(A/N: Some chapters come easier than others. This one, for some reason, wasn't an easy one. Here's hoping it does its job. The next chapter, I'm sad to say, may take even longer, but for Real Life reasons. I'll try to get it out as soon as I may.
Many thanks to all who have reviewed (and, I trust, will review). Double-thanks to my beta, MirielleGrey, who volunteered to beta even while on vacation, and who gave suggestions for the title.)
(Disclaimer: Fair use. 'Nuff said.)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
*
XII: Answers Beget Riddles
*
Hermione made ready for bed in a state of extreme dudgeon. Harry had not come to Enthalpy House in response to her message - he hadn't even sent a reply. So much for 'Emergencies', she thought disgruntledly as she doused the lights and climbed into bed.
Her head had barely touched the pillow before a flash of silver darted into her bedroom. It stopped in front of her face and took the form of a tiny silver stag. "I'll be right there," Harry's voice said in her head, and the Patronus messenger dissolved into mist.
Even as she reached for her wand to brighten the room, there was a tiny puff of air and Harry's figure was suddenly framed in the window. "Hermione? Oh, damn, I'm sorry, you were asleep. I'm sorry, but your message did say…"
"It did… I mean, I did," she said, bringing up the lights. "It's all right - thanks for coming."
"Um… um, well… it sounded important. I'm, uh, I'm sorry I didn't get your message… I was, er, out in the field, and couldn't take my phone with me."
"Playing guardian angel again?" Hermione began, before it came to her that Harry wasn't sounding very articulate… and couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. With a start, she remembered what she wore to bed this time of year - or more accurately, how little she wore to bed. Thin camisole and knickers, to be precise.
She felt her face grow hot with embarrassment, and tried to mask it with her usual brisk manner. "Oh for goodness sake, Harry, it's nothing you haven't seen before. Honestly, we spent weeks together in a tent, and you hardly gave me a second glance then."
"Sorry," repeated Harry, averting his gaze. But his lopsided smile suggested that he may have given Hermione more glances than she'd noticed. "I'll, er, just wait in the other room, shall I?" He made a quick exit, eyes averted all the while.
Five minutes later, wearing hastily-thrown-on sweats, Hermione came out of the bedroom to find Harry sitting on the couch, Bottlebrush purring in deep contentment on his lap. "Well, that's a surprise," she commented. "Bottlebrush doesn't usually make friends so quickly."
"Bottlebrush, is it? Hello there, Bottlebrush…" He gently scratched under the kneazle's chin; the purring grew louder. "I suppose you got him after Crookshanks died… what, two years ago?"
Hermione stared at Harry.
"There in your bedroom," Harry confirmed, nodding at the door. "You found him on your bed… died in his sleep, of old age. Well, he was old for a cat, or even a kneazle." He smiled gently at Hermione's astonishment, and held up his hand to display the Resurrection Stone ring. "I can feel passages, Hermione, like the old man the other night. I can sense… currents… where Death's been. The details aren't always clear, but the threnodies help sometimes."
"Th-thren…?"
"Threnodies." He held a finger and thumb a couple of inches apart. "Little things, kind of like butterflies, but I think they live on the same Death currents I can sense. And they sing…" Harry sighed as Hermione gave him a look she usually reserved for Luna Lovegood. "Right, you remember the thestrals? Most people can't see them, because they live in more than one world… well, believe me, thestrals are only the beginning."
She nodded slowly. "I do believe you. I do indeed." Hermione sat on the other end of the sofa. She looked searchingly at Harry's face, but didn't say anything for a moment. When she spoke, it was with deep concern. "And what about you, Harry?"
He understood. "I'm still in this world…" he said, but he looked away from her as he said it.
"And you're slipping away a little more every day… Never mind," she said quickly with a shake of her head. She didn't want an argument to start. "I'm just glad you came. I may have discovered a way to destroy the Hallows without your needing to die."
He quickly turned his head to face her again. "The Elder Wand is the main problem… it's the Deathstick, after all. And I think it even powers the other two. But we can't destroy it, Hermione - it's too powerful for that. And I don't dare just lose it, like throw it into the North Sea or something. It's like that ring in the Tolkien books, it would find a way to be found again. And in the meantime, its magic is still…"
"I wasn't thinking that," Hermione interrupted, pulling out the document from Croaker. "I was thinking more like, 'Return To Sender'."
