Author's Note
Morning all! Here, at last, is the latest instalment - so sorry about missing last Monday! This update actually includes the Fifth Interlude, Chapter 12 and the Sixth Interlude, mainly because they all "fit together" and it also works out well because Chapter 12 is rather shorter than usual - but as always, my chapters finish where they need to…
Janie xoxo
PS I just have to send a huge, heartfelt "thank you" to the truly wonderful Kirsti - I don't know what I'd do without you, dear! xoxo
SORCERERS' NOOK
By JanieB
FIFTH INTERLUDE
In a dirty lane behind an old pub in the heart of London, a crouched figure was leaning against the wall being violently ill. As he straightened up, the man drew his tattered sleeve across his mouth. Once he was certain he wasn't going to be sick again, he turned to head back into the pub. Even before he reached the door, a harsh, cold voice sounded inside his head, causing him to freeze in his tracks.
`Arnold Fuller, I have something for you to do.'
Arnold's head swivelled madly from side to side, his eyes wide with fear.
`'Ere, 'oo's that? Where are yer?'
`That is irrelevant. You will go back inside the pub, you will go to the gents' and you will clean yourself up.'
`An' jus' 'oo are yoo to order me 'roun', I'd like t'know?'
Arnold's answer was an excruciating stab of pain that saw him fall to his knees, clutching his head as he screamed; then the pain began to spread slowly - setting fire to every nerve fibre as it made its way to his very fingertips.
The pain stopped abruptly and once more he heard that harsh voice. `Get up, go inside and clean yourself up.'
Arnold staggered to his feet, gasping in the aftermath of the most violent pain he'd ever experienced.
`Please,' he whimpered, `jus' don' do that again, all right?'
`At any time you disobey me or disappoint me, I will most certainly do it again. If you don't go inside this instant, I will -'
`I'm goin', please, I'm goin'!' cried Arnold desperately, stumbling towards the door.
The Dark One felt a sickening disgust at having to deal with such a filthy, stupid creature and a Muggle, no less, but he also knew it was necessary to use someone who would not be missed, as this derelict, middle-aged man would not be missed. And he needed a Muggle, because only a Muggle would be able to carry Dark Magic and yet not trigger the magical alarms in place throughout the Ministry of Magic…
*
CHAPTER TWELVE
In which Harry and Hermione discuss the night before…Hermione puts her foot down, but Harry is still determined to protect her and someone calling himself Neville Longbottom makes a surprise visit to Hermione's department at work…
Hermione woke the following morning feeling wonderfully refreshed. For the first few minutes, as she lay there stretching the sleep from her muscles and enjoying the happy haze she found herself in, she didn't give a single thought to the evil threat that was once more hanging over her head - and the heads of her friends and family…
Instead, her memory seemed to work backwards as it reached full wakefulness, beginning with the previous night; warm colour stained her cheeks as she recalled the unexpected kiss she and Harry had shared. She still felt uncertain as to just how it had come about, and she hadn't had time to analyse her feelings, nor was she confident that she was brave enough to confront Harry about his… Although, she mused, he did say he couldn't pretend it didn't happen. This thought sent her memory reeling back to the kiss itself and Hermione felt her stomach flip over as she relived the feel of Harry's arms around her, his hands pressing her against him, his mouth on hers, passionate and demanding… She shivered beneath her covers, although she was far from cold.
Thinking about that kiss was very unsettling, and so she forced her thoughts away from it and on to how wonderful it had been to walk in her front door and find a hot bath and delicious dinner waiting for her, courtesy of Harry. Before that, her mind darted back to her arrival home and her talk with Emrys and Verity…Hermione groaned softly as the rest of the day crashed in on her. She glanced at her bedside clock and threw off her duvet, steeling herself for the day ahead.
Seven o'clock. Good. I can get to work early again. She padded into her ensuite bathroom, emerging twenty minutes later, showered and dressed. She waved her wand absently at her bed and it began to make itself as she crossed to the door, taking down her cloak from the back of it before heading up the hallway.
Crookshanks miaowed "good morning" from his basket, stretching lazily, when she appeared.
`Morning, sleepyhead,' said Hermione, smiling indulgently at him.
She had just poured herself a cup of tea while her toast cooked, when there was a knock at the door. She felt her cheeks grow warm again as she thought, It's Harry!
