A/N: Sorry this took so long. Writing this chapter required two plane trips, one round-trip Chunnel ride, and a lovely little moleskin notebook. I hope you all really like this chapter-I think it earns the PG13 rating near the end-and thanks to all of my fantastic reviewers who have encouraged me so much!
Disclaimer: I don't own any o' this. Toooooo baaaad.
Chapter 10~~A Bit of Light Reading
"Thanks for coming over so quickly, Ron," said Harry as he shut the door behind his red-headed best friend. "But be warned, Hermione's gotten herself all worked up."
Ron shrugged casually, muttering something about her general mental state. "No worries, got to do my duty to the 'Golden Trio,' right? Besides-bloody hell," he breathed, pausing as he entered the dining area of the flat that had practically been converted into a veritable think tank. Hermione had erected easels all around the room with anything and everything concerning the cases of Charlotte Fairclough, Adam Finnin, and now Mark Bonner. "Hermione, what have you done to your dining room? Where will you eat?" he asked, immediately getting to the main point.
She breezed into the room, using her wand to adhere sheets of parchment to the various easels and rearranging them in a system that clearly she alone understood. "This is to help us visualize everything properly. We've got the case files from the counseling sessions, plus what Harry could find out about the crime scenes, and now you, Mr. Strategy," she said, directing the last bit toward Ron as she finally seemed to notice his arrival. She missed the alarmed glance Ron threw toward Harry as he mouthed the words Does she ever draw breath?
Harry ignored his head and turned to his girlfriend, who was shooting him a significant look. He cleared his throat apprehensively and gave Hermione the go-ahead.
She stepped forward toward Ron and stood at Harry's side. "Ron, we wanted to tell you something before we get started," she began seriously.
"You're together," he replied promptly with a matter-of-fact shrug.
Hermione and Harry shared a bemused look and Harry's mouth was opening and closing soundlessly. "How did you-"
"Look, I may not be the most perceptive bloke on the planet, but I'm not blind either. At least not as blind as the pair of you. Honestly, it's been all I can do to keep Luna from planting a yellow-spotted yugglact in your flat to help you get a move on." Ron chuckled at the bewildered expressions on his best friends' faces.
"So you're okay with it?" said Harry, as though he was waiting for Ron to change his mind.
Based on her conversation with Ron when they were alone at the pub the night of Adam's murder, Hermione was fairly sure that Ron had been expecting this announcement for quite a while. She was glad that despite his wife's good intentions, he did not take it upon himself to initiate anything between she and Harry. Of course, if they had had the helpful hand of the yellow-spotted yugglact, whatever that was, they might have been spared much heartache and laments of wasted time.
"Put it this way: 'It's about time' is probably the understatement of the century." The trio erupted into laughter that, despite its being partially at her own expense, Hermione felt was much needed given the heavy subject matter they were about to delve into. She watched as her best friends clapped each other on the back good-naturedly and did not want to be the one to bring the pleasant atmosphere down.
In their own time, she, Harry, and Ron made their way to the table, which, aside from the box that held Hermione's work-related materials and three steaming cups of tea, was bare. Just like my idea on how to begin, Hermione thought ruefully. As they seated themselves-Harry at one end and Ron and Hermione facing each other on either side-the anticipated somber mood descended, percolated with a strange sense of déjà vu. A glance at her best friends indicated that they had noticed it too.
All at once the reason came to her. "This is how we used to sit when we were discussing horcruxes," she said quietly. The boys nodded, each probably lost in their own particular reminiscences as they recalled some of the good and bad times they'd had sitting around a table in this arrangement over the years. Hermione remembered those fantastic times when a food basket from Mrs. Weasley would arrive after days gone by without a proper meal, as well as the equally terrible ones when they had to camp Muggle-style in the winter months to avoid leaving a magical signature. Hermione hoped to never be inside anything made of canvas ever again.
Ron appeared to have snapped out of his recollections because he was rubbing his hands together feverishly. "So where do we start?"
The last time Ron had asked her that, Hermione had been on the receiving end of the same expectant look and she had been just as prepared with an answer. "This isn't like before. In the past we knew the who and why but not the when and how. Now we don't even know the who or why."
"Well there's really no need to be so optimistic, Hermione," said Ron, and she smiled despite herself.
Harry retrieved something from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. It skidded to a halt in the middle of the three of them and as they watched it rock back and forth with the ornate golden 'MA' label facing up, Harry spoke. "Actually, we might be close to figuring out the who. I found this in Mark's flat," he explained for Ron's benefit. "It's an Auror badge, part of our formal uniform, which none of us were wearing that day."
