hope had no plans on giving up now she had finally started again.
"Ah," Hope said, intrigued. "He was particularly cheerful tonight at training. Maybe that's why. And?"
"We're going out tomorrow night. For a catch up," she added quickly, as Hope's eyes lit up. "It's not a date or anything."
"Not yet," Hope muttered, reaching for the pack of biscuits that was sitting on the shelf, then, grudgingly, resisting the temptation and taking a banana from the fruit bowl instead. Healthy nutrition was another part of Roxanne's training plan and Hope couldn't help but wonder if she'd left the biscuits up there as a deliberate test of her willpower.
"Stop it," Dom chided her. "It won't go further than that. He won't want to go down that route again, not after how stupid I was, back when he did like me."
"You weren't stupid," Hope protested.
"I was. Only hurting myself. Your dad told me as much."
Hope gaped at her in some indignation.
"My dad said you were stupid?"
"No, of course he didn't," Dom said, laughing at this. "I've never heard your dad say anything less than kind. That was my interpretation of it. But he did have a chat with me. That day he overheard us talking. You'd said something about Cal when I was round at yours and he overheard, remember?'
"Um, no. Sorry," Hope admitted, trying to think back. A lot had happened since then. "What did I say? What did he say?"
"You said that it was the people who love me who matter, not the ones who don't. And he agreed. And he also said I should never be ashamed of who I was, or to let someone else love me for who I was."
"Urgh, that's so embarrassing," Hope groaned. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. It helped. A lot."
"If you say so."
Hope finished her banana in silence, then removed her quidditch robe and folded it up carefully, wondering if she should say what was on her mind. She herself was living proof that, occasionally, people needed a nudge in the right direction.
"Look, I might not be an expert on relationships but Cal is lovely," she said. "And you guys always got on so well. Don't rule it out completely, will you? Especially if he seems interested." And when Dom didn't reply to this. "Plus, he'd be way better than the last person you were in a relationship with."
The corners of Dom's mouth withdrew in disgust. "That's not hard. I'd rather bathe in bubotuber pus than get involved with her again."
Hope nodded with fervour but didn't say anything. She understood that sentiment only too well.
oOo
May
Against all odds, Hermione's meeting with Orla Quirke was productive, and she called yet another meeting with Harry and Tonks later that afternoon.
"I've got information." She appeared both elated and alarmed. "Significant information. Now-" she looked warningly at Harry as he made signs of movement. "Orla did not want to tell me this. She was terrified of Nott when she worked in his department and she was terrified to speak up now. I managed to convince her but it wasn't easy. It was blatantly obvious that she hasn't been part of a cover up - she had left the job by the time of The Final Surge and she knew Nott had been convicted so assumed that the investigation had covered this already. I told her our conversation would be the end of her involvement. No arguments.'
"Yes. Fine." Harry said. "Great work. As always. What did she say?"
"When she worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Substances, Orla often stayed very late," Hermione explained. "She found the workload overwhelming but she didn't want her colleagues knowing how many hours she was putting in, so she regularly pretended to clock out when she actually stayed in the department long past midnight. On one such occasion - in August 2005, no less - Nott came into the department in the middle of the night. His behaviour appeared secretive rather than for regular work business and so Orla was curious and observed him from distance. She saw him access the banned substance section, and thinks that he took a couple of bottles."
"What were they?" Harry demanded at once, as Tonks watched on with bated breath.
"Well, Orla didn't know," Hermione admitted. "She wasn't close enough to see exactly what he stole."
"Oh." Harry sat back, dispirited. "So what chance to we have of finding out? The substance stores must have been rearranged ten times since then. Nott had every right to be in his own department, no matter how late it was, and omnicorders weren't used in Ministry departments back in 2005."
"Harry, if you'll let me finish..." It was wry amusement rather than irritation that was predominant in Hermione's tone as Harry fell silent with an expression akin to a chastened school boy.
"You probably remember that before the installation of omnicorders across the Minsitry, the banned substance section was in a prominent location within the department and was set behind impenetrable diamond glass - this was to reduce the risk of theft in the first place. Only Nott had access to enter the section, but Orla was able to observe from behind the glass. And-" even Hermione couldn't help looking proud of herself as she elaborated. "I managed to persuade her to lend me the memory of what she saw, so I could explore it in the pensieve. It only took ten minutes to watch it play out, and even impenetrable glass can be walked through in a memory. Nott did indeed take two different substances from the banned section of his department, before magically amending the inventory so that no one would notice the discrepancy. He then left the Ministry and didn't even notice that Orla was there."
Harry shook his head in some admiration. "You're a genius, Hermione. Which I knew already, but I'm still impressed."
She gave a modest twitch of the head in return, before her expression sobered again and Harry waited, knowing he didn't even need to ask the question.
"The first was manticore venom," Hermione told them.
"Manticore venom?"
Tonks's face scrunched up in confusion and Harry's eyes narrowed. "What would he want that for?" he asked. "Poison? But Nott had easy access to the most powerful poisons in the world."
"I know."
"It is untraceable," Tonks ventured, without conviction. "But then so is the stuff they used for the Lewisham poisonings - he could have taken more of that."
