(A/N: Longest chapter to date… but I doubt anyone will object. Thanks once again to my esteemed beta-reader MirielleGrey for her aid. Any remaining errors are, of course, entirely my own fault.)
(Disclaimer: I don't own Harry or Hermione, obviously. I'm just borrowing them from Jo for a few minutes. I intend to return them in better condition than I found them…)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
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XVIII: Behavior Modification
*
Maybe it's a good thing the Cloak started deadening my emotions again, Harry fumed silently. Otherwise I might've hexed Ron right there in Hermione's living room.
As it is, I'm still boiling.
After Ron had been sent packing, Harry had remained at Enthalpy House just long enough to see Ginny settled in Rose's bedroom, and to add an alarm spell to the extra wards on that room - to alert him should she leave the room in any manner, for any reason. Then, gritting his teeth, he'd Apparated to Diagon Alley for the first time in fifteen years.
Most of the shops had closed at dusk, but there were still witches and wizards mingling down the Alley. Harry had pressed himself against a wall, his fear of being discovered reaching almost claustrophobic levels. But he'd kept calm, looking up and down the Alley until he spotted Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ron lived in a flat above the shop, he knew.
He now watched the windows of the flat, as the evening wore on. One by one, the few remaining open shops closed their shutters… only the Leaky Cauldron stayed open late. The crowd of pedestrians thinned, until the Alley was deserted. Harry remained still, maintaining his vigil, until he saw the lights in the flat's window go out.
At Hogwarts, and at the Burrow, Ron had always been able to fall right to sleep. Harry gave it another half-hour, just to be safe. Then he walked down to the shop, drew the Elder Wand from the straps on his left forearm, and began to probe. It was much the same as Dumbledore had done, when he and Harry had tried to retrieve the locket Horcrux from the cave grotto: no flashy spellwork or incantations, but quiet probing of the defenses.
The Wheezes' defenses felt like a standard anti-Apparation hex, combined with an alarm spell and a couple of others that he'd never seen… probably unique, with nasty effects, given the proprietors.
In short, nothing capable of keeping out Harry. The barrier to the Death Chamber was the first I've found that I couldn't get through, he thought. Any other barrier… well, if they wouldn't stop Death, they won't stop me. And compared to the wards on Hermione's place, or the Ministry, these are simple.
He Apparated silently into the flat, not even a pop of air announcing his arrival. He'd had to guess at the flat's layout, and by good fortune he'd guessed right: he arrived in Ron's bedroom. Ron lay on his bed, snoring as loudly as Harry remembered.
Harry was tempted, oh so tempted, to awaken Ron with some nasty hexes of his own. But it would mean revealing himself to Ron, followed by the inevitable explanations. Harry'd been unwilling to do that, even before the evening's earlier revelations; now, he simply didn't know if Ron could be trusted with the secret.
Instead, Harry decided a little psychological conditioning was in order.
He placed a glamour on his own features, to soften them slightly and make him appear younger, closer to Ron's last memory of him. More glamours were cast around Ron's head, not on it but around it, to distort his perceptions into a surreal effect - emphasizing negative emotions below Ron's threshold of perception, like a milder form of a dementor's gloom. Finally, a low-powered Confundus charm insured that Ron would be uncritically receptive, unable to analyze what he would see and hear.
With that, Harry slipped the Elder Wand back into his sleeve and stepped out of the Stealth Cloak. Deliberately, he lowered his voice half an octave and assumed a stern expression - not hard to do, he noted. "Ron!" he intoned, laying his hand on Ron's shoulder.
Ron snorted and half-opened his eyes. "Wha…?" he said groggily, then realized a stranger was in his bedroom. He opened his eyes fully as he batted at the hand on his shoulder - and froze, the action uncompleted, as he recognized Harry's form in the darkness. "Harry?!"
"Yes," said Harry, still in that sepulchral tone. He said no more.
"But - but you're dead! No, this is a trick, you're the imposter who's been messing with Teddy Lupin! You can't be Harry Potter, he's dead!"
"Yes."
