It wasn’t the first time she was dealing with heavy rain splashing in her face, of course. Not even here. But this year, despite the warm temperatures compared to British rain, the rain was merciless. Everything hurt. Her eyes hurt from squinting, her face from the dashing drops, her feet from constant slipping, her legs from keeping balance and her behind from failing to do so twice. Meanwhile the rain had even washed the dirt off her soaked clothes beneath the repellant cloak again. Yes, she could have used a shield, but she didn’t want to be detected as a source of magic.
So she had fought her way along the coastline for almost seven hours since sunrise, no shelter in sight but the hope for one past the next hill. The salty water spraying all the way up the cliff hadn’t mingled with the rain enough, so also her lips hurt from the diluted minerals and she knew if she would look in a mirror, she would see a younger looking but brunette Dolly Parton staring back at her. If she only had any singing talent, she might have tried to pay for a cosy room with that, but the next bed and breakfast seemed as far away as her success as a country singer. So far away her ears were already ringing from the constant rain, sounding like a frantically swinging buoy, trying hard to throw her a beat in its battle for survival. It was imagination, of that she was certain. She would never find any buoy here. Who would need one at such a merciless coast.
Seven. Seven years was her daughter old, and her brother was little more than a year younger. Time had flown so fast, Hermione hadn’t even noticed she had done this for more than double the time. For fifteen years now, two days a year. She had meanwhile walked that coast for thirty days – and half as many nights – more than a month in hours, and still not found a single house, ever. But that was all she wanted: to find one. Single. House. And that to be the right one. Hating herself that she had limited her tries to only a weekend per year, knowing now that it was actually herself slowing down the process and making her chances of failure indeed galactic, her logic told her lastly. There was no saying he was even still living on Crimea. Or, if she was honest to herself, had moved there at all, after the war. All she clung to was her lousy, way too less frequented attempts to find a grain of sand in an endless – galaxy of emptiness. And yet, a solar system suddenly laid before her, on the other side of the hill she had lastly climbed.
Wiping her eyes with disbelief, she looked down at the blurred grey silhouettes, and back out at the sea to her right, and back down, to make sure she hadn’t imagined. Lights were on in some of the small windows and a muddy river sought its way between them, miraculously not swallowed by the sea yet. It seemed the waves only cared for battling the cliffs and found the village too boring for even bothering. Or were they scared of – a lone buoy? It was red, a very small dot in the distance, but it was there and it was spinning wildly in the waves, the poor bell holding on like that was all it had ever wanted.
No path down. On the other side of the village, another hill rose and she could see more cliffs, stretching into a hazy distance. Even there the waves were jumping high, but the village laid peacefully. Very wet, yes, and in the outlet all sorts of rubble were engaged in what looked like the escalation of Highland Games, but otherwise the village appeared as though it was untouched by the weather.
More sliding than walking, she made her way downhill, eventually crashing into the back wall of a large wooden barn. Cursing under her breath and robbing her palms, she climbed over heaps and heaps of tangled fishing nets that didn’t look like they were still in use. The sounds coming from inside the barn told her that it must actually be a boathouse and finally at its front, a peek inside confirmed it. A fine number of boats was dancing in a pit of water, coming in from a canal that she noticed only now. The wooden bridge over it didn’t really look stable, but crossing it was the only way to reach a bridge of stone over the river, and into the village.
Very careful not to be blown away by the gusts that danced back and forth with every rush of the distant spring tides, she somehow managed to cross the slippery boards and cobble, arriving in what even looked like it could be called a main street. The small houses almost made her feel like she was somewhere in Scotland or Ireland, but the Cyrillic letters on various little shops made it clear she was far away from the Isles. At some point her watch had drowned, so she could only guess the time. Telling from how everything was closed though, it must be either around midday or past. It was a quite large village, but expecting anything to be open at this time on a Saturday was naïve.
Eyes as open as she could, she walked past rows and rows of dark windows and doors. Fishing supplies, wool work, a butchery, a bakery, pottery, very tattered bushes hanging by the door of a flower shop, a candle maker and in between a number of houses that appeared residential. Simply everything was closed. Everything but – her heart leapt. Further down the crooked alley lights shone bright onto the cobble and the closer she got, the more obvious it was that people were singing against the whistling of the wind outside. Slipping almost more than down the hill, she hurried towards the two-storey tavern. In two of the little windows under the low roof she could see pillows leaning against the glass. Maybe not all her hopes for a resting place to sit out the rain were lost.
Lively she opened the worn down wooden door and – felt biggest regret. As though someone had pointed a machine gun at them, everyone fell silent. One of the grumpy appearing musicians looked indeed grumpy now, as his smile was gone with the last chime of his guitar.
“Здрастуйте.”, Hermione gargled, hoping she pronounced it unsuspiciously enough.
She must have. Although curious, they continued the chant and everyone who had sang with them, all others returned to their conversations or silent stares at whatever they had stared at before she had interrupted them. From her observation, Hermione believed that nearly every resident was in the tavern right now. She didn’t see any children yet, but regardless, the place was crammed and warm and a wondrously divine smell of fish stew laid in the air, resulting in a comment of her stomach. Sadly every possible spot at the counter was taken, but in the corner of her eye she noticed the bartender’s eyes following her to a corner table with only the worm eaten bench left as any chair that may have stood by it, had been dragged elsewhere. Also quite a number of dirty dishes stood on the table, more out of emergency than neglect. Not long and a woman with a tablet and in a dirty apron had caught up with her.
