(A/N: Still a few loose ends to tie up… and we haven't even reached Hermione's Rebirthday Party. Don't worry, we'll get there, we'll get there. As long as I have MirielleGrey as my beta, I can face the world.
I've said it before, but I'll say it again: If you're enjoying the story, please tell your friends. And if you're not, please tell me.)
(Disclaimer: The characters of the Potterverse are the product of Jo Rowling's brain. The believable way they act in this story, obviously not.)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
*
XXXI: Multipronged, Queen-side
*
Mnemosyne Fleming waited at the guard desk leading to the holding cells, while the guard perused her pass into the Ministry's holding cells. "This looks in order," he smiled. "You're authorized to keep your wand, miss. He's in cell number seven. Open!" he told the outer door, which obediently swung open. Mnemosyne collected her pass, nodded thanks, and proceeded down the cell block.
She had no trouble finding the correct cell: there was a second guard posted in front of it. After hearing about Madam Granger's orders regarding Blaise Zabini, Mnemosyne wasn't surprised. "Legilimens Fleming," the guard greeted her - Kelly, that was his name. "Haven't seen you in a while. Are you here for Doukas?"
"Our Memory people are spread a bit thin today," she told him. "Mr. Peasegood thought I could do the most good here. He's told me what to look for." A sequestration of specific memories: the subject himself could not recall the memories, and would be unaware of having them, until they were released into his conscious mind. Peasegood believed they were keyed to be released only when the subject received a code word, or possibly a code phrase.
No one could be certain that Doukas's memories had been sequestered, but given the nature of his employers, it was imperative to find out. As a full Legilimens, Mnemosyne could detect sequestration, now that she knew what to look for… perhaps not as surely as Peasegood, using Engram Patterning, but certainly faster. Of course, if she found sequestered memories, she wouldn't be able to affect them; that would be for the Obliviators, persons much more skilled at Memory Charms than she.
"He's actually been pretty quiet this morning," Kelly noted, readying his own wand. "Not like last night. Shoutin' for the head of the Greek delegation, for his wand, for firevodka, all manner of demands. Didn't get any of 'em - strict orders, no contacts."
"Good," said Mnemosyne, moving to stand directly in front of the cell door. Kelly stood to one side, where he could cover her with his wand without being seen from within the cell. "Not even the house-elves, I assume?"
"Served 'im breakfast me own self," Kelly snorted. He aimed his wand and barked, "Open cell number seven!"
The cell door swung open. After a moment, Mnemosyne stepped into the cell. Doukas was reading at the small table, the remnants of his breakfast service pushed aside. He seemed to be lingering over his coffee - and ignoring her presence altogether.
"Sabas Doukas?" she demanded. He made no acknowledgment.
Well, for the job she came to do, she hardly needed his active cooperation. "Legilimens," Mnemosyne said smartly, pointing her wand at his head.
And promptly recoiled in horror.
*
Sheryl was waiting for Hermione when she'd finished with the last of the wizards who'd queued at her office that morning. "I know I'm not the only working mother at the Ministry," Hermione groused, watching him leave, "so why am I the one playing 'Ministry Mum' today? Honestly, all they wanted was my opinions on their ideas - a pat on the head, really. Even Canby wanted to talk to me, about our elf guests." She rubbed her eyes wearily. "Everyone wants reassurance in times of trouble, I suppose. It's not like I can actually authorize any of their plans…"
"Get used to it," Sheryl said quietly.
"Used to it? What do you…? Ah." Hermione raised one eyebrow. "You've got your I've-been-listening-to-the-scuttlebutt look on your face."
"Mm hmm." Sheryl leaned closer. "I heard from Mavis in Finances that the Wizengamot council chambers haven't been readied for a session today."
"What!? But… but why not? The Wizengamot needs to convene as soon as possible, and select the new Minister! We can't go on very long without a head of government…" Hermione paused. "Well, it would be upsetting in a lot of quarters if we tried…"
Sheryl wasn't done. "What's more," she continued, "Agnes in Floo Authority says they got a request today from Giles Yarborough - asking to have his home taken off the Floo Network for the rest of the month."