"My thoughts exactly," Hermione said. "Manticore venom doesn't have any properties that aren't shared with other, more accessible poisons. I did look it up quickly after Orla's meeting, to check, but I didn't find anything obvious. It was used in some older concoctions, but as a substance banned in one hundred and fifty countries, it hasn't been used as a regular ingredient for decades now."
"What potions has it been used in before?" Harry asked.
Hermione skimmed down the list she had scribbled hastily after her meeting, without enthusiasm.
"Certain antidotes, Hate Concoction, Elixir of Oblivion, a few old sickness remedies that were used centuries ago. Nothing that jumps out."
"Hang on. Elixir of Oblivion," Harry broke in. "The old memory potion? But that could interfere with Veritaserum."
Both Hermione and Tonks appeared doubtful in the face of his sudden excitement.
"It could though, couldn't it?" Harry persisted. "Veritaserum can only retrieve what the person remembers. In fact, I would say the most reliable way of getting around truth serum - if you're in a setting where you can't take an antidote - is to make sure you can't remember the truth in the first place. So if Nott had a potion that wiped the memory-"
"Harry, that potion is banned for good reason," Hermione said. "It's dangerous, for one thing - the manticore venom is what makes it dangerous."
"Oh come on, Hermione. Nott didn't have much regard for others' safety."
"No, but I imagine he valued his own. The fumes from brewing Elixir of Oblivion can be deadly. Its inventor died the day after perfecting it. If it isn't cooled properly before administration it'll cause untreatable burns, it's highly combustible, it's very easy to miscalculate the dosage. And most importantly - from our point of view, at least - it doesn't work properly half the time. That's why Mnemosynic was invented instead. Nott was an expert in potions. He would have known all that."
Harry was barely listening, a fact that was not lost on Hermione.
"Harry please hear me on this," she said firmly. "I'm not pretending to be an expert in this potion myself, but if Nott wanted to wipe someone's memory permanently, why wouldn't he have used Mnemosynic? It does the same job with ten times the success rate and he wouldn't have had to risk making it himself. He could have swiped it from the regulated potions section like he did with the Polyjuice. And," she added, as Harry made to cut across her. "Memory loss doesn't tally with the documented behaviour of those we convicted in The Surge, does it? There are ways to tell if memories have been wiped, even if false ones have been implanted. The post Surge interviews were rigorous - we would have picked up on it."
"But we are specifically looking at Flint," Harry countered. "To find out how he was able - while under Veritaserum - to say that he wasn't connected to The Surge." He held up the grainy CCTV paper and slammed it back down. "Because we now know he must have been. Could Nott have been making Elixir of Oblivion for him? Flint's post Surge interview wasn't particularly coherent, as I recall. And he wasn't interrogated as much as the others because he didn't progress to a stage two interview."
"Flint was never coherent," Hermione said. "You said it yourself on Monday. He could barely string a sentence together at school and frequent drug use won't have helped that."
She sighed in the face of Harry's obvious lack of conviction. "There is no way Nott would have risked his job to make Flint an illegal potion that had no guarantee of working. Not a chance, Harry. Nott didn't do favours for anyone - multiple witness statements have made that abundantly clear."
"He and Flint were old friends," Harry said stubbornly, determined not to let go of this new development now that it was in his grasp. "Close at school. I think he was even best man at the Flints' wedding. And we know they were in regular contact back in 2005."
"Yes, but brewing him a banned potion with illegal ingredients procured by abusing his privileges as Head of Department? If he had been caught, Nott would have gone to Azkaban long before he had a chance to get incinerated."
Tonks was nodding. "I agree with Hermione on this. It's more likely Nott found a use for the venom in the muggle attacks but never put it into action. As Hermione said, pure manticore venom is unbelievably dangerous. It needs to be stored in airtight vials, too, otherwise it reacts with the oxygen in the air and ignites. In fact, if it was in Bulstrode's house the night of The Final Surge that could explain the magnitude of the explosion. But not this. Maybe Flint did use a potion to dupe Veritaserum, but I can't see it being Elixir of Oblivion."
"Alright." Harry accepted to defer to those with far more potion knowledge than him, at least for now. "Alright. We'll come back to the manticore venom. You said Nott took something else?"
"A potion sample," Hermione said. Her voice was now barely above a whisper. "An ancient one. Given the other information we've got, I think it's pretty clear what it was used for. And who it was used on."
She pushed her notes towards them, unwilling to say the words out loud, and they both stared, horrified, at the two words written at the bottom of the page.
o
o
Hope waited up on Wednesday evening, determined to find out how Dom's date-that-wasn't-a-date with Cal had gone.
"It was lovely to see him," Dom admitted. "We talked for ages and time flew. I didn't realise how late it was until the lights came on in the bar!"
"Are you going to see him again?"
"He said we should but no specific date."
For all Dom was trying to look casual, Hope knew her too well to be fooled. Her eyes were glowing and she was failing to hide her coy smile.
"What?" she asked, as Hope grinned back at her in return.
"You like him. You do. Admit it."
"I - I don't know," Dom said. "It's weird. I never expected to see him again. And I've never had a boyfriend, remember. I don't really know how to feel."
