(A/N: Thank you, gentle readers, and thank you again, for your patience. I hope to make it up to you with a nice, long chapter here… longest chapter in the story to date, in fact.
Some internal chronology: the chapter opens on the evening of the same day - Wednesday, 3 Oct 2013 - which closed our previous chapter. Some quick scenes to finish the week, then the last half of the chapter takes place on the following Monday.)
(Disclaimer: You don't need to see the disclaimer. These aren't the Rowlings you're looking for. Move along…)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
*
XXXXIV: Flexible Planning Is Key
*
"Severus Snape," declared Hermione.
"Has to be," Harry agreed. "Do you know any other Potions geniuses who were too paranoid to publish their discoveries?"
"Strictly speaking, I wouldn't know about anyone who didn't publish, so the question's sort of meaningless," Hermione noted primly, "but I acknowledge your point."
After leaving Hogwarts separately, Harry and Hermione had reconvened at Enthalpy House, where Harry was now engaged in what he feared had just become a Sacred and Unshakeable Nightly Ritual: rubbing Hermione's feet. Not that he minded in the least, but he didn't want it to become merely part of a humdrum routine.
Little danger of that for the moment: they were on Hermione's bed, with Harry seated, Hermione lying supine with her feet in Harry's lap - and Hermione having doffed a good deal more clothing than just her shoes and stockings. Need to look into backrubs at some point, Harry decided. He said nothing for a few moments, as he concentrated on massaging her soles and calves.
"Nothing like this was in the Half Blood Prince's book, though," he said eventually. "Nil about binary potions, of any kind. And believe me, I'd have noticed."
"Mm hmm. I'd still put money on Snape being the source," said Hermione, closing her eyes. "As you just said, we'd be hard pressed to find another Potions researcher with the necessary combination of expertise and secretiveness. And also, this sort of technically challenging yet Darkly purposed potion would've been exactly Snape's preferred line of research."
"Yeah, that's true, it would. Hmm, suppose he originally created it for Lord Voldemort…?"
"Then we should be searching for one of Voldemort's inner circle, a high-ranking Death Eater. But I can't imagine who that might be, Harry. The Ministry was fairly thorough after the War ended - unlike last time! - and I can't think of any high-rank Death Eaters who escaped Azkaban this time around." Hermione grunted softly as Harry's fingers found a sensitive muscle. She drew a deep breath, filling her lungs; held it for a slow count of ten; exhaled, then repeated the cycle.
Harry was too fascinated by her deep-breathing exercise to continue either massage, discussion, or coherent thought in general.
"Other than Death Eaters, I wouldn't have said Snape had many confidantes," Hermione went on after a moment, "but if he did have, it would probably have been someone from his school days. Almost certainly someone both Slytherin and Pureblood, given his history… someone who, currently, might be described as a conservative radical, perhaps?"
"Erm, Hermione, I think we may be overlooking the obvious thing to do," said Harry, pausing in his ministrations. "Can't we set a team of Aurors or investigators on the case? We are talking about attempted murder here, at the very least! Magical Law Enforcement should be looking into it… I'm sure they could find something…"
"That would be the obvious thing to do," Hermione said slowly, "and if I were the blackmailers, I'd therefore take steps to prevent it. I feel quite sure that my first communiqué from them will demand my silence… 'or else'. So I need to look like I'm cooperating, to put them off their guard." She paused, and her mouth tightened as though tasting lemons. "Plus, if this is the work of radicals - all right, I'll come out and say it - people from the Fire Party crowd, I have to be careful in whom I confide. I've no way of knowing if any given Enforcer or Auror might be a Zabini sympathizer, as it were."
"You have your own sympathizers," Harry reminded her. "People who support you… people you know you can trust."
"True, and I hadn't forgotten. Well, let me see what can be done - discreetly." Her eyes still closed, Hermione raised her arms over her head and, with a low moan, stretched her body elaborately,
"Okay, now I know you're doing that on purpose," Harry managed to choke out.
She smiled archly. "And if I am, what do you propose to do about it?"
Challenge accepted, decided Harry. He unbuttoned his shirt and quickly stripped it off. "Roll over," he ordered. He said nothing more, did nothing more, until Hermione was lying flat on her stomach. Then Harry repositioned himself until he was on his knees, straddling her waist, and he began to dig his thumbs into the muscles of her back. Experimentally at first, not as familiar with these muscles as the ones in her legs… then with increasing confidence as his fingers found knots of tension and kneaded them into submission.
Hermione's moans now were deeper, and if anything, more appreciative. "I wish you'd told me you could do this earlier."
"Yeah, well, I thought a nice backrub might relax you," he said. He leaned forward until his torso touched her back, brushed his lips against her ear, and whispered, "Because next comes the front rub." And he smiled at the involuntary shiver that went down Hermione's spine at the suggestion.