That brought Hermione up short. It wasn't too unusual for families to disconnect their fireplaces from the Floo Network for short periods… for example, if they were leaving for a holiday. However, Yarborough was an old, crusty curmudgeon, not given to travel. He was the patriarch of an ancient Pureblood wizarding family: exactly the sort of wizard who, though never a supporter of Lord Voldemort, might still be sympathetic to the Pureblood faction.
And Yarborough was a sitting member of the Wizengamot.
Either way, the odds that he was actually leaving on holiday - at this moment - were negligible.
"Let me know if you hear of anyone else 'rusticating', as it were," Hermione softly said after a moment. Sheryl nodded her understanding.
*
Blaise Zabini sat stoically in his chair, placed directly in front of the door to his private cell. Arnold Peasegood was seated on the door's other side, facing Zabini through the bars. The older wizard twitched his wand again, for perhaps the twelfth time; Zabini watched as a new set of spots of colored light seemed to dance before his eyes before joining the kaleidoscopic pattern above his head. He declined himself permission to react.
Two Aurors stood behind Peasegood, wands in their hands but not pointed directly at anyone. Zabini knew the third Auror was outside his field of vision, wand aimed and ready to respond, should anything untoward happen.
Another twitch of Peasegood's wand. More spots of light. Zabini kept his sphinx face securely in place.
Finally, the Obliviator swept his wand in a broad arc and binned the light display. "Well, Mr. Zabini," he said slowly, "I can find no evidence that any of your memories have been tampered with."
Zabini inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. "You'll inform Gawaine straightaway, then?"
"Per his instructions, yes."
"When you do, would you also inform him," Zabini said coolly, as though they were at one of the Department Heads' morning briefings, "that I wish my solicitor to review any agreement before we both sign."
Peasegood pursed his lips for an instant in disapproval. "I'll relay your message," he said neutrally, standing and backing away from the door. Nodding his thanks to the guards, he left the cell block. The three Aurors took their seats, far enough away from the door that they could converse in low voices without Zabini overhearing - but still keeping the cell in view.
With a casual shrug, Zabini slid his own chair back to the small dining table. He was well aware of Peasegood's opinion of him, but he knew the Obliviator would pass on his message. Whether Robards would act on it was another issue. Certainly Zabini would not be allowed to speak with a solicitor: the "No Visitors" rule would be absolute in his case. It wouldn't be legal, but Zabini decided not to press it. The important point was that there were now no bars to Robards accepting his deal.
Retrieving his Daily Prophet from the remains of breakfast on the table, he folded it in half and lay down on the cell's bed to read. It was a delicate game he was playing, and the appearance of ease was important. The last twenty-four hours had been a setback, a severe one, and his position certainly looked bad - but he wasn't out of the game, not yet. He'd had a week to prepare other stratagems, and they were now in play. Zabini might yet recoup his losses.
He wondered idly how the Prophet would word the headline when the charges against him were dropped.
*
Hermione arrived back at Robards's office at a dead run. Peasegood was there, as well as one of the Ministry's Legilimens, Fleming, who was literally wringing her hands in distress. "What's happened?" Hermione demanded.
"Doukas's mind has been wiped," replied Robards curtly. "He's gone."
Mnemosyne tried to take control of herself. "I went to his cell this morning to check his mind for sequestration, as… as Mr. Peasegood asked. When I arrived, I thought he was ignoring me, just pretending to read… being an uncooperative prisoner, I mean. We get them every so often, ma'am, and it's usually simpler to just get on with my work, but…"
"She knows that, Miss Fleming," Peasegood interjected quietly.
"I mean, not even Gilderoy Lockheart had his mind erased so completely! Even Krups have more brain activity! I didn't do it, I swear I didn't…"
"Of course you didn't. Your Obliviation skills are nowhere near the level such a drastic mindwipe would require," Peasegood pointed out.
