A/N: Hellllooo! I'm assuming you all enjoyed the last chapter (or rather, the end of it), and there's sort of more where that came from here. I'm sure you're tired of hearing me complain about my inability to write good fluff, so I'll not mention it again. And without further ado, the next chapter!
Disclaimer: I don't even own a little tiny bit of Harry Potter. Not even a tiny bit. L
Chapter 9~Missing Dates and Dinner Dates
Just as she had when she was a little girl, snug in her bed at her parents' Oxford house, not yet knowing she was a witch but merely that she was clever for her age, Hermione woke in time to greet the dawn. Morning had arrived and with it a sense that even with everything horrible that ha come about recently, there was still a potential for things to turn out all right. Sure, she had probably lost her job in the department she had helped create before her twenty-first birthday, and two suspicious murdered appeared to be mysteriously linked to her, but a slight rustling of bed sheets and sagging mattress at her side somehow managed to quell her worries.
"Hi," said the best friend that she had harbored more than platonic feelings for since before the Second War. He smiled lazily at her turning toward her on his side and blinking at her myopically.
Hermione found herself smiling back at his boyish appearance-his black hair sticking out at odd angles as if to defy all attempts of forced submission, his goofy grin with just the same hint of mischief as in their school days-and its stark contrast to his otherwise manly physique and particular involvement in their more than platonic activities the previous evening.
She couldn't help but marvel at how, despite the many times they had slept together (in the literal sense of the word) every morning-after had been filled with the sort of awkwardness that forced them to display those conversation skills honed by years of friendship. Yet this time, when perhaps it should have been awkward given the things they had done and said to each other for the first time, waking up beside him and finding that the best thing that had happened to her in a long time was not a dream, or worse, a tampered-with memory. Even yet another reminder from her conscience couldn't smother her good spirits that first morning she woke up with Harry.
"Hi, yourself," she returned, feeling more light-hearted than she had in years.
A comfortable silence descended as the pair regarded each other with mingled feelings of elation and fear. Years of little moments that brought Hermione and Harry to where they were that morning suddenly came into sharp focus-crimson blushes, glances that lasted a fraction of a second too long, boyfriends and girlfriends not quite up to standard, simple domestic acts designed to bring them into close proximity without fear of outside reproach. It seemed like they had been gravitating closer to that point for so long that they had been fools to not notice. If she hadn't been so deliriously happy with the outcome anyway, she would have given her forehead a hearty smack.
Harry broke the stare, rolling onto his back but holding his arm out in silent invitation for her to snuggle into his side. They released breaths simultaneously as they settled further under the covers. There was a lot to discuss, but Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in the same childish belief that if her eyes were closed then her troubles couldn't see or be seen. She couldn't help but grieve for her friendship with Harry; she had a feeling that a relationship with him wouldn't necessarily be a simple shift from friends to lovers, but more of a rebuilding of them as a unit, from the ground up.
"We should talk about it," she finally said, though she would have postponed the moment for as long as possible if she could.
Harry seemed to sense that or he happened to feel the same because his answer to had a hint of reluctance. "You're right, as usual."
Neither said another word, but Hermione's thoughts were running a mile a minute. She knew how she felt about Harry and she had an idea of how he felt about her, but things were said and done so quickly and without thought the night before that she had no clue where they stood together.
She flopped onto her stomach and began talking earnestly to her bed partner. "Honestly, we're two sensible adults. We should be able to discuss last night and everything without any problems."
Harry nodded, appearing a little relieved that at least Hermione's bossy nature was a constant in the matter. "We should," he agreed. "Where should we start?"
"Well, for one thing, was what you said last night true?" she asked, worrying the top sheet with her fingers and avoiding his gaze. This was the thousand-galleon question, was he going to take everything back now, or call it a mistake?
With every new second of silence, Hermione could feel her heart sinking deeper into her chest. Was he going to make some excuse to leave? Would he try to pretend it didn't happen or that it didn't mean anything? That's ridiculous, she chastised herself, still not looking at him, this is HARRY. Harry would never do that to her.
His insistent voice broke through her worries. "Hermione, look at me," he said. When she still couldn't bring herself to face him fully, he raised the hand that wasn't partially trapped beneath her and tilted her chin up so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Hermione, nothing would ever make me lie to you. I meant what I said last night with every part of my being."
A sigh of relief escaped her only to be replaced with unbearable curiosity. "For how long?" she asked, not needing to elaborate.