*
The expected message from the blackmailers was lying on Enthalpy House's doorstep the following morning, dropped by an owl who chose not to linger. As Hermione predicted, it enjoined her to silence. Its other demand, however, was not at all what she anticipated.
Break off cooperation with the ICW regarding any "outstanding investigations", Hermione mused. But nothing about the Wizards Patrimony Act, nothing at all. Either, a, they don't understand the implications of decreeing all beings with human ancestry to be legally human - which means they don't know about house-elves - or, b, it's of lesser priority, and they'll get to it in their next demand - or, c, they simply don't care about it. All of which argues strongly that the Cartel is behind this plot.
Which makes it both harder and easier to investigate. The Minister nodded decisively to herself, folded the note and put it in her pocket, and went back inside to finish the rest of the excellent breakfast Harry had prepared.
*
Neville stared blearily at Harry through the Floo fire; Harry stared blearily back. "I'm sorry, Harry, I know it's way early…"
"Oh, that's all right, Nev. I was awake anyway, re-cataloguing my leaf collection."
Neville winced. "I said I was sorry. I just got the word myself: full Wizengamot session today. I think we're voting on this new law of the Minister's, the Patrimony Act. Susan and I need to be there…"
Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Yeah, I know. You probably didn't get much advance notice, either. So, um, you need me at Hogwarts again today?"
"If you could. Fridays are my fifth and seventh-years, I'm afraid: OWLs and NEWTs. But don't worry, it won't be a problem! It's early enough in the term that you can stick to the practical lessons. My lesson plan's in my desk, top left drawer…"
He dismissed Neville's apology with a flip of his hand. "I'll muddle through. You go be a Wizenguy. I'll hold the fort, or the castle, or whatever." Harry paused and added, more quietly, "And I'll keep an eye on Rose."
"Please." Neville shook his head. "I've managed to keep this whole business with Rose from Minerva, but I'm really not looking forward to bringing her up-to-date on what's been happening inside her school. Don't you worry about that, though, Harry, that's my responsibility." Neville's head in the fire looked over its 'shoulder', called "Be right there!", and turned back to Harry. "Gotta go now, mate. Thank you!" And with a pop of green flame, Neville's head disappeared.
With another weary sigh, Harry stood up from before the fireplace and straightened his bathrobe. Well, Hermione did say she wanted the Act passed quickly, before anyone noticed the implications. I've certainly tried to do my bit. And she's had her "expert witnesses" among the Wizengamot for days now: Professor Flitwick spoke with the goblin members, Madame Maxime concentrated on the younger set, and Fleur worked her charms on the old gaffers. Talk about playing to your strengths…!
Of course, if the Act has any opponents, they'll have been canvassing the Wizengamot same as we have… but quietly, behind closed doors. No way of knowing how close the vote will be. Yeah, Neville and Susan both need to be there. Dammit.
With any luck, once this is done, Neville won't need me to teach his classes for a good while.
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared as unobtrusively as possible. "Er, a-apologies, sir…"
"Yes, Ayesha?" Harry turned and addressed the young elf politely, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on her face. She was wearing her tabard, thank goodness, which was a lot more than she was wearing last night, when she'd tried to insist on being Harry's "bath attendant". Harry had managed to send her away without damaging either her pride or his composure; now he intended to act as though the whole embarrassing incident had never happened.
Clearly, Ayesha was attempting to do the same, but she was blushing too brightly to be convincing. "Th-there is an elf from the Ministry here for you?"
"An elf from the Ministry? Canby?" With a broad smile, Harry strode to The Ossuary's foyer, where he found Canby and Brillig standing… well, not together, but not at opposite sides of the room, either. "It is Canby! S'good to see you," he said, extending his hand.
Canby, with only the slightest hesitation (and sidelong glance at Brillig) took Harry's hand and shook it gravely. "And you, Mr. Harry Potter," he replied. "Please forgive Canby for arriving at - what is Miss Sheryl calling it? - at this ungodly hour, but…"
"But you wouldn't be here if it weren't important," Harry finished, gesturing him inside. Inwardly, he was pleased that Canby was reacting as a free being ought… in front of Ayesha and Brillig, no less. "What may I do for you?"
"Actually, sir, Canby has come for Ayesha." He looked at Ayesha and explained, "There are questions about your former master, ibn al-Afrit. You have knowledge that might provide answers."
"T-talk about old master?" Ayesha looked horrified. "Tell master's secrets? House-elves do not…!"
"Free elves may say what they please," Harry corrected her gently. "He's not your master any more, Ayesha. Dobby spoke against his old masters once he was freed - Dobby even acted against them, to keep them from hurting me." As Ayesha hesitated, he added, "And this is why you came to England, after all."