"We can likewise rule out Kelly and Fraser as suspects, for the same reason," said Robards, naming the two guards at the holding cells block.
"I don't believe it," Hermione growled slowly. "I. Don't. Believe. It. Another attack on a prisoner inside the Ministry? Just as with Swivingham? How in Merlin's name could this have happened!?"
Robards coughed. "Both the guards swear that no one went past them, that Doukas had no visitors at all. No contact whatsoever, not even a lawyer. He'd just finished breakfast, so we're checking for potions. Beyond that…"
Hermione shook her head sharply. She began pacing, eyes on the floor, thinking furiously. "We know Doukas was able to Obliviate… he Obliviated Ginny. It's why he was at the Ministry yesterday in the first place. Could he have Obliviated himself?"
"Well," began Peasegood.
"No," she answered herself, not stopping, "no, obviously not. He had no wand. And he wasn't capable of wandless magic, else he'd not have wanted Ron's wand when he held Ron hostage. Um, um, um…" She paced another circuit around the room before she glanced up at Peasegood and Fleming. "Is there such a thing as a timed Obliviation?"
"You think he might have performed it on himself, in advance?" Mnemosyne blurted. She had watched in fascination as Hermione had brainstormed.
"Not necessarily. It wouldn't surprise me if the Cartel kept more than one Obliviator on tap. Doukas could have had the charm performed on him before he was sent here. It doesn't matter… the question is, can Obliviation be timed to take effect hours after it's been cast?"
Everyone looked at Peasegood expectantly. "I… have never heard of such a thing," he said slowly. "But I admit, I'd never heard of sequestering memories, either, before I saw it in Lovinett's mind. Sequestration, at least, I can understand: the charm is in place and working, it needs only the trigger. A key word, as I've told Creevey. But to delay the charm's action… with no visible effect before the time expires, and full effect afterward…" He twisted his mouth, pondering.
"Tranfigurations can be timed," Hermione noted, thinking of several Weasley Wizarding Wheezes.
"There's a world of difference between physical objects and mental engrams," Peasegood scowled. "No. No, I can think of no way to time-delay a Memory Charm."
"Keep thinking about it - hard," Hermione ordered him. "Because it doesn't do us much good to go after the Cartel, if every defendant and potential witness turns into a vegetable before we can even hold the trial."
*
By mid-afternoon, it had become plain to everyone in the Ministry that the Wizengamot would not be convening that day. And in the meantime, two more members of the Wizengamot had become "unavailable"; while the remainder were ready to convene, tradition dictated that a new Minister of Magic be chosen by a full session.
Of course, tradition also dictated that the new Minister be chosen promptly, within a day at most. To postpone the selection was almost unheard of. Within the Ministry, the general reaction ranged from unease, through annoyance, to outrage. However, the populace at large was still unsettled by Kingsley Shacklebolt's death: he had, after all, been enormously respected. So, as much as everyone recognized that a successor was needed, the push to choose that successor was not yet strong.
Which disgusted Hermione no end.
"This," she told Sheryl as she stomped back into her office, "this has to be the most blatant power play I've ever witnessed. Do they honestly think they're fooling anyone?"
"'They' who?" Dennis Creevey followed Hermione into the room, a roll of parchment in hand. "Hello, all. See, this is what happens when I leave you by yourselves for a few days. Man, you've been busy here."
"You might say so," said Sheryl at her driest.
Hermione sighed heavily and turned to Dennis, who offered her the parchment. "Welcome back to Bedlam," she greeted him, accepting his report. "By 'they', I mean certain elements of the Wizengamot. It would appear that they aren't ready to name a new Minister."
"Why not? They aren't volunteering to run the government themselves, are they? I mean, it's not exactly the Roman Senate…"
"I almost wish it were. No, the situation's fairly convoluted, but I think I see what's happening. And I really have to give Blaise credit: this is political manipulation at its finest." At their inquiring expressions, Hermione fell into her usual lecturing habit. "We've been working for years to reform wizarding legal procedures, haven't we? To make them fairer. Well, now he's using our own reforms against us. Remember the reforms to the Wizengamot Charter of Rights? Particularly the clauses regarding Ministry employees?"
