The walk to Parvati's office was made in uncomfortable silence, there were no two ways about it. Hermione walked a bit ahead of Malfoy, who seemed content to let her lead the way this time. And she was glad for the distance, if marginal, between them. The lift had felt impossibly small very, very quickly.
It wasn't so much that she regretted calling out Malfoy's past magical biases, it was that she was kicking herself for being so casually cruel about it when all he had been in the past couple of days was…well, kind. It was hard to shed the layer of armor she had always worn in his presence, she told herself. But it wasn't like her to be so callous. Not this version of herself, anyway. The version of herself that she had crafted after the war was calm, understanding, patient. Her work depended on it. To make herself feel better, she was going to blame it on her encounter with Pierre in the kitchen a mere hour before Malfoy's arrival. And her encounter with his family before that. And perhaps their encounter the night before.
The point was, Hermione was feeling decidedly wrong-footed, and the brooding wizard trailing behind her like a bellhop was making matters worse.
Parvati's office door was ajar when they arrived, a warm light pouring from the room and into the hallway. Hermione still lifted her fist and knocked gently twice to announce her presence.
"That you, Hermione?" Came Parvati's disembodied voice from inside.
"Yes, it's me," Hermione called back.
There was a shuffling, then Parvati's smiling face appeared in the doorway, arms already held outstretched and reaching for Hermione. She fell into her old friend's embrace easily, and the two witches held each other for a long moment.
"It's been too long," Parvati said as she pulled back, but held Hermione at arms length as though she was taking in her measure like a fussing mother. Hermione cupped her elbows and smiled at her.
She shrugged sheepishly. "I haven't been back to Britain in a while, I suppose." Parvati eyed her. "We've got a lot to catch up on."
Parvati nodded. "Yes. Starting with why Draco Malfoy is standing behind you like he's your bodyguard." Her eyes flitted down to glance at the bags in his grasp. "Or your chauffeur? That is Draco Malfoy, right?" Parvati whispered the last part, eyes tracking up to what Hermione assumed was Malfoy's face.
"Nice to see you again, Healer Patil." At the sound of Malfoy's voice, Parvati straightened, struck surprised. "I can hear you, you know."
"Malfoy, you're looking rather…well," Parvati said to him, then turned to Hermione with a look of innocent disbelief on her face and whispered, "and fit," out of the corner of her mouth. Malfoy may have been able to hear her but she appeared to ignore the fact that it was a two-way street. Hermione felt herself blushing and was glad Malfoy could only see the back of her head.
He let out a sigh. "How kind," he said. Parvati nodded, unruffled.
"I'm glad you're here," she began, releasing Hermione, "the both of you." She turned to re-enter her office. Hermione cast a look of surprise over her shoulder and caught Malfoy's eye. When he met her gaze, he seemed just as surprised as she was. He pressed his lips into a tight line as he lifted his palm to usher her forward into Parvati's office.
The inside of Parvati's office was the sort of managed mess Hermione had come to expect from her friend. While there were many stacks of papers, they were neatly aligned. Several sets of green healers robes were discarded, but they were all contained to one overstuffed wingback chair in the far corner. The mantle of her private floo was crammed full of framed pictures—Parvati and Padma smiling with their arms around each other, Parvati and her wife, Katie Bell, Parvati shaking the hand of Minerva as she graduated from Hogwarts. It was all familiar and comforting in a way that made Hermione smile as she took one of the two chairs facing Parvati's desk. Malfoy remained standing next to the other chair, hesitating as he peered around.
"Go on then, Draco, have a seat," Parvati said as she plopped down into her own chair. She reached for a stack of manilla folders and began thumbing through them. When Malfoy still hadn't sat, she paused mid search and cut him a narrow-eyed glare. Reluctantly, Malfoy folded his broad form into the chair beside Hermione. Parvati resumed her page flipping. "Ah, here we are."
She pulled out a folder and laid it on the desk between them. It was blank, but bulky. Thrilled by the opportunity to get her hands on a dossier rife with data and information she so desperately wanted to understand, Hermione leaned forward in her seat.
"Hermione, if memory serves, you have a healer's degree?" Parvati asked.