Harry pretended to count on his fingers. "Since about the time you and Ron broke up, actually. While I don't recall the exact moment, I do remember how I felt when you and Ron first got together."
"Oh?" said a rather nonplussed Hermione. Her relationship with Ron was so brief and long ago, sometimes it slipped her mind entirely.
Harry was laughing as he continued speaking. "Yeah, I thought that the dread I felt was just the usual fear of being displaced or forgotten if you guys were doing well, or the go-between if you weren't. It took me those few months to realize that I was really just scared to death that I would lose my chance with you."
Hermione was struggling to take it all in. Before she knew it, she had begun replying. "For almost all of those years at Hogwarts, I believed that although there were innumerable dangers out there in the real world, I, Hermione Granger, was still untouchable. The worst that I could do is get myself expelled.
"Gradually I realized that even knowing all of the spells in the wizarding world didn't make me immortal. The skill of quick-thinking didn't help in those situations where blind panic took over," she said with a sardonic chuckle.
Harry remained silent, sensing that she hadn't yet reached her point.
"With the thing in the Department of Mysteries and then Dumbledore's death, I finally stopped thinking in terms of the future, because there might not be one. I let myself think of you for the first time as something other than a best friend, the boyfriend of one of the only girls I'd ever befriended. And I knew: I was in love with you.
"For a while Ginny was my excuse for not telling you, and then the war, and then Ron seemed to finally notice me and I thought that at least he'd been with me through everything too. He'd understand me." She trailed off, hardly knowing what she had said.
"But he didn't," said Harry.
Hermione looked over him, staring into his green eyes and he gazed at her compassionately. "No, he didn't," she agreed.
"And then after Ron?" he asked, smoothing hair out of her face with the well-practice ease of someone who had been doing it for years.
"After Ron, it just never seemed like the right time. And I never thought I was good enough for you," she admitted quietly.
Harry sat up at once. "What are you talking about?" he asked, genuinely confused by her admission.
"Oh, come off it, Harry," she replied impatiently, not comfortable with getting into the particulars of her insecurities. "You are the Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Chosen One-you have a thousand titles. Who would notice Harry Potter's plain best friend who hasn't the danger of the Auror lifestyle or the glamour of professional Quidditch? I'll tell you who: no one." She stared at her fingers as they went to work unraveling a stray thread on her bedspread, worrying that she had said too much or the wrong thing. When Harry had remained silent for too long for her to bear, she glanced up and caught him staring at her with something close to wonder.
"How could you ever…Hermione, you are ten times the person I am!" he declared passionately. Hermione jumped and reddened at his exclamation, the beginnings of a smile forming on her face. "And those titles are just that-titles. They don't say anything about who I really am, and especially after all that we've been through together, you should know that it's you that's too good for me."
Hermione's face shot up eager to dispute this claim. She opened her mouth to do so when the reality of the situation sunk in-whether either wizard was "good enough" for the other was moot; they were together now and they had already wasted too much time getting to that point. Instead of replying, Hermione brought her lips down to Harry's in a searing kiss that required no words to communicate what she was feeling.
Harry's hands were everywhere, her hands were everywhere. These weren't the lazy kisses of a Sunday morning, but the product of years of pent up energy and forbidden feelings. She wanted to fall into him, anything to bring him closer. Overnight she had developed an unmistakably greedy desire-a deadly sin for certain, because if she wasn't dying or in heaven already, she wasn't sure what was happening-for Harry, and there was apparently only one cure: more.
Their kiss slowed naturally from one of utter passion to the kind of languishing embrace where it wasn't the sensations aroused but the meaning behind them that was of the utmost importance, the kind of kiss that heretofore only existed in the land of fiction. It was at the point of almost no movement between her and Harry that Hermione felt a hard pinch right on her bum.
"Harry!" she exclaimed in bewilderment, pullng upright and directing her shocked expression to his face. "You pinched my bum," she said, stating the obvious.
He shrugged innocently. "I had to make sure I wasn't dreaming," he explained as though it were natural for them to make that kind of contact.
Hermione's shock morphed instantly into mock annoyance. "You're supposed to pinch yourself to make that distinction," was her retort.
His ability to maintain his blameless expression was impressive, Hermione conceded, but eventually the pair burst into laughter moments later when Hermione's seemingly stern exterior flickered and died. Hermione felt as though with just their laughter, she and Harry had created some kind of haven where she was safe from having to think about anything that troubled her. That bubble abruptly popped when they were interrupted by the sound of Persephone's voice, calling for Harry urgently from the living room floo.