"Yeah, I think so," said Dennis. "They were supposed to make it harder for the Minister to intimidate Ministry workers into toeing the party line… preventing another Thicknesse or Fudge. Things like no coercion of Ministry employees, no loyalty oaths…"
"No Veritaserum," Sheryl cut in, beginning to see what Hermione meant. "Top-level Ministry personnel can't be forced to take Veritaserum without the joint approval of their Department Head, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and the…" She stopped as she realized what she was about to say.
"And the Minister," finished Hermione. "Except at the moment, we don't have a Minister. So Zabini is exempt from invasive magic such as Veritaserum. Leaving him free to plea bargain with Gawaine: cooperation in return for having the charges dropped. And without those charges on his record, the Wizengamot could select him as the new Minister with a 'clean' conscience." The last words were delivered with heavy irony.
There was silence for a moment. "You're right," Dennis said. "They can't believe people wouldn't notice that."
"As long as the traditions are observed," said Sheryl, "I don't think they care."
"I just wish I knew what sparked those three to act so… so precipitously," fumed Hermione. "I knew they favored the old wizarding traditions, but I never figured them to be reactionaries… certainly not to this degree. Zabini must have swayed them to his side - into his Fire Party," she said in an acid aside, "well before his arrest. And now it looks like he's calling in favors."
"Yeah, but… but he still has to give Crown's Evidence against the Cartel," Dennis objected. "Wouldn't that make him, like, the shortest-serving Minister of Magic in history?"
Hermione sighed again. "I'd think so, but… I don't know, I just don't know. I must be missing something… something crucial. Perhaps he's gambling that the Cartel's use for him as Minister outweighs any damage his testimony might cause them. I wouldn't make that gamble, but I'm not in the dire straits Zabini is."
"Then maybe Head Robards should hold off on finalizing the deal with Zabini until after the Wizengamot meets," suggested Dennis. "They can't put it off indefinitely."
"But we need to go after the Cartel now," Sheryl reminded him. "They'll go underground otherwise, Memory Charm their own employees, restructure. We can't give them time to do that."
"And believe it or not, I don't tell Gawaine Robards how to do his job," Hermione said firmly. She ignored the skeptical expressions on their faces, and continued, "To guard against future tampering, I will suggest that Zabini's testimony be in the form of Pensieve memories. Mm, and I can send an owl to the ICW, telling them about Doukas and warning them to keep Castigni secure. Though I'm not sure how." She paused, brows furrowed in concentration, before giving her head a slow, grim shake. "That's about all we can do for the moment."
*
Harry slipped into Ollivander's shop, quickly closed the door behind him, and leaned his forehead against it as he released a long-held breath. Calm down, he told his racing pulse, just calm down. There's nothing here to be afraid of.
With Eldritch and Artok watching like hawks, Harry had easily opened the Potter heirloom chest. The fact that one of the items in the chest - a baby rattle - had chosen to starting singing to him, calling him by name, was icing on the cake. They'd both had to concede that he was, in truth, Harry James Potter.
That, of course, meant that Harry couldn't leave Gringotts until he'd assured the goblins, in writing with multiple copies, that he didn't hold Gringotts or its employees responsible for the loss of his worldly possessions, that they had simply been executing his wishes per his will, that he expected no indemnification against his losses, and so on and on.
He had taken the opportunity to open a new vault. And he was very grateful for Andromeda Tonks's gift of cash: it meant he could spend money without anyone wondering where he'd got it. Harry's last stop before arriving at Gringotts that morning had been to Barclay's, where he'd withdrawn some of Jacob Clayman's savings; pounds converted to Galleons, they now rested in his new vault, and Harry could make some much-needed purchases.
But he hadn't reckoned on the crowds.