`Come in,' she called, and Harry entered, wearing deep green robes and carrying his black cloak over his arm. Hermione found herself very aware of how good he looked and immediately felt self-conscious in his presence.
`Morning,' said Harry, his voice a little gruff with embarrassment, although he managed a jaunty smile.
`Morning,' said Hermione brightly to cover her own embarrassment, `tea and toast?'
`Please,' said Harry as he draped his cloak over the back of one of the chairs before sitting up at the kitchen bench, his eyes taking in every nuance of Hermione's expression as she busied herself, desperately trying to appear nonchalant.
`Did you sleep well?' he asked, as he watched Hermione pouring more tea and buttering toast.
`I did - very well. You?' she asked, risking a quick glance up at him.
`Hardly a wink,' said Harry cheerily.
Hermione's hand froze halfway between the butter dish and the toast on the plate as she stared at Harry.
Harry grinned at her. `But I feel fine,' he assured her.
`Why didn't you sleep, though?' asked Hermione, concerned.
`Too busy thinking,' replied Harry, without elaborating on what he'd been thinking about. `And you'd better keep buttering or we'll be eating cold toast.'
`Oh, yes,' said Hermione distractedly as she resumed buttering, wondering what it was Harry had been thinking about that kept him awake. Perhaps it was that horrid letter…or could it have been their kiss? Determinedly pushing the matter from her mind, Hermione reached across and placed two plates of toast on the bench, followed by two mugs of steaming tea.
Harry began spreading marmalade on his toast as Hermione walked around to sit beside him. After spreading marmalade on her own toast, Hermione picked up her tea before eating, sipping gingerly at the hot liquid and looking sideways at Harry. She felt a desperate desire for the whole matter of the kiss to just evaporate, conflicting with an extremely acute longing to talk about nothing else.
Harry smiled as he took a bite, turning and catching Hermione's eye, his green eyes alight with amusement - he could feel her eyes on him - and a lopsided grin in place. Hermione smiled back at him, wondering why butterflies seemed to have suddenly taken flight in her stomach.
Harry swallowed his toast, then picked up his mug and took a sip of tea before speaking.
`Feels a little strange, doesn't it?' he commented, proud that his voice sounded so calm - when in fact he felt the complete opposite.
Hermione nodded, knowing exactly what he meant, glad that he'd brought it up first.
`How did it happen?' she asked softly as she watched the steam rising from her tea. `I mean, I've never thought about kissing you before, but last night it just seemed - well, strangely, it seemed so natural.'
Harry couldn't help but grin at her as a wonderful glow spread through him. Natural? I like the sound of that Hermione! Out loud, he said, `I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I can't say I have any complaints.' Lame, Potter, dismally lame...
`I take it that was meant to be a compliment,' said Hermione, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
`Oh, definitely a compliment, although not a very well put one,' said Harry, abashed.
Hermione held Harry's gaze, determined to be as open as he was.
`I can't say I have any complaints, either,' she said with a tentative smile, cursing to herself as she felt the heat spread across her cheeks. She put her mug of tea down, not trusting herself to keep it steady.
Harry's expression became serious, his green eyes intense as they rested on her; Hermione felt as though her stomach had been replaced by a flutterby bush as she struggled not to look away.
`I'm not sure what happens next - what we should do,' said Hermione, the words coming out in a nervous rush.
`I think,' said Harry, sounding far more confident than he felt, `that for the moment we should just get on with trying to find out as much as we can before the meeting on Friday.' Harry paused, reaching out his hand and putting it on top of Hermione's, both of which were now tightly clasped together on the bench in front of her, and squeezing gently in reassurance as he continued. `And then perhaps we can go out to dinner on the weekend - depending on what happens this week. That gives us some time to - well, think things over, I guess. What do you say?'
Harry's eyes seemed to darken with some intense emotion as he watched her, waiting for her reply; he wondered that she couldn't hear his heart, pounding as fast and as fiercely as it was. Hermione felt a shiver of anticipation as she nodded. `I think you're right,' she said a little unsteadily.
`Good.' Harry took his hand from Hermione's and picked up his tea and toast. `Right now, I think we should finish our breakfast so we can get back to the library.
`That was always my line, wasn't it?' asked Hermione, somewhat shakily, and Harry laughed.
`What about your work?' Hermione asked then, hoping discussion of everyday things would help her begin to feel normal again.