"Could be a red herring," said Hermione. Both boys turned toward her in confusion. She rolled her eyes and let out a huff of exasperation. "Oh honestly, don't you two read? It's from the Sherlock Holmes detective series-a Muggle classic. A 'red herring' is in reference to a clue that is meant to lead the reader to the wrong conclusion, so that they are caught off guard when the final twist happens."
Rubbing his chin in thought, Ron said, "Sounds like every year of Hogwarts."
"The point is though, that it could have been an Auror, or someone with access to an Auror badge," said Harry.
"Could the badge have been transfigured from something else? Are we sure that it's genuine?" asked Hermione. Without waiting for a reply, she answered her own question by whipping out her wand and muttering a few well-chosen spells. She sat back in her seat; the badge was real. "Well then, let's say it is an Auror. Do we have any suspects besides the obvious?"
"Who's 'the obvious'?" asked Ron, looking back and forth between Hermione and Harry.
"Doyle," Harry answered. "Not the friendliest of people, has been trying to get evidence against Hermione for the murders for a while. And he was at the scene…"
"But you don't think it's him," finished Ron. "What do you think?" he asked Hermione.
She considered her interaction with Doyle thus far. "I think he sincerely thought that I was behind it-at least the memory modification part. But no, it would be almost too easy if it were him."
"Okay, anyone else in the Auror department that may have a grudge against nice old people and trainee Healers?" Ron directed toward Harry.
Harry shrugged. "I don't personally know any of them, besides Persephone, so I can't really say. What?" he said to Ron's pointed look.
The redhead shifted uneasily in his seat. "Well, what about Persephone?"
Harry stared back at his friend. "You're kidding right? Ron, she's my partner for Merlin's sake. That would be like suspecting one of you." Ron did not appear to be convinced and didn't have to voice what they were all thinking-with someone out there altering memories, they couldn't even trust themselves. "Fine, I'm pretty sure that she was occupied on all the nights in question."
"Occupied? How so?" asked Hermione, surprised for the rare glimpse into Persephone's personal life. Aside from her involvement with Mark, Hermione had no idea what Persephone was like outside of Auror mode. Like Harry, she doubted that the petite brunette could be capable of cold murder, or in Mark's case attempted murder, but it didn't really make sense that someone intent on poisoning innocent people who all seemed to lead back to her would try to spring her from jail.
"Every few days she visits the grave of her brother where he's buried at her family's home in Essex," Harry explained hesitantly.
"Oh, I had no idea that he was dead," Hermione said. She felt a surge of pity toward the woman younger than herself who, like the man before her, had lost her entire family. "In the war?"
Harry nodded silently. She had a feeling that he thought he was betraying his partner by informing his friends of her personal whereabouts. For his sake, she was anxious to move on.
"So it could be an Auror, and not necessarily an active one at present. And of course, it could just be someone in possession of an Auror badge with no affiliation with the department whatsoever, who planted the badge at the scene to throw us off," she said dismally, feeling more lost than when they'd started.
"Ah, the red earring," nodded Ron.
"The who is still up in the air then," said Harry with a sigh. He rested his chin on steepled fingers. "What about the why? Hermione, do you think the fact that all of the victims are close to you is significant?"
Hermione was strangely comforted by Harry's professional manner and gave his question due thought. "I think it's safe to say that since whoever is behind this is going out of their way to also change not only the memories of witnesses but mine as well, they're not exactly my friend at this point," she replied with a sardonic laugh.
"Pissed anyone off lately, Hermione?" asked Ron only half-joking. "Besides the anti-spew people," he clarified.
Hermione sighed, running a hand through her knotting hair. She felt for her tea cup; the liquid within had gone cold. "None that I can think of. My clients seem generally happy. My boss was until I started generating bad PR for the department. And it's not spew, Ron, how many times do I-"
"Okay, so the why is out of the question too. Ron, did you find anything out from Ginny?" Harry broke in.
Hermione perked up at the potential for good news. If the Charms professor had nothing helpful to offer, she didn't know who else to ask. Ron nodded and answered at once. "She says she's only come across charms that remove a person's memory of a specific event or damage their ability to retain memories in general. Our best bet is probably a potion."
Slightly crestfallen at the dead end, Hermione said, "No, I've already checked potions. There's nothing." They were silent as another possibility was metaphorically crossed off of their very short list. "Let's just outline everything we know, starting with Charlotte."
