(A/N: What with the Thanksgiving holiday, yet another business trip, and giving my beta a well-deserved break, this chapter has taken more time than I liked. I had a choice of a long, very late chapter, or a short chapter now and another coming soon. I opted for the latter - I hope no one's disappointed.)
(Disclaimer: After nineteen disclaimers, if you haven't yet absorbed the concept of my non-Rowlingness, a twentieth application probably won't convince you either.)
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"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
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XX: Queens' Gambits
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How in seven hells could Hermione ever think she's a liability?
In the wee hours of the morning, Harry sat on the floor of the darkened bedroom at Enthalpy House, next to Hermione's bed. He'd done better last night than the night before: he'd remembered the existence of Cushioning Charms, and had applied them to the floor and wall. He even thought he might actually have dozed off for a few minutes, sometime during the night. He couldn't say for sure.
It had been a wakeful night like so many before - and unlike any other. He hadn't used the time to plan his next "guardian angel" project, as he'd done on sleepless nights in the past. He hadn't spent the hours monitoring the wards, or checking to see that Ginny had tried nothing suspicious. He hadn't even spent the night worrying about the effect the Hallows were having on him, or seeking a way eliminate them forever - though Merlin knew he ought to have been.
He'd filled the hours watching Hermione as she slept.
It astounded Harry that Hermione might see herself as anything less than superbly capable. Oh, her flaws were real, and he was well aware of them; she'd made mistakes, some of them huge, and he readily acknowledged the fact. But as far as he was concerned, those were like smudges on a stained glass window, barely noticeable amidst the sunlight shining through.
Even in battle - who fought by my side at the Department of Mysteries? At the café after the Death Eaters attacked Bill's wedding? At Hogwarts? I told her the truth last night, there's no one I'd rather have by my side in a fight.
Except I'd never want her in a fight, because I'd be so scared of anything happening to her.
He'd begun to worry, earlier in the evening, when he'd Apparated to Enthalpy House - hidden under his Cloak, of course - and discovered that Hermione hadn't yet arrived, despite her leaving the Ministry a good half-hour before he had. He'd fretted in the living room, silently watching Ginny work the Daily Prophet's crossword puzzle, growing more and more worried that Hermione was roaming about, while minions of the Cartel Lords wanted to Obliviate her, or worse. He tried to comfort himself that Hermione could buy groceries anywhere in Britain, Muggle or Magical, so the chance of her being spotted was slim.
But that comfort had been dashed when Hermione'd arrived with groceries - and the latest issues of Modern Quidditch and Quaffle & Snitch for Ginny. Which could only have been obtained in a wizarding shop, greatly increasing her risk! Not until almost bedtime, when Hermione had mentioned to Ginny (undoubtedly for Harry's benefit) that she'd "borrowed" the magazines from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, did Harry relax.
And now, here I am, sitting on the floor watching her, as if she were going to disappear any minute.
He lifted his head slightly to look at her bed. Hermione carefully slept on one half of the bed, as she always did - as though years of married life had made a former necessity into a habit. The empty half of the bed was reserved space, as it were. Reserved for the husband whom Hermione couldn't divorce… but who thought nothing of pleasuring himself with another woman.
Out of nowhere, Harry remembered a complaint Ron had once made, just after the Quidditch World Cup: "Why is everything I own rubbish?" Harry had maintained a sympathetic silence at the time, not really having an answer to give. He had an answer now.
Because when anything good does come into your life, you whinging git, you toss it aside.
Hermione had told him of the breakup of her marriage, but the raw fact hadn't sunk home with Harry until Monday night, when he'd seen her and Ron argue… and she'd thrown Ron out, once and for all. Now, staring at the empty half of the bed, Harry found himself wondering if there was anything he could do to help - anything at all. He'd helped so many others over the last fifteen years; surely the Master of the Deathly Hallows could help here as well. But he knew, without needing to think it through in detail, that Ron's and Hermione's marital problems were beyond even the power of the Hallows to repair. Even when it came to simply breaking the power of their vows, so they could divorce… well, only one idea had come to Harry, and to his credit, he had immediately rejected it, with the deepest sense of shame. Ron might be a whinging git, but he didn't deserve to have the power of Death remove him from Hermione's life.