"Potter! Agent Potter! There's been another one-a code 187!"
Hermione and Harry looked back from the bedroom door at each other, their faces reflecting both disappointment at the abrupt end to their first morning together and anxiety at the stress in Persephone's normally calm voice.
"What's a code 187?" asked Hermione as they simultaneously sprang from her bed and began to retrieve their discarded clothing.
"Murder," answered Harry grimly before giving her a chaste kiss on the lips and hurrying to answer the call of his partner. Before he touched the doorknob, he turned back to her and said, "You should probably come too. It sounds like Persephone thinks this situation is related to the other two." Hermione nodded, noticing that he didn't name specifics; he was already in Auror mode. "Just give me a second to make sure Persephone is fine with declassifying this."
Without another word, he dashed out the door, leaving Hermione standing in a loosely tied dressing gown, hopelessly avoiding the dread that plagued at her mind: Who's next?
She steeled her shoulders and reached for the door handle, judging that she had given Harry sufficient time to get Persephone's approval to disclose this new development. When her steps brought her around the corner of the hall and into the living room, Persephone had clearly been instructed to wait for her arrival and looked positively fit to burst.
Harry's face relaxed slightly at Hermione's entrance and he turned toward his partner. "Okay, so what happened?"
For how keen she seemed to tell all a moment before, now that she had both Harry and Hermione before her, all the air seemed to have gone out of her. With her gaze leveled grimly at the sleepy pair, Persephone said, "Perhaps you ought to see for yourself. Potter, I'll have someone activate your portkey. But be prepared, Hermione. It's Mark."
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth but no sound escaped. Harry came instantly out of Auror mode as Persephone's head disappeared from the flames and Hermione felt behind her for the couch. She sank onto it in silence, feeling Harry's arms wrap around her but strangely thinking almost nothing.
Mark Bonner, young, charming, wonderdul Mark? Recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class, and one of her closest friends, dead? No, not dead, she thought savagely, murdered. Suddenly she stood up, inadvertently slipping from Harry's grasp.
"Hermione, wha-" he gasped.
She turned back toward him. "Harry, do you have the portkey?" she asked urgently.
Harry frowned at her abrupt moodswing. "Er, yeah, why?"
She sat back down beside him, taking a firm hold on his arm. "We have to go."
Wordlessly they argued, as they had so many times in the past, knowing that although things had shifted in their relationship, some things would always stay the same. Harry would have to trust that she knew what she was doing.
"Are you sure?" he asked, already anticipating what she was going to say.
"Yes," she replied immediately. "I have to know."
Harry sighed and stood up, offering his hand to help her. "Fine, but we're taking the invisibility cloak."
Not five minutes later, Hermione was accompanying Harry up the walk of Mark's building. Hermione noticed several Aurors dressed as Muggles loitering around the ground floor and outside of the building to keep an eye on things. One of them gave a subtle nod at Harry, who returned it and opened the front door as though he owned the place, carefully leaving enough room for the trailing Hermione to follow unnoticed.
They wound their way up the staircase silently, up to the fifth floor where Mark's flat was. Hermione was expecting utter silence in the flat of a dead man, but she was surprised at the bustle of activity by the undercover Aurors. For a moment, Hermione thought she spied the lime green robes of a Healer, but then she became preoccupied with trying to not be trampled. Harry bent down to retrieve something and stood up rigidly when he heard a most unwelcome voice.
"Agent Potter, right on time," said Doyle in unmistakable sarcasm.
Harry looked a force to be reckoned with. The stony glare he turned on his Auror counterpart would have made many a braver man tremble in fear. "What do you mean, Doyle?" he said, crossing his arms and unconsciously moving to block Hermione.
Doyle sported a rather satisfied grin. "Well, apparently the poison administered to Mr. Bonner did not take full effect before he was discovered. He's still alive and has been taken to St. Mungo's."
Underneath the cloak, Hermione practically beamed in relief. Harry took a step back as though to turn to her but he held himself in check. Doyle raised his eyebrows at Harry's behavior but said nothing.
Harry was saved from having to make a reply by the arrival of Persephone, looking rumpled from wear but still resplendent in her simple Muggle clothing. She shot an inquiring look at Harry who shifted her gaze imperceptibly to where Hermione was hidden under the cloak.