So as to not make the bench wet, Hermione kicked her travelling cloak under it and away, wiping her hands over her messy strands that had left the formerly tight bun hours ago. While the cloak wouldn’t soak up water on its own, that didn’t mean it wasn’t covered in water. The small table creaked alarmingly when the woman leant herself on it, face closer to Hermione’s so they could talk over the noise.
“Tourist?”, she said with heavy accent.
“Uh – yes!”, Hermione gasped.
“English?”
“Yeah – I mean, I do speak Russian, but I’d prefer English right now, if it’s possible, yes.”
“Right. Drink? Eat?”
“Eat, please. Uh – fish? Fish stew?”
“We have, yes. Small? Big?”
“How big is big?”, for a second the woman eyed her and Hermione had the strange feeling she tried to intrude her brain.
“Big fish stew it is.”
“Okay!
Hermione could only reply with an awkward grin, confused by how easily the waitress lifted actually all of the plates and cutlery onto her tablet that she even balanced on her left hand while she wiped the table with a cloth in her right. Even more remarkable, it was only a stump, approximately in the middle of her forearm. An injury that had happened many years ago, that much Hermione could tell from how well it was healed and how skilled the woman was with it. Hoping her stare wasn’t interpreted as pity but the actual awe it was, she smiled up to her and received – a smirk and a wink.
The following minutes Hermione spent noticing that however old the window behind her was, it didn’t let in any cold but instead felt as if it deflected the warmth of the room back at her to make her dry faster. Listening to the music and people singing weirdly out of tune and yet somehow in it, made her forget the tough hike. In particular, it was the piercing laugh of a small elderly woman with thick grey curls and bloated face that drew her attention. It was so heart warming, Hermione suspected it to be the actual source of the heat in the room.
Reflecting on the way the waitress had said the word tourist, she somehow knew this village didn’t see many tourists, but wasn’t averse to them as long as they didn’t ask too many questions. That made her guilty though, as that was exactly what she knew she would end up doing, and if it was only how they could actually sustain themselves with practically nothing around. Though she considered there might be the occasional ship with supplies from the closest city stopping by. As if the stew had called out for her, her absent eyes were suddenly back at the counter, where the waitress had come from the kitchen, balancing a steaming bowl and talking to the bartender.
It was obvious immediately that they were talking about her. Especially as the bartender threw what looked like an approving nod while polishing a glass. Why, she would get to find out a couple seconds later when the waitress had come over and put down the indeed huge, clearly handmade ceramic bowl and wooden spoon and pulled a stool to the opposite of Hermione in her corner window nook.
“Thanks.”, Hermione sighed, smelling the deliciousness of the fresh and hot stew, regardless of what it looked like.
“No worries. It won’t eat you.”
“What?”, that was not what had actually alarmed her.
“The fish is dead. It won’t eat you.”
“I – ”, she couldn’t help chuckle at the blank face the woman gave her, despite trying to recall where the stool had come from all of a sudden. “Yes.”
“Problem?”
“What? No, no! I just don’t want to burn my tongue, that’s all.”
“You won’t.”, her accent was almost as fierce as Viktor’s was, although way less flawed, Hermione considered, but still the stool made her curious.
“Won’t I?”, careful she dug in and sipped – it tasted in fact amazing and was exactly as hot as she preferred any stew. “Oh!”
“Yes. Oh. We don’t burn guests. They bring money.”
“I bet.”
“And fresh wind.”, the waitress remained blank, her arms crossed on the tabletop in a way Hermione wouldn’t get to see the stump again.
“Naturally.”
“Yes. They open doors and fresh wind gets in.”
Hermione nearly sprayed her next mouthful into the other’s face. But for some reason she didn’t choke on it badly. The blank stare turned into a cheeky smirk.
“Your travelling cloak is of good material.”
“Huh?”, Hermione gargled. “Oh! Yes. Keeps me very dry. Not fully in such a downpour, but – ”
“Too dry. For a маґл.”
“Come again?”, she had to clear her throat.
“I said, too dry, witch.”
“I – ”
“Don’t worry. This might be very sleepy, boring, average village, but we are mixed here. We don’t really talk about it, as we magic ones decided to come here to live as much without magic as we can, but everyone knows who is what.”
“Oh.”, that actually took a real load off her mind. “Oh! Well,”
“So. What brings another witch here? Alone? Looking for wand material in driftwood?”
“If only.”, Hermione munched on a big piece of filet. “How come your English is that good? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“I learned it.”
“Likely. Why did you try to use Legilimency on me?”
“Thought you would notice. You don’t look as dumb as you behave.”
“Well thanks.”, she huffed.
“And you never know. We don’t see many strangers here. Not even when the market ship comes by every other month.”, at least that question was answered.
“Who would have thought.”
“Yes. Doesn’t mean we don’t welcome them, as I said. As long as they are friendlies. Are you?”
“I’m not going to blow your second arm off, if that’s what you mean.”
“Very kind of you. How come you think it was blown off?”
“I’ve – ”, she needed to swallow another spoonful, “I’ve seen quite a few injuries like that. Magically caused, I mean. I don’t know if you know, but a couple years ago – ”
“Who doesn’t know, Hermione Granger.”