I have to be better than that, he told himself. He still stared at the empty half of the bed with a certain resentment.
Hermione made the soft sound, halfway between a sigh and a moan, that Harry had learned meant she was awakening. Harry's attention came back to her face as she snorted softly, licked her lips, and opened one eye. "It's safe," Harry told the eye. "Good morning, Hermione."
Both eyes opened. "Morning, anyway," she grumbled as she sat up. She was wearing the opaque pajamas again, Harry noticed - probably because of the change of season, he told himself firmly, and not as a sop to their mutual embarrassment. "I should shower and head to the Ministry early. I've a lot to do today."
Harry tilted his head curiously.
"Tomorrow's the opening session of the Conference on International Crime," Hermione explained, correctly interpreting his unspoken question. "Which Zabini, of all people, is chairing! If he's really in the Cartel Lords' pocket, the whole Conference becomes a pointless waste of time, at best. He'll use it to cover his tracks, or consolidate his position to the point that even with hard evidence, I wouldn't be able to prosecute him. He might even deliberately divert suspicions away from the Lords. So not only do I need to find that hard evidence… I need to find it today." She swung her legs out of bed and stood. Briskly she walked to one of the bedroom's bookcases (there wasn't a room in Enthalpy House that had no bookcases) and pulled a volume off a lower shelf.
"Ginny's Pensieve memories, I take it, won't produce any results in time?" Harry stayed on the floor, watching as she leafed through the tome.
"They pointed us in the right direction… they showed Zabini was responsible for arranging Swivingham's murder. And I already know who his, er, agent was … but proving it is something else again. I have to find a way to do that today." She broke off at that point, unusually for Hermione, and Harry wondered why she was reluctant to talk about it.
One possibility occurred to him. He tried a gentle probe. "You mean, that 'idea' you mentioned last night? Getting a Portkey to your target before he knows about it?"
"Erm, yes. I'd thought about owling him, with the envelope uncharmed but the letter a Portkey. But the type of business he's in, he's sure to have Secrecy Sensors checking his mail - much more complete Sensors than Filch ever used. So that won't work." Without meeting Harry's eye, Hermione tossed the book onto the bed. She stepped to her wardrobe and began to search for clothes.
"Hm, yes, I see your problem," Harry said seriously. "But there must be a way to deliver a Portkey without being spotted. If only you knew some bloke who isn't stopped by wards, and who had a Cloak that could keep Sensors from detecting him. That'd be brilliant."
The robes fell from Hermione's hands. She spun to face him, her mouth a round O of astonishment.
"I assume you were going to get around to asking me sooner or later," he noted matter-of-factly. "I just thought we might save some time."
"I was…" Hermione swallowed, the surprise on her face fighting with indignation. She cleared her throat and started again. "I wasn't going to ask you. How could I? You've made it clear you want as little to do with the wizarding world as possible."
Harry nodded in agreement. "But I thought I also made it clear," he added, "that I was not abandoning you, ever again."
Her expression turned neutral, but with a hint of speculation. "Not abandoning me means staying," she said after a moment.
He closed his eyes helplessly at that. He couldn't stay, couldn't be part of the wizarding world, not as long as the Hallows were intact and he was their Master, and she surely understood that. "Hermione, that's a discussion for another time," he finally allowed, opening his eyes. "Maybe I could sort of, y'know, be on call, like I am with Ted." He stood and dusted his backside, then met her gaze squarely. "Right now, though, we have a Portkey to deliver."
By the set of her mouth and the light in her eyes, Harry could tell that she was intent on continuing the discussion right then and there. He timed it perfectly: just as she was drawing breath to speak, he added, "And we're on a deadline."
Hermione closed her mouth, swallowing whatever she'd been about to say. Harry knew he had, miraculously, won an argument with Hermione Granger - or at least, postponed losing an argument.