"Technically, no. I didn't complete my training, I believe I'm still a few credits short of finishing the official healer's program. But I was trained here, at St. Mungo's during and after the war until I decided it wasn't for me after all," Hermione answered, clasping her hands together in her lap to stop herself from taking the dossier before Parvati was ready to part with it.
Healers, much like muggle doctors, had a certain creed when it came to treating their patients. While it was important for confidentiality between a healer and their patient, there was still so much in the magical world that was being discovered, so much raw magic that required the minds of more than just a healer. Sometimes, it was necessary to liaise with experts in other magical fields to understand the breadth of a curse, or a malady. During her healers program was how Hermione had first really understood the link between curse-breaking and magical maladies. And it was how she decided she'd rather be on the curse-breaking side of the coin, not the treatment side. Besides, Hermione's bedside manner left much to be desired. Parvati, while direct, had a softness she could summon. Hermione's softness had been carved away by the war, and she was no good at pretending.
"Ah, well, close enough," Parvati said and slid the folder closer to Hermione for inspection. "There have been some rather interesting developments with our patients since we last spoke this morning, Hermione," Parvati began and leaned back in her chair. Hermione opened the file at the same time Parvati launched into an update. "Physically, there has been very little change; their levels are stable, if not heightened, but that isn't any different from when they arrived. Elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, high blood pressure, magical signatures that are a bit frenetic…" Parvati was ticking symptoms off on her fingers as she spoke. "And, oddly, a slight temperature. Which as you know, for a witch or wizard is fairly uncommon."
Hermione was nodding along, her eyes skimming across the pages of labs and notes on the three patients—a mother and son and his friend, all hailing from well-heeled society. The kind of families that Malfoy might have rubbed elbows with when he was growing up.
"A couple hours ago, each of them sat up suddenly," Parvati said, drawing Hermione's full attention back from reading the files in her lap.
"Sat up?" She asked with a furrowed brow.
"Yes. Until that point, they had been unmoving in their beds, still as statues. They hadn't reacted when we ran diagnostics, or gave them potions or even when we spoke to them to ask them questions pertaining to their conditions. They just…stared off into the distance with this look of…" Parvati paused and Hermione could see her reaching into her memory to try and describe the very look that Hermione was remembering now from when she saw it on Mrs. Baker's face back in Paris.
"Fear," Hermione supplied. Malfoy turned to look at her, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Yes, quite," Parvati said, blinking away the images in her mind's eye. "As I said, they hadn't moved, then all of a sudden, they sat up. I was with the mother, Mrs. Lauren. A nurse was with her son and another was with the friend, George. Not that it mattered; everyone on the ward heard them speaking in unison." Parvati shifted, as if uncomfortable. Malfoy leaned forward a bit in his chair. "They began chanting. It…was unsettling to say the least. At first, I couldn't understand what she was saying, then I realized it was in a different language. They were saying: sanguine purus, corde , after some research, is Latin and roughly translates to pure in blood, pure in heart."
Hermione felt her body stiffen, her muscles coiling so tightly she thought every tendon would snap. She hardly breathed—didn't even have the presence of mind to look over at Malfoy, but could feel the energy in the room crackling with furious magic. Parvati first met Hermione's eyes, then she turned to Malfoy and spoke to him directly.
"That's why I'm glad you're here, Draco. We hadn't known this when Kingsley first spoke with Hermione. Now that we know the curse may have something to do with…well, with what we've dealt with before, you're the perfect person to help us get to the bottom of this," she said softly.
"Where are the patients now?" Malfoy asked Parvati at the same time he turned in his seat toward Hermione. He held a hand out to her and in her state of shock coupled with her exhaustion from the day and need for a shred of comfort, she misread his intention and mindlessly slipped her palm against his. Malfoy's long, cool fingers tightened around hers instantly, as if reaching for her hand had been his objective all along. The sensation of their suddenly tightly joined hands jolted both of them and their eyes met, hers wide and surprised, his cooly amused. Instead of letting her go, Malfoy reached out with his other hand and this time said, "The folder, please, Granger."