"Okay," agreed the two men. "I'm all ears," added Ron, when it became apparent that they were waiting for her to speak.
Hermione stood up from the table so that she could point things out on the various easels. She paced back and forth as she formulated what she was going to say. When she turned to face her best friends, she was oddly buoyed up by their familiar eager expressions. She felt a heartening smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she laid out all of the information. "Let's discuss what the three victims have in common. All three fought in the war. All were poisoned with the same toxin in a way to suggest suicide. All were found in their own homes with witnesses first offering no explanation for the victims' behavior, and then changing their stories later to say that the supposed suicide was not surprising."
She froze, an idea coming to her. "Wait. Wait-" She said, reaching for the box on the table and pulling out one of the few folders that wasn't adhered to a board. She flipped through a few pieces of parchment until she found the information she sought and then turned back to her friends who were waiting as she had bid. "And they knew each other. I had forgotten that Mark was the one who referred Adam to me in the first place. Mark told me that they had met sometime during the war and when he heard my department was starting up at St. Mungo's, he told Adam to look me up. And Adam told me in our last session that he and Charlotte were neighbors in Hogsmeade. I realize that it's a far leap to connect social association with cause of death-after all, the three of us know each other but that doesn't mean that wouldn't be the reason that someone would pick us off one by one-but it's something," she finished.
"It can't be coincidence," Ron agreed. "I mean the world is small, but it's not that small."
Harry had his eyes screwed up. "Hermione, do you think the fact that they all know you is significant here, or just that they know each other?" he asked seriously.
She found his professional manner to be oddly comforting, but she wasn't sure how to answer. "That's the real question isn't it?" she said, leaning back into her seat and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth-a habit she only engaged in when she was overly anxious. "I mean, what if I was responsible for it all? It's my name on the list of entrants into the St. Mungo's storeroom on the dates of Charlotte and Adam's death. They're my clients and colleagues," she said dismally.
Harry reached over to grasp her hand. "But you were with me the entire time, Hermione," he told her reassuringly.
She squeezed his hand and turned to him miserably. "You only remember me being with you. That's why the idea of someone out there changing memories is so dangerous!"
"I'm sorry," Ron interrupted, probably sensing Hermione's impending hysteria. "I just don't get how someone can go around changing memories without using a charm or a potion. Even something like the Polyjuice Cloak requires the combination of both, whereas someone like Tonks-a Metamorphmagus-doesn't need either one to look like someone else."
Hermione sat bolt upright, unconsciously dropping Harry's hand and leaning forward across the table. "Say that again," she demanded of her red-haired friend.
He looked momentarily confused, but apparently decided to indulge her. "Well, the Polyjuice Cloak requires-"
"No, no, no, about the Metamorphmagi. Never mind," she said before sprinting from the table and down the hall to her bedroom. She approached the bookcase that housed all of the reference material that she had already perused once in her research on memory charms and potions. This time, however, her sure fingers grazed the spines of several thick and well-loved tomes, pausing on a navy blue gilded book titled Inherent Wizarding Abilities in gold leaf lettering. She stumbled backward with the sudden weight on the book when it landed in her hands and hastily made her way back to the dining table.
"A book. I should have known," said Ron with mild amusement.
She ignored him as she slammed the tome on the table, rattling tea cups and startling the two wizards, and flipped wildly through the pages until she reached the chapter she sought. With an air of satisfaction at finally making some progress, she turned the book so that her friends could read the chapter heading and announced, "Gentlemen, I do believe we have the how."
"Mnemomagi?" said Harry uncertainly.
Hermione went to the kitchen to retrieve more tea for them. "Just like a Metamorphmagus can change appearance at will and an Animagus can assume the form of a specific animal, a Mnemomagus is capable of manipulating the information any person stores as memory. These are intrinsic powers of the wizard and cannot be detected within their magical signature and generally cannot be learned. Unfortunately, despite the dangers involved, Mnemomagi are so rare that the Ministry has not seen fit to establish any kind of registry like they have with Animagi and Metamorphmagi," she explained.
The three were silent as they considered the implications of a wizard with this power. "Blimey, you could have done anything if you can't remember it," Ron said darkly.
Harry nodded in agreement. "Not the best power of persuasion," he added.
Hermione was silent, not needing reminding that a wizard with any influence over her would make a formidable foe. Suddenly a grin spread across her face as a realization came to her. "You know what this means? I didn't do it!"