After a long pause, Hermione spoke again, somewhat edgily. "The target is Swivingham's solicitor, Edwin Lovinett." She picked up the fallen robes and draped them over the edge of the bed, then found a scrap of parchment and a quill, and began to write. She didn't stop talking as she did these things. "Dennis Creevey connected Swivingham's death to a similar death after the First Voldemort War, and Lovinett was involved on both occasions. Oh, I still haven't deduced how he could have done it - but we've enough evidence now to bring him in for questioning. Under Veritaserum, and that's something else I need to do today, put in a requisition for Veritaserum."
She finished writing on the parchment, and blew on it gently to dry the ink. When she handed it to Harry, her voice had lost its edge. "Here's the address of his law office. When everything's ready, I'll give you a Ministry-approved Portkey - I'm sure you could make one, but I don't want him able to claim this wasn't an official proceeding - and we'll schedule when you'll use it. We'll have to work on a pretty tight schedule, but if it's done right, we'll corral Lovinett without anybody even knowing he's gone."
He nodded as he accepted the parchment, noting the address wasn't on Diagon Alley, as he'd expected, but on Queen Street. "Anything else while we wait?"
Hermione shook her head. "Not for you. There are other… arrangements… that have to be made, but I need to… well, let's just say I can't delegate them." Her face showed a moment of apprehension, before it broke into its first smile that morning. "But now, Mr. Potter, if you'll give a lady a few minutes' privacy, I need to shower and dress."
He relaxed into a responding smile. "Yeah, I'll go back to my flat and do the same. Call me on my mobile when you want me. Or send your Patronus - my flat's private."
"I will," she promised, then stepped closer to him. "And Harry? I really wasn't going to ask - but I'm awfully glad you volunteered. Thank you." She leaned in and gave him a firm kiss on the cheek. Then she stepped back, smiled warmly, and waited a moment, watching him.
It was all Harry could do to stand there in a daze, blinking at her - his brain seemed to be simultaneously frozen in place and racing in overdrive. His hand slowly came up to touch his cheek, where she'd kissed him.
Hermione's smile broadened. She made little shooing motions with her hands - he managed to kick-start his brain enough to take the hint. He unbuttoned his pajama top, unwrapped the Cloak from its usual place around his waist, draped it over his shoulders, and Disapparated.
*
When it came to breakfast, Hermione reflected, Ginny was perfectly competent - probably some remnant of kitchen training from Molly, when she was growing up in the Burrow - but though they made a filling breakfast, she couldn't help comparing Ginny's scrambled eggs to Harry's omelets, just a few days earlier.
(But really, though, there was no comparison.)
"Well, I'm just glad I'm able to help out around here," Ginny declared when Hermione had thanked her for breakfast.
"It shouldn't be for too much longer," Hermione assured her. "I want you to spend one more night here, just to be safe. Zabini is chairing an international conference tomorrow, which should draw his attention from anything that might have happened at your last Fire Party."
"Not that I saw anything that would have, er, compromised him, though - right?"
"Not that I could identify." Hermione finished her coffee in a long gulp, which let her drop the topic. "You could probably go back to the Harpies' training camp tomorrow, if you like. I'll give Ron credit for that: the more you stay with your normal routine, the less suspicious you'll appear."
"Um, yeah. Ron." Ginny pushed a bit of egg around her plate with her fork. "I know nothing really excuses what he did, Hermione, but…"
"I can't help but think," interrupted Hermione, smiling but with a certain asperity, "that however you were planning to end that sentence, you'd be better off stopping there."
Ginny cleared her throat. "Right, got it. Sorry, Hermione. I just want..." She trailed off.
"Want everything to be better?" Hermione's expression and voice softened. "Me too, Ginny, me too." She stood and carried her dishes to the sink. "Thank you again for breakfast, Ginny. Shall I bring back anything tonight?"
As Ginny shook her head, Hermione picked up her briefcase and Disapparated. Ginny busied herself cleaning the breakfast dishes, waiting to see if Hermione had forgotten anything. After a few minutes, she decided Hermione wouldn't be returning before evening.