Hope waited.
"OK, maybe I like him" Dom admitted. "I can't help it. I'd forgotten how I felt before, but those feelings sort of... came back. Tonight."
She shook her head in the face of Hope's jubilant expression. "Loads has changed since school, and I don't know what he wants. I'm not getting my hopes up. I'd be perfectly happy being friends."
Hope wasn't sure this was true, but she accepted that Dom had already revealed far more than expected. She reached for a sweet from the bag sitting on the table then withdrew her hand, glaring at them suspiciously.
"Those are mine, not Roxanne's," Dom assured her, laughing. "Have as many as you want, your secret's safe with me." She took one herself and chewed it for a moment.
"What about you, anyway?" she said suddenly.
"What about me?"
"Any boys of interest?"
"I told you," Hope replied. "I can't think of anything worse than having a boyfriend right now."
"So there's no one you like? Not even a little bit."
"No. Absolutely not."
It was the honest truth. She didn't fancy anyone and, considering everything else going on in her life, that was suiting her nicely. Dom did not appear satisfied.
"Are you ever going to tell me what happened with Cadmus?"
"I did tell you." Hope focused hard on picking the softest jelly chews out of the packet. "We weren't right for each other and I dumped him."
The problem was that Dom knew her quite as well as she knew Dom.
"You never talk about him. You clam up whenever someone else mentions him. I feel like… there's more to it."
Fleetingly, Hope considered telling her the truth. She would probably find out eventually, after all. But she was so much better these days, and what good would dragging up those old, unpleasant memories do her?
"I - I don't want to talk about him. I just don't. Not right now."
For a moment, Hope thought Dom was going to object. Then she shrugged and took another sweet herself.
"That's fair enough. I'm here if you change your mind."
"I know. I appreciate it."
She did appreciate it. Very much. And she loved Dom for her concern, but she was positive that she would never want to talk about Cadmus ever again.
o
o
"Elixir of Oblivion?"
Tonks grinned to herself as Remus drew a blank. Her husband's lack of potion knowledge - particularly when he was so intelligent in other respects - was a standing joke in the family.
Harry had not specifically given her permission to tell Remus the details of the case but nor had he forbidden her to. Tonks had a feeling he would be discussing the mystery with Ginny, and Hermione with Ron, and so she had kept Remus up to date on the investigation. He had been home late last night and so this latest development was being revealed over a rushed breakfast.
"It's an old memory potion," she explained. "Functions in a similar way to Mnemosynic. It was used to try and preserve the statute of secrecy before Obliviate was invented. But it's dangerous to brew and alot of the time it didn't work properly - that's how so many elements of our world have found their way into muggle lore over the years."
"And Nott was making it?"
"Harry thinks so," Tonks said. "But it doesn't add up. Hermione was right - why would he risk stealing a banned substance to make an illegal potion when he could have signed off a load of Mnemosynic from the Ministry potion store? And what memories was he trying to wipe?"
Remus stirred his tea thoughtfully.
"Evidence of his own involvement in The Surge, maybe?" he suggested. "I doubt he planned on dying. Maybe he was hoping to get off without punishment if the operation was blown open."
"If that was his plan, he did a terrible job of it," Tonks said. "Most of his colleagues dobbed him in without a second thought. I always heard Nott was cleverer than that. Anyway, neither Mnemosynic nor Elixir of Oblivion allow you to choose what memories get removed. For that you have to use a specific memory charm. And memory charms are breakable and wouldn't have withstood the amount of questioning those people were put through…" she put down her half finished piece of toast, too wound up to eat it. "So you see why we're going round in circles."
They sat in pensive silence for a while. Tonks was debating whether to tell Remus about the second potion at all. The thought was so horrible that she didn't want to have to talk about it. There came an interruption before she had decided, in the form of Hermione bursting through the fire.
Tonks shot to her feet at once.
"What's happened?"
"Nothing new." Hermione waved her hand to indicate that Tonks should sit back down. "But I've been doing some research."
"Hermione Weasley do research?" Remus said. Hermione graced this with a small smile before taking a seat at the table herself.
"On the differences between Elixir of Oblivion and Mnemosynic."
"Oh." Tonks leant forward, interested, and pushed her breakfast plate away completely. "We were just talking about that ourselves."
"Yes, I spent most of the night looking stuff up."
Tonks didn't even bother telling Hermione it might have been better for her to get a good sleep.
"What did you find? Anything interesting?"
"As a matter of fact, I did." Hermione spread out a page of immaculate notes and Tonks looked on in some disbelief. She struggled to make semi presentable notes in an official case. How did Hermione manage perfection over a sleepless night of personal research?
"Right," Hermione said, tracing a finger over the top of the page. "Elixir of Oblivion has been banned by wizarding communities worldwide ever since Mnemosynic was invented and approved in 1950. It was agreed there was no need to risk using a dangerous and unpredictable potion when they now had one that did the same job ten times better. The two potions are almost identical in appearance and they use many of the same ingredients. The difference in their makeup is that Mnemosynic adds staghorn and replaces the manticore venom with lobalug venom. This was done in an attempt to stabilize the potion and counterbalance the toxicity of it, and it worked on both accounts. The result was a reliable, irreversible memory potion which was heavily regulated but approved for usage in exceptional circumstances by authorities across the globe. And which was safe to brew. Sorry," she added quickly. "I know you know all this already. I'm used to talking to Harry when it come to potions."