Luckily the spoon was made of wood, so nobody heard it fall on the table. Even if not, it would have been too loud to hear a metal spoon fall.
“Or Weasley, I take it, since a few – years, now? Don’t give me that look. We are in the middle of nowhere, but – ”, much louder than any spoon would have been, an alarm bell rang in Hermione’s head, “That doesn’t mean we don’t get wizard newspapers with international sections.”
“Ooh.”, that breath left her like the wind outside blew, along with an awkward smile and chuckle.
“Why does the British Ministry send someone from the Being Division here? Are the Unspeakable incapable of finding valuable Invisibility Cloaks and someone came up with the idea there might be a Demiguise? Here?”
“Oh I’m not here on the Ministry’s behalf. This is a personal journey. Besides, I recently applied to change to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
“Want to boss your friends around?”
“Uh – I – no! I just – ”
“And this is your personal trip to impress them by hiring retired Aurors? You got another Dark Wizard rising or what?”
“Er – no? So that’s how that happened? Your arm?”
“Good. You ask. That means they didn’t send you. They know how that happened.”
“But I said that!”
“Yes. Either way, I’m not returning. This is my home now. And if you tell them,”, she leaned even closer, her head now almost over the nearly empty bowl, “I know where you live. Arthur would be disappointed, that his daughter-in-law bothered someone who saved his life.”
“Oh goodness – ”
“That cost me my arm, if you want to know. But it was worth it. He’s a good man and raised a good family. I’d gladly give any limb for such kind. Doesn’t mean I volunteer to go back to that job though.”
“No.”, Hermione shook her head. “Of course not.”
“Good. Now why are you here?”
Knowing nobody would look, she stuck her arm into the beaded bag that still hung around her shoulder and pulled out her old Arithmancy book, which she placed between the bowl and the woman’s crossed arms.
“I hated that stuff, even back in Durmstrang.”, Hermione only huffed, but naturally the former Auror understood and opened it. “Yes?”, it opened at where a photo was hidden inside.
“Do you know him?”
“Should I?”, her expression became so unreadable at an instant that it was utterly scary.
“I thought you get newspapers?”
“Well, he’s dead.”, if she could remain blank, so could Hermione. “Died in the Battle of Hogwarts, from what I know.”
“You’ve seen him around here?”
A few seconds of mutual stares passed, then the woman burst into laughter. It was awkward, with her head thrown in her neck, and it was short, but ended in an amused grin.
“This is a little village in the middle of nowhere. A lot of dead fishermen are said to haunt the streets, but everyone knows it’s just people’s way to describe the wind. He wasn’t a fisherman.”
“Have you seen him.”, Hermione stayed persistent and serious.
“Darling. I may have lost my arm in a war. But you, have lost your mind. No, he does not live in this village and you won’t find a single house within twenty square miles of it. Room is hundred and fifty Гривна. Stew’s on the house. Maybe he’ll whisper to you through the wind, who knows. Get dry, get some rest and then go back home to your little children. There’s a common saying among Aurors.”
“Which is?”, now she got slightly angry on her, when she slapped the book shut and pushed it back over.
“Don’t hunt shadows if you don’t get paid well for it, or the shadows will flip the coin.”, she hissed through her teeth, but loud enough.
“Has anyone told Harry that saying?”
“I hope you liked the stew. There’s more for dinner, if you care to stay. But I can’t guarantee it’ll be free.”
With that, she raised and took the empty bowl and spoon with her, and, as it seemed, also all the warmth that could possibly be deflected by the window behind Hermione.
~~#~~
British rain was one of a kind. It could really drive one to the edge. Even more so, if one was not used to armies of liquid icicles bombarding one’s head within minutes. He had been, but had forgotten over the years what it was like. Had forgotten how to ignore it and walk on as if it was a bright summer’s day although winter was drawing near. It was like being back in war, in times where hordes of Dementors crossing the country would darken the sky and drown people not only in inexplainable sorrow, but unpredictable downpours.
His ponytail disappearing in the darkness of his black coat’s hood and his hands stiffly in his pockets, he marched along the street, steady at pace, yet trying to avoid the increasing number of puddles on the pavement. Far worse, rain seemed to have a discussion with itself somewhere around the corner ahead and he was ready to be showered by a local cloud. When he reached said corner though, it startled him to find it not to be the rain, but a number of very upset men.
Hadn’t they stood as upright as they managed to, they would have melted with their surrounding. Old, crooked fellows, poorly groomed, and the entirety of them giving said surrounding the smell as though one would inhale a dog’s drying fur after that had taken a bath in a stagnant pond. Their language was harsh, but their tone desperate. And as soon as he had spotted the young officer by the door, the shining black hat with its chequered ribbon above the brim, he knew that this was not going to be the casual trip he had expected.
“Please step back, Sir.”, the officer warned him when he drew closer. “So should all of you. There’s nothing to see here. Go home.”
“But we haven’t got no home, we have!”, moaned one of them. “Ye seriously wanna leave us standin’ in the rain?”
“Excuse me, officer,”, asked the newcomer, “But what happened?”
“Like I said. Nothing to see here. Leave, please.”
“I must insist that you tell me – ”
“And I must insist that you keep quiet and go back to where you came from, Sir.”, countered the officer, straightening.