Ron's face paled. "Yes?" he echoed feebly.
Harry didn't respond, letting the Confundus and the distorting glamours do their work. He saw with satisfaction how Ron's eyes were sliding wildly from side to side, the whites showing around the edges.
"Harry… listen, Harry, mate, what is this? Are you a ghost? H-Harry, say something. What's…"
Harry decided Ron had worked himself into enough of a lather. "I left Hermione in your care."
"You left…? B-But Harry, it's not my fault! Well, not all my fault! You gotta understand, Hermione's got even more mental since you died. She's more of a swot than ever…"
"I trusted you," Harry broke in, "and you hurt her." He let the words roll off his tongue, like a Shakespearean actor playing Hamlet's father. "I am," and he paused for effect, "disappointed in you."
Ron was trembling now, breathing heavily and sweating hard. Good, thought Harry, and he leaned closer. "Stay away from her. Never hurt her again. Or you - will - pay." Without gesturing, he used the Elder Wand to cast the Somnius Spell on his quondam best friend. Ron's panicked eyes rolled back into his head, and he went limp on the bed.
Satisfied, Harry dispelled the glamours and retrieved the Cloak. When he wakes up, he thought as he draped the Cloak over his shoulders and let it mould to his body, he'll remember this only as a nightmare… but maybe he'll stop being such an arse with Hermione. God knows she deserves better.
He Apparated back to Enthalpy House, arriving in the living room. The house was dark; Ginny and Hermione were in bed asleep, then. A quick check of the wards on Ginny's room confirmed she hadn't left it. Harry sighed and glanced over at the sofa; he was a little surprised to see Hermione's legal paperwork still scattered over the floor and coffee table. He gathered them together with a wave of his hand. Once the sofa was cleared, he made ready to bed down for the night, still wrapped in the Cloak.
No, he berated himself, I need to get out of this Cloak. Hermione's right, if I wear it too long it'll damage me. But he wasn't about to leave Hermione to deal with Ginny alone, should the need arise - Harry still wasn't entirely convinced that Ginny wasn't a threat, either directly or as a spy. There was no help for it: he'd have to spend the night in Hermione's bedroom. He hoped she wouldn't mind.
He slipped quietly inside and closed the door before removing the Cloak again. Hermione was in bed, seemingly asleep, but her troubled expression showed she hadn't been happy when she'd retired. Another mark against Ginny, in Harry's book.
The pillows and coverlet he'd used the previous night were neatly stacked in the corner of the room. Harry sat down in that corner, where he could keep an eye on both the door and Hermione, tucked one of the pillows behind his head, closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to come.
*
The sky outside the window was slate grey, but growing lighter by the second; reddish highlights were beginning to blossom as Harry watched. It had been another sleepless night for Harry, still sitting in his corner, and he didn't feel the least bit fatigued.
And now he was beginning to be seriously concerned.
When was the last time I slept - a full night's sleep, not a catnap? Has it been anytime in the last couple of weeks, since the debacle at the Idée Fixe? If I did, I don't remember it.
I mean, I've done without sleep a few times, when I was out helping people. That little girl in her nursery, a few years ago… things like that. But this is different, this is… like I've lost the need to sleep.
It must be the Hallows, somehow. They're a tremendous source of power, after all - maybe they're energizing me, keeping my body from needing sleep. But why? And why start now?
Harry knew he should ask Hermione about this, and he would… just as soon as they'd dealt with the Cartel Lords, and Zabini, and all. One crisis at a time, he thought wryly.
He heard Hermione stirring in her bed, slowly returning to consciousness. She moaned slightly and began to breathe more rapidly… the remnants of some morning dream, Harry guessed. He was wondering whether to wake her, when her head began to roll slightly on her pillow - her eyes opened, blinked to shake away the cobwebs, and spotted him in the corner. "Harr…?" she began.
Quickly, Harry held up a hand in a plea for silence. His left hand gestured at the closed bedroom door. "Muffliato, Imperturbus," he cast in rapid succession. "All right, it's safe to talk - she won't hear a thing. G'morning, Hermione."
