(A/N: A shorter chapter, to whet your appetite. Once again, my thanks to all those who read and review: you help me temper my craft, and I am deeply in your debt. As for those who read and don't review: I know you're out there, I can hear you breathing.
Fullest gratitude, of course, must go to MirielleGrey, my trusty Beta. Any mistakes remaining are solely my own fault.)
(Disclaimer: Yes, this story was written by J.K. Rowling. On even-numbered days. On odd-numbered days it was written by Lewis Carroll. Oh, and on Leap Day it was written by Jean-Paul Sartre. Sheesh.)
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"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
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XXIII: A Page from Machiavelli
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No, Ginny thought wildly, practically hyperventilating as she flipped through the photographs, it's not possible. It can't be. It can't. It CAN'T…
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If Harry had been nervous being in her office late Tuesday night, when all other Ministry employees had left for the evening, he was three times as nervous being in her office early Thursday morning, with people already beginning to arrive for work - not to mention the bustle of preparation for an international Conference. Hermione had to repeatedly bring his attention back to the issue at hand. "Do no Ministry elves work in the Department of Mysteries, then?"
"Some do, Miss Hermione," answered Canby. His professional demeanor was actually quite remarkable, considering that he was in the same room with The Witch Who Won and The Defender of House-Elves. "But Mysterious elves don't associate with other Ministry elves. They are like Unspeakables that way."
"So no way of knowing whether they've been inside the Death Chamber since the barrier went up, then?" she pressed. Regretfully, Canby shook his head.
"Which means we're back to Plan B," said Harry. He wore the Stealth Cloak, with only his head uncovered - ready to vanish in an instant should a stranger approach. It was very odd, talking to a disembodied head, but Hermione refused to let it bother her. "We ignore the door, blast a hole through the wall and enter the Chamber that way."
Hermione nodded reluctantly. "The Conference is scheduled to convene at ten," she noted. "It'll take a few minutes for the speeches and all to be thoroughly underway. This being the opening session, I imagine some of the senior Unspeakables will attend - that should thin the ranks inside the Department, if only a little." Her eyes flicked to Canby. "Canby, you may be required to provide a distraction while Harry tries to get into the Chamber. Are you certain you're willing to, well, let the Ministry be damaged…?"
"Canby is paid by the Ministry," the elf replied proudly. "Canby works for the Wizengamot Senior Counsel. Canby does what Miss Hermione says."
She couldn't help smiling, even as she sighed and shook her head. Elves rarely gave their loyalty to an abstraction, like justice or the Ministry; she'd tried hard enough to appeal to that with Swivingham's "working elves", Brillig and the others, but with only limited success. No, their loyalty was intensely personal, as Dobby's had been to Harry. She ought to have known that Canby would attach himself to her.
I have to be careful not to take advantage of that, she reminded herself firmly.
"Right, then. We'll wait until after ten before we try anything. In the meantime…" Harry looked with some agitation at the closed door. "Is there some room where we could wait, that's a little less public? I really don't feel comfortable sitting here all exposed."
"You could pull up your hood and vanish in half a second, and no detection charm on the planet could find you," Hermione pointed out. "Still…" She gave Canby an inquiring look.
The elf briefly considered, then bobbed his head shyly. "There are elves' quarters, Miss Hermione. No wizard or witch ever goes there. None would see Mister Harry there."
"Except for the Ministry elves," said Harry, "and… I mean, I hate to say it, but Hermione seems to think that if they see me alive, I might, um, disrupt…" He glanced uncomfortably at Hermione, looking for help.
"Some private rooms were set aside for our witnesses, Mister Harry," Canby quickly added. "Brillig, Whimsy, and the others. They are already knowing about you. We will even make rooms larger for you, if you are wanting it!"
Harry smiled wanly. "I can always sit on the floor… anyway, it's only until, say, ten-thirty or so. Sounds good, then. Shall we?" He extended his hand to Canby, who stared at it for a moment in amazement.
Canby brought his gaze up to Harry's face, and squared his shoulders. "Mister Harry Potter," he said with dignity, "it would be Canby's honor." Solemnly he took Harry's hand.
Harry quickly looked over at Hermione. "You'll let me know if we hear from Dennis?" he asked quietly.
"I'll tell you as soon as he calls," she promised. Hermione had already summarized her Floo call from Dennis, earlier that morning; she'd also explained that, as their "really safe house" had no Floo connection of its own, they had to wait for Dennis to contact her again. "And in the meantime, I'll keep pursuing other possibilities. Thank you, Canby… and thank you, Harry." With a pop of air, Harry and Canby vanished from Hermione's rooms.