“Oh, no. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I will not go back to Ukraine just to grant you your newly achieved authority.”
“Sir,”
“I am a close friend of Mr Furrow’s. So are they all here, I believe.”, he received an approving murmur from the crowd. “You would really do us all a favour if you told us what is going on here. Otherwise I will find myself forced to go in there and ask Mr Furrow himself.”
“There’s nothing you can ask him. He’s dead. Now go.”
The murmur changed to shock. He could not believe those words either. Eyes wide, he stared at the angry young man before him, too paralysed to try getting into his mind for confirmation.
“D-dead?”, stammered an elderly man behind him. “B-but – no – ”
He could not wait for it. Gears snapping in place in his own mind, he knew there was not a second to lose. Quicker than a fly he rushed forward and pushed the door of the pub open. The officer yelled and ran after him, yet either was stopped by a wall of commands inside.
“What the devil – ”, moaned another. “Get out, Sir! You have no business here!”
But he had. They did not understand. He had – clapped his hand on his mouth as he saw the old man lying against the front of the counter, spread-eagled and motionless. Not believing what he saw, he sped towards him, knelt down in the middle of the protesting policemen to take a pulse.
“For Heaven’s sake, Sir! He’s dead! Nothing to check there!”
“No – ”, he aspirated startled. “He’s – he’s not – ”
“What?”, he could feel it, faintly, but it was there.
“Barney?”, he said softly, taking his friend’s face in his hands so as to see whether he would open his eyes – and he did. “Barney – oh thank god – ”
“Don’ thank him yet, boy.”, Barney chuckled dull and quiet, couching, and the policemen gasped.
“What happened – ”
“Jus’ make sure ta take care of my stuff.”
“Barney – ”
“It’s all where it’s s’pposed ta be.”
“What happened!”, he hissed, but Barney’s eyes lost focus. “Did someone torture you?”
“Got some eye for that, haven’ ya?”
“Who tortured you, Sir?”, asked one of the policemen.
“None ya’d know, man. As for you, boy, gimme yar word. Stabbins an’ his lot.”
“Which lot – ”
“Stabbins?”, the policeman demanded. “Stabbins and further?”
“Tha ol’ fellows. Ya know ’em. I know ya do, boy. Grumpy long faces. Even tha bitch.”
“There were five of them, yes. Now I remember. All branded.”
“Tha’s righ’. Now tell tha Sisters ta go fetch ’em.”
“I will.”, he said calm.
“I’ll be goin’ now. Jus’ make sure they’re gone an’ none of those penguins’s pryin’. Farewell, boy.”
“Barney – ”
“Ya know where ta bring me.”, his breathing became flatter.
“Santa Monica, yes.”, a coughing chuckle left him.
“Tha right one, I warn ya.”
“Don’t worry. I know which.”
“Good. Cause I’d never forgive ya.”
“And Barney – ”
“Yes, boy?”, he croaked.
“Gree’ Dad from me, will ye?”
“He’ll get a big fat kick in tha arse, I promise.”, a forced grin appeared on his quivering lips.
“No – jus’ – jus’ gree’ ’im, please.”
“’Kay – ”
Right when a last breath left his exhausted lungs, the men outside could be heard protesting again. So was the young officer who had stopped in the doorway but was now asked to step aside once more.
“I am really sorry Sir,”, said the equally young woman, covered in what appeared to be tons of strangely still dry and differently coloured shawls that showed nothing but her face from her brows down to her chin as well as her hands, one of them holding a shimmering silver badge to the man’s nose.
“What’re – ”, he stared at the object with confusion.
“We’ll take over from now. Have a nice day, Sir.”
“Ma’am? Who are you?”, asked one of the others as she just brazenly pushed the officer aside when he wouldn’t clear the way for her and her boss.
“DMLE.”, that one said casually. “AO, to be precise. Your job is done here. Just as she said, that’s our crime scene now.”
“Excuse me, but what exactly is the DMLE? Or the AO?”
“The ones who’re gonna make you kick yourself out if you don’t leave immediately.”, grunted the woman.
“I’m utterly sorry, but I won’t let myself or my officers be shooed from a crime scene by a Muslim chick and a nutter looking like he’s just sprung out of that stupid children’s book, claiming to be some big guys no one knows.”
“And who are you, thinking you got the right to boast with your racism and sarcasm?”, he closed up to the much taller blond.
“Detective Inspector – ”
“Ah yes, yes. Spare us the muttering, please. Chief James Evans.”
“Chief of what.”
“You know exactly what. Now get your prances out of here before I find myself forced to arrest each of you.”
“Very well.”, he sighed dreamily. “You heard him, let’s go.”
“Boss?”
“Go!”
But it was not one of his now; though reluctantly; leaving men to have said it. Literally poleaxed she stared at the crouching figure with glassy eyes by the dead barkeeper, who stared back likewise. Too shocked himself by the sudden decease of his friend and his own carelessness, his lips only stood ajar without a sound.
“Harry!”, she gargled when the door was shut at last and they were alone.
“What?”, he would finally turn towards them. “Oh – ”
“Hello, Master of Creativity.”, their opposite whispered.
“Hey.”, Harry grunted. “Yeah. With everyone saying I’m like my father, I thought I’d please the mob. And I should’ve known you’d be here first. But aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“Ye know we’re several ’ours ahead. Go’ lunch break. An’ it’s tha firs’ o’ tha month. I’d meant ter deliver tha ren’.”