Hermione felt her cheeks flush as she pulled her hand from his grasp in a hurry. "Right," she breathed, scooping up the folder and handing it over to him, careful not to touch him again. Folder in hand, Malfoy smiled at her deep blush and leaned back in his chair once more. When she looked away, she found Parvati staring at her with an expression of ludicrous glee on her face. Hermione stared hard at her until she finally cleared her throat and blinked away her mirthful entertainment.
"The patients had to be placed in a magically induced state of unconsciousness. They wouldn't stop chanting. It went on for the better part of an hour while we worked to get them to snap out of it. Nothing we tried worked. In the end, we had to put them under, but even after they were unconscious, the scans we took on their brain activity remained the same as when they were awake, chanting. It—it's almost like they are stillawake,even unconscious. I've never seen anything like it."
"And it's safe to presume that they're under Auror observation?" Malfoy asked, glancing up from the file.
Parvati nodded, "Yes," she said. "Yes, there are two Aurors assigned to each of them. They are stationed outside the rooms. They've placed locking charms on the windows as well," Parvati finished.
"Do you know who is leading the team of Aurors stationed here?" Malfoy asked. He snapped the folder shut and slid it back onto Parvati's desk.
"I'm not sure. They got here fairly quickly after my emergency request but we've been busy and I haven't been back to check on their condition since the Aurors arrived."
"Is it possible for us to see the patients? Even just one—the mother, perhaps," Hermione asked.
Parvati nodded again and stood. "Yes, I was hoping you'd be up for it." She grabbed one of her discarded green robes from the chair and pulled it on. From one of her desk drawers, she retrieved her wand. Hermione and Malfoy stood as well and followed her as she beckoned them from her office.
The ward was a flurry of activity, which wasn't so different from the months Hermione had spent working here. Parvati walked with purpose and healers and visitors alike gave her a wide berth. Or perhaps it wasn't Parvati's bearing that sent people side-stepping, but the tall, black-clad Draco Malfoy following at her heels. He had regained control of the wayward magic Hermione had felt sparking from him at the mention of blood purity, but still he radiated a sense of unsettling intensity.
He was well within his right to react to the situation as he did, Hermione thought. As someone who had dedicated the early years of his career to eradicating blood purists and Voldemort loyalists, she could understand that the news of a revival might be distressing. It was certainly distressing enough for her. The British Ministry had taken such great pains to remove the stain of Voldemort's presence from everything he touched. There had been several months directly following the final battle, after Voldemort was newly vanquished that claiming victory had seemed almost unjustifiable. So many loyalist factions had risen up—there were so many still that truly believed in Voldemort's cause. Even after he was dead, the path to victory, true victory, had been laden with land mines and frustration.
Hermione hadn't had it in her to keep fighting after the final battle. She had spent her most formative years locked in a battle against evil. She had sacrificed so much—they all had. But, after the war had ended, Hermione took a different path, one she could finally choose for herself.
It was painfully ironic that path had led her right back to where she started—walking down the halls of St. Mungo's curse ward accompanied by schoolmates as she helped triage what she was certain was a dark curse linked to Voldemort.
Her hands trembled slightly at the memory of all those bodies being carried in from the battlefields. All the blood, the sharp metallic stench of dark magic and rot in the air. Merlin, she thought she had left all this behind, but clearly there was no expiration date on hate and those who would follow it blindly.
Hermione took a shaky breath through her nose. The air in the ward smelled of nothing more than antiseptic soap and the eucalyptus scent a cleansing charm left behind. No one was screaming, there were no sirens blaring deafeningly overhead. There was plenty of rushing around, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Hermione couldn't help but wonder how long the relative normalcy of the present St. Mungo's would last after they began to uncover what was happening to these patients.
Parvati turned left and further down the hall, Hermione could see figures flanking the door to one of the rooms on the right. Two Aurors robed in official uniforms turned at their approach. Hermione searched their faces, but didn't recognize them. Likewise, they didn't seem to recognize her, but they certainly recognized Malfoy. They snapped to attention and received him with a deferential nod of greeting.
"Mallory, DeWalt," Malfoy said as he approached. He reached out a hand to both Aurors and they took it with all the esteem in the world. "Good to see you both," he said and stepped back.