Hermione spent a few moments trying to devise alternative plans, should Dennis and his team prove unable to access Lovinett's sequestered memories. Some way to connect Zabini to Swivingham's murder - or to the Cartel that ordered it. Mm, Lucius Malfoy might have more information: Lovinett had been his attorney, after the First Voldemort War. Did Malfoy recommend Lovinett's services to the Cartel? Through Zabini, perhaps?
There were several avenues she could follow, but none that were certain to bear fruit quickly - and she needed to neutralize Zabini today, if possible. As the chairman of today's Conference, he'd use his influence to direct attention away from the Cartel, or send the various Ministries down blind alleys. Not to mention consolidate his personal power within Britain's own Ministry. Hermione was not going to let that happen.
But at the moment, she had very little idea how to stop him.
She flicked a glance at her wristwatch and groaned. The first delegates would be arriving for the blasted Conference now, through pre-arranged International Portkeys. And while Robards and Kerricks, as Heads of their Departments, would be present to greet the more important delegates, she felt sure that Blaise Zabini would be personally welcoming each new arrival. With a warm handshake and that charming smile. Dammit.
Standing, she straightened her robes and headed out the door towards the lifts. As she did, her hand paused on the star sapphire that rested just above her breasts - under her robes, where it wouldn't raise awkward questions. Hermione smiled as she remembered slipping the necklace over her head as she dressed that morning. She strongly suspected that Harry had kissed the gem one last time during the night… and she was saving that stored kiss for when it would do the most good. During the lunch break, perhaps.
The lift took Hermione down to the Atrium level: large meeting halls had been opened off the Atrium, so that the visitors wouldn't need to take the lifts to the Conference. She stepped out of the lift as its doors opened - and froze in surprise.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was sitting in the Atrium, in a very handsome wheelchair that almost resembled a mobile throne. His face looked positively gaunt, but he was greeting newcomers with evident delight.
"Sergei! Welcome! I'm pleased you could be here on such short notice. Well, yes, this is an important issue, one on which I feel our collective Ministries need to pool our resources. Your Enforcement people provided you with case files? Excellent." He turned his head and spotted Hermione. "Ah, Madam Granger! Sergei, have you met our Senior Counsel, Hermione Granger-Weasley? Madam Granger, Direktor Sergei Volshev."
"Zdravstvuite, gospodin," murmured Hermione, as Volshev sketched a hasty bow. She shook her head with a smile as he seemed about to address her. "And that, I'm afraid, exhausts my conversational Russian."
"A pity. Your accent was refreshingly impeccable," he smiled in return. With a nod to Shacklebolt, Volshev wended his way through the growing crowd. Hermione watched him for a second before turning to Shacklebolt.
"If you're thinking about scolding me," he said, quickly and quietly, "don't. I had to come in today: some documents needed to be delivered to the Wizengamot - in person." He smiled coolly and added, slightly louder, "And moreover, this Conference was my idea in the first place. I wanted to at least be present for its opening." Shacklebolt seemed to be looking over Hermione's shoulder as he spoke. She turned slightly to see who was approaching this time.
Blaise Zabini stepped up to Shacklebolt's chair. "And it was good of you to come, sir," he said smoothly. "Thank you. Though I think Madam Granger will agree that you shouldn't exert yourself."
"I'll leave the exhausting bits of the next two days to you, Mr. Zabini," nodded the Minister. "I'll have my opening remarks, of course… and perhaps I'll look in on some of the sessions, as time permits." Watching them, Hermione had to suppress a smile of admiration: Kingsley's presence took the wind out of Zabini's sails quite effectively. No one could gainsay the Minister's right to preside over the Conference, and war-hero Kingsley Shacklebolt was perhaps the one person who could eclipse Zabini's rising star.
Did Kingsley know that Zabini would use the Conference to spotlight his candidacy? Kingsley had to've suspected it - he's nobody's fool. I still wish he hadn't come today, though: his health is all too precarious.
Hermione stepped back from Shacklebolt as he greeted another newcomer. Unexpectedly, Zabini likewise took a step away, to stand by Hermione's side. He regarded her with a neutral expression for a moment, before raising one eyebrow at her - much as a grandmaster might acknowledge his opponent across the chessboard. All he said, however, was, "Well, this should help keep the agenda on focus."
"I think it's sweet," came a new voice. Ginny Weasley, elegantly dressed, had appeared at Zabini's side. She squeezed his arm and smiled at him. "It's rather a touching gesture, Blaise dear, when you think about it. Passing on the torch to the next generation, and all that."
Zabini blinked at Ginny in surprise… then a calculating smile grew on his face. Hermione kept her own expression carefully schooled, to hide her sudden dismay. Ginny had just provided Zabini with the perfect spin for Shacklebolt's presence - if Zabini played it right, he might yet end the Conference with his political influence enhanced. It would all depend on how Shacklebolt played his part… and whether he had the physical strength to do it.