She definitely had his full attention now. "The Department of Mysteries has noticed that it can't get into one of its many rooms," she began, unfolding the parchment and spreading it on the low table. "There's some sort of barrier across the doorway. I volunteered to help them figure out the cause, and they gave me these runes that appeared inside the room. Now, they interpreted these symbols to refer either to me, the destroyer of Voldemort, or to Voldemort, the destroyer of Grindelwald." She pointed to one rune: a bisected circle within a triangle. "But what they don't realize is that this isn't the rune for Grindelwald, it's the rune…"
"For the Hallows," Harry finished. "The same mistake Krum made when he met Lovegood."
"So the runes really refer to the destruction of the Hallows," concluded Hermione. "And given what I know of the Department, the runes are almost certainly on the Arch - the one in the Death Chamber." She didn't need to say more: the details of the room where Sirius Black died were surely etched in Harry's memory.
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "So I just hand the Hallows over to you, and you take them to the Death Chamber and bung them through the Arch, and that's it?"
"Er, no, not me," said Hermione slowly. "I can't get in - that barrier, remember?"
She watched as the hands stroking Bottlebrush froze in place. Horror began to spread across his face. "Hermione," he whispered pleadingly, "Hermione, I… I can't…"
"Only you can. You're the Elder Wand's master. Only you can get through the barrier - I'd bet it's there to keep out everyone but you. It's simply too much of a coincidence that the Death Chamber should seal itself off when the Hallows are united." Hermione tried very hard to sound reasonable.
"It's not just that. It's… I'm supposed to be dead. I can't go where magical people can see me… and I really can't go waltzing into the Ministry of Magic! They'd stop me… I wouldn't get anywhere near the Arch…"
"I thought your Invisibility Cloak…?"
"I, uh…" For a moment, diffidence overcame the anguish on his face. "I haven't worn it for the last few days, you know."
"This one last time, I don't think it will matter," she said in matter-of-fact tones. Inwardly, Hermione felt absurdly pleased that he'd listened to her. "Once the Hallows are gone, after all, it won't matter if everyone knows you're alive." She gave an exasperated sigh as Harry continued to hesitate. "We'll come up with some cover story, if you like. But you have to do this."
Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded.
Hermione wasn't reassured by his sudden silence. "Well, then," she said briskly, "let's get some sleep, and we can be at the Ministry tomorrow morning. Harry, you can take the sofa here…"
"Actually, I'm not particularly sleepy," he said apologetically. "I don't seem to sleep much these days… anyway, there are a couple more, er, 'field errands' I was hoping to do tonight…"
"No," she interrupted firmly. "You have to stay here." In a flash, she'd connected his reluctance and his sudden silence with his past behavior, and she saw what he must be planning.
"What…"
"I mean it," she interrupted him again. "I know what you're thinking: you're thinking you don't need to expose yourself to the Ministry when all you need to do is vanish again! It won't work, Harry Potter. You're staying right here where I can keep an eye on you!"
"Hermione…"
She stood to face him as he sat. "Do I have to chain you to that sofa?" she demanded.
Bottlebrush laid back his ears, hissed, and jumped off Harry's lap. Harry regarded her silently, a touch of grimness tightening his mouth. Hermione had a moment to realize that, if she'd used that tone of voice with almost anyone at the Ministry, they'd be scuttling to do as she bade; if she'd spoken to Ron that way, it would have guaranteed a furious shouting match.
But not this man.
He'd fought against bullying and abuse his entire life. Even when they were at Hogwarts, he seldom gave in to her bossiness. Harry wouldn't argue - but he couldn't be browbeaten.
When he spoke again, there was a faint but unmistakable growl in the edge of his voice. "They'd better be really good chains."
"Oh, Merlin, I didn't… I didn't mean…" Hermione's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Without input from her brain, her mouth began to work on its own: "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't really mean I'd chain you, but you were dead and gone from my life and now you're back and I can't give you up again. I'm just afraid you'll leave… again…"
By this time she'd sat heavily on the sofa next to him. She had to press her lips together to keep from babbling further. She'd ruined it, ruined everything, before it had even had a chance to heal… she'd let her anger, her anxiety, her pain control her, and they were driving him away as surely as his own noble intentions. She kept her gaze lowered, unable to meet his eyes, which she knew would be cold and angry.