Rubbing her hands to together good-naturedly as though she and the two Aurors were meeting over lunch, she cheerily announced, "Well, since Potter here was so good as to report so promptly, I will have to brief him on the current situation." Without another word, she swept from the crowded living room to a door that she opened to reveal a broom cupboard. Harry shot a rather unenthusiastic look toward his partner at her selection for a meeting place, but nonetheless twitched his hand to guide Hermione inside. Persephone followed the pair and shut the door behind her, invoking lumos to light their conversation.
"He's been taken to St. Mungo's?" asked Hermione without preamble.
Persephone nodded. "He's in a secure ward there," she told them both.
"I should go see if he's all right!" said Hermione at once, already scrambling to make good on her word.
"No, Hermione, don't!" Persephone practically shouted. She glanced around furtively for eavesdroppers and lowered her voice so that Hermione had to lean forward to make out her next words. "You're already considered to be very high on the suspect list, and showing up to visit him when you're not even supposed to know that he's ill won't help you at all." The warning in her tone was unmistakable and Hermione visibly deflated at the implication that she was once again at risk for a murder-or at least attempted murder.
Harry felt her fear, having experienced that same false suspicion time and time again. "But she has an alibi," he said hotly, angered on her behalf.
Persephone's lips were set in a thin line. "At this point, with the way Doyle is sniffing around for anything and everything implicating Hermione, her alibi had better be airtight. Can you account for her whereabouts all night, or at least at the time of Mark's poisoning?" she asked, distressed for both her friend and the man that she held in high regard.
"Yes, she was with me. The whole night," Harry replied, giving his partner a significant look that made Hermione blush when the blue-eyed brunette glanced her way.
Burying her initial feelings of pleasure upon hearing the latest development between her friends, Persephone frowned deeply and pulled them even closer. "So you're together now?" she asked forthrightly as Hermione and Harry shared a bemused look, not having gotten to that part of the morning-after discussion. "Whatever," she continued, her assumption nonetheless confirmed, "take care not to breathe a word of it to anyone, unless you, Potter, want to be reassigned to a case that doesn't pose a conflict of interest."
Harry looked to Hermione, who, having already damaged her career severely, did not want to take Harry down with her. "Fine," he said, addressing his partner, "Hermione and I share a flat, so I can still account for her whereabouts."
Persephone nodded once. "All right, I'll stick to that," she promised.
Hermione placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Thank you, Persephone, for everything. I mean it," Hermione said feelingly.
A weak grin broke through the Auror's gritty resolve. "Don't thank me just yet, this is just the beginning. But you should probably get out of here before any of the others notice that Potter and I have vanished. I'll go out first and you follow when the coast is clear. And Hermione-don't forget your cloak."
Hermione nodded her affirmation, throwing Harry's invisibility cloak around her shoulders so that her head appeared to be floating. Persephone disappeared without a backward glance, and Hermione and Harry regarded each other with all the alarm they had withheld whilst in the presence of the other Auror.
"Hermione, this is worse than I thought," whispered Harry, running a hand through his raven hair. "I think you should lie low for a while, go to Ron's or something."
Hermione was touched by the worry in his tone, but she was determined. "Actually, I'm going to go to St. Mungo's and try to figure out who has been in the hospital's store cupboards. That might shed some light on how this person's been getting their hands on the hemlock poison."
"Absolutely not, you heard what Persephone said, going to St. Mungo's is too suspicious," he said resolutely. Hermione supposed that if they weren't crouched in their hiding place, he would have begun pacing at this point.
"No, Persephone said visiting Mark would be suspicious. There's nothing wrong with me going to my place of employment, even if I have been sacked. Believe me, Harry, I'm more discrete than some people, I know how to keep my head down." She crossed her arms impatiently, already eager to get on her way.
Harry mock glared at her. "Are you implying that I'm not the soul of discretion?" he asked with feigned indignation.
Hermione twitched her shoulders in a shrug, not realizing that they were invisible anyway. "Perhaps," she said with a poorly hidden smirk. "Harry, trust me on this, I'll be in and out as fast as possible."
He was silent for a few minutes as he calculated the risk. His green eyes flitted up to meet her brown ones. "You understand that I'm only worried about you, right? I don't know if I could handle anything happening to you, especially after-" He cut off, his voice filled with emotion.
"I know, Harry, I know. But you have to trust me," she told him in a wavering tone, bring her arms around him in a hug that she felt greatly fortunate to give without a thought as to how long she could get away with hugging him.