Ginny gave Zabini a quick kiss on the cheek, then turned to Hermione. "Can you spare me a few minutes, Hermione? Girl talk," she lightly added as an aside to Zabini. He laughed and waved them off.
"Let's go to your office," Ginny said in a lower voice. "Someplace where we can talk privately." Her emphasis on the last word raised the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck.
They took the lift in silence. Hermione led the way to her office in silence. Ginny waited in silence, but only until Hermione closed the door. "Do you still have my memory?" she demanded, before Hermione could speak.
"Your…? The memory we reviewed together in the Pensieve? Yes, of course." Hermione stepped to a short cabinet, opened it, and brought out the phial filled with silvery mist. She made a motion to hand it over, but stopped as Ginny raised her hand.
"Good," Ginny said. "Keep it."
Hermione regarded Ginny in surprise. She'd expected Ginny to insist on having her memory returned to her, so it couldn't be used against her precious Blaise. "You… want me to keep custody of it?"
Ginny gave her a curious half-smile, and gestured towards the chair behind Hermione's desk. As they seated themselves, the redhead seemed to be choosing her next words with some care.
"I think you've always had the gift - even back at Hogwarts - of accepting what your eyes told you," she began obliquely. "No matter how much you disliked the answer, you never shied from seeing it." Her mouth gave that quirk again. "Hermione… you saw Blaise just now. I think you've started to accept what your eyes are telling you: he's going to be our next Minister of Magic. But I know," she added quickly, forestalling Hermione's protest, "I know you have, well, reservations. You don't trust him - again, going back to our Hogwarts days. And you're worried that a Zabini Ministry might turn back the reforms you've made, under Kingsley Shacklebolt."
The speech had obviously been thought out in advance. Hermione found herself clamping her lips shut, waiting to see where Ginny's line of reasoning would lead.
"I suppose, if I were in your shoes, I might be worried too," Ginny said sympathetically. "I mean, I know that Blaise has the best interests of the wizarding world at heart, and that he'd try to do right by everyone, including the Muggleborn. But you've no way of knowing that. And you're scared of what he might do when he's in power."
"You could say that, yes," said Hermione neutrally.
"And that's exactly why I want you to keep my memory. It's not proof of anything criminal - even you admitted that it wouldn't stand up in court - but Blaise would probably find it embarrassing. And the Minister of Magic can't afford embarrassments like that. So with that memory, you've got a handle on Blaise. What's the term, 'checks and balances'? That memory gives you a way to check Blaise, if you feel he's going too far over the line. Which should give you some reassurance - enough to let you accept him as Minister, d'you think?" Ginny sat back in her chair and waited for Hermione to respond.
"So," Hermione said slowly, "you're telling me I shouldn't object to Zabini becoming Minister… because I have this threat to hold over his head. But the threat's no good if he doesn't know it exists…"
"On the contrary," Ginny corrected her, "if he knew it existed, you might worry he'd start a PR campaign to soften its impact. No, keep it safe, for the day you think he's about to cross the line - trying to disenfranchise the goblins again, or something. Then tell him you have it - show it to him in a Pensieve. It's as I said, a Minister can't afford a scandal. He'll give way to you."
"I don't understand, Ginny. Even stipulating Zabini does become Minister - why are you undermining his position? I thought you wanted him to…"
"I'm not undermining him, really," Ginny said, and that half-smile had come back to her face. "Since I know you won't actually use this threat, except for something really important - important enough to risk scandal, I mean." She reached into an inner pocket of her robes and brought out a set of photographs. "Checks and balances, remember?" she added.
She leaned forward and spread the photos on the desk in front of Hermione, who picked one up and stared at it. It was a bit grainy, taken in poor light, but it very clearly showed Hermione in her bed - with Harry.
"My dear brother's not made much of a secret of your marital woes," Ginny said, with an apologetic grimace. "I mean, personally, I can hardly blame you for taking a lover - but you can't afford a scandal any more than Blaise could. And since everyone knows about your vows, they'll also know that you couldn't evade them without trying extra-hard. This couldn't be an impulsive, one-night-stand sort of affair."
Hermione dropped the photo and picked up another. Like all of them, it was a Muggle photo: the figures in it didn't move. However, unlike the others, it showed a well-lit scene: Harry and Hermione sitting in bed, their arms wrapped tightly around one another. He must have just given me my birthday present, she thought dazedly.
Ginny evidently expected Hermione to say something at this point. When nothing was forthcoming, she resumed, "And as I said, I can hardly blame you. Especially since you've found a lover who looks so much like Harry." That got Hermione's attention, Ginny saw. "I'm guessing this is your Harry stand-in - the one you used to convince Swivingham's house-elves to testify. Blaise would be surprised, I think, to learn he exists… he still thinks you invented that rumor out of thin air." Ginny shrugged. "But it stands to reason, if the rumor alone didn't convince the elves, you'd have something physical to show them - some-one, I should say. And I admit, the resemblance is striking - even I was taken aback for a moment."