So Hermione didn't expect to see his hand enter her field of view, coming to rest atop her own hand. "I'm not leaving," he said very softly.
She still didn't raise her eyes. "You did," she whispered.
"Yeah." Neither of them moved or spoke for a long minute.
"It's too late tonight," Harry said at length, "but we really need to talk." He paused. "I will be at the Ministry tomorrow," he promised. "What time?"
Hermione did look at him then. He gazed back at her solemnly, with a slight apprehension in his green eyes. He means it, she told herself, and felt the knot of tension in her chest relax. He said he'll be there, and he'll be there. The parallel to their long-ago interview with Rita Skeeter wasn't lost on her.
"Nine thirty," she replied. "You should wear the Cloak, at least at first. Meet me in the Ministry atrium." The relaxation in her chest made her feel almost giddy; she couldn't resist adding, "I'll wait for you by the big statue on the black pedestal. You can't miss it."
*
Saturday morning found Hermione standing in the Ministry atrium, next to the display case at the Potter Memorial. For the first time she could remember, it didn't give her heart a pang to view the large bronze statue. In fact, she actually found the items in the glass display case… well, amusing. I'm glad I transfigured Harry's "wand" back, though. That might have been awkward to explain.
She stiffened, but managed not to cry out in surprise, when she felt a small object press against her ear. Soft and button-shaped… it was one end of an Extendable Ear. Through the bud she heard Harry's voice in her ear: "I never looked that good in my life." She didn't turn her head, but gave a quick smile to acknowledge she'd heard him. A glance out of the corner of her eye showed exactly what she expected to see: nothing.
Well, a memorial statue has nothing to do with life, does it? Hermione would have liked to say it aloud, but for the moment, secrecy was still in force.
She turned away from the Memorial and towards the lifts, and felt the button recede from her ear. Careful to restrain her pace - neither faster nor slower than normal - she strode to the lifts, where a witch and a wizard stood waiting. She gave them both a smile and a greeting. "Good morning, Hutchings, Fenchurch."
"Morning, ma'am," said Fenchurch. They fell into the habitual silence that descends upon people gathered watching the lifts' numbers change.
"It… it's a lovely day, isn't it?" suggested Hutchings.
"It certainly is," agreed Hermione, slightly surprised. She'd had few dealings with Hutchings, who worked in the Floo Network Authority.
"Yes, we thought so, too," put in Fenchurch. Which was even more surprising: she barely knew Fenchurch by sight. Are they making… small talk with me? she wondered. Not that Ministry employees never made small talk, but they rarely seemed to do it with her.
Two lifts arrived; Hutchings and Fenchurch entered the one going up with affable nods at Hermione. She took the downward lift to the ninth level. None of her senses offered a clue that Harry was in the lift with her - no slight change in air pressure, no sound of breathing, nothing - but she knew he was there.
Arriving on the ninth level, she proceeded down the corridor to the black door leading to the Department of Mysteries. Opening it, she looked into the round, many-doored foyer, lit by its odd black candles - she stood in the doorway to the corridor and left the door open. "I'm Madam Granger, and I need to speak to Croaker," she announced.
Nothing happened. She waited another moment, then entered the foyer (inconspicuously touching her wand's tip to the door as she stepped through). Once the door closed, the foyer's walls immediately began to revolve, fast enough to blur their features. Finally the room slowed, stopped, and one of the doors opened to admit Croaker. He regarded Hermione, silent and impassive.
"I need to see the runes for myself. They're on the Arch in the Death Chamber, aren't they?" Hermione asked without preamble.
Only a slight crease of his eyebrows betrayed Croaker's surprise. "The runes you were given were an accurate transcription," he said after a moment.
Hermione shook her head. "The relative placement of a series of runes has as much meaning as the runes themselves." She took the parchment from her pocket and unfolded it to show the symbol of the Hallows. Pointing to it, she said, "This one, for instance, is centered on the Arch's lintel, isn't it?"