"How do you figure?" asked Ron, but Harry had a light bulb over his head as though he were right along with her in her thought process.
Pouring fresh tea into each of their cups as she sat down, Hermione said, "Well, I figured that a Mnemomagus can only change how your brain retains information, they can't necessarily make you do something you wouldn't ordinarily do. And since I don't usually go around poisoning people I know-"
"That you know of," interjected Ron with a feigned ominous expression.
"Then I probably didn't do it!" she finished with no small measure of relief.
Harry's grin matched hers. "All that evidence against you was circumstantial anyway," said Harry, eager to accept her theory. "So how can they be stopped? I mean, do Mnemomagi have any weaknesses?"
She grinned and grabbed the book, skimming wordlessly through the chapter. Wrinkling her brow in concentration she gave him as adequate an answer as she could. "Well, it says in here that any kind of mind manipulation is exhausting, but especially when within anti-Mnemonic wards."
"Anti-Mnemonic wards? I've never heard of those," he said, rubbing his chin in thought.
Hermione shook her head, inwardly cursing herself for not thinking of the book sooner. "Me neither, but you can either invoke the wards to prevent memory tampering or-well, that's strange," she muttered to herself, reaching behind her to grab a black marker off the counter.
"What is it?" asked Harry concernedly.
Hermione held up her hand, where she had written potentia eradico in black beneath the word MEMORY. "Apparently, they do have a little weakness. I'd like to see them try and mess with my memory now," Hermione said with a menacing smirk.
Harry brought her hand to lips and said with some proud amusement. "Merlin, Hermione, I love you when you're all threatening and scary."
A giggle escaped as she blushed at Harry's admission. She opened her mouth to flirt back a little when their moment was interrupted by the sound of Ron rummaging in the box that held some of Hermione's work things. The distinct clinking of glass was followed by Ron's curious, "Hey guys, what's this?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you've learned your lesson about touching unknown magical objects Ron," she said sarcastically. "And for your information, what you are holding is-"
"Thoughts," answered Harry, who from experience recognized the swirling silvery liquid.
With raised eyebrows, Ron held the glass up to the light to inspect it closer. "May I ask why you have people's thoughts in jars in your box here?" he asked as though he was sure she had cracked.
"It's nothing sinister, I assure you," she answered. "Sometimes a traumatic event can leave emotional as well as physical scars on a person, and at times they are unable to recover without have to face their own memories of the event and their part in them. Early on I had this idea that if people were able to literally face their memories, it may accelerate the healing process," she continued, speaking of her personal experience with facing off against her own demons. Robert Henderson flashed across her mind and Harry's hand covered her clenched one.
"Or wreck them completely," offered Ron, who rarely responded positively what he considered as 'psycho babble.'
Harry shot him a quelling look and then broke into a grin as he turned to face her. "That's brilliant, Hermione! So these are Adam's thoughts?"
"Yes, well his memories," she clarified, reaching to grab the bottle from Ron's hands. She recognized the faded label as being from one of her first sessions with Adam, when she was first embarking on her theory of traumatic treatment. It read simply Jemma on her broom with the date.
Hermione thought back to those first few sessions, when she had been so unsure of herself and her ability to help people when she had her own haunted past. Looking over at the rest of the bottles she had collected from her clients, she thought about how it was all a waste. Adam wouldn't be coming back and all she had left of him were her psycho-analytical reports and the memories he had left in her possession, his most vulnerable moments at her fingertips. And all for nothing, since she could no longer help him.
Ron was studying the label of another bottle. "Hey Hermione, you said that the victims all knew each other?"
"Yes," she answered, not sure where he was going with his question. "They all fought in the war together."
The redhead held the bottle out to her and she took it hesitantly, waiting for his explanation. "Well, what if the war was the link? Maybe they all tried to take down a Death Eater but he escaped and now wants revenge?" he asked, becoming exciting with his own idea.
Hermione considered in all fairness that it was more than she could think up. "Maybe," she shrugged, still not entirely convinced. She looked down at the bottle in her hand, knowing that she was holding Adam's memories of the war that she tried to persuade him from removing.
Harry read the label over her shoulder. Steeling himself, he said gently, "I think we should go in."
She turned to him sharply and then relented that his suggestion was the next logical step to finding out more about who was behind all this. They would have to dive into Adam's memories from the war and hope that it might shed some light on his connection with Charlotte and Mark.
Squeezing her arm once, Harry got up from the table and returned with something she hadn't seen in years. "Sorry, it hasn't gotten much use," he apologized, blowing the loose dust particles from the inside of what he was holding. Gingerly, he set his inheritance from Dumbledore down on the table and the three wizards regarded it anxiously.