Hermione blinked twice more, yawned and came immediately awake - she'd always had that enviable ability. A sort of mental discipline that came with being a genius, Harry suspected. "Mmm. Good morning, Harry. Did you spend the night in that corner? That can't have been very comfortable…"
He dismissed it with a shrug. "Didn't want to sleep in the Cloak… and being visible on the sofa didn't exactly seem a good idea, either. Besides, this way I could keep an eye out… just in case."
"Um." She sat up in her bed… Harry noted in passing that she'd slept in long-sleeved, opaque pyjamas. "You don't honestly believe that Ginny's been planted here… that her story last night was all a fabrication…!"
"Yeah, well, constant vigilance and all that." He showed her the stack of legal paperwork he'd collected. "The less she sees, the better - even if she isn't a plant. Both she and Ron seem a little too easy with other people's secrets." He looked stonily at the door. "I don't think I'm ready to trust her with mine."
"Oh." Hermione turned slightly pink. After a moment she said softly, "Thank you, then."
He laughed, and threw back at her the words she'd said the night before. "If I can't trust you, Hermione Granger, I am well and truly screwed."
"Harry! Language!" she laughed with him. For a moment, it seemed that whatever cares she'd borne from the night before were gone.
But she turned serious again soon enough. "Well, I've still got to deal with the mess left by Swivingham's death. Are you visiting your dairy farmers again today?"
He nodded. "Just a day or two more... they should be able to cope with their problems by then."
"Of course. And will you… be staying here again tonight? I know you don't want Ginny to know…"
"Hermione, I want to stay as long as there's any chance that… well, you know… that you won't be all right. If that's all right." Harry gave a wry half-smile. "I like to think I can learn from my mistakes."
"I appreciate that."
"But, um…" Harry hesitated, wondering how best to say this next bit, wondering how she might take it. "As soon as the, uh, 'Swivingham mess' is done, I should be leaving again. For Greece," he added hastily, before she could take his words the wrong way. "I want to look around Greece… see if I can find that cave you mentioned, the one that leads to the underworld. If it's like the Arch, if it's another portal to the afterlife, I should be able to chuck the Hallows there."
She gave him a penetrating look. "You've changed your mind, then? I thought you'd still planned to hold onto the Hallows until you died undefeated."
"Yeah, well, that's still my fallback plan, but I'd rather not wait that long. In case I didn't mention it before, these things are dangerous." Harry kept to himself his worries about his lack of sleep. "The sooner the world is shut of them, the better."
"I couldn't agree more." Hermione was still giving him that look, as though she knew what he was thinking, even without his saying it… that she understood the danger the Hallows presented to him. After a moment, she continued, "And you know, the country's history is rich with magic - there are any number of magical sites in Greece to visit. Or so I've heard. I've never been there."
"Me either. Okay, then," agreed Harry absently. Hermione smiled slightly, and he suddenly wondered if he'd just committed himself to something without realizing it.
And was surprised, after a moment, when he found he didn't mind being committed, really. Not at all.
"Right," he said, standing and stretching, "So I should be off, I reckon. Back to my flat - Jacob Clayman's flat, I mean - shower and change. Let you shower and, um, change. Think you can handle breakfast on your own?"
"Oh, I think I still remember how," Hermione replied, smiling wider. She swung her legs out of bed, took two quick steps, and had him in a hug before he could react. "Thank you, Harry. Thank you for everything."
"You too," Harry mumbled into her hair as he returned her hug. It was not until much later that he wondered if Thank you might have some other meaning.
*
Hermione's thoughts were uncharacteristically disordered as she Apparated into the Ministry of Magic that morning. Indeed, it would be fair to describe her thoughts as chaotic. To go to bed after hearing the awful revelations from Ron and Ginny - to transition from a disturbing dream (the details of which remained maddeningly nebulous, except for glimpses of green eyes and black hair) to waking with Harry sitting at eye level - and now to racking her brains into some approximation of cognitive function upon arrival at her office. There was too much to be done today for her to be distracted, by anything or anyone.