Croaker hesitated, and Hermione pressed her advantage. "And they aren't in a row, as on this sheet, but on multiple lines, yes? So a rune on the bottom line could apply to two runes on the top line, yes?" She said nothing further, trusting her point had been made.
Evidently it had, though Croaker gave no acknowledgement of the fact. With a tiny wave of his hand, he motioned her to another of the doors. He pushed it open and entered - Hermione following immediately behind - and called out. "Eldritch. Show Granger to the Death Chamber." With a final, unreadable look at Hermione, he took his leave.
Eldritch was… grey. No other word was as apt: his hair and beard were short-cropped and grey, his eyes unnaturally pale; even his robes exuded an air of dusty huelessness. But he was personable, where Croaker was not. "This way, Madam Granger."
Shortly they'd arrived at the door to the Death Chamber. Looking through it, Hermione could see the rows of low benches, and in the center the Arch. It had indeed changed since the last time she'd seen it, when she was sixteen: now the Arch was completely covered with scores of graven runes, glowing a dull red, like coals against the dark stone. But the black veil that fluttered as though in a breeze, even in the still air - that hadn't changed.
"So… this barrier…" Hermione said to Eldritch. "Is it merely a barrier, or is it more, er…?"
"Active?" Eldritch shook his head and stretched out a hand. "Not as far as we can tell. It won't hex you to touch it. You simply won't be able to get through." He drew back his hand and added, "Try it."
Tentatively, Hermione reached out with her fingertips. At the very center of the door frame, they stopped abruptly. It didn't feel like anything - it wasn't as though there were an invisible glass wall, or stone wall, or whatever - but her fingers would go no further. "I didn't realize the Arch was so far from the door," she said. "Do you have a set of omnioculars I could borrow?"
"Not omnioculars," said Eldritch reprovingly. Hermione recalled that omnioculars could record a scene; obviously, the Unspeakables would never permit that. "But we have a set of opera glasses," he added. "It's what we used to transcribe the runes for you. I'll go fetch them, back in a moment."
Hermione stepped away from the door as Eldritch walked away. That would give Harry plenty of working room. She tried not to look as though she were watching carefully… she was curious as to exactly how he'd breach the barrier.
Eldritch returned with the glasses in his hand. "Here we go. You'll probably want a chair to sit in as you read them. My own concern was whether there were more runes on the side of the Arch we can't see."
"If so, there's not much we can do about it," commented Hermione, taking the glasses. She hefted them experimentally, buying a minute more time…
"Yeow!" cried Eldritch. Hermione had felt it too: a wave of shock, like an electrical shock, passing through them. It caused them both to jump into the air and twitch for a few moments.
Eldritch was staring at the doorway. "That came from inside!" he cried. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a spell residue detector, like the one Dennis Creevey had used when investigating 'Jacob Clayman'. "Michaels! Brymston!" he shouted over his shoulder as he fiddled with the device. "I need the Number Two Analyzer here now! And bring three - no, four resonance jars! Excuse me," he added brusquely to Hermione, all but shoving her away from the doorway as he thrust the device forward.
Hermione watched as two more Unspeakables, clad in green robes, pushed a cart loaded with gear up the corridor to the Death Chamber. She imagined the looks on their faces when Harry Potter made himself visible in the Chamber, threw the Deathly Hallows through the Arch, and walked out to greet…
Suddenly, a cold weight settled into her stomach. We assumed the barrier and the Hallows were linked - that the barrier would disappear when the Hallows were destroyed. What if we were wrong? If Harry destroys the Elder Wand, and then can't leave the Chamber…!
Wide-eyed and speechless, she watched the Unspeakables assemble their apparatus… looking past them into the Chamber, waiting for Harry to appear, Hallows in hand, preparing to throw… if only she could catch his eye and warn him in time…
She jumped again. The Extendable Ear nub had been pressed to her ear.
"It wouldn't let me in," said Harry.
*
"You're sure you did nothing?" asked Croaker, as he escorted Hermione back to the Mysteries foyer. By now, there were a half dozen wizards and witches clustered around the doorway to the Death Chamber, all testing to see if the burst of shock-magic would recur.