`I sent a memo to my department yesterday while you were busy reading. Told them I needed the week off for a special case.'
`And they gave it to you?'
Harry grinned as he nodded. `One of the rare benefits of being Harry Potter.'
*
Lunchtime passed unnoticed as Harry and Hermione continued their search, ignoring their hunger. There was a lingering, underlying tension between them, although it wasn't unpleasant and it didn't distract them from the job at hand.
If anyone had asked him, Harry would have sworn they'd read nearly every book ever written. For her part, Hermione wasn't sure what it was that put Verity's book into her head as she ploughed through yet more vague references to an ancient evil and a Dark Realm. She thought it was quite possible it was because Verity had spoken to her again that morning before she and Harry Flooed to the Ministry. Verity had asked Hermione when she intended to speaking to them, and Hermione had promised to do so when they returned that evening.
So it was, as she sat poring over an old, fragile parchment that contained an ancient wizard's account called The Beginnings of Evil, the words she was reading brought to mind Verity's "Book of Records" as she'd called it. This very parchment mentioned a Booke of Recordyngs.
While she didn't imagine it could be the same book, Hermione thought that perhaps Verity's book, being so old, may have some relevant information in it and she said so to Harry, whose turn it was to write down the name of every book and each parchment they read, together with the information, if any, they found in them.
`You're not thinking of looking at that book, are you?' asked Harry, frowning.
Hermione looked very determined. `Yes, I am. Emrys said it wasn't created with Dark Magic - it's just that it has events recorded in it that included Dark Magic and that's what Esmerelda sensed. Besides, I wouldn't try and use it to view the memories - I just want to read them.'
Harry sighed. `I spoke to Esmerelda last night when I arrived home - or rather, she spoke to me.'
Hermione looked at him, confused. `What's that go to do with -'
Harry gave her a crooked smile. `This is actually about that book. I was going to tell you about it tonight; I didn't think it had anything to do with our work here.' Harry indicated the scrolls, parchments and book spread out over the table with a sweep of his hand. `But since it's come up - well, Esmerelda told me she wants that book because she thinks that somehow it could lead to her father's murderer.'
Her eyes wide with shock, Hermione gasped, `Her father was murdered?'
Harry nodded. `That's what she said. And she said the wizard who did it owned that book. And he disappeared after the murder and was never convicted.'
`How awful!' exclaimed Hermione.
Harry stood up as he said, `It is awful, but I don't think it's a good idea to go poking around in that book. We don't know enough about it for starters, and on top of that, for some unknown reason, Verity doesn't seem to want to tell us much about it.'
Hermione stood, too, her hands going to her hips, her expression one of fierce determination. `Harry, we've basically come to a dead end - every reference and mention we find is the same as the last - there's no real information and we can't seem to find any fresh leads. There's a slim chance there may be information in that book we could use, so we have to read it. And if we find anything about Esmerelda's father, we'll tell her.'
Harry shook his head. `I don't want you touching that book. I'll do it.'
Hermione's eyebrows shot up.
Harry ran his hand through his hair. `It's just that Verity originally asked me to track the book down because she said it needed a powerful wizard to deal with it.'
`I see, and you still think I'm not powerful enough, is that it?'
Harry sighed. `Hermione, you are a powerful witch, but there's no way I'm going to let you risk yourself.'
`If I choose to risk myself, that's my decision, not yours,' said Hermione tersely.
Harry knew he was getting into deep water, but he was determined to keep Hermione unharmed.
`Of course it's your decision. But we could deal with this book together,' he suggested.
`You mean you'll read it while I watch.'
Harry shook his head. `No, I mean we read it together - but you don't touch it, just in case.'
Hermione looked thoughtful, then eventually nodded, although somewhat reluctantly. `Which means you turn the pages, I suppose,' she said dryly.
`If that's all right with you,' said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his enormous relief to himself.
`I'm only interested in reading it, so I suppose that's fine,' said Hermione. While exasperated with what she saw as Harry's over-protectiveness, she couldn't help but feel suffused with a curiously delightful warmth at the same time. `Let's go,' she said, telling herself she didn't have time to delve too deeply into the why of that feeling…
Just then, an inter-departmental memo flew out of the fireplace and landed on Hermione's desk. She picked it up and began unfolding it as she walked around her desk. She stopped when she reached Harry, looking up him, her expression puzzled.