Another point of amusement within their group. Harry, who had never quite forgotten his hatred of potions, tended to rely on Hermione for information that, as Head of the Auror office, he should really know himself.
"Remus won't have a clue about either," Tonks said cheerfully, winking at him. "Good to recap."
"In most countries, the ban on the potion included the academic study of it," Hermione continued. "But there were some exceptions." She pulled out a second sheet of notes. "And not long after the second war, Inga Nedza, a Durmstrang graduate living in Poland, ran an in-depth comparison of Mnemosynic and Elixir of Oblivion. Like many studies conducted overseas, it didn't become common knowledge in the UK."
"But it's significant?"
"Her findings are pages long," Hermione said. "I didn't bother wading through it all, but the results are fairly clear cut, and I found a review of her publication which summarizes it well-"
Her eyes were slightly wild as she looked for the bit to read out.
"Here we go - 'Elixir of Oblivion, in contrast to what has always been widely believed, would appear to remove only those recollections with a strong emotional link to the individual's mind at the time of ingestion. Other memories remain unscathed. The addition of staghorn and the replacement of manticore venom with lobalug venom to create Mnemosynic has resulted in a potion that is similar in appearance but vastly different in formulaic make-up, and which, in fact, causes the chronological removal of memories. The exponential effect of the dosage remains the same due to quantities of nightshade present in both concoctions etc etc."
Tonks could see that Remus was still getting his head round this, but she understood.
"So they don't do the same thing at all," she said. 'Mnemosynic removes recent memories - all recent memories - and the more potion you take, the further back in time it wipes out. We knew that already and the assumption has always been that the Elixir was an unperfected early version of that. But in actual fact.."
Tonks exhaled, realising the implications of this.
"In actual fact, the Elixir of Oblivion only takes away memories that have a strong emotional connection to the individual." Hermione finished for her. "Sometimes that may amount to the same thing, but not always."
"So we're talking about a potion that is more like Essence of Swooping Evil than Mnemosynic?"
"Yes," Hermione said. "And it makes perfect sense. It explains the unreliability of the original potion, the erratic side effects documented over the years. It explains the Elixir's high success rate when it was approved for treatment of psychological trauma during the Novikov wars in the forties, but the low success rate on simple breaches of the statute of secrecy. I had no idea about this study." She scowled viciously, slapping a hand on the table, and Tonks could tell she took this as a personal insult."This is why we need more international cooperation. As always, we're stuck in our own country bubbles, convinced we all know best. That's why we never got a hold on the Narcoviral curse until it was too late. Although to be fair to Kingsley, we have come a long way since 2001, which is when Nedza did this study."
"So in layman's terms," Remus said, as Hermione's rant tailed off. He smiled wryly. "For a dismal potioneer such as myself. Let's say a muggle sees a rogue dragon. If he's still scared senseless of it when the muggle liaison authorities give him Elixir of Oblivion, he would forget anything to do with the dragon. But if he wrote off the dragon as an aeroplane, hasn't given it a second's thought since, and he's… let's say… dwelling on an old, lost friendship."
Hermione nodded.
"Exactly. He'd lose his memories of his friend, or at least some of them, depending on how much potion he was given. The memory of the dragon might never be recalled again, but it could be, in theory. It wouldn't be removed."
"What does this mean in relation to Nott?" Tonks asked Hermione urgently. "And Flint?"
Hermione glared down at her notes without seeing them.
"Nott likely would have known about this study," she said slowly. "It was his job to keep up with all developments in potioneering. So if he managed to find a way of ensuring that any memories connected to The Surge had a strong enough emotional impact to overpower other memories then... I suppose he could have removed those recollections and nothing else. Which in turn may have seen whoever took the potion through our rounds of Ministry questioning unscathed."
She made a frustrated growl in her throat and pulled absentmindedly at a strand of her thick hair.
"Thing is, it would still be an astronomically difficult thing to do. We're talking about drawing a tangible link between someone else's thoughts and emotions. That's no mean feat. Voldemort did that with Harry in a way, I guess, but Harry had a bit of his soul in him and that's hardly going to be the case here."
Tonks and Remus exchanged a look of vague amusement, but they let Hermione continue to mutter half to herself. It was to be advised when she was in a mood like this.
"Calming draughts and emotional elixirs merely create a barrier between thought and emotion. Even something like the Imperious curse can't control how one thinks and feels… simply overpowers our ability to resist commands. Legilimens… maybe… but probably not… that's about exploring someone's mind as it is. And even if Nott did know an appropriate spell, Elixir of Oblivion is a dangerous substance to be experimenting with. I can't work out the specifics of it. Did he figure out a way to wipe chosen memories and test it on Flint? Did he mean to use the method on everyone else involved but died before he had a chance? Still so many questions to answer. It means-"
Hermione turned back to Tonks as if there had been no long, rambling monologue between her question and the answer. "It means Harry might be right. Nott wanted the manticore venom to make Elixir of Oblivion and that's why Flint passed the first stage of Veritaserum questioning without raising further suspicions. But I couldn't tell you how that was done."