He'd been spotted the moment he set foot outside Gringotts's doors: a double-take by a passing pair of witches, followed by heads popping out of shop windows as he walked, and a knot of wizards and witches a few paces behind him. He could hear the whispers spread like wildfire down the length of Diagon Alley, could feel their curious eyes on him. Thank Merlin no one actually approached him, but their attention was more than enough.
Harry had fought the urges to either run to his destination or to slink there. He'd walked down the Alley at a reasonable pace - spine stiff, to be sure, and meeting no one's eyes, but not allowing himself to run. He would not allow himself.
He would conquer this.
Surreptitiously, he wiped his hands on his trousers as he straightened and turned to look around the shop. He honestly hadn't expected Ollivander's shop to still be in business: he remembered all too well rescuing Mr. Ollivander from Malfoy Manor, and the old man had seemed very frail - and that had been fifteen years ago.
Harry forced a cough, to announce his presence. After a moment, a short stout man bustled out from between the stacks of boxed wands. "Yes, hello? Can I help… ah, young man. What can I do for you? I expect you've had an accident at school, have you? Need a replacement wand?" Not waiting for a reply, he snapped his fingers. A measuring tape jumped from the counter and stretched itself down Harry's right arm.
"It happens every year," the stout man continued, as the tape moved to Harry's left arm, then wrapped itself around his brow. "Some young man suddenly realizes this is his last year at Hogwarts, and NEWTs are approaching, and he panics. Overgripped your wand, I expect. Or whiplash, was it?"
"No," Harry replied, beginning to relax and be amused. "It just… fell apart."
"Hah! Haven't heard that one before. And what wand type was it before it 'just fell apart'?" The tape, done with Harry's head, hovered in mid-air waiting for its next instruction.
"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches."
"Hum." The stout man looked curiously at Harry. "Not a usual combination, that. Let's see…" Another snap of his fingers, and the measuring tape came to his hand. He looked carefully at it, jotted some numbers on a scrap of parchment, then opened a ledger book and started turning its pages, searching.
Harry could tell exactly when the penny dropped: the man abruptly paused, his finger on the page of the book, and his face turned white. He looked up at Harry with wide eyes and goggling mouth.
"I'm afraid so," Harry said diffidently.
The man worked his jaw, but no sound came out for a moment. Then he seemed to recall his wits. "Grand-da!" he yelled, not taking his eyes from Harry. "Grand-da, it's…! Wait right there!" he shouted at Harry desperately, as though afraid Harry might evaporate. "Don't move!" Pausing just long enough to make sure that Harry wasn't moving, he darted back through the shelves and vanished.
Moments later, the stout man returned, walking slowly, with an old man leaning on his arm. Harry recognized Mr. Ollivander… and as the old man raised his gaze, it was clear he recognized Harry. A broad smile split his wrinkled face.
"Bless my soul, for once the rumours were correct. Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back. And you're here for a new wand, my, my… Caleb, help me here, if you would?"
The stout man gently lowered Ollivander into a chair, then brought him the book and the parchment with Harry's measurements. "I'll start with the holly collection, shall I, Grand-da? We've a good variety in stock-"
Ollivander waved him away. "No, I think not. The wands from my workbench, I think. You'll find them on the curing rack. Caleb's my grandson," he confided to Harry, as the stout man scuttled away. "Not a bad lad, but still learning the business. He doesn't yet have a feel for the right wand, if you know what I mean, Mr. Potter. His idea to look among the holly wands… or those with phoenix cores, for that matter…"
"Erm, those would've been my first guesses," said Harry.
With an indulgent smile, Ollivander said, "Your first wand chose you when you were eleven, Mr. Potter, with little experience with your magic. Subsequent events have shaped you, and shaped your magic… and you are a great deal more powerful now than you were then. I daresay you'd burst a new holly wand at the seams, directly you tried it." He rested his chin on his clasped hands and looked off into the distance.
Harry had forgotten how odd Ollivander could act. After a moment of silence, he felt bound to say something. "I remember buying my first wand from you… we had to try dozens before we found the right one."