"Must… must Ayesha stay at Ministry?"
Canby shook his head reassuringly. "Ayesha may, if she wishes: there are many other elves at Ministry. But Ayesha isn't forced to stay at Ministry. Ayesha is free."
"Canby is knowing so very much about being a free elf," put in Brillig sweetly. "Canby has been a free elf longer than any of us."
"We're still looking for a home for Ayesha," Harry said quickly, trying to forestall any bickering. "Until then, she's welcome to stay here helping Brillig."
Ayesha looked up at Harry, then to Brillig - and Harry once more got the impression that the two elves were silently communicating, not using words or facial expressions, but through some link peculiar to their race. It only lasted a few moments… then Ayesha turned to Canby. "Ayesha will answer questions… if she can come back here when they are done."
"Of course!" Canby assured her. He reached into his pocket and brought out a folded sheet of parchment, which he handed to Harry. Then he gave Ayesha a bright smile and extended his bent arm to her. She tentatively took his arm… and at Canby's nod, the two elves disappeared with a loud crack!
"Hmph!" snorted Brillig, as Harry tucked the parchment into the pocket of his bathrobe. "Brillig sees she must warn Ayesha about Canby! Canby is so sure he is Creator's gift to elfwomen!"
Which raised a point Harry hadn't considered before. "Huh. Is Canby considered good-looking for a male elf?" he asked, curious.
Brillig shrugged elaborately. "Canby's looks is acceptable, Brillig supposes. It is not being Canby's looks, it is being his attitude…"
"Well," Harry said, as they left the foyer, "do as you think best, Brillig. But I'm not so sure Ayesha needs a warning. After what she's been through with ibn al-Afrit, Canby's probably a saint by comparison." He scowled. "Bloody ibn al-Afrit, I hope they catch him soon. He's probably the one who trained Fatima, too - I bet he oversaw it personally, the slime. Making all his elves serve drinks, and hold towels, and…"
"Ah!" said Brillig in satisfaction, "Brillig did not think Mister Harry would be taken in by…!" She stopped in mid-sentence, realizing too late what she was saying.
Harry regarded her with a sternly neutral face, until she began to squirm under his gaze. "No more loincloths in this house," he said at last. "She may have had to wear a loincloth for ibn al-Afrit, and for all I know, Swivingham made all of his elves wear them, too. But in this house, elves wear clothes, is that understood? Tabards, if nothing else. Free people wear clothes."
"Yes, Mister Harry," said Brillig meekly.
"And I don't need any help with my baths, either," he continued inexorably.
"Yes, Mister Harry."
Harry nodded, his point made, and decided to relent. "But now I do need to bathe, and then get dressed, since I'm going back to Hogwarts today. So while I'm doing that, Brillig, could you fix me a light breakfast? I'd appreciate it."
"Yes, Mister Harry!" And the elf scampered to the kitchen before Harry could change his mind.
*
The seventh-year Defense class turned out to be fun, once Harry decided to bin Neville's lesson plan. His own lesson plan was somewhat more direct: he cleared the students and furniture to the sides of the classroom, stationed himself in the center of the room, and proclaimed, "Fifty House points to the one who decks me."
The students seemed unsure for a moment, confused perhaps by the abrupt change in teaching styles. Then Harry gave them all an evil smile and added, "What, are you trying to bore me into submission?" That barb stung one bold Gryffindor into firing a Stunner at him, and within moments everyone was trying their hardest to take down their substitute teacher.
Between Harry's ability to sense their spells almost before they'd left the wands, and his own superb reflexes, the students didn't really stand much chance. He dodged or deflected their hexes readily, sometimes using one student's jinx against another student… but he would wait until a student had at least made a valiant effort before hitting them with a one-two combination of Expelliarmus and Incarcerous. In the end, Harry awarded twenty points to the last two students standing - the only two who'd actually worked together as a team to try to defeat him. Harry thought that was an important lesson worth encouraging,
Once class was adjourned, Harry had a couple of hours before his afternoon session with the fifth-years. He decided to visit the Gryffindor common room and inquire after Rose. As he made his way to the tower, he reflected on the note Canby had handed him that morning… the hastily scribbled note enjoining him to secrecy. Evidently, Canby's visit to retrieve Ayesha had not been an officially sanctioned visit… a bit of information Harry found interesting.
His staff badge made the Fat Lady sniff skeptically, but she swung her portrait aside without requiring a password. Once in the common room, Harry was surprised to find a crowd of Gryffindors (including Rose and Ted) watching with great interest as Tori performed a spell, under the guidance of - Dennis Creevey?