There was a long silence. Hermione was the one to break it.
"I'm going to speak to Cynthia Flint. Right now. Mr Flint is up in Liverpool, I've already checked with the MoSS. Coming?"
Tonks didn't respond immediately, startled by this request. "Um. Didn't Harry say to wait?"
"Yes he did, but as Head of the Department of Magical Law I'm taking an executive decision from my end. It doesn't make sense to delay it further. I've made so many enquiries that Flint could have been tipped off already. We need to question Cynthia and we need to question her now. Every day we waste could make the difference to finding out the full truth."
Tonks exchanged another heartfelt grin with Remus.
"I love it when we get this side of you, Hermione."
"Are you coming?"
"Absolutely."
O
Tonks was happy to leave the talking to Hermione, after hearing about her plan to proceed, and stood back a little as Hermione knocked on the enormous wooden doors to the Flint mansion. She shivered as she took in the high stone walls of the house. There was something cold and unwelcoming about it, even from the outside. Gratitude that Hope was no longer involved with Cadmus reached a peak.
Cynthia Flint opened the door and regarded them with neither interest nor alarm. Tonks remembered that she had always looked like this: pale in complexion with mouse blond hair, wide eyes and a small, pursed mouth.
"Hello Mrs Flint," Hermione said calmly. "We are representatives from the department of Magical Law. May we come in?"
She did not object, and led them through the halls of her house and into the grand sitting room. The family house elf, who had been sweeping the fireplace, gave a little bow, eyes large as her mistress's but betraying more fear, and scurried out of the room. Hermione pursed her lips as she watched the elf depart.
"Mrs Flint, we are here on a matter concerning your husband," she said, once the elf's pattering footsteps had died away and she and Tonks were seated opposite. "We have had new evidence come to light which places him in the vicinity of The Final Surge, and we would like to ask if you would be willing to comply with our enquiries into this case."
The woman in front of them remained silent and stony faced, her eyes distant.
"I have nothing to say that will be of interest to you," she said. "My husband does not tell me about his business."
This was unfolding much as Harry had predicted, but Hermione's mouth was set. She had not come this far to give up at the first hurdle.
"Mrs Flint," she started again. "I do understand-"
"What's going on?"
A tall girl with thick black curls now stood in the doorway to the sitting room, eyes roving over the three of them. Tonks exchanged a fleeting glance with Hermione. This was a complication they hadn't foreseen. Hermione's plan of attack to pressurize the woman into speaking had been solid enough. Now, with the figure of her bold-faced, imposing daughter there as support, Tonks felt less convinced, remembering Angelina's description of Morella Flint. A lovely girl. But a force of nature.
Morella wasn't looking at either of them anymore. Her eyes were now on her mother.
"Is what I just heard true?" she demanded. "About him?"
Cynthia Flint stared resolutely into the fireplace.
"I have nothing to say," she repeated. "You should leave now. I can't help you."
Morella looked from Hermione to Tonks with a small jolt of recognition before whipping back round to face her mother.
"Mum, what do you know? Is what I heard true? He had something to do with The Surge?"
The question was met with yet more silence. Morella's nostrils flared a little.
"If he was involved and you know about it, then you have to tell them. You have to."
"I don't have to do anything," Cynthia said quietly. "I can't, because I don't have anything to say. You need to go to work."
Morella scowled at this.
"You weren't so bothered about me working an hour ago. Is this all I am to you, Mum? Someone to hold your hand when you have a meltdown and then blend quietly into the background of your life when it isn't convenient for me to be around anymore."
Cynthia flinched at the blunt words and Morella's face softened.
"Mum please." She knelt in front of her, imploring her. "What is it? What do you know about him?"
"Leave me alone, Morella. I have nothing to say."
"Listen, you don't need to be afraid. They'll protect you. Whatever you say, you'll be safe. Even from him. She will, won't she?"
Morella rounded hopefully on Hermione and Tonks and Hermione nodded. "All witnesses in any investigation would be offered the highest levels of protection the Ministry can provide," she said, tone calm.
"No one can protect me," Cynthia mumbled. She continued to shake her head, her eyes blank. "It's not that simple. You don't know - no, stop it, Morella." Morella had tried to take her hand again. "You have no idea about my life. None."
By this point, Tonks was sure all hope of getting coherent answers out of Cynthia was lost. Morella, however, was looking incensed at this latest pronouncement.
"Maybe I don't know about your life, Mum, but I do know a thing or two about my own. My earliest memories are of you and Father arguing. Of being home in that shitty little flat, on my own in the dark while you two were out God knows where. Of looking after Cadmus all the time because you were too wrapped up in your problems to do it. I was three. Looking after my six-month-old brother. What if I'd accidentally killed him?"
"Stop," Cynthia whispered. "Stop. Please stop."
Her daughter remained relentless, her face hard, eyes like gimlets.
"And after we moved here, it was even worse. I had to do everything for Cadmus. He could have died in his sleep and it would have taken you days to realize."