Drying her hands, she left the kitchen and tried the door to Hermione's bedroom. The door opened easily, which was as she'd expected: from what she'd seen, the Imperturbable Charm was only used at night. Ginny didn't enter the bedroom; instead, after a quick glance around the room, she quietly closed the door again… before heading for her own room. She hadn't anticipated this turn of events… but if the years had taught her anything, it was to Be Ready. If she was leaving tomorrow, tonight would be her last window of opportunity.
And she would be ready.
*
Sheryl watched in amusement as a slightly befuddled Hermione entered their offices, glancing back over her shoulder. "Morning, ma'am."
"Good morning, Sheryl. Um." Hermione shook her head. "Grimble just asked if I wanted to be part of the Pumpkin Pool this year."
"Grimble runs the Pumpkin Pool every year. 'Whose pumpkins will be biggest by Hallowe'en?' It's his pet passion."
"Well, yes, I knew about it… but still, he's never invited me to join before." It's odd, how many people have stopped to say hello in the last few days, or make small talk, she thought. Odd, but rather nice, really…
She gave a mental shake and returned to the present. "Well, let's get to work. Sheryl, would you contact the Potions lab, and tell them I'll need some Veritaserum for a field interrogation today? I'd like it by noon, just to have some leeway. Then contact the Auror stockroom for a set of Patches - or no, send Creevey, have him contact the stockroom. Tell him to specify 'open destination'…I'll take care of completing the locator charms. Assuming this works…" she added in an undertone.
She barely heard Sheryl's acknowledgment as she stepped into her chamber. Once they had Lovinett in custody, and dosed with Veritaserum, they might learn how he'd killed Swivingham. But Hermione's experience in courtroom interrogation had taught her to only ask questions to which she already knew the answers.
When Harry called up Swivingham's shade, we learned that the Imperius Curse had been used on him, to make him kill himself. That's undeniable. Lucius Malfoy implicated Lovinett in the death of Castle, with the same modus operandi. That's equally undeniable. Therefore Lovinett performed the Curse on Swivingham, and therefore had to have a wand inside the cell. But I saw Lovinett surrender his wand to Nelson at the guard desk. Again, undeniable…
"He had to take one inside - but he couldn't have! Uurrghh!" she cried aloud, resisting the urge to pull at her hair.
Sheryl popped her head through the door. "Did you call me?"
"No," said Hermione, lowering her hands from her head. "Just trying to reconcile two impossible conditions." Seeing the interest on her clerk's face, Hermione waved her in. "Brainstorm with me, Sheryl. Lovinett had to bring a wand into Swivingham's cell. How could he have done it? You know the security charms on the holding cell block as well as I do."
"Yeah." Sheryl nodded thoughtfully as she entered the room. "You both had to give up your wands to the guard. Are you thinking he might have had a second wand? Most wizards only have one… at any given time, I mean… I mean, the wand chooses the wizard, and it's rare that a wizard gets chosen by two wands."
Hermione shook her head. "Even if he'd had a second wand, the security charms check for wands, to prevent them from being smuggled in to the prisoners. He couldn't have had a wand - not and get it past the guard's desk undetected."
"And Nelson may be a sloppy guard, but even he wouldn't have tried to hide a security breach with you standing right there." Sheryl chewed her lip. "What did he take into the cell? What did you take in?"
"That's just it. We didn't take anything into the cell." Hermione paused, recalling the scene to her mind. "I didn't take anything, certainly. Lovinett had his legal paperwork, but the guard's desk would have spotted a wand if he'd tucked it amidst the papers…" She blinked. "Inside his briefcase," she finished softly, her eyes glazing. Sheryl watched curiously as Hermione remained motionless, as still as a statue, for a long minute.
"Pumpkins," she eventually murmured. Her eyes clicked into focus again, to see Sheryl's bewildered expression. "Big pumpkins," she clarified, and couldn't resist grinning as her clerk's bewilderment grew.
"You… took… big pumpkins…?" Sheryl said, very slowly, still trying to make sense of Hermione's words.
"Heavens no, of course not. But big pumpkins tell me how the murder was done."