"It's a useful bit of magic," Dennis was telling his audience, as Tori held her wand to her temple and furrowed her brow in concentration, "even if you don't have access to a Pensieve. Saving a memory this way guarantees that it'll be there when you need it - really good for those of us who don't have total recall. And of course, Enforcers use it almost daily, so if you're looking to work for the MLE when you leave Hogwarts, it's a good one to learn." He nodded encouragingly at Tori, who slowly withdrew a silver strand of memory from her head. "Any questions?" he concluded, snagging the strand with his own wand.
"Don't tell me you're thinking of becoming a Hogwarts professor, Dennis?" Harry asked, startling the crowd.
"Hardly," Dennis laughed. "The Minister sent me to see how Miss Weasley's doing. And then the other Miss Weasley," with a nod to Tori, "had some questions about Magical Law Enforcement." He took advantage of the students' attention being diverted by the arrival of the Chosen One to surreptitiously slip the strand of memory into a tiny phial, which immediately disappeared into his pocket.
"So," he said, standing, "you're off to a tremendous start, Miss Weasley, but you'll want to focus on your advanced Charms work, if you seriously intend to get into this line of work." He glanced at his watch and added, "I need to get back to the Ministry; I only came to see how Rose was doing. Any messages for your mother?"
"Tell her not to worry so much; Madam Pomfrey works wonders," said Rose. "And tell her I've already nearly caught up with my assignments, I've only got one essay left to write, and that's for Astronomy which is never hard…"
"Okay, okay, I'll tell her, I'll tell her," said Dennis, raising his hands in surrender. "Harry, good to see you, but I really need to get going…" He paused only a moment as Harry casually brought Canby's message partway out of his pocket, and finished smoothly, "So if you could escort me out, I'd appreciate it."
With a promise to the assembled Gryffindors that he'd return soon, Harry left the tower with Dennis. They waited until they were well away from the tower - in a corridor with no portraits - before Dennis said quietly, "So you saw Canby this morning?"
Harry nodded. "Which I'm keeping secret, as requested," he answered, equally quiet. "And now here you are… also secretly? Interviewing…?"
"Of course I'm not interviewing, Harry. That'd be something I'd do as part of my official duties. Naw, I'm here on my own time… just, y'know, checking up on the Minster's daughter." Dennis patted his pocket. "The fact that I might now have an eyewitness account of when an owl brought a suspicious book to said Minister's daughter is purest coincidence."
"Ah." Harry considered this for a moment. "Well, since I'm escorting you out, do you want to leave by way of the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey?"
"I've already seen her. Got the memory of her visit from an owl, too." Dennis turned somber. "I don't know what the hell's going on in the upper levels of the Ministry, Harry. All I know is that, for some reason, the MLE can't investigate this… officially. The Minister can't ask… officially." He gave Harry a half-smile. "But this isn't exactly the first errand like this I've run as a favor to Hermione."
"Then I won't say any more. Except, of course, to say thank you, Dennis." They walked in silence for a few minutes.
"It won't be the same owl," Harry said abruptly. "These people aren't that stupid. They won't use the same owl twice. They certainly won't use their own owl."
"Harry, you'd be surprised how often criminals are, in fact, that stupid. But in this case, I agree with you. The owl sent to Rose won't match the one who came to Pomfrey this week." Dennis cocked an eyebrow at Harry. "But if you wanted to send an owl, but not your personal owl, what would you do?"
"I'd… borrow a friend's owl? No, I'd go to the post office." Harry nodded in thought. "Probably the Hogsmeade post office, it's the largest center for postal owls in Britain, so more chance of being anonymous. Or maybe the London owl office, same reasoning."
"My, you do show a certain aptitude for crime… yes, exactly. So once I compare Tori Weasley's memory with Pomfrey's, those are my next two stops. Legwork's the boring part of investigation, but it gets the job done."
Dennis's words brought back a notion that had been tickling Harry's mind for several days now. He'd been stymied at first, knowing he needed information, but not knowing who he might go to for it. Hermione, usually the obvious choice, was completely out of the question in this case. Dennis would certainly want to help… but on the other hand, Harry wasn't certain how much help Dennis could give.
Still, Dennis was here, and for the moment they had privacy… Carpe diem, Harry decided, and chose a gradual approach to the topic. "So… you've done your fair share of investigations, I reckon. Hm, were you part of the investigation into Hermione's 'death'?"
"Hunh? I hadn't heard about any investigation into…" Dennis looked momentarily confused. "It was an accident, Harry. I mean, I wasn't there when it happened, but there were dozens of witnesses. Everyone agrees, it was an accident. You weren't planning on blaming it on Minister Shacklebolt, were you? I mean, the man was dying."
"And lost control of his Incarcerous spell, from what I've gathered. No, no, I wasn't trying to pin blame on poor Kingsley. As you say, it was an accident." Harry canted his head, as though struck by a thought… although he'd planned his next comment from the start. "You weren't there when it happened, you say? D'you happen to know who was?"