Cynthia was shaking.
"This is Hope's mother, you know," Morella added abruptly, gesturing to Tonks, startling her. "You remember Hope, don't you? Cadmus's girlfriend. She used to come round. You met her. You liked her. You thought she was sweet and kind… And good for him. Well, you were right. But she and Cadmus aren't together any more, and do you want to know why?" Her voice was several decibels higher now. "Because he treated her like shit. He had no more respect for her than father has for you. Cadmus is turning into a carbon copy of him and you are sitting there doing nothing. Letting it happen."
Rage at Cadmus and agony for her daughter ambushed Tonks from both sides. What had he done to Hope? Her kind, innocent little girl? Her daughter who had endured so much pain as it was. The desire to hunt Cadmus down and tear him limb from limb mounted inside her and Hermione shot her a look full of consolation. With extreme difficulty, Tonks pushed the violent thoughts to the back of her mind because, finally, there had been a shift in the dynamic in the room. Cynthia's eyes were no longer blank and distant, rather full of tears as she met her daughter's unflinching gaze.
"Cadmus could have been a good person," Morella spat. "Maybe he still can be. But every time I see him he is more like our father and I can't even be surprised. What chance did he ever have when he was raised by a bully, a thief, a drug dealer-"
"That's a lie." Tonks blinked a little, the intervention surprising after Cynthia's previous deafening silence. "Whatever else, that's a lie," she said, her voice harsh. "I don't know who keeps spreading these rumours but it's all lies."
Morella shook her head, her voice cracking for the first time.
"They aren't rumours, Mum. Or lies. There were drugs in this house last year. I know Novakine when I see it, and in that quantity, it was not for recreational use."
Hermione and Tonks came to a silent agreement not to interrupt. Whatever was going on here, they needed to let it play out.
Cynthia was staring up at her daughter, mouth half open, cheeks paler than ever. "It was you," she said at last. "You told the Ministry there were drugs in this house. You caused that raid. And you've been hounding them ever since, trying to get them to follow up on it."
"Can you blame me?" Morella snarled. "Somehow he got out of it back then - I don't know how when he wasn't even here. But it sounds like drugs are the tip of the iceberg and you clearly know more than you pretend to, so why aren't you saying anything? Why aren't you doing something? I've had to hold up this family my whole fucking life. I can't do it anymore. I can't protect Cadmus and be there every time you have a breakdown and try and get rid of the man who makes your life hell. He deserves to go to prison and you'd be happier with him gone, so why are you sitting there doing nothing?"
The last word shot out like a bullet and something flickered in Cynthia's eyes. The tears spilled over as she looked up at Morella, grasping her hands in hers, and Morella, shaking, her own eyes dry, did not pull away.
"My children," Cynthia said through her tears. Her voice was so quiet and broken that Tonks could only catch half the words. "My children. I - I never wanted this. Never. Maybe… Preferable… Anything … better than this."
Uncomprehending, Tonks watched as Cynthia conjured a small vial in the air before them before raising her wand to her temple. An abnormally thick strand of memory was pulled from it, and she placed it in the vial. Then, very slowly, with a trembling hand, she held it out to Hermione, her face bypassing pale and turning deathly white.
Bewildered, Hermione held out her own hand to take it. Cynthia was still clutching Morella's hand as though unable to let go, eyes screwed up tight and head turned away as Hermione's fingers inched closer. Tonks didn't think she had ever seen anyone look so afraid, as if it were her own life she were giving away, not merely a memory-
"STOP! Hermione NO!"
In sudden panic, she flung out an arm so that it collided with Hermione's, to stop her taking the vial. Hermione withdrew her hand, staring at her colleague and friend as if she had two heads, but Tonks didn't care. For what had just occurred to her was a matter of life or death.
"Mrs Flint," she said, making a conscious effort to keep her voice steady as she addressed the woman herself for the first time. "Would it help to know that - should you be willing to accompany us to the Ministry - witness protection isn't all we can offer. We would also be sure to strip any influential curses, before interview. Oaths, for example. We have the power to do that, these days, you know. To break what was once thought to be unbreakable."
Realisation flared in Hermione's expression even as bemusement clouded Morella's. Cynthia stared back at Tonks for a very long moment and then her eyes closed again. Was she relieved? Even more frightened than before? Whatever the emotion behind the lowered lids, Tonks knew she had hit on the money. Perhaps they had finally discovered the reason for Cynthia Flint's refusal to cooperate. Perhaps Marcus Flint had kept her under an oath of secrecy all these years, one that meant staying silent was synonymous with staying alive.
They had won. Trembling, Cynthia Flint got to her feet and allowed Hermione to escort her towards the door. Morella came forward too, rare tears now glistening on her cheeks.
"It'll be OK," she insisted, embracing her. "It'll be OK, Mum, it will. Tell them the truth and it will be fine."
"It won't be," Cynthia whispered. "It won't be. You have no idea."
Tonks was reminded of Hope, standing in their kitchen months ago, sobbing her heart out, unable to see how the world could be right again. But Cynthia was the mother here, not Morella.