`Apparently Neville's here to see me and says it's urgent. He's next door, at reception.'
`We'd better go and see him first, then,' said Harry. `I wonder what it's about?'
*
SIXTH INTERLUDE
Arnold Fuller stood before a heavily graffitied wall, trembling. Since that morning, when the terrible voice had first spoken to him, he'd done things he hadn't done for a long time. For instance, he'd not had a single ale all day and he'd had a bath and put on clean clothes, bought with money that the voice had said he'd find in his pocket (and he had!). He'd eaten an early lunch - at the strangest pub he'd ever been in, where things floated, the customers wore very peculiar clothes (whilst staring at his) and holding conversations that made no sense. And he'd seen things he still didn't understand. After eating, he left through the back door and had then gone through an arch that had appeared out of nowhere in a solid brick wall before walking down the most unlikely street with a myriad of impossible shops. But he'd only been to two - Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and a junk shop. He'd been fitted for what the squat, rather untidy woman had called, `Very handsome robes, sir!', for which he'd paid with the oddest money he'd ever seen. The money had appeared in his pocket earlier, accompanied by a soft "pop". Then he'd been directed to the junk shop where, quite bewildered, he'd purchased a second-hand wand and a small, lethal looking dagger that had an entwined snake wrought in silver for a handle and a tag that assured the purchaser it was "Muggle Made". He'd tucked the wand and knife into a special pocket on the inside of his new robes. The knife he could understand - but the wand? He was left wondering if he'd gone totally crackers and just didn't know it…
Then the hideous voice had directed him here - to a street of shabby-looking buildings. And an old red telephone box with several panes of glass missing.
`Go into the telephone box and dial six-two-four-four-two.'
Arnold shuddered. The voice terrified him - but the memory of the pain that had been inflicted on him that morning terrified him even more; he stepped up to the telephone box and pulled open the door. He stared at the telephone apparatus that was hanging crookedly from the wall. It was an old-style dial telephone; he hadn't seen one like it for years. As he moved forward and picked up the receiver, he wondered if it would work.
`Six, two, four, four, two,' he muttered under his breath as he dialled each number. As the dial whirred smoothly back into place after the last number, a cool female spoke, making him jump and yelp in fright.
`Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.'
Arnold's mouth dropped open. Had he heard right? The Ministry of Magic?
`Tell her your name is Neville Longbottom,' said the cold voice, `and tell her you're here to make an inquiry at the Department of Magical Research.'
Arnold was stunned. What kind of name was Neville Longbottom? And on top of everything else he'd experienced today, he was now making an inquiry at the Department of Magical Research? What the hell -?
`Speak!' ordered the voice and Arthur jumped again. Deciding it was best to ignore what he didn't understand, he dutifully repeated his instructions.
`Thank you,' said the cool female voice, `Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.'
A square silver badge slid out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked it up; it said, "Neville Longbottom, Inquiry, Dept of Magical Research".
`Visitor to the Ministry,' said the female voice, drawing a high-pitched, `What?' from Arnold before it continued as though he'd not spoken, `you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.'
While Arnold was frantically trying to decipher what he'd just heard, wondering what an Atrium was and how he'd get there, the floor of the telephone box shuddered and began sinking slowly into the ground, accompanied by a dull grinding noise. His knees trembled as the pavement rose around him until he was in complete darkness, while the telephone box continued its downward journey, a journey that seemed far longer than in fact it was.
He gasped in fright as a bright light suddenly appeared at his feet, growing until the door of the telephone box sprang open and he heard the woman's voice say, `The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day.'
`Walk to the other end,' ordered the voice in his head. Arnold stepped timidly out of the telephone box, gaping at the sight before him. He was looking down a long hall and his head ached at the sight of more impossible things - gleaming golden symbols on a peacock blue ceiling that kept moving and changing - gilded fireplaces that people either disappeared into or came out of - and before he could stop himself, he thought at the voice in his head, `What is this place?'
`It's the Ministry of Magic. Now walk! At the other end there is a desk on the left hand side where you have to stop.'
Arnold stumbled along, his mouth open as he gaped at everything around him. He thought vaguely it was a good thing he was wearing these strange clothes because at least he didn't look out of place. He passed a fountain that made him shake his head - statues of strange figures standing in a circle, facing outwards - and then he spotted the sign that said "Security" to the left of a set of golden gates.