*
For the most part, the new Minister was keeping to the routine established by Kingsley Shacklebolt: Monday mornings, the seven Heads convened to report to the Minister on their various Departments. On this Monday morning, Minister Granger listened silently to Diggory, Croaker, Ventura, Zabini, Menderson, Edgecombe, and Robards, as each in turn - Robards last, per tradition - summarized their past week's progress and plans for the upcoming week.
Zabini couldn't help but notice that Granger said no more than was necessary to any of them. Which is hardly her usual behavior, he reminded himself.
"Thank you, Mr. Robards," she said as the Head of Magical Law Enforcement concluded his report. She paused, tapping one finger on the conference table, as though searching for her next comment. "First of all," she said at last, "you'll all have heard that the Wizengamot approved the Wizards Patrimony Act last week. It makes de jure what had been de facto: that those born of magical humans - wizards and witches - are themselves magical humans in the eyes of the law. I don't anticipate this will add very much to your Departments' workloads."
"It'll depend on how many frivolous complaints we receive," commented Robards.
Granger sighed. "There are limits to government's power," she lectured. "We can outlaw discriminatory behavior, but our purview doesn't cover the prejudice that underlies it. That must improve on its own… fortunately, in the long run it usually does." Her gaze flicked around the room, pausing briefly at Zabini before settling on Diggory. "For the legitimate complaints, we'll need to have procedures, in place and ready. MLE will have to determine the severity of each complaint… and Magical Creatures will have to verify that the complainant is, indeed, human. Will that prove difficult, Mr. Diggory?"
"No, ma'am," Diggory said… or rather, mumbled.
"Excellent. Please coordinate with MLE; I want preliminary procedures ready for my review by next week." The Minister gave her cabinet a slight smile. "Next: something that isn't so immediately urgent, but I need you all to begin planning for it. Those of you who don't currently have children or grandchildren at Hogwarts might not be aware of it, but this year's class is the largest in a couple of generations. After the fall of Lord Voldemort," and she raised a sardonic eyebrow as one or two of the Heads shivered at the name, even today, "we experienced a spike in the birth rate: what demographers call a 'baby boom'. In three or four years, the first of that boom will be leaving school and looking for jobs."
She tapped the table again, for emphasis, as she concluded, "We need to start now, to make sure jobs exist for them."
Zabini could tell the others were as puzzled as he was. "Ah, what do you…?" he began.
"Expanding manufactories to make new goods. Encouraging new shops where those goods can be sold. Jobs in publishing, construction, service industries…" Granger turned to Ventura, the Head of Magical Games and Sports. "Theo, correct me if I'm wrong, but the last Quidditch team in the League was founded in, what, the 1820's?"
"The Falmouth Falcons in 1823," Ventura replied promptly. Theo Ventura was famous for having every Quidditch statistic in history on the tip of her tongue.
"Almost two hundred years ago… because magical Britain hasn't had enough professional-level Quidditch players to field a new franchise," said Granger. "But in a few years, we will. The cream of the Hogwarts house teams - good enough to play in the League - but the League won't have enough openings, if any. Do you think any investors might be interesting in backing a new team?"
Ventura looked happily thoughtful. Granger turned back to Diggory. "The goblins will need to be persuaded to free up capital for investment. Could the Goblin Liaison Office devise some approaches?"
"I don't see why not, ma'am," replied Diggory, growing more enthusiastic.
"That's the sort of thing I want. All of you, set your Departments to thinking about dealing with a population explosion of young wizards and witches. You've got three years - but trust me, that won't seem nearly long enough." Granger coughed and turned to Robards. "Lastly: I have some questions regarding what's being done right now, about the criminal elements in Knockturn Alley."
"They're in disarray, Minister," Robards responded after only a brief hesitation, "following Swivingham's death. Currently, my agents are busy coordinating with ICW Aurors against Swivingham's bosses…"
"Yes, but Swivingham's death left a power vacuum in Knockturn Alley," Granger interrupted. "I'd like to make sure that vacuum is not filled. After all, ladies and gentlemen, our first responsibility is to Britain, not the ICW."
"Madam Minister," Robards began, somewhat more stiffly, "my Department hasn't enough agents to deal properly with Knockturn Alley and the Cartel…"
"I'm not saying we should completely abandon our commitments to the ICW, Mr. Robards," Granger said firmly. "But Swivingham's death is an opportunity that may not come again, and we ought not to waste it. Let's hold off, for now, on our work with ICW Aurors… get our own house in order, before expending resources abroad." She gave Robards a sympathetic half-smile and added, "For now, Gawain."