*
Enshrouded in stealth, Harry stood in the corner of Edwin Lovinett's chamber, at the offices of Gouging & Lovinett. It was getting close to four in the afternoon, and Lovinett had been in and out of his chamber for the last two hours, with no signs of settling down.
Harry fingered the Patch he'd been given by Hermione. The Patch was an Auror-issue Portkey, specifically designed for search-and-snatch missions like this one: an adhesive patch, similar to the nicotine patches used to quit smoking, save that this patch was infused with a Portus charm instead of drugs. This Patch's charm was set to activate three seconds after the backing was peeled away - Harry would have that long to slap the Patch onto some exposed area of Lovinett's skin.
Four o'clock, Hermione told me, thought Harry, or as soon after as possible, when the target is both alone and unobserved. So far, he's been neither.
There was a flutter of wings outside the room, as the afternoon owl-post arrived. A few minutes later, letters in hand, Lovinett entered his chamber - carefully closing the door behind him, Harry was relieved to see - and sat down at his desk. With a silent Colloportus on the door, Harry made sure that no one could unexpectedly barge in and interfere.
Cautiously, Harry left his corner and maneuvered behind Lovinett's chair. As Lovinett opened the first envelope, Harry opened the Cloak, just enough to bring out the Patch. He resealed the Cloak and held the Patch ready.
Out in the office's foyer, the grandfather clock chimed four.
In a single motion, Harry tore the backing off the Patch and slapped it onto the back of Lovinett's neck. The solicitor looked up as if stung, turned around in his seat to stare through Harry's invisible form - and vanished a second later.
Right, that's done. But now how are we supposed to keep the rest of Lovinett's office from noticing he's up and gone? I suppose I could create some sort of diversion… a fire, perhaps? Hermione said I could leave now, so she must have something planned, but still…
There was a pop of air, and Lovinett reappeared.
Harry immediately backed to the wall and readied his wand. Lovinett got away?! But no, if he'd escaped from wherever the Portkey sent him, he wouldn't have come back here! Was the destination warded, and bounced him back, or…? He considered his options… stunning Lovinett and side-along Apparating him, perhaps, but where to take him…?
Meanwhile, Lovinett had stepped back to his desk and was looking on either side of it. "Briefcase?" he asked himself, then "Ah." He lifted the briefcase from the floor, set it on the desk, and carefully opened it. He looked inside, then scooped all the legal paperwork from the desktop and unceremoniously stuffed it into the briefcase.
It gave Harry a moment's pause: he'd been watching the solicitor for two hours, and this was atypical behavior. His manner had always been exact, precise, and neat.
Snapping the briefcase shut, Lovinett started to pick it up, hesitated with his hand near the handle, then lifted the briefcase by its sides and tucked it under his arm. He started for the door. Harry aimed his wand, preparing a silent Stupefy spell, but holding it in check while he watched. Something about Lovinett was off…
Lovinett tugged on the doorknob to no avail. He took a step back and cleared his throat - ostentatiously. Expectantly.
He knows I'm here! Harry thought in sudden understanding. Oh, Hermione, you are the clever one!
He cast a Finite on the sealed door. After a moment, Lovinett tried the door again. It opened easily. "Thank you," he primly told the air, and headed out of the office. Harry couldn't resist following as far as the open doorway and looking out.
"I'll be leaving for home now," Lovinett told his clerk. "See that my appointments for today and tomorrow are rescheduled, if you please. I will, of course, be available in case of emergencies - but try not to have any emergencies, hmm?"
"Edwin? What's this?" A portly wizard, somewhat older than Lovinett, had appeared from another chamber. From his age and his familiar address to Lovinett, Harry guessed this must be the senior partner, Geoffrey Gouging. "I can't recall a time when you've left the office early."
"This afternoon's owls brought some distressing news," replied Lovinett. "What with the Ministry and its Conference on International Crime, and all. I've come to the decision this would be an excellent time for me to be… shall we say, unavailable?" He gave the other wizard a knowing smile. The man nodded appreciatively.
With an affable nod in reply, Lovinett continued on his way. Invisible in the doorway, Harry could only smile and shake his head in admiration, before Disapparating away, his own task done.