"Sir," Mallory began, "we didn't know you were in Britain. A pleasure to have you with us."
"I'm here assisting Miss Granger." Malfoy gestured to Hermione and she nodded in greeting. The two Aurors returned the gesture.
"Hermione Granger," he said, extending a hand to her, followed directly by his partner. "An honor to meet you." Hermione quite liked these two.
"Who is in command of this unit, Mallory?" Malfoy asked, but before Mallory could answer him, a familiar voice called out from down the hall.
"Is that Hermione?" Ron's voice was booming, too giddy a noise for the subdued quiet of the ward. Still, the sound of it had a smile spreading across Hermione's lips as she turned. Ron was loping down the hall, Harry by his side. Both were dressed in the same official black robes of the British Auror department, but their badges set them apart as squad leaders, rather than officers like Malloy and DeWalt. They took turns folding her into long embraces until finally, they noticed her companion standing quietly beside Parvati.
"Parv, you've got company?" Ron asked, eyeing Malfoy with barely concealed dislike.
"Oh, no. Draco is with Hermione," she said with a smile. Ron scoffed and Harry's eyebrows rose above the rim of his wireframe glasses. He ran a hand through his thick beard and looked calmly from Malfoy to Hermione as if trying to divine the paths they each took which led them to each other. Hermione waited for Malfoy to correct Parvati, because surely he wouldn't allow Harry and Ron to misconstrue her innocent statement as something more than what their professional relationship was.
But Malfoy smiled slowly as Ron continued to size him up. While Ron carried more bulk, Malfoy was taller, his broadness a balance to his height. But he didn't need to be taller than Ron to look down his nose at him. Malfoy had perfected that long ago.
"You'rewithHermione?" Ron asked, deadpan. Hermione knew right away that she had been wrong and Malfoy was not going to set the record straight.
"As Healer Patil said," Malfoy said drolly. Mallory and DeWalt looked uncomfortable—like their parents were fighting at dinner and had forgotten about them sitting at the table. Hermione was about to interject, but Malfoy continued on. "Am I to understand you and Potter are in charge of the Auror detail for this case?" He asked, his tone mild.
Ron was busy looking between Hermione and Malfoy like he'd just smelled something off. So it was Harry that answered. "Yes. Along with our normal responsibilities, we've taken on leading the special task force in charge of dispatching any remaining terrorist factions. Until now, that department has been pretty quiet, thanks to your work when you were stationed here in Britain," Harry answered evenly.
Unlike Ron, Harry harbored no ill-will toward Malfoy and hadn't for some time. Harry had worked very hard after the war ended to release any grudges, to let go of any remaining prejudices. He once told Hermione that if they expected wizarding Britain to heal, they had to lead by example. She had always known Harry was a special wizard, but as he matured and settled into his life after the war, he had really found his stride. People loved him—The Boy Who Lived, but better, they respected him for all he'd done to ensure their freedoms.
"Are you here to liaise with the British office?" Harry asked. Malfoy looked toward Hermione, then to the closed door of the hospital room they were gathered in front of.
"I am now," he said after some time.
"And Hermione, what are you doing here?" Harry asked, turning again to face Hermione.
"I'm here to examine the patient for now. We think there might be a link between their current condition and contact with a dark artifact. We need to understand what the symptoms are and if they're consistent across the board. Then, we'll need to determine how those symptoms relate to the magic of the artifact," she explained to the group at large.
"Do you have possession of the artifact?" Harry asked.
Hermione shook her head. "Not yet. I have a small team working on it. In fact, Parvati, did Clyde stop by this afternoon?"
"Yes, he was here earlier, before the chanting began, but after I had gotten word that you were on your way to Britain. He left a note for you, but said that he'd hold off on removing anything from the Baker residence until the two of you had a chance to meet to discuss next steps," Parvati said.
"That's great. It's best if we leave the painting in place for now until we have a better understanding of what exactly we're dealing with. This seems bigger than what it was this morning, doesn't it," Hermione said with a sigh. Parvati nodded her agreement. "Well, if we're all satisfied with our reintroductions, shall we?" Hermione asked, angling her head toward the door suggestively.