He had no idea what he was to do here, but the man behind the desk peered at his badge and, apparently satisfied, held out his hand and said crisply, `Wand, please.'
Arnold stared at him uncomprehendingly.
`Give him your wand,' hissed the voice inside his head.
Arthur reached inside his robes and drew out the wand he'd acquired earlier and put it in the outstretched, waiting hand. He watched as the man put it on what looked like some scales, which vibrated briefly before a narrow piece of paper was spat out of a slit in the base at high speed. Arnold thought it resembled a shopping docket.
`Twelve inches, beech. Hmm, in use only three hours?'
`Tell him your old wand was damaged and you've just purchased this replacement.'
`My, uh, old wand was, uh, damaged and -'
The man nodded impatiently. `Had to buy a replacement. Fine. Stand over here.'
Arnold moved closer and the man passed a long, thin flexible rod all over him.
He then handed the wand back to him and said dismissively, `Department of Magical Research, Level One, Black Door,' before turning back to the ledger he'd been writing in.
`Move!' said the voice in his head impatiently. Arnold was sure he could hear suppressed excitement in the voice, too, and a cold trickle of fear worked its way down to his toes.
As he walked through the golden gates to another hall, this one much smaller, Arnold felt a moment's relief at the sight of twenty lifts - something he recognised, although these ones did look very old. However, when one opened and two short, rather grotesque looking beings emerged, talking loudly about dragons, Arnold's relief evaporated instantly.
`Get in!'
Arnold walked forward into the lift, although his head turned as he followed the two dragon discussers - he literally couldn't take his eyes off them.
Fortunately for him, he was alone in the lift - except for two lilac paper aeroplanes that zoomed in at the last second before the grill slid shut with a crash. He stood with his head back, watching them as they flapped around the lamp hanging from the lift's ceiling.
He was perhaps beyond being capable of taking in any more strange things and occurrences as he barely registered the woman's voice that announced each level, or the paper aeroplanes that zoomed in and out each time the grill opened. He'd giggled hysterically when he'd noticed they had "Ministry of Magic" stamped along the edge of their wings; the voice in his head warned him to be quiet, or else, and he quickly swallowed his hysteria.
When the woman's voice announced, "Level One, Department of Magical Research and Library for Magical Research, including the Departmental Armarium," the voice in his head directed him to leave the lift and head for the black door. Arnold automatically glanced at the sign above the door. "Department of Magical Research."
Now what? he wondered.
`You knock,' said the voice, so knock he did.
The door opened with a musical, `Good afternoon, welcome to the Department of Magical Research. Please come in.'
A desk, just inside the door and to Arnold's left, had a thick piece of parchment floating just above the surface at the front with the words, "Research Reception - Lucy Cloud" on it. The young, dark-blonde witch behind the desk looked up as Arnold entered and smiled at him, her hazel eyes friendly.
`Can I help you, sir?' she asked brightly.
`Tell her you wish to see Hermione Granger,' the voice instructed him.
`I'm afraid Miss Granger is in the library, at the moment,' the young witch told him after he'd repeated his request.
`Ask if it's possible to see her there, then.'
Arnold asked, but was told it wasn't possible - the public weren't allowed in the library. He cringed at the curses that reverberated in his head on hearing this and as they continued, he looked hopelessly at the young witch.
`How about I send her a memo and let her know you're here?' She drew a piece of lilac parchment towards her from a neat pile on the side of her desk. `What name shall I say?' she asked.
Repeating what the voice told him, Arnold watched as the young witch wrote, "To Hermione: Neville Longbottom is here to see you and says it's urgent. Lucy."
`You can wait over there,' Arnold was told, Lucy indicating a couple of armchairs opposite her desk.
Arnold crossed to them and sat down, picking up a newspaper on a table beside the armchair, nearly dropping it again when he saw the people in a photograph on the front page were moving.
`So what next?' he muttered quietly, wondering who Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom were.
The words that resounded in his head made him break out in an instant sweat. All his limbs began to tremble and his throat constricted with overwhelming nausea and a terrible fear.
`When Hermione Granger comes in that door, you take the knife from inside your robes and you kill her.'
TO BE CONTINUED…
Author's Note
Hmmm…I suppose that ending could qualify as a "cliffie", couldn't it? Guess I'd better make sure I don't miss updating next Monday…
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