Evidently, the Ministry had decided to be more than usually chaotic that day, too. Hermione walked into her office to find Croaker waiting for her. He didn't wait for a greeting, but pressed an envelope into her hand, murmuring "The runes have changed." He started to leave, but Hermione caught his arm.
"Changed how?"
"What had been a statement now seems to be a warning," Croaker said shortly. He looked deliberately at the envelope in Hermione's hand, as though all further explanation were inside it, and left without another word.
Next came the memos regarding the Conference on International Crime. True to the Minister's request, it was being convened "within the week" - indeed, on Thursday. And, as she ought to have expected, it would be chaired not by Magical Law Enforcement, but by the Department of International Cooperation. I have got to prove that Zabini's involved with the Cartel Lords before then, she vowed. If he's allowed to run that Conference, it might as well not bother to convene.
She penned a request to have one of the Department's evidentiary Pensieves brought to her office… paused as an idea struck her, gave a small secret smile, and added a line to the request before folding it and launching it into the interoffice slipstream. I can only hope Ginny's memories can show us something useful - damaging to Zabini. Of course, in that case, she's definitely in danger. Which means I'll have a semi-permanent house guest. Oh joy.
Finally, she received a visit from Grimaldi and Bones, the Enforcers tasked with finding Eddie Nelson. They'd found Nelson at the home of a friend… nursing a hangover that even Sobriety Potions couldn't fully cure. "One of his pals is getting married next week," Bones explained, "and it looks like the stag party turned into a drinking contest. Eddie smelled like he'd been embalmed in Ogden's Finest."
"Which he practically was," added Grimaldi.
"Hmph," sniffed Hermione. "Well, as soon as he's regained some semblance of coherence, take him down to Peasegood to see if his memories match his story. Keep me posted - and good work, both of you."
And all that was before morning break.
Once Grimaldi and Bones left, she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes wearily. It looked now as though Nelson wasn't Swivingham's killer after all… but in that case, she had no suspects. And Robards would certainly renew his suspicion of the elves, either directly or as accomplices. Although Hermione knew the killer had used the Imperius Curse on Swivingham, she couldn't tell Robards how she knew - without bringing Harry into the mess.
But it had to be one of the guards, she told herself. No one else had a wand! Unless… unless someone else sneaked into the cell block, and Obliviated the guard to forget they'd been there. Since Ferrers showed no sign of Obliviation, that means it was on Nelson's watch. We'll see what Peasegood finds.
A tentative knock sounded on her door. "Um, ma'am?" asked Dennis Creevey carefully.
She didn't take her hands from her eyes, hoping he'd get the hint. "Yes?"
He drew breath, as though gathering all his courage, and said, "I think I have a lead on the Swivingham death."
Hermione immediately sat upright and pinned him with her gaze. "Let's hear it."
Dennis came into her office and shut the door behind him. "It was something Mr. Robards said to you, the day we found Swivingham's body," he began, placing a stack of file folders on the desk. "I don't think anyone else heard but me. Something about it happening before?"
"Yes, an accused Death Eater, at the end of the First Voldemort War," nodded Hermione. "Sliced his wrists with a chicken bone, of all things." She frowned. "That does sound like an Imperius-induced suicide, now I think about it…"
"Well, I went back through the old records," said Dennis, his confidence growing with Hermione's interest. He opened the first folder. "Obadiah Castle, Dark Mark on his forearm, charged with eleven counts of murder and torture. But the records show," and he flipped through the pages, "that Barty Crouch had offered him the same sort of deal as Karkaroff. A reduced sentence in exchange for naming unindicted Death Eaters."
"In-teresting." Hermione snatched up the folder and scanned its contents eagerly. Dennis waited a moment for her to look up from the pages.
"By an odd coincidence, two days after Castle's death, another suspected Death Eater's case was thrown out for lack of evidence. The man claimed total exoneration, of course." Dennis slid the second file over the desk. Hermione's eyes widened at the name on the outside of the folder.