"Harry, Ron, you two stay out here. Draco and Hermione, follow me," Parvati said. She tapped her wand against the handle and after a moment, the door snicked open and the three of them cautiously filed inside.
The room was dimly lit and noiseless. Hermione assumed the wards sealing the windows shut were also sealing out the noise from the streets below. It was eerie, the stagnant silence of the room. There were no flowers, no personal property, no cards or trays of half-eaten food. The room felt oddly empty despite the single woman occupying it. Lying in the bed in the center of it all was Mrs. Lauren, a woman who had clearly aged with grace and cared about her appearance. Her dark hair was neatly brushed, her skin mostly unlined, but waxy and stiff. Her attractive face was void of any emotion—even the peaceful calm of slumber. She just looked…blank, like her body was nothing more than an empty shell. The only movement she made was the slightly quickened rise and fall of her chest beneath the stark white sheet pulled up to her shoulders.
Parvati cast a rapid diagnostic on her and the room was filled with a warm orange glow. It had been a long time since Hermione had read any kind of diagnostic charm, but she remembered well enough what to look for. Just as Parvati had explained, Mrs. Lauren's heart rate was elevated, she was running a low-grade fever, and her magical signature was…off. It was pulsating in a way that was not immediately alarming, but neither was it typical by normal medical standards. It was a blue-green ball of energy that floated just above her chest, a normal color, size—no concerning flares or bursts of errant magic. But the way it was moving…Hermione hadn't seen a magical signature pulse in such an unharmonious way. There was no rhythm to it, no typical rotation or movement. It pulsed out of sync, fast then frozen for long seconds, then wildly again, then suddenly measured in its beats.
It was unsettling. The sight of it sent a chill down Hermione's spine. She took one step forward, but Malfoy's hand closed around her upper arm in a firm grip and stopped her from going any further. When she glanced over at him, surprised, she found that he was staring at the orb of Mrs. Lauren's magical signature with clear alarm. His alabaster skin was aglow with the turquoise blue and warm orange light radiating from the diagnostic.
"Let's not be a hero, Granger," he said and tugged her back the step she had taken.
"None of the patients are under quarantine any longer. Whatever they have doesn't seem to be contagious," Parvati said. Malfoy's hand didn't even twitch.
"Whatever is doingthatto their magic is not something I want to inspect at a range any closer than this," Malfoy said. "And as your partner, it is my recommendation that you stay put, Granger. Hard to solve a mystery when you're the one under a stasis charm."
Damn him, but he had a point. He gave her arm a warning squeeze, then dropped his hand. Reluctantly, she took another step back to bring herself even with his position.
"How long does the stasis charm last before you need to re-cast?" Malfoy asked, his eyes never leaving the weirdly pulsing orb.
"It's prudent to re-cast every twelve hours—"
"Perhaps aim for eight," he interjected. "And have one of the Aurors in here with you or whoever is casting the charm while it's done. Leave the other outside the door, lock the wards while you're in here. If you're more comfortable with a larger detail during casting, I'll discuss what can be done with Potter." Malfoy's voice rang with authority, even Hermione stood up a little straighter.
Parvati clicked her teeth as she shut her mouth and nodded. "Good. Granger," he said and turned halfway toward Hermione, "do you have all you need here?"
Hermione looked back toward Mrs. Lauren and her wayward magical signature. There was nothing more to see, nothing more to observe, so she nodded. "Parvati, if you can copy the files and send them my way—"
"Say no more, Hermione. I'll send you along with all the data I have," she said before Hermione could finish.
"I'm quite certain whatever logistics need to be determined can be discussed elsewhere. Let's go," Malfoy said and herded the two witches toward the door with haste. Parvati cleared the threshold first. Hermione made to take one last look over her shoulder, but was met with the broad expanse of Malfoy's chest as he all but shoved her bodily out of the room. He didn't take his eyes off Mrs. Lauren until the door was firmly shut behind them and the wards were locked into place once again.
"I did not have you then. I did not know then the worst kind of love is the helpless kind, how you will throw anything at a wall to see if it sticks, just to feel the swing of your arm."Jami Nakamura Lin,The Night Parade