"You know we can offer you protection as well," she offered, but Morella snorted and tossed back her dark hair, cheeks now dry.
"You don't need to worry about me," she declared. "If my so-called father comes within a mile of me, you'll have to fix his broken neck before you try him."
O
"Fair play," Harry said to Hermione, later on, once the unbreakable vow had been stripped and Cynthia Flint sat, head bowed, ready to be questioned in one of the interview rooms. The vial of memory was being kept safe, ready for inspection once the interview was over. "I won't pretend I'm happy that you went behind my back but I'll say no more about it. That was well handled. Both of you."
"We owe it to Morella," Tonks said. "Lucky she was there. We would never have persuaded her on our own."
She still didn't understand. Could this tiny, mousy woman have been conspiring with Flint to bring about the events of The Surge? It didn't seem possible. But then, as was proven day in day out, the impossible was never, truly, impossible.
There was only one way to know.
"Come on," Harry sighed. "Let's see what she has to say."
Hermione and Harry sat down opposite her with Tonks off to the side. Once installed, Hermione tapped her wand on the recording device on the table in front of them.
"Thursday second of May 2024. Twenty-two minutes past midday. Hermione Weasley, Harry Potter and Nymphadora Lupin, conducting an interview with Mrs Cynthia Flint in correlation with the events leading up to the final Surge which took place on sixteenth December 2005. Mrs Flint, are you able to confirm for the record that this statement is being made of your own volition and you are not under the influence of any potions or spells at this present moment in time?"
"Yes."
"And are you aware that anything you say today may be used as evidence in this case?"
"I am."
"Thank you." Hermione sat back. "We will allow you to make your statement without interruption. Any questions will be saved until the end. When you are ready, please proceed."
There was a second of dead silence in which not even a heart seemed to beat. Then Cynthia, eyes firmly glued to the desk in front of them and hands twisting in her lap, took a tremulous intake of breath and began to speak.
O
Tonks fought down a strong wave of nausea as she observed the faces of her two friends. Cynthia had been escorted away moments ago.
"I don't know what I was expecting," she murmured. "But it wasn't that."
"No," Harry agreed. He looked sickened as well. "It does give us more answers than I ever could have hoped for. Not quite everything. I mean, it doesn't explain how Bulstrode's house ended up in pieces-"
"That will be the manticore venom," Hermione provided at once, eyes fixed on the few notes she had made herself during the interview. "It must be. It was exposed to the open air for hours and if it was stored next to potions like Detonation Draught..." she scanned her paper one last time then folded it in two. "I can see some unexplained issues as well," she admitted. "But they can wait. We have bigger priorities."
"Yes," Harry said, his mind returning to the most pressing matter. "Absolutely. I'll issue a red alert now for Flint's arrest and get in touch with Higgs. Kingsley might want to come back early when he hears about this."
"I'll get a message to him," Hermione said at once.
"And then." Harry grimaced at the thought of this unpleasant task. "We'll need to arrange contact with Cadmus and Morella Flint. Today if possible. At a push it can wait until tomorrow but no longer than that. They have a right to know the truth before they start hearing half-baked rumours and speculation."
"I'll sort that too," Hermione assured Tonks, as Harry sped off down the corridor and Tonks, firmly shaking off the nausea, pulled on her Auror cloak.
"Thanks," she murmured. "It's probably not a good idea for me to be near Cadmus right now." Even in light of what they had learnt, she could only feel rage towards Flint's son. That anyone should dare treat her daughter badly, when all she deserved was love and kindness.
"I understand," Hermione said softly. "If it was Rose I'd feel the same. Did - did she ever say? Hope. What happened with Cadmus."
"No," Tonks said. "When she told us about the pregnancy she said that he couldn't be the father and that they broke up near the end of the year. She hasn't mentioned him since."
She gave a little shake of her head, darkening her hair to a more aggressive shade and, for the second time that day, pushed the disturbing thoughts to the back of her mind. There were, as Hermione had said, more urgent priorities. They had a criminal to catch.
o
o
Hope arrived back from practice, tired but elated. She felt like she was back on track with quidditch already, her muscle memory returning, her strength and stamina building by the day.
"Good session?" Roxanne enquired.
"Yeah!" Hope exclaimed. "Feeling so much fitter even after a week. Although that older man, Joe, is so patronising. Seemed really surprised every time I scored a goal, even though he barely scored any himself."
"Cal told me about him last night," Dom laughed. "Apparently he's a bit set in his ways but his heart's in the right place. Cal thinks you'll be out of local league by the Autumn anyway. Says you're bound to be in demand from the professional teams once you get a reputation in the summer tournament."
Hope smiled, if a little awkwardly. Soon, she would need to tell Dom and Roxanne that she had applied for a year of study abroad in Spain and wouldn't even be here in the Autumn if she was accepted. Not yet, however. This time, she wanted to tell her parents first.
"I think you deserve a biscuit," Roxanne said, reaching for the packet on the top shelf. "And well done for not eating them, by the way. I have been checking."
"You're evil. I knew you'd put them there on purpose!"
Roxanne smiled serenely. Her Wiznote glowed as she opened the biscuits and she took an initial glance at it without interest before snatching it up with a gasp.