"I hadn't even started making notes on my copy of the runes," said Hermione calmly. "All I'd done was touch the barrier, and Eldritch did so before me."
Croaker didn't respond, but he continued to eye Hermione with that unblinking gaze. She gave him little mind; her thoughts were on Harry's words: Having said he couldn't get in, he'd said nothing further. She wished there'd been some way to ask him questions, but even whispers would have been heard in that small space. Discussion would have to wait until they got back to Enthalpy House.
They arrived at the foyer to discover that another outsider had arrived. Blaise Zabini was delivering a portfolio of official-looking documents to two senior Unspeakables. "The passes are good for one week," he was explaining to them. "You'll be granted full access to Nurmengard, but you won't be permitted to remove anything. I couldn't convince them to permit photographs, but you can make all the tracings you want…"
Zabini stopped upon seeing Croaker and Hermione. "Everything else you'll need is in the packet," he concluded, with a charming smile. He accepted the Unspeakables' thanks graciously but hurriedly. He quickly turned his attention to Croaker and Hermione.
"So, Croaker old man, I see you've recruited Granger. Don't tell me she's considering a career change, from law to research? Not that you wouldn't be outstanding as an Unspeakable, Granger."
"Granger's been helping us resolve a small anomaly," said Croaker. "I'll let you both out now." Only an Unspeakable, in theory, could select the exit from amongst the identical doors of the foyer.
Hermione promptly strode to the proper door and held it open for Zabini… and, she hoped, for Harry. She'd unobtrusively tagged the exit when she'd first arrived, after all - Just In Case. (A precaution she'd learned from her first, illicit, visit to the Department of Mysteries.) The opportunity to score on Croaker and Zabini was simply too great to pass up.
She nodded farewell to Croaker, who remained standing in the foyer staring incredulously at her, and gently closed the door behind her.
"By the way, it would appear congratulations are in order," smiled Zabini. "I understand the witnesses against Jack Swivingham have agreed to cooperate fully."
"They have," said Hermione, wondering how he knew. Granted that she hadn't told anyone to keep it secret, the elves had only come to their decision the day before.
"And I must say, I'm impressed with how you convinced them," he continued smoothly. "In some ways, Granger, it's a pity you couldn't have been Sorted into Slytherin."
"Beg pardon?"
"Oh, come now, don't be so modest. Starting a rumor that Harry Potter has returned from the dead? Sheer genius!" Zabini applauded softly.
"I didn't…!" Hermione suppressed the urge to look around for Harry. It would be pointless: either he wasn't there, or he was invisible. Hermione fervently hoped that he was gone, and couldn't hear this…
"No, of course you didn't. Of course." Zabini gave her a knowing smirk. "Still, the elves believe it, and that's what counts, eh? They'd do anything for their great hero. Genius, I say again. I wish I'd thought of it."
Hermione looked Zabini straight in the eye. "You must be mistaken, Zabini. I have not started, or spread, any tale about Harry. Alive or dead." Are you listening, Harry? she called silently. I didn't do this! I promised I'd keep your secret, and I have! Are you listening?
Zabini cocked his head and regarded her curiously. "Well," he said after a moment, "it doesn't matter, I suppose. The elves will testify against Swivingham on Monday… anything else is superfluous. You'll certainly end with another jewel in your cap."
"Jewels in my cap are fairly superfluous, too," she retorted. "Far more important is the chance to clean up the seamier side of the wizarding world - and put the head of this filthy criminal cartel in Azkaban where he belongs!"
For an instant, Zabini's eyes narrowed. The smile remained on his face, but it had lost all pretense of affability. "I quite agree," he said. "Scum like Swivingham are a disgrace to the name of wizard." Then his smile broadened, and the bonhomie returned so quickly that Hermione couldn't be sure it had vanished. "Good luck on Monday, then, Granger. We're all looking forward to your victory in court."
He gave a slight bow, one hand over his heart, and strode briskly down the corridor towards the lift. Hermione didn't follow him… she was waiting until Zabini was out of earshot.
Then she whispered, "Harry? Harry? Please, Harry, come back tonight. You were right, we need to talk… Harry?"
But whether Harry had been standing beside her all along, or had already left, the response was the same.