“You’re not honestly still paying rent for that flat?”
“I jus’ said it, dinn’ I?”
“But aren’t you – you’re dead! Everyone said it! Even you, Harry!”
“Be quiet, Inama. You won’t remember that little operation anyway.”
“What?”
“So?”
“Ye’d better ge’ back ter tha Ministry an’ claim it ter be false alarm.”
“No – ”, Harry moaned slackly, his neck and shoulders slouching. “Why – ”
“’E hasn’ said. Only who. I’ll tell ye when I’ve foun’ ou’.”, he sighed at the blank face by the counter. “Wha’ ’e din’ know is tha’ one o’ tha’ gang is ’is greedy niece. I be’ ye anythin’ she’s be’ind it actually.”
“Meaning?”
“Meanin’, buryin’ ’im will ’ave ter wai’.”
“Meaning?”, Harry stressed it a little.
“Tha’ after Mum died, it was Barney ter ’ave secured tha flat an’ I never questioned ’is abilities. An’ wit’ ’is death, tha protections are gone.”, with a swift flick of his wand, the body became a single bone which he slipped into one of his pockets. “Meanin’ tha’ I will ’ave ter go before she finds wha’ I ’ave hidden in ’ere. Meanin’, tha’ I ask ye ter please leave ’is place, seal it an’ contac’ Aberforth. Tell ’im only tha’ Barney is dead. He’ll know wha’ ter do.”, he stood up and walked towards him. “While ye’re at it, make sure Draco’s goin’ ter Cokeworth.”
“Draco? What’s he got to do there?”, he eyed him curiously as he approached.
“Tha’s between ’im an’ me, fer now. I ’ope ye understan’.”
“No, I don’t, but you can consider yourself lucky that I’m not Hermione.”, Harry blinked forcefully, with his brows narrowed.
“An’ ’ow I do.”
“Right. Aberforth and Draco. Anything else?”
“Ye should probably alarm Kingsley tha’ ’ere’s a nice number o’ Muggle ’omeless tha’ll be spendin’ tha nex’ couple o’ days in Hogsmeade fer ’eir own security.”
“Can’t Aberforth do that?”, he got the clue.
“He’ll be too busy makin’ it ’appen. It is essential tha’ ye tell Kingsley whose regulars ’ey are. Tell ’im no more ’owever. ’E knows tha role Barney played an’ ’e’ll know ter sen’ tha right people ter calm ’em. Also sen’ Francis fer ’is aid. Some migh’ jus’ no’ be prepared fer tha’ much shock wit’in a single day. I dun’ ’ave much more time.”
“Sure.”
“An’ Harry,”, he gently placed a hand on his shoulder although he had already meant to turn for leaving, “Dun’ alter ’er memory. She’s yer deputy. She migh’ jus’ as well be involved. Tell ’er all ’bou’ tha Sis’ers. An’ second, ye were righ’. ’T’s gettin’ worse. Jus’ a couple months now an’ we’ll ’ave ter leave tha country anyway.”
“Just please leave before anyone gets you again,”, Harry moaned, seriously scared for him.
Dropping a scarce smirk he turned at last and was gone without a sound.
~~#~~
“You know, it’s really a surprise seeing you here,”
“Not exactly. We just have different lunch times.”, he sighed exhausted as they made their way towards the counter where rows and rows of employees where waiting for their food.
“And why do we happen to have the same lunch time today?”
“Because I’d normally eat at home on Fridays since it’s Al’s blabbering day, but I just wouldn’t make it back in time today.”
“Blabbering day?”
“He’s just exceptionally talkative on Fridays. No idea why.”
“You really have strange children,”, Hermione sighed as well, with an unmistakable undertone though. “And you look – well – agitated – ”, she studied him when he raised on his toes to see why everything was going significantly slow before them.
“Really? Do I?”, he bared his teeth, not due to a grin though.
“And tense – ”
“I have no idea, what you’re talking about. And where the heck is Sam – ”
“Sam?”
“Samantha Haggershton.”
“Oh – I – I didn’t know Madam Haggershton’s first name,”
“Now you do.”
“Probably just got a free day. Now that you mention it, I can’t recall ever having seen her on Fridays.”
“That is not good.”, Harry huffed. “Not good at all.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ll like someone else’s lunch buffet too.”
“Are you? Well, good for you. Until you figure how much of that José rum Al Bumin mixed in.”
“Al who? Harry – what’s wrong with you!”, he was beginning to seriously worry her.
“Nothing’s wrong with me; I just happen to have Apparated about six times this morning,”
“Six times? Blimey!”
“What?”, Hermione spun, almost knocking a man in a tattered Witch Watcher uniform over, who was waiting in line in front of them. “Oh I’m sorry, Sir – ”
“Oh no – ”, Harry chuckled as he recognised him. “What happened to you, Mick?”
“Not worth mentioning.”, grunted the man, his face bearing many reddened scratches. “Just one of those stupid Kneazle-Cats of someone I had to watch. Cilda’s on it now. Double score for her, that damn cat-lover.”
“What are you doing here!”, Hermione couldn’t care less for that little conversation initiated by her surprise.
“Er – lunch?”
“Ron,”
“Lunch.”, Harry said swiftly. “Hi, by the way.”
“Hey.”