"And by a yet odder coincidence," concluded Dennis triumphantly, "they had the same defense attorney." He flipped open the second folder and laid his finger next to a name. Hermione slowly began to match Dennis's smile.
Her smile abruptly vanished. "But as you just said, this could be coincidence. It's suggestive, but it's not proof. And he'll be sure to point that out."
Dennis nodded. "So what do we do next? Would this be enough to bring him in for questioning, at least?"
"Yes, but to no purpose. He would deny complicity, we'd have no tangible evidence, and he'd walk away. And if he were the guilty party, we'd have accomplished nothing but to warn him that we suspect him."
"Veritaserum…"
She shook her head and tapped the folders with one finger. "Not without more solid evidence than this."
"Then what…?"
Hermione lowered her gaze and chewed her lip in deep thought. After a moment, she looked up at Dennis. "Well, first I talk to Robards," she said slowly, "and see if he'll give me carte blanche without explaining why. And then, Dennis, you and I take a little trip." She smiled warmly at Dennis's confusion. "It's only fair you should come, Dennis. This is excellent work."
*
The guard shut the door to the visitor's room at Azkaban, leaving Draco Malfoy looking around in puzzlement. If he'd been brought here for one of Weasley's gloat sessions, Weasley ought already to be present. Instead, Draco was alone in the visitor's room.
He was not to remain alone for long. The door opened again, and Narcissa Malfoy was escorted in. "What is going on?" she demanded of her guard. "I insist that you tell me!" The guard said nothing, merely releasing her arm and leaving, closing the door behind her.
Draco was incredulous. "Mother?" He took a faltering step towards her, then rushed to embrace her. "It's been so long…!"
The door opened a third time, and Lucius Malfoy was shoved inside. The years in Azkaban had treated him less kindly than the other Malfoys: as a convicted Death Eater, his cell had fewer human guards, and more dementor guards. His hair was unwashed and matted, his complexion sickly, his eyes sunken and haunted.
Lucius spun back to the door as it slammed shut. He was about to scream at the departing guard when he realized he wasn't alone in the room. He turned, saw his wife and son - and the embrace quickly became a three-way hug.
"My husband… what is this about?" Narcissa ventured at length to ask.
Lucius shook his head warningly. He rolled his eyes to indicate that they were undoubtedly being watched.
The opposite door opened to admit Hermione and Dennis. "Good afternoon, everyone," she said pleasantly. "Let me set your minds at ease from the start. I've dismissed the observers, and taken a few other precautions… I wanted to guarantee us perfect privacy."
The entire Malfoy family glared with undisguised hatred at the Muggleborn witch who had ruined their lives. "What the hell are you doing here?" spat Draco. "Couldn't the Weasel fit us into his schedule today? Or are you proving to him how much better you can be at gloating…?"
Narcissa placed her hand on her son's shoulder, silencing him. "What do you want?" she asked Hermione in more moderate tones.
Hermione gestured to the Malfoys to sit down, as she and Dennis took their own seats on their side of the room. "Not much," she told them, opening her briefcase. "A little information. A modicum of cooperation."
Lucius coughed hoarsely. "Indeed," he said, in an attempt at his old patrician drawl. The effect was spoiled by the roughness of his voice, which had seen so little use. "And why should we aid a sworn enemy? You can hardly expect us to help you out of the goodness of our hearts, after all you've done to us."
"Oh, no, the goodness of your hearts is far too small to be of any use," Hermione agreed. She pursed her lips in thought. "I could easily have got a Ministry order, doped you with Veritaserum up to your eyeballs, taken what I wanted - and returned you to your cell." Her cool look implied that the option was still open.
"But I thought it better to offer you an incentive - cooperation is so much more pleasant," she continued with more sympathy. "Which does raise a dilemma." Hermione leaned forward slightly. "Mr. Malfoy, as a convicted Death Eater - and ranking high among Voldemort's followers - you were sentenced to life without parole. Very little I can do about that, I'm afraid. But it seems you have information I want."