As ever, Zabini's face gave no clue to his thoughts. He merely nodded, inwardly ticking off a box in the timetable. She makes it sound plausible, he thought with a certain smugness, but it's compliance by any name.
*
The meeting had ended, and the Heads were heading out the door, when Granger caught Zabini's glance. Interpreting it as a request to stay, he lingered at the table as the others left the conference room - only Robards remaining, he noted uneasily.
Thankfully, it was Granger who addressed him. "Mr. Zabini, I want you to coordinate with the ICW, and make them understand that this isn't a permanent change of policy on our part. We will resume our combined pursuit of the Cartel, once we've dealt with our own problems."
"I'll bring out my best oil to pour over the waters, Minister," Zabini replied with a small smile. He raised one eyebrow and added, "And you needn't worry that I might let this slip into the wrong ears, either."
Granger met his gaze directly. "That is a concern, yes." Her tone was diamond.
"Madam Minister," Zabini said formally, "the moment I gave my evidence to Gawain here, any acquaintance I may have had with the Cartel Lords was severed completely. I've not had any contact with them, nor do I expect to have. They've written me off." He let his smile broaden slightly, adding that touch of charm and sincerity that had seldom failed him. "I'm grateful for this chance to prove myself, Madam Minister; I won't let you down."
"Mm-hmm," Granger responded, showing an appalling resistance to his charm. Clearly, he was still on probation. She glanced at Robards, who coughed gently.
"He did sign a Magically Binding Contract, Minister," Robards reminded her quietly. "He has to tell us the truth on anything Cartel-related."
She seemed to accept Robards's word. "Well, then, Mr. Zabini, I'll expect you to report to Mr. Robards immediately, should the Cartel Lords try contacting you again. In the meantime, carry on." She nodded to Robards, who nodded back and added enigmatically, "On your desk."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Zabini, and left the conference room in a cheerful frame of mind. Ah, the power of precise wording, he reflected. My Magically Binding Contract with MLE does indeed force me to answer truthfully any questions they ask about the Cartel. But any questions from the Minister of Magic - or any statements I might choose to volunteer - aren't covered by the Contract. Imagine that.
I still have to wait for Svartalfer to contact me, alas, but I do believe I'll have good news for him when he does.
*
That same afternoon, Madam Pomfrey received another ampule of the antidote. The accompanying note suggested it be administered to Rose Weasley without delay.
Poppy Pomfrey dated the note and initialed it, then placed it with the ampule in a locked drawer of her desk. She then, to keep up the pretense, sent word for Rose to report to the Hospital Wing.
*
Hermione returned to her office to find a sealed envelope on her desk, as Gawain had said. Breaking the seal, she extracted two sheets of parchment: one was covered in Dennis Creevey's handwriting, which he'd made neater than usual to fit as much as he could on the sheet. The other was in block letters so carefully crafted that they looked like a typewriter font: Canby's "handwriting".
The parchments were summaries, describing the pair's clandestine investigations over the last few days. Dennis was on the trail of the blackmailers - clever though they'd been, there was still a trail - and Canby was collecting evidence and testimony to forward to the ICW. All of which was, to use the Muggle term, completely under the radar. Within the Ministry, only Gawain knew what they were doing, no one else… which meant the Cartel wouldn't know, either.
There weren't many people Hermione could trust to do these jobs, do them well, and do them in total secrecy - but she trusted Dennis and Canby. Satisfied, she replaced the sheets in their envelope, resealed it with a Sticking Charm keyed to her alone, and filed it away for safekeeping.
*
Since Harry's disastrous visit to the Harpies' training camp, Ginny had been outdoing herself in the daily practice sessions: pushing herself and the other Chasers to the very limits of their skill, and beyond. Today, if anything, the Chasers' performance raised them to a wholly new level: two successive Keepers were quite unable to keep out the Quaffle, and the Beaters might as well have aimed for empty air.
"Amazing game today, Weasley," Jones told her warmly as they were readying to leave that evening. "Keep it up, and we're guaranteed to sweep the season! You scored eighteen times today - that's worth more than the Snitch! With play like that, it almost won't matter how good the opposing Seeker is!" Jones fell abruptly quiet at that point, almost as though she knew she was treading on thin ice.
And while Jones was careful not to look for a reason for this competitive burst, Ginny knew she knew.
Damn Harry Potter, anyway, she fumed as she prepared to Disapparate. Does he think he can treat me like dirt - humiliate me in from of my team - just because he rose from the dead, or something? Pfft! Oh, I'll show him. He'll rue the day…
She appeared in her flat just long enough to drop off her Quidditch gear, then Apparated to Blaise's manor house, materializing in the front foyer. "Hello!" she called out, unfastening the clasp of her cloak and hanging it over one of the pegs in the wall. "Hello? Is anyone here? Blaise? Virgil?"