“Ron, how come you think you can eat here? You know the cafeteria is for Ministry employees only, and you’ve been – ”
“Who cares I chucked that job in? No one ever complained,”
“Ron!”
“No one until you decided to nag.”
“I don’t nag,”
“You do.”, both men said; Mick had his back on them again.
“And why’d you have to Apparate six times?”
“Ron, you are not an Auror anymore.”, Hermione panted. “To remind you, you’ve only been a fulltime Auror for two years!”
“And you never were. Still we’re all under – ”
“But she’s right. None of the people in our vicinity are under the Confidentiality.”
“Hey!”, all three turned back to see who had protested.
“Oh, sure, everyone but Jess.”, Harry sighed. “Yet the actual point is, none of that matters if I’ll die during lunch.”
“Why you’d die?”, asked Ron.
“Harry is under the illusion, that meals which are not prepared by your sister, Madam Haggershton or himself, will kill him.”, she puffed. “So much for Mad-Eye having been an excep– ”
“Well,”, Ron exaggerated the word but was cut off.
“What’d you like?”, sang the young man behind the counter that was filled with steaming metal trays, squinting from the oversized toque that had slid down onto his eyebrows.
“Um – I – well – ”, Hermione examined the trays.
“The chopped chicken there,”, Ron sang from between their heads.
“Hey! The lady was first!”
“She’s my wife and she’s indecisive. The chopped chicken, please.”
“Forget it, Ron. I was first and you’re here illegally. Those ribbon no-”
“Tagliatelle.”
“What?”, her head zoomed at Harry.
“They’re called tagliatelle and I’m pretty sure those shiitake in the sauce are contaminated.”
“What?”
“Personally, seeing that we’re still friends, I’d prefer the worst you get is pustules. I solely take a bit of that rice. The plain, if you please. So as to give Hermione time to decide what she wants to kill herself with, thanks.”
Baffled, the man nevertheless dashed some rice onto a plate as well as Ron’s chopped chicken and they went for the drink fountain where Ron took himself a glass of turnip juice and Harry just plain water. While they searched for an empty table, Hermione could catch up with them.
“Your call.”, she could hear Harry mumble to her noodles as they sat down, she and her husband opposite to him.
“Harry?”, Ron stopped his friend’s fork halfway to his mouth.
“Yes?”
“Is it just me, or is your rice shiny?”
“Oh Ron, let him eat. He’s found something he doesn’t complain about. So – ”
“What the – ”, Harry though curiously frowned at his white rice on the plate as well as on his fork, where some of the corns took a plunge down to their other fellows.
“Ever heard about moisture due to steam?”, but Harry sniffed at his fork, emptied it with a snort and put it aside to unbutton the collar of his robe and shirt. “What are you – Harry?”, he retrieved a tiny phial from his Mokeskin Pouch and dripped some drops of the faintly yellowish liquid on his rice. “Harry. It is moist, not poisoned. This job really affects you more than it did Mad-Eye.”
“Just wait.”, Ron breathed, staring at the rice with fascination.
“What do you expect? That it turns green?”, Hermione chuckled dark.
“Blue, actually.”, Ron said and only four seconds later Hermione’s eyes popped out.
“This can’t be for real.”, grunted Harry as there actually appeared blue dots on the rice.
“Harry?”, Hermione moaned when he furiously stored the phial and pouch and brought his clothes in order. “Would you two mind telling me what this is supposed to – ”
But he was already on his feet with the plate in hand and marched back to the counter, where he slammed it down in front of the young man, who was even more confused than before. The number of people still waiting to get their lunch, backed away from Harry’s heavy panting as though they feared he might explode any moment. He stayed angrily calm however.
“Would you perhaps be so kind and tell me what you did to that rice?”
“’Scuse me, Mr Potter, but I never turned anyone’s rice blue! What’ve you done to it!”
“I know you didn’t turn it blue. But you did something to it that caused my test to make it turn blue. Yes?”
“I haven’t – ”
“Are you absolutely sure?”, Hermione was on her feet as well; Ron barely raised, meaning to stop her from intervening by grabbing her arm.
“Yes!”, the man moaned.
“Well, I don’t believe you.”
“I – I – only – ”
“Yes?”, Harry snarled.
“Oh well,”, chuckled the man, “This morning, I had a little talk with a woman. ’Bout cooking, you know. And I told her that my rice’s so claggy. She said I could try to add some butter, so I – ”
“Butter.”, huffed Harry.
“Yes! That’s all! I swear!”
“Butter. In rice!”, slowly, most of the cafeteria fell silent.
“I – ”
“What did she look like?”
“Who?”
“The woman, you idiot!”, Harry barked, right when someone stepped into the hall, raising a wand.
“I knew it wouldn’t be easy,”, she said loud and clear, “But since it seems to be impossible to make you suffer, I see myself forced to make short work of this. For Walpurgis!”
All Hermione saw was a bright green flash and Harry vanishing from sight. Then, before the woman could flee, the air was torn with screams and red light. Her left ear was ringing from Ron’s yell, as he too had shot a stunner at the attacker. Before she realised what was actually going on. Harry was there again, robbing his right cheek. Everyone went silent once more, staring at him, who seemed even more confused than them, blinking heavily when he took off his glasses that had cracked.