"We're going back," Hermione said, mostly to Ron. Harry had seen plenty of action over the years in his profession as an Auror, but Hermione and Ron had not used their wands in a combative sense since the end of the war.
Ron nodded once to her as they began to wordlessly clear the table of teacups and extra bottles. Hermione held the bottle plainly labeled War above the stone basin, her eyes roaming the familiar rune symbols that lined the rim, and looked to her two best friends for confirmation. Ron was wearing an oddly exuberant grin and at the confused looks he was receiving from his best friends, he announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, the Golden Trio returns."
Hermione grinned as well and promptly poured the silvery liquid into the stone basin on the center of the table. With a final nod, the trio prodded it with their wands and quickly found themselves falling through nothing and stumbling as their shoes met the solid ground. Knowing on some intellectual level that they were not physically present in the events that they were witnessing, they still had to fight their instinctive reflex to duck the barrage of spells that seemed to have suddenly erupted around them. Hermione signaled to the boys to move to a better vantage point, and they followed at a swift pace to a surprisingly intact wrought iron bench on the edge of the pavement.
"We're in Hogsmeade!" yelled Ron above the din of firing spells and shouts of pain. Hermione blocked everything out but the sound of her best friends' voices. He pointed up at the hanging wooden sign for Honeydukes and the trio noted the amount of shattered windows and broken glass littering the street.
"This must be near the end," added Harry. The battle in Hogsmeade, lasting over several days, was one of the bloodiest in the war outside of the Final Battle, but also one of the last in the war. One the first anniversary of the battle, a monument to commemorate those lost in the all-wizarding village was unveiled in the village center.
Hermione was so accustomed to seeing it when she walked through Hogsmeade that she almost expected it to be standing tall in the memory as well. "Do you see Adam?" she asked loudly, shielding her eyes from the light of all the curses flying past.
"There he is!" shouted Harry, pointing just to her left, past a young boy with dark brown hair who was leaping out into the open to fire and back behind and overturned rubbish bin for cover. She caught sight of Adam just behind the boy, using as cover what appeared to be a chair on its last leg taken from one of the businesses.
A flash of ginger hair to her right caught her attention. "And there's Charlotte!" she said, indicating the direction of the matronly yet very agile old woman. They watched for a brief moment as she dodged the curses flying above her and returned a few of her own.
Suddenly a brilliant blaze of light exploded above the melee and Hermione saw through squinted eyes the boy from earlier rushing from his hiding place to the center of the street where the motionless body of another fighter lay. From her perspective she could see how foolish running out into the open like the boy had was, but she wasn't really in the position to judge anyone's noble stupidity.
"I think I see Mark!" said Ron, pointing at a huddled figure closer to them. It was becoming harder to see anything with the haze of spells flying from every direction and the smoke rising from untended fires. Mark was indeed fairing better than the others, able to get out at least two shots for every one that hit his postbox shield.
"Aaaaahhhh!" came the anguished scream of pain from the boy who'd run to help his comrade. Hermione covered her mouth as the smell of burnt flesh reached her nostrils and she fought the urge to retch. The boy, who Hermione now realized would have been about her own age in that year, was clutching at a massive singe mark on his wand arm and positively howling in pain. Hermione felt Harry's arm grip her shoulders as the boy did possibly the least intelligent thing he could have done-he stood straight up.
"No!" she yelled, forgetting that she was unable to warn him. The curses were soaring past in from every which way and it was only a matter of time before one struck him. One did in due course and it was impossible to tell from where it originated. The boy crumpled and fell onto the lifeless body he was tending without another sound.
Hermione felt the blood rushing up in her ears as though she were being submerged underwater. The face of Robert Henderson swam in front of her as she swayed to the rhythm of her own pounding heartbeat.
"Hermione…Hermione…Hermione!" Harry's voice pierced through her waterlogged thoughts. He was shaking her. "Hermione, we have to go!" he was saying anxiously.
She shook her head as though dazed. "What? Why?" she asked.
"Mione, look around! Mark's here, so is Charlotte and Adam!" he yelled, fumbling through his robes for his wand so that they could exit the pensieve. Ron was staring ahead of him and doing the same.
She did as she was told, searching through the chaos for the faces of those she knew. Suddenly she caught sight of another face she had not expected to see. Her hand flew up to her mouth again. "Luna!"
A/N: Read? Review!