At once, Virgil was at her elbow. "Good evening, Miss," he said. "Sir is in his study, if Miss would care to join Sir. Shall Virgil set the table now?"
"Yes, and dinner in half an hour," Ginny told the elf, striding from the foyer to Blaise's study. She found him there, seated not in his favorite comfy-chair, but at his desk. Papers were scattered across the desktop.
"Ah, good evening, Flame," he smiled. "A productive practice today, I trust?"
"Very," she replied with a smirk. "I think we're going to own the League this year. And your day?"
"It started out well enough… but then my office received our copies of the European papers. Their weekend editions." He extracted one from the pile of papers and offered it to her. "Le Moniteur Magique. I thought you ought to see it. Not want to see it, mind you, but ought."
Mystified, Ginny unfolded the paper to the front page - and barely managed to not shriek in outrage. "What… what is this shite?"
"A follow-up on a story they ran a couple of weeks ago - from Granger's visit to Greece, just before she was sworn in as Minister."
Ostensibly, the main story concerned the Wizengamot's approval of the new Wizard Patrimony Act, which Hermione had made her first priority after taking office. The new Act had seemed harmless enough, and Ginny had given it little thought. The Moniteur, from what she could glean through her scanty French, was making a big deal of it, pointing out how it benefitted some of wizarding society's most valuable members - such as France's own Olympe Maxime.
But a sidebar noted how the new Act had been endorsed by one Harry Potter, who was not only the Boy Who Lived Again, it seemed, but the Boy Who Lived To Serve The New Minister. In every way, apparently - as the accompanying photograph made graphically clear. It showed Hermione, dressed (if that was the word) as a sort of Greek goddess - her torso wearing only body paint, a tiny strip of fabric between her legs - with Harry holding her from behind. She leaned her head back and against his neck, arching her body seductively, while one of his hands caressed her breast.
Ginny looked up, her face twisted with outrage and fury, to meet Blaise's amused eyes. "The picture's obviously been altered," he told her. "The Moniteur printed a similar one two weeks ago, of Granger alone. It was faked then; it's faked now. Neither her attire nor their, ah, behavior are anything but sensationalist imagination. It's how the Moniteur sells, m'dear."
"Faked?" She studied the photo again. No, that couldn't be them… Hermione would never anything so revealing - she would certainly never allow herself to be fondled in public. And Harry? In their brief relationship, she'd had to train him where to put his hands! This photo had to be fake. "Oh, sweet Circe - Hermione will be furious!"
She slapped the paper onto the desktop as she went on, "I can almost hear her already: she'll be disavowing this story, this picture, so fast it'll set a new world's record. She has to disavow it, or she'll lose all credibility! And she has to put some distance between herself and Harry, too, to make people believe she means it." Ginny absently played with her hair, twining it around her fingers, as she continued to reason aloud… her earlier fury at seeing Harry so intimate with Hermione already forgotten. "Harry may have helped Hermione pass this Patrimony Act, but if he stays around her, he'll be a liability."
Blaise was still watching her with amusement, but his eyes were shrewd now. "Do you think so? Mm, possibly so. The picture wasn't in today's Prophet - it will be interesting to see if it appears in tomorrow's - but rumors are already starting to fly." He picked up the paper, unfolded it, and regarded the photo dispassionately. "Gossip about robbing the cradle, you know, just the sort of thing that makes for bawdy scandal."
She felt her face grow warm as his implication became clear.
"I think," Blaise said after a moment's pause, "I think it might be best, for the immediate future, if we kept some distance from Potter. Don't you agree?"
"You still need his support," she began mulishly.
"Not that badly, dear, not at the moment. Not at the cost of exactly the sort of innuendo that Granger's starting to acquire." He stood and walked around the desk, to wrap his arms around her waist. "And besides, I confess I wasn't too keen on the idea. I was never much one to share."
Ginny felt simultaneously surprised, relieved, flattered… and conflicted. Yes, she still wanted Blaise, but… she hated the thought of giving up Harry. On the other hand, she realized, if Hermione does distance herself from him, he'll be isolated. Let him feel abandoned for a couple of weeks, and he'll welcome my attention.
Still, she hesitated. "Then your position as Head of your Department… that's working out as we'd hoped? Being the facilitator, gathering support…?"
"It's a slow road," allowed Blaise. "But there are other factors coming into play; Granger may not be as much of a problem as we'd anticipated." And he smiled what was intended to be a reassuring smile.
A smile which instead - just for a moment, but for the second time in a month - left Ginny afraid of Blaise.