Harry jumped as her arms went around his neck and Hermione's face swam closer and Hermione giggled as she realized how strange it must be to be embraced by invisible arms. Even Harry was smiling when she pulled away.
"Oh! I have something to show you," he said in a rush, torn between staying with her and returning to the investigation. He pulled out a piece of bronze with impeccable shine and the words 'British Auror Department' enfolded within the wings of an eagle.
"It's an Auror badge," she said in confusion.
Harry concurred. "I found it right when we got here. I don't know if you noticed, but none of us are in uniform, so this was either planted or left by mistake."
Hermione was one step ahead of him. "If this was left by accident, then that might mean that an Auror was here when it happened," she said, surprised at this twist. "Doyle?" she asked uncertainly.
"Maybe," Harry replied, his gaze far away in thought.
"Could he be so eager to get me accused of the other murders that he would do this?" she asked, at once feeling more fear toward the mysterious Auror than she had when he was interrogating her.
"I don't know," said Harry darkly.
Her thoughts raced off in another direction. "Are there any markings indicating identity, like a badge number or something?" she asked Harry, searching the piece of metal in his hands.
He shook his head. "They're really just part of the formal uniform. We don't normally wear them on missions or anything because we're supposed to be undercover," he explained.
"But you wear bright red robes," she pointed out. Harry shrugged in a I-didn't-make-up-the-rules sort of way.
"Potter! Where've you got to?" came the gruff voice of Harry's higher-up.
"You'd better go," Hermione said, torn between staying with him and investigating the stores at St. Mungo's.
"Be careful," he said, unable to resist warning her once more.
She threw her arms around him once more, briefing pecking his cheek with her lips. "I will. I love you, Harry," she whispered to him for the first time.
"I love you too," was his quickly reply as she leaned back to throw the cloak over her head as well. He stared at where her face would be with a slightly glazed expression before muttering a quick goodbye and dashing off to answer to his boss.
~*~
Hermione had never liked casting glamour charms on herself. There was just something unnerving about a completely different reflection staring back at you from the mirror. But the truth behind the phrase 'desperate time call for desperate measures' ultimately quieted her inner debate and that was how Hermione found herself now with flattened blond hair and dull gray eyes, as inconspicuous a visage as she could manage. She would need it in order to sneak into St. Mungo's without being recognized.
She donned a blander version of her old Hogwarts uniform: a black pleated skirt that reached the knee, a crisp white blouse, a blazer so bulky that she looked almost like a rugby player, and a plain black cloak. When she looked into the mirror, she fidgeted at the gaze of the stranger reflected at her but she doubted even Ron would notice her in this get-up.
She took a deep breath, her brain to far ahead in planning what she was going to do once she got to the wizarding hospital to allow real nervousness. "Well, here goes," she told the blond in the mirror, and with a final cursory glance, she was out the door.
In the event that she might be pursued as a murder suspect, Hermione decided to travel the Muggle way and avoid leaving behind a magical signature. It was already a risk to enter the healing establishment in the first place; if she were caught she would have a difficult time explaining why an innocent person would be parading around under the guise of a glamour. That left Hermione with one option: don't get caught.
She was glad that her appearance and outfit selection was unremarkable enough to allow her to travel on the tube of muggle London without incurring too many stares. While she sat on the benched seat and fixed her eyes on one o the many advertisements lining the walls of the car, she wondered how Harry was doing at Mark's house. As much as she would have like to reminisce about their time together the previous evening and the glorious morning following, Hermione knew that she needed to focus on the task at hand.
Poor Mark, she thought, her anger at the situation returning. Gone was the helpless Hermione of her Hogwarts days, always looking to Harry for direction when the going got tough-she was determined to find whoever was behind all of it. If only she could find a common thread.
"Oxford Circus," came the bored announcement from the station master.
Hermione stood up quickly to avoid the masses of departing passengers, politely but assertively making her way through the throng of late-morning commuters toward the open doors of the car. Once out of the tube station, she was able to quicken her pace, forcing her nerves down with gulps of stale City air.
She had to find out who had access to the hospital's storerooms, but disguised as an ordinary citizen, she would be prohibited from that very area of the hospital. Since she dared not use her own employee pass to obtain clearance, she needed-
"Isabelle," she whispered loudly from outside the receptionists' window in the waiting room of her department at St. Mungo's. So far, she had passed through the hospital without a second glance from those around her, but she couldn't be too careful.