She glanced at Narcissa and Draco. "Mrs. Malfoy and Draco were never given the Dark Mark, never convicted of being Death Eaters. So they weren't given life sentences - and do have the possibility of parole. But sadly, I feel sure they were never party to this particular information."
Hermione looked back at Lucius, and couldn't suppress the superior smile of a person who knows she has the upper hand. "That's why I asked that all of you be brought to this discussion today. We can consider any information as coming from you as a group… and any reduction in punishment applying to you as a group."
Lucius stared stonily at Hermione, but said nothing. Narcissa and Draco looked hesitantly from the Malfoy patriarch to the slender witch who held their fates in her hand.
Dennis broke the silence. "Maybe we were wrong, Madam Granger. Maybe there are other Malfoy heirs to carry on the family name. I thought for sure old Draco was the last of his line."
Draco drew a hissing inward breath. "Creevey, you brown-nosing little…" His mother tightened her hand on his forearm, and he bit off what would have been a scathing retort.
"'Course, he's not begetting any heirs in here," Dennis added to himself, almost as an afterthought.
"Point… made," grated Lucius at last. "In return for freedom for my wife and son, then, along with the restoration of the Malfoy estates and assets…"
"Oh, those have long since been confiscated by the Ministry," said Hermione with a show of regret, "to help pay for the damages caused by Voldemort's regime. You might still have some savings in your Gringotts vault, which could perhaps be restored to you." She extracted a file folder from her briefcase and set it to rest on her lap. "In return for cooperation now… which may include court testimony under Veritaserum later."
Lucius Malfoy bowed his head in assent. "What do you wish to know?"
"The First Voldemort War… the one that pretty much ended when he was defeated by a one-year-old baby," began Hermione, watching the snarl pass over Malfoy's face, "you were accused of being a Death Eater even then."
"And was completely exonerated by the Ministry," put in Lucius sharply.
"And had your case dropped by the Ministry," corrected Hermione. "Come now, it was thirty years ago, you can tell me how you managed it." She nodded encouragingly.
Something like a smirk appeared. "By calling in favours, in some cases," he said easily. "With social status and influence, one can amass a fair few. In other cases, judicious amounts of money, to the right government officials."
"That surely wouldn't have been enough to clear you… if they thought they had enough evidence to accuse you in the first place."
Lucius's smirk vanished. His brow furrowed as he stared at Hermione, trying to glean from her body language what she wanted, what she already knew, whether she was bluffing. Hermione returned his gaze unwaveringly, revealing nothing.
"You must be thinking of Obadiah Castle," he grudged after a minute. "Yes, Castle claimed he could finger me as a Death Eater, but he must have known he couldn't support such an accusation. I suppose that's why he killed himself. His faith in Our Lord and His Cause was… lacking."
"How was it arranged, Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione asked. Her voice was soft velvet - with Damascus steel just underneath.
"Ah," said Malfoy, now knowing what the interview was about. Visibly, he debated whether he should continue to cooperate, or try to bargain again.
Narcissa moved slightly. "Lucius," she whispered, and he turned to look at her… and they communicated without speaking for a long minute, as by her facial expressions Narcissa pleaded for the fate of their bloodline.
At last, with a sigh, Malfoy turned back to Hermione. "Castle and I employed the same attorney. The man came to me the night before Castle died… told me that Crouch was offering Castle a deal, which would likely get me Kissed. And I was told that, for a sufficient… consideration…" He shrugged. "My attorney could make Castle, and the problem, go away. He didn't say how, and I thought it prudent not to ask. But it was done."
"You paid your attorney to kill his other client, in order to have your case dismissed. Is that right, Mr. Malfoy?" persisted Hermione.
Malfoy swallowed and said, committing himself to his path, "That is exactly right, Madam… Granger."
"And the attorney's name?
He made one final attempt to prevaricate. "Surely it's there in your records…"
"That's not how this works," Hermione reproved him. "Upon your own testimony, tell me his name."
Malfoy nodded with an air of resignation - an acknowledgement that the Muggleborn witch had won. "Edwin Lovinett."