"I too remember, Mr. Potter," replied Ollivander, still staring into the distance. "And if we were to sample our usual stock of wands, I suspect we would have to try many more to find your match today. At eleven, you were untrained: you couldn't simply use any wand, but only the wand that chose you. Today, you could use any number of wands, even another wizard's wand, without their being a perfect match for you. Finding a genuine match thus becomes that much more difficult." He smiled enigmatically.
"Fortunately," he continued, "having my grandson run the shop has allowed me the luxury of time. Time I've spent in research, Mr. Potter. I've been experimenting with new woods, new cores - and I can't help but feel that there is where we shall find the wand that chooses you."
*
For a wonder, Hermione had a moment to herself, with no one clamoring for her attention, no explosions elsewhere in the Ministry. She retired to her office, closed the door (giving Sheryl a look that promised retribution for any intrusion that wasn't the direst of emergencies), flumped into the chair behind her desk, and let her head fall into her waiting hands.
I'm missing something, she chided herself. I'm missing something important. It's there, I know it is, and I'm missing it. I hate when my mind doesn't do what I expect it to do.
No epiphanies revealed themselves to her.
After a moment, Hermione sighed and sat up. She was still Senior Counsel, and as such had an abundance of paperwork tasks. She'd put them off far too long, caught up as she'd been in other concerns. Perhaps the sheer mindlessness of paperwork would germinate some fresh ideas.
She picked up the first sheet, saw that it was the final deposition on a case she'd resolved two months earlier, and dropped it unread. Suddenly, she couldn't bear the thought of reviewing it. Scanning the top of her desk for something, anything, she could legitimately use as an excuse for ignoring the pile of paperwork, her eye fell on Dennis Creevey's report.
Well, let's see how they're faring with Lovinett, she decided, unrolling the parchment and smoothing it flat.
The report summarized what she already knew: that some of Lovinett's memories had been sequestered from his conscious mind. Presumably, they were the memories of his dealings with Blaise Zabini. Peasegood was of the opinion that the memories would be restored once Lovinett received a code, a key word or phrase.
"Unfortunately, Peasegood hasn't made a lot of progress in breaking through the sequestering," Dennis's report continued. "Partially because he's been called back to the Ministry to deal with more urgent matters. Partially, because he's moving slowly and carefully, to avoid the Charm's fail-safes. Peasegood has a plan he wants to try, when he comes back here. He explained the technique to me in what he called 'layman's terms', meaning he considers us barely out of infant school; essentially, it's like taking a plaster cast of a lock to see what key will fit it. Once he's done that, he'll have a better idea of what key words to try. He estimates three to seven days before he's ready to try breaking the charm."
Three to seven days. With another sigh, Hermione released the parchment and watched it roll itself up again. There would be no arguing with that estimate: when it came to Memory Charms, Peasegood was the best man for the job.
But… but perhaps we can narrow the search a bit… Hermione chewed her lower lip and began to think in earnest.
We have to assume the "key word" is an actual word, not a series of nonsense syllables. The key has to be recognized by Lovinett's consciousness in order to affect it, I suspect. Besides, it would be too easy for someone to mumble, or have a real word drowned in ambient noise, and Lovinett to hear it as nonsense syllables. No, logically it must be a real word.
By the same token, it can't be a common word. The Cartel wouldn't risk Lovinett's memories being restored accidentally, by overhearing casual conversation. So we can eliminate words like "pudding" or "owl" or such. Given that Lovinett's a solicitor, we can likewise eliminate words used in the legal profession, like "tort" or "nolo contendere". Nothing he might be expected to hear in the course of his daily affairs.
So: words which are recognizable as words, but extremely uncommon. Well, there's no shortage of those. Leptodactylous. Belesprit. Philotimy. And a host of others. I could name dozens more off the top of my head, but then I've always been good at word games…
And Hermione froze.
Seconds later, she was pelting down the corridors of the Ministry as fast as her feet could take her, praying she wasn't too late to avert catastrophe.