Footsteps from the cubicle behind the front desk signaled someone's approach. Hermione waited with bated breath, crossing her fingers that it was Isabelle and not one of the other receptionists she didn't know as well. She seemed to be in luck because the heeled shoes producing such pronounced footsteps belonged to none other than Isabelle herself.
Hermione released a sigh of relief as her friend ambled over with a courteous smile on her face. "May I help you?" she asked in her American accent with a glance around the half-full waiting room.
"Isabelle, it's me, Hermione. Look, I don't have time to explain, but I need to use your employee to get into the restricted part of the hospital." Her whispers came out in such a rush that they were barely audible, but the raven-haired seemed to get the gist because she was eyeing Hermione as though she were unsure whether to believe her.
Isabelle narrowed her eyes at the blond before her. "You're Hermione Granger? Prove it," she returned with her voice at a discrete level.
While she was glad that her friend wasn't fool enough to take the word of a stranger on something as important as her identity, Hermione felt a surge of impatience at this delay. She immediately set about wracking her brain on a way to prove herself. An idea caught her and she eagerly leaned forward to explain. "Augustus Pye fancies you. Last Valentine's Day he gave you a card that sang 'Light My Fire' at about 100 decibels." There, though admittedly anyone working in the office at that time would have known about that card, Isabelle claimed that she had only confided in Hermione as to the identity of the sender.
The younger witch blushed hotly for a moment before her receptionist's smile was replaced by a worried frown. "Hermione," she hissed, "What are you doing here? Are you crazy?"
"Have you heard about Mark?" Hermione asked, ignoring the questioning of her sanity.
Isabelle looked about the reception room at the curious pairs of eyes aimed at the two witches' intense conversation. "Get back here," she said at once, throwing a door open to the left of the window they were speaking through and bidding her come through. Once the door was shut behind Hermione, Isabelle aimed her wand toward the window, darkening the glass for privacy and turning on the enchanted sign bearing the words 'Back in five.'
"There, now no one will overhear," she said, turning to the woman almost as famous as Harry Potter himself and now come to her for help. Resuming the conversation, she said, "Yes, I've heard about Mark. It's all over the hospital, everyone knows-even down in research."
"Really?" said Hermione, surprised that the news had traveled so far in just a few hours. "It's not looking good and apparently one of the healers found the same poison in his system that killed that Mrs. Fairclough and your Adam Finnin. Some people are saying…" She trailed off, looking embarrassed.
"What are they saying?" Hermione demanded, disregarding her friend's discomfort.
Isabelle shuffled her feet. "Well, some of the healers and other receptionists-the ones who don't know you personally of course-think that maybe you've cracked, having had to talk to crazy people all day long. Obviously that just goes to show that they're clueless as to what we actually do here but-"
"I get the point," said Hermione, interrupting the girl's rambling. "Well then, I was right to cast a glamour to come here if everyone thinks I'm a murderer."
Isabelle gave Hermione a quick once-over. "You know, the blond suits you. I'm sorry I can't say the same about the clothes but we all have our dowdy days. Actually, one of my sisters used to have that cloak-and we're Muggle-born! Anyway, you said you needed my help?"
Hermione nodded, leading the other witch away from the reception room and toward the lifts that would take them to the main floor where Mark had taken her the day he forgot to lock the cupboards. "Yes, I need to you to get me to the storeroom where the hemlock poison is kept. If I can determine whether the poison that was used on Charlotte, Adam, and Mark was from there and who took it, then I might be able to get to the bottom of all this."
"How're you gonna do that?" asked Isabelle curiously, matching the blond's long stride.
Hermione's steps faltered momentarily as she realized that she hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "I don't know, I was just concerned with getting there first," she admitted.
With a feigned huff of shame on her coworker's behalf, Isabelle shook her head and said, "Hermione Granger without a plan-what is the world coming to? I suppose you could just look at the storeroom inventory records to see what's missing and maybe who was on duty."
Hermione full-out stopped again, causing Isabelle to continue on for a few paces without noticing. "Isabelle, that's brilliant! What would I do without you?" Hermione barely restrained herself from embracing the girl in thanks.
The raven-haired receptionist pretended to consider as they resumed walking. "Hmmm, you'd probably be out of a job?"
"What?" she asked, stunned.