Now it was Hermione to blink alike, when he gave them a shake and put them back on as though they had never been damaged. Ron meanwhile lowered his wand, as many others did, while Harry checked whether his mandible was alright.
Slowly but surely, the sudden silence got swamped by whispers. Nobody dared to move otherwise. At least not intentionally, and while Hermione still tried to comprehend what just had happened, others were already theorising wildly.
“Ouch.”, Harry chuckled, more to himself, but clearly noticed that he was the centre of attention, fully now. “Er – why’s everyone staring at me? I’m okay, but where’s that mad kamikaze hag – ”
“Harry?”, Ron gargled feebly.
“I’m fine – I just got hit by Lucius – er – hit the counter, I mean. That’s all. How many have actually stunned her?”, he asked around, but no one seemed capable of doing anything but gazing at him. “You are aware though, that multiple stunners can kill? I would have needed her alive!”, the only reaction he received upon this were more astonished whispers some people exchanged and heads shaken in disbelief. “What!”, after some more time, Hermione could finally find her own voice to address him.
“How did you do that?”, she aspirated.
“How did I do what?”, he frowned at her.
“Sh- she killed you!”, for a moment he only narrowed his eyebrows.
“No. No, I think I’d know if I’m – second – what?”
“Everyone heard her yelling the incantation, mate.”, Ron muttered. “And the curse clearly hit you.”
“No, I was knocked over by – by – ”, he took a rapid deep breath, staring around again, almost panicking.
“You’re trying to tell us – you can’t remember? Not even the flash?”
“I – I – ”
Obviously realising it was not wise to stay and wait for further reactions, Harry hurried towards the entrance, yet staggering a bit. But the few standing people made way for him without ado. Though before Hermione could get her legs to follow him, he quickly knelt down and then was gone in a white whirl.
“Come on,”, Ron panted.
“What?”
“I said, come on!”
“Don’t tell me you know where he – ”
But Ron already dragged her with him, out of the dining hall and along the long corridor to the lifts. The workers out there seemed to have no clue of what had just happened not so far away from them; and would likely make the front page next day unless somebody would put a lot of effort into preventing it; but all Hermione saw at the moment, was her own reflection in the tiles when they waited for one of the lifts. She had visibly lost some colour and her eyes stood wide open. Ron was ashen too, but his expression was determined and he shoved her into the lift as soon as the grills clattered open. They jumped out at level two and he brought her to the Auror Office, where he pushed one of the door’s wings open, only to receive gasps from the people inside, who Hermione also notice to be confused, yet not due to their entry.
Ignoring them, Ron sped towards the door to Harry’s office and tapped the handle with his wand. Before Hermione could catch up, he was already inside. It was also him to re-lock the door behind them. Hermione tried to get an impression of their surrounding. There were more plants than she remembered from her previous visit that had been quite a long time ago already. The only space that didn’t look like a jungle were Harry’s desk, a large bookshelf that filled the side where his desk had been during the time he had shared the office with Robards, and a corkboard with different photos and notices. Not behind but before the desk, Harry sat on a chair, his elbows on his thighs and his mouth buried in his hands. To his feet, the spread-eagled woman.
“Is she – ”
“She’s still alive.”, Harry sighed into his palms.
“That was brilliant, Harry!”, Hermione chuckled.
“What?”, his head zoomed at her, leaving his hands still though.
“I don’t know how you managed to block the curse so it just knocked you over, but you do realise what everyone thinks now, don’t you?”
“I – ”
“Hermione,”
“They believe you can’t be harmed by the Killing Curse! They think you’re untouchable! They think that’s the actual way you survived when Voldemort tried to kill you! Each time!”
“Hermione,”
“I didn’t – ”, Harry gargled.
“And therefore no one’s ever going to try – what?”
“I didn’t block anything.”, Harry lightly shook his head.
“But – ”
“I have no idea what just happened. All I know, is that I saw Lucius Malfoy and that he punched me in the face. But when I got back up, I was where I’d been before and everyone was just staring at me. I swear.”
“Lucius Malfoy?”, Hermione blinked.
“’S got a bit of a habit for that, hasn’t he? I mean, didn’t you tell us his son saw the same when he tried to kill himself?”, chuckled Ron.
“Yes.”, Harry pondered. “But that would make sense – ”
“I don’t understand – ”, now Hermione was definitely confused.
“Draco said, that he had clearly lost his will to live after the war. Draco believed he was just a coward who was trying to avoid facing any more consequences for any of his acts, trying to avoid assuming responsibility. But what if he was so weak that the only way he believed to be able to redeem himself was through death? What if he believed that to be the only way he could be strong enough to help? And when Draco wanted to get out of his own affairs, he just had to remind him not to make the same mistake. He clearly regrets to have committed suicide, but makes the best of it, sending people back to life if they aren’t supposed to die yet.”
It made no sense to Hermione, but in light of what had happened, she decided it was best to listen to his weird assumptions.
“He saved my life, just like he saved Draco’s. I’m not immortal, Hermione. And yes, I still remember what you said to me after Draco’s attempt. But I’m not. It’s merely his father who’s grown a heart, in death at last.”
“You reckon?”, Ron asked.