Her voice lowered to a purr as she concluded, "But I think it's safe to say that I know what Harry looked like in bed." Her smirk was both knowing and dismissive.
Ginny watched as Hermione let the photo fall from her fingers back onto the desktop. Her eyes stared, unfocused, at the images strewn before her. Ginny waited another moment, then spoke again in a more conciliatory tone. "I… I didn't want things to get to this point, Hermione, honest. I tried, remember? I tried to convince you to lay off Blaise. But really, it's better this way. Blaise will be Minister, and you'll have your job… and, well, will anything have changed? If Blaise ever does break the law, you can still go after him. All this means," and she gestured at the photos, "is that you won't rush into anything that would make a stink. And since you've got my memory, it'll keep Blaise from doing the same."
She sat back in her chair, well aware that her position was ironclad. Hermione was a pragmatist - she couldn't have reached her current position without recognizing certain political realities - and she'd accept Ginny's proposal. Why, it wasn't even fair to call it a "threat", really, since both Blaise and Hermione were checked… checks and balances, that's all it was…
"I… I…" Hermione seemed to be finding her voice at last. "I… don't know what to say…"
Holding back her triumphant smile, Ginny opened her mouth to respond… only to leave it gaping as Hermione rose to her feet, her face devoid of emotion.
"Except what the Duke of Wellington once said," Hermione continued more firmly. She planted her hands on the desktop and leaned forward, never taking her eyes off Ginny. Those eyes flared with sudden wrath as she finished speaking, in a voice gone deadly quiet, anger expressed in precise diction: "Publish and be damned, Weasley."
For one long moment, the room was utterly still. Without conscious intent, Ginny found herself no longer sitting - but on her feet, backing slowly away from the cold rage that was The Witch Who Won. She tried to speak, but only a humiliating squeak emerged.
Hermione hadn't yet moved, but her furious glare hadn't left Ginny's face. It came to Ginny, quite clearly, that the only thing saving her from a great many excruciating, debilitating hexes was Hermione's self-restraint - which was fast crumbling. Hastily, Ginny reached behind her for the doorknob, fumbled the door open, and in a rush had escaped the room with the door closed behind her.
Not until Ginny was gone did Hermione give way to a fit of furious tremors. She collapsed back into her seat and raised her fists before her, as though trying to throttle her anger - or possibly her sister-in-law. I took her in! When she thought her life was in danger, I took her into my home! And she could do this to me in return? And look me in the eye and claim it was For The Greater Effing GOOD!?
One finger at a time, she unclenched her fists, and breathed deeply to try and purge the fury from her system. The red haze that had filled her vision was slowly dissolving. After a moment, Hermione had recovered enough to let her gaze skip randomly around the room. It came to rest on the photos, still spread over the desk, showing Harry and her in various stages of cuddling or sleep. She never slept with Harry, she thought, tartly and somewhat irrelevantly, she has no idea what he looks like in bed!
Still, she realized as she calmed, Ginny ought to've recognized Harry, regardless. Did Harry's wards on Enthalpy House affect how others might see these pictures, perhaps? Or… no, it couldn't be that ridiculous.
Sure it could, another voice in her head interjected. Ginny hasn't matured - why should her image of Harry mature? Subconsciously, she expected him to still be eighteen years old.
Hermione couldn't help snorting, in combined amusement and disdain. Yes, Ginny, I'm perfectly capable of accepting the evidence of my own eyes. You should consider trying it sometime.
She held one hand in front of her. It no longer trembled, nor seemed ready to clench into a fist of its own volition. Hermione conjured a hand mirror, gave her face a critical once-over, and applied a quick freshening charm. With that, she decided she'd calmed sufficiently to return to the Atrium and rejoin Kingsley.
She left her offices and walked briskly down the corridor to the lift. There were two people waiting for the lift to arrive, and one of them had unmistakable fiery red hair. Hermione felt her stride falter briefly, then she willed herself to keep walking. If Ginny fancied herself a sort of éminence grise, she wouldn't be making a public scene. Hermione could simply ignore her.
The wizard standing next to Ginny turned at Hermione's approach. He smiled at her, obviously recognizing her - though Hermione couldn't place his face. Ginny hadn't even acknowledged her presence, which didn't surprise her greatly. She took one more step - and time suddenly slowed to an absurd crawl, as Hermione abruptly realized…
… that Ginny was staring vacantly ahead, unresponsive…
… that the unknown wizard had pointed his wand at Hermione…
… that Hermione wouldn't be able to draw her own wand in time…
… that the wizard said something, too softly for Hermione to hear, but she could read lips well enough…
"Obliviate."