Her face grinning wickedly, Isabelle replied, "Well, after Adam I knew that the last thing you'd want is to be sacked or put on a leave of absence, so when Powell came around to draft up your notice of termination 'for the good of the department,' I told him that you'd already sent in an owl saying that you were going to take a few weeks off until everything blew over so that you wouldn't drag down the department. He seemed to respond very favorably to that for some reason."
Though she was glad that Isabelle had managed to salvage what was left of her career, Hermione was still irked by the pettiness of her boss. She supposed that anyone's instinct would be to protect their own, but in this case that translated to the department rather than an actual employee.
"Thank you, Isabelle, I suppose I'll owe you a lot once all this is over," Hermione said graciously when they reached the row of lifts. When a car arrived, they piled in a with a half dozen others. Isabelle chose that moment to say, "Oh, you will, but luckily for you I accept Visa and Mastercard."
A few of the lift passengers glanced over curiously, having overheard the exchange as Hermione was sure Isabelle intended. She rolled her eyes at Isabelle's little joke as the witch giggled to herself. "Oh, I crack myself up. Good thing you grew up Muggle too, otherwise I would have no one tell my stupid jokes to."
The lift reached the main floor and both witches silently disembarked, heading toward the storeroom with the mentality that they belonged there. It was the same approach that Hermione's mother used to employ when they'd sneak into fancy hotels to use the pool when she was a child-the same approach that would embarrass her to no end. "Just act like you're meant to be here, Hermione, and no one will question you," she would say.
Hermione and Isabelle were nearly at their destination when their path crossed that of the worst possible person.
"Why, Isabelle, fancy seeing you here!" came Augustus Pye's enthusiastic greeting.
Hermione's eyes went wide as her fear of being recognized loomed closer. Isabelle skillfully schooled her wince into a politely surprised expression. "Augustus, how nice to see you. I was just showing my friend, uh-" She looked pleadingly at Hermione.
"Jane, Jane Grey," she replied, thinking of the first random name that popped into her head and hoping Healer Pye wasn't too good at his English history. She also hoped that invoking the name of the Nine Days' Queen wouldn't earn her the same fate.
It turned out that Pye must have slept through that particular lesson if he had indeed learned of it at all, because he rubbed his hands together pompously and said, "Splendid, splendid. And why are you touring this particular establishment?"
Isabelle shot Hermione a look that said, This one's all yours. Hermione pasted on a gracious smile and replied, "I was actually considering a career in medicine and Isabelle here was kind enough to show me the inner workings of the hospital."
Pye's eyes were now completely focused on Isabelle and she fidgeted under the attention. "Yeah, so we have to get going-"
"Unless of course you'd be so good as to show us the storerooms. I've heard they're absolutely enormous," Hermione interrupted, smiling flirtatiously and hating herself for using sexual innuendo to get her way.
If the new red tinge on his cheeks was an indication, it seemed that Pye wasn't as dense as Hermione had hoped. "Of course, anything for the sake of medical education," he said, beckoning them toward the storeroom door. He paused there, fumbling amongst the dozens of keys he kept on a large brass ring for the one to undo the lock.
Hermione eyed the ring, wondering how many sets of keys to the storeroom were distributed amongst the employees. She took a deep breath, daring to ask, "Wow, that's a lot of keys. What happens if you lose the whole ring and can't get in where you need to?"
To that Pye responded, "Oh, well fortunately my chief trainee Healer, Mark Bonner, also has a copy." His face fell slightly as he remembered the fate of the aforementioned young man, but his smile was back when he turned to face them again after opening the door.
Hermione forced herself to think of the task at hand and not how horribly responsible she felt for Mark's current state. She reaffirmed her vow to find out who tried to rob of her friend. There are only two keys to the storeroom, she reminded herself. And Mark has one.
"Here we are," announced the healer, indicating the scores of shelves with their labeled contents. "On this side, you'll find the potion ingredients for most of our antidotes. And over here are all of the equipment necessary for successful Healing." He beamed at them proudly, enjoying his role as tour guide.
For Hermione's sake, Isabelle smiled back and replied, "Fascinating. But how do you keep track of what comes in and out?" Hermione smiled, grateful that she wouldn't be asking all the questions. She had to give Isabelle credit-for someone who to Hermione's knowledge hadn't ever been involved with investigative work, she was doing an excellent job.