*
It had been a tricky problem, Dennis reflected. Someone who had been present at the scene when Shacklebolt and Hermione died. Someone who was available to meet with them, which ruled out most of the foreigners who'd attended the Conference. Someone who would have observed in detail, which ruled out folks like Ron Weasley. Someone whose attention wasn't focused on a single detail, which ruled out those who'd rushed to Shacklebolt's side when he'd fallen.
And someone loyal to the Minister, or better still, to Hermione Granger.
"This is Jason Moore," Dennis said, making introductions. "He was the Enforcer who accompanied Madam Granger when she went into the conference room that day to confront Zabini… guarded the door, didn't you, Jason? And this is…"
"Mr. Potter," finished Moore, extending his hand. "It's an honor, young man."
"Thanks," said Harry in embarrassment. "Uh, did Dennis explain why we asked for you to stay late this evening?"
Moore nodded, and they took their seats around the table. They were in a secure room in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a room used for debriefing agents. Which, in a sense, was just what was about to happen.
Dennis glanced at the evidentiary Pensieve set into the tabletop. "You really think there'll be something to see, Harry?"
"One way or the other," said Harry. "Mr. Moore, thank you for consenting to do this."
"Not a problem. And please, call me Jason." Moore set his wand to his temple and concentrated, as Dennis reflected on how perfectly Moore fit the bill. If Hermione had picked Moore to be by her side when walking into the lion's den, Moore must be trustworthy… His attention came back to Moore, as the Enforcer extracted a memory from his head. Moore placed it into the Pensieve, and exchanged a ready look with the other two wizards. Together, they touched the Pensieve's surface…
"Oh, damn," said Dennis approvingly at Hermione's dramatic entrance. "I've heard folks talk about what happened, but it doesn't compare to seeing it live."
Harry waved him to silence: his attention was focused on the scene playing out before him. As he'd explained to Dennis, everything Harry knew about that fateful day, he'd learned from the Daily Prophet: he'd not wanted to press Hermione on the details of her own death. Now, at last, he had a chance to learn those details for himself.
Like a hawk, Harry watched as Ron was taken hostage, and tricked his way out of it; as Hermione accused Zabini of working with the Cartel, and summoning Fatima as a bluff; as Ron stupidly attacked Zabini, giving Zabini the perfect excuse for eliminating Fatima; as Shacklebolt put an end to the fight by hogtying Hermione and Zabini…
As Kingsley Shacklebolt collapsed back into his wheelchair.
At once, Harry started counting softly. "One, two, three…" He wasn't looking at Shacklebolt; he ignored Robards and the others who rushed to Shacklebolt's aid. Instead, he positioned himself so that he could watch Hermione while keeping the rest of the room in his field of view. His voice grew inaudible after a bit, but Dennis was sure that Harry was continuing the count.
Ropes made a sudden appearance around Hermione's throat and mouth. Harry immediately cast his eyes around the room, seeking… something, Dennis was sure. Evidently, he didn't find what he sought: he reluctantly relaxed after a few minutes, seeming content to watch the remainder of Moore's memory play itself out. He watched as Hermione's death was discovered; he smiled slightly as Croaker, in an oddly tender moment, started cutting away the ropes, arranging her dead body respectfully. His attention shifted to Blaise Zabini, whose ropes were being sliced off much less tenderly by a pair of Magical Law Enforcers. As they hauled Zabini to his feet, the halves of a broken wand fell clattering to the floor.
"Yah," said Moore, in response to Harry's unspoken question. "He lost his wand. Must have happened when he fell - landed on top of it, we reckoned."
"Ah," said Harry. He said nothing more, until the Pensieve memory showed him entering the conference room: quite nude, and with Hermione's precious soul cupped between his hands. "Thank you, we're done now," he said briskly (and though he had turned quite businesslike, his blush was brilliant).
With a rush, they were out of the Pensieve and back in the Auror's debriefing room. Dennis was about to thank Moore again, and volunteering the memory, when Harry spoke up. "I'd like to review it one more time."
"Again?" Dennis was puzzled. "But… but you said you wanted to see what happened the day you came back, and you have. What more is there to see?"
"Maybe nothing." He glanced at Moore. "It's your memory… it's your call."
Jason Moore shrugged with one shoulder and gestured at the waiting Pensieve. "Be my guest. D'you want company?"
"It should only take a minute." Harry had turned strangely curt; Dennis decided he didn't need to join Harry in his second trip through Moore's memory. And indeed, it only took a minute.
But when Harry returned from the Pensieve, both Dennis and Jason noticed the change in him. Where before he'd been curt, now he was still: he stood, perfectly silent and perfectly motionless, staring at the silver surface of the Pensieve without seeming to see it. There was no visible tension - no fists, no clenched jaws, no trembling musculature - but somehow, both men could sense something cold and deadly within the young man. A terrible, destructive maelstrom of power, held quiescent through force of will alone.
For the moment.