"What's up?"
"Morella's dad has been arrested."
Hope nearly choked on a mouthful of crumbs.
"What?"
"She says here: "Can't meet tonight after all. Father arrested. Mother at Ministry for questioning. That's all the info I have for now. Will update you when I can."
O
"Mum?"
Hope came bursting through the front door as her mother came out of the kitchen at the anguished cry. Remus was nowhere to be seen.
"Hope? What's wrong?"
"Is it true Mr Flint has been arrested?"
Her mother's face bore a look of deepest exhaustion.
"I see news travels fast," she sighed. "Yes, he has, but Hope," she held up a hand as Hope opened her mouth to ask more frantic questions, "it's a very complicated situation, and right now I can't tell you anything else. I'm sorry. I won't even be able to share the details with your Dad. You will know eventually. I think we all will."
After the unexpected revelation that not even her father would be told, Hope accepted that she would have to do without the truth for the time being.
"Please stay for dinner though," Tonks offered. "Your Dad's working late, so it will be the two of us."
Hope agreed at once, suddenly ravenous after her busy session, and realising she hadn't had a proper catch up with her mother for a long time. It would be the perfect opportunity to tell her about Spain. And so, when the food was plated up and they had sat down, Hope plunged right into the subject.
"Mum, I need to tell you something."
"Right."
"Don't worry, I'm not pregnant this time," Hope added, grinning, and her mother did crack a reluctant smile in return. "Nothing like that. But I thought you should know. I've applied for a study course. Next year. It's in Spain at the Carlos Institute. I don't know if I have a place yet, but I - I wanted you to know that I might get one. And if I do I'll be going to Madrid in September, for a year. I'll tell Dad too, as soon as I see him."
While this was clearly not what Tonks had been expecting to hear, her face did light up at the news, and she engaged at once, asking for more details, exclaiming over the ideal nature of the course in question, and assuring Hope that although she would be missed here in England, it would no doubt be an incredible opportunity that would be supported by all her friends and family. Hope confessed that she was enthusiastic about the prospect of a fresh start, a second chance at working hard and achieving decent academic qualifications now she was in a more positive mindset, and Tonks agreed wholeheartedly with this.
Emboldened by how well the news had been received, Hope talked animatedly as they ate, filling her mother in on the enjoyment of working with the Longbottoms at The Leaky Cauldron, her recent progress in making some of the more advanced cocktails (without breaking so much as a shot glass!), her new quidditch team and Roxanne's brutal but rewarding fitness training programme. She even touched on Dom's renewed relationship with Cal.
"I really hope they get together properly," she finished. "He's such a lovely person, and Dom's last partner sounds foul. She deserves way better than that."
Tonks agreed with this too, but there was a distant quality to her expression as the conversation moved on, and when they hit a natural lull minutes later, she turned to her daughter and spoke rather quickly.
"Hope, can I ask you something?"
"You just did," Hope said cheekily, feeding the remains of her chocolate ice cream to Dot, whose fur stood on end at the unexpected coldness. Tonks smiled again as she watched.
"Never mind," she amended. "It doesn't matter."
Hope looked up in surprise.
"I was joking. We can always ask each other stuff. That's our rule, isn't it?"
"Yes. I suppose it is. Um. Alright. I just... wondered. When you were with Cadmus. Did he - did he treat you badly?"
Dot's fur returned to normal before drooping downwards, and Hope's heart thudded against her ribcage. Why was her mother brining up Cadmus of all people? And why now? Was it because of Flint's arrest that day?
"Why do you ask?"
"I've wondered, on occasion. That's all. And as it's the two of us, and we're talking openly, I thought I'd ask now."
There was a minuscule silence in which eighteen months of cruelty, unkindness and misery flashed through Hope's mind. She could see Cadmus's sneering face, hear his snide comments. She could feel his hand on the back of her head, forcing her to endure a taste of his own childhood trauma. She could remember his last words to her-
"No," she said mildly. "I mean, he was a bit difficult and moody. I didn't always understand him. In the end we weren't right for each other. That's all."
She met her mother's gaze without flinching.
"And you don't want to talk about it? Not at all?"
"No." Hope brought out her long ago perfected but recently unused shrug that implied she didn't have a care in the world. "I don't need to, it's in the past."
She wondered if her mother was going to probe further but she didn't, and minutes later Remus arrive home and sat down for some food and a catch up. Once Tonks had filled him in briefly on the details she was able to divulge about Flint's arrest, Hope told him all about Spain. This admission was met with similar declarations of support and enthusiasm, and talk turned to the Spanish cities she would most like to visit, the topic of past boyfriends quickly forgotten.
Hope's thoughts did stray back to Cadmus when she was in bed later that night, as she wondered what his father could have done to warrant arrest. Was this coming out now because of her own investigations? Almost certainly - the timing was too close for it to be coincidence. In a way she felt sympathy for him, unthinkable as it was to have a father who was a criminal, and there were definite elements of guilt present in her mind, knowing that she had contributed to the recent disruption of their family.
Nevertheless, there was no need for her to discuss him out loud.
Her relationship with Cadmus was in the past. And in the past it would stay.
OOO