Pye was pleased that Isabelle was so attentive. "We keep detailed files of course, just over there," he said, pointing to a clipboard sitting on a nearby shelf with a rather large stack of parchment attached. Hermione's eyes lit up at the sight. "They're updated automatically to reflect changes in the inventory."
"Oh, how…sophisticated," breathed Isabelle, looking to Hermione for more synonyms.
Hermione gave a slight shrug, wholly focused on reading the parchment. "You distract him while I have a look at the files," said Hermione as an aside to Isabelle. The other witch nodded resolutely but couldn't quite hide the sour look on her face. Having heard the whispers of their conference, Pye turned around curiously. At once the witches pulled their heads apart and beamed at him enthusiastically.
"So Augustus, how are your trainee Healers faring under your careful tutelage?" simpered Isabelle with impressive ease. Hermione didn't even hear his reply; once she was sure that he was occupied, she slipped away unnoticed to seize her chance.
She grabbed the clipboard and turned her back so that her body would hide her actions if the Healer happened to look over. Scrolling down the list of items, she located the accounting of the hemlock poison for the past few weeks. She ran her finger down the row of dates, intending to go farther back to when Charlotte Fairclough was murdered, but she was greatly dismayed to find that the current stack of parchment didn't go that far into the past. In fact, when she squinted at the figures, there seemed to be dates missing. Hermione suddenly pulled back; clearly whoever had taken the poison had planned ahead well or knew enough to erase the record of its removal.
"Jane! Time to go!" called Isabelle's strained voice from a few yards away. Clearly she was not enjoying her alone time with Healer Augustus Pye.
Hermione jumped at the sudden noise and returned the clipboard to its spot on the shelf. She made her way back to the pair, saying, "Wow, I can't believe there are so many ingredients in here!" She felt slightly disgusted with her shallow behavior, even knowing that it was false.
"Yes, but that's just part of the allure of medicine," said Pye, apparently trying his hand about innuendo.
Both witches blushed in moderate embarrassment. Hermione was still eager to look around more, but without knowing what she was looking for exactly, now that she knew the information she needed had been covered up, she was at a lost. Isabelle appeared to be sticking it out, though it was fairly obvious that there were other places she'd rather be.
As they headed toward the entrance, Pye paused at another shelf and exclaimed, "Oh! I almost forgot. I have to enter your names on this." He brought forth another clipboard with a list of names. Hermione could just make out the heading: "Storeroom Entrant Name and Position."
"So…Augustus Pye, Healer," he began, with emphasis on his rank in the hospital. "Next, Isabelle Parker, Receptionist for the Department of Psychological Services. And…ah, yes, Jane Grey, er, No Profession. Is that correct?" he asked, showing her what he had written. Hermione took the opportunity to lean into him so that she could read over the list from earlier dates. He interpreted it as her trying to get closer so allowed her take all the time she needed to look over his writing. Swallowing her discomfort, Hermione blessed all those years of reading every book she could get her hands on; in a way, they had prepared her for the speed reading that she needed at this moment.
Then her eyes slid across something that made her blood run cold: her own name. It was recorded the initial time that she had come when Mark had accidentally forgotten to lock the cupboards, but also another time-a time that she had no recollection of. She also noticed that it happened to coincide with the missing date from the inventory records. Suddenly, she became terrified that maybe somehow she had been there, she had taken the poison. And maybe she had been responsible for all those poisonings.
Her head swam with the possibilities, and her mouth answered of its accord, "Of course, it looks fine."
Minutes later, the two witches made their goodbyes, and Hermione deftly avoiding a dinner invitation from the Healer. Isabelle teased her about it as they made their way back to the office but Hermione pointed out that he was just trying to make her, Isabelle, jealous.
"I can't believe you just did that," Isabelle said in a scandalized tone of voice, referring to the flirting that the blond used to find out information. "Seriously, he's old enough to be your father."
Hermione groaned. "He's not that old," she argued. "And let's not have this discussion. I have to go-so much to do. Listen, I can't thank you enough, really."
"Um, Hermione? One more thing," said Isabelle with her gaze directed near Hermione's waist.
Her mind was already miles away, planning how to get the investigation going, knowing what she had just discovered. "Yes?" she asked, pausing on her way out of the room.
Isabelle pointed. "Why do you have MEMORY written on your left hand?"
Hermione looked up and heaved a great sigh. "You don't want to know."
A/N: Worth the wait? Maybe? I'll get the next chapter out as soon as I can, but it may be a while….Almost done! Thanks for sticking with me so far!