“Yes. I mean, Draco said – hang on – ”, Harry gazed at them as though they had just vanished into thin air. “Twice – he – he must have died from hitting the stairs already! But of course – who could possibly survive that – no – that – ”
“But of course!”, Hermione finally understood. “He hit the stairs! It killed him, but he must have rolled off several more in such a weird way it brought him back! And Luna slapped him, didn’t she? And you hit the counter! Of course, in the forest, it must have been some benefit that Voldemort’s curse first and foremost destroyed the weak part of his own soul in you, but you might also have hit some tree’s root! And now you hit the counter!”
“Hermione, I don’t think physical impact can be enough to undo the effect of the Killing Curse.”, Ron noticed. “I mean, how many people slammed against walls or furniture and didn’t stand up again?”
“It worked.”, Harry sighed.
“Well, of course!”
“No, you don’t understand.”, Hermione eyed him. “It wasn’t Lucius. Maybe it was just a hint to make me realise. That I saw him, I mean. It was actually Draco. He saved me.”
“Er – ”
“Before he made me take off the mask that kept him breathing, he told me that he had done it for me. It wasn’t his father who thought the only way to help was through dying; or maybe he was too; but it was Draco. He told me he had jumped in hope that if he strongly believed to sacrifice his life in my name, he would save me from harm. He said that it would quite likely not happen that he was around when I was in danger and so he could repay me, and therefore he wanted to do it that way. It – it worked – and you were right! Without knowing why or how, you were right, Hermione! James will be turning eleven in a week. Without knowing that only hours before you said it, Draco had practically made me immortal! Well, at most, one more time, right?”
It took a long while for his considerations to fully reach her, but when she looked up at Ron, she could see that he must have understood it much more than her. Yet the sudden appearance of something red amidst the green of the plants startled her so much it wiped it all from her head.
The velvet cloak reaching the floor, the face covered with a delicate mask she suddenly remembered to have seen long before the end of the war, the tall figure stood between some gum tree and the motionless woman on the floor. Hermione gasped.
“You?”, Harry chuckled. “I actually – ”
“I am really sorry,”, the clearly high pitched female voice with Italian accent muttered muffled by the mask, “But the others are busy preparing everything. And now you tell me we ’ave to fit one more into that naff room.”
“Well, I’m terribly sorry, but according to Ron and Hermione,”, he briefly nodded at them, “This woman basically killed me a couple of minutes ago. And – recognising her for whom she is, you might definitely want to squeeze her into whatever room you’re talking about there.”
“Fantastico.”, the woman said quick and grim.
“Since when are you so averse?”
“Since it was a very busy day before I ’ad to flee from a full shop without time for making up an excuse! As much as I like this ’obby, it might cost me a week’s salary!”
“Don’t get me wrong, but you two earn pretty enough to offset your financial needs, seeing as you’re practically self-sustaining,”
“No, the rings almost ruined me!”
“Oh come on!”, Harry murmured, clearly upset too. “I thought you love – ”
“I do,”
“Then why complaining about affording two pairs of rings! Honestly,”
“Sì, sì!”, she brandished her Dragon Hide covered hands wildly, a very ornate reddish wand in the left, and Hermione’s heart made a jump as she believed to have seen it before as well, though right now couldn’t remember where exactly.
“Did you even pop the question yet?”, there was an awkward pause.
“No.”, Abelarda’s arms sunk slackly.
“No? What the hell are you waiting for?”
“Il momento giusto,”, she directed her head towards the window that faked the sky outside.
“You shouldn’t wait anymore.”, Harry said definite.
“That is not on you to decide.”
“No. But I’ve been following the discussions. It might even be legal next year. Not where you live, but here in Britain, I mean. You’ve both waited long enough.”
Abelarda though didn’t respond. She just knelt down, fiercely grabbed the slack arm with her free right hand and was gone, as soundless as she had come. Harry sighed deeply.
“Harry?”, Hermione addressed him carefully, but he just got up and walked towards the window. “What was this about? All of it? How is it that she can Apparate into this room? And how come you know what might go on in their private life?”
“What does.”
“Huh?”
“What does. Not what might. And as you just said, it’s their private life. If they would want you to ask questions about it, they would have allowed you to get closer personally. I think, I’ll be going home now. I had enough trouble for an entire month, and that after last night.”
“Harry – ”
“I just hope the Obliviators weren’t – headily. Having the whole world thinking the Killing Curse can’t harm me, might be of some advantage. Or not, considering that Barney clearly must have slipped information about my – condition.”
“Your condition?”
“Why would he tell anyone about your intolerance?”
“Oh, he wouldn’t.”, he said to Ron, whom Hermione just stared at, not believing what he had just said.
“Intolerance?”
“But taken that she knew how to kill me in a simple and effective way, it must have slipped him during the torture.”
“Torture?”, both others gasped.
“Haven’t I told you?”
“No,”, they again replied simultaneously.
“Barney’s dead.”
Hermione couldn’t move. In fact, she couldn’t even blink – until she felt her body doing so on its own. But not because of the news. She had a vague assumption of how deep Barney had been involved into everything, by having owned the flat Severus had grown up in and him having gone to see Barney after his father had died – but what exactly it meant, why ever someone would torture the man to death for information, she might never find out. Yet he couldn’t have known that much, could he? But on the other hand, seeing how reclusive Severus had actually been, Barney may have known things she herself could have never ever imagined and she still knew for a fact there were many things Severus hadn’t told her. Like for example –
“Intolerance?”, she breathed, unsure if she guessed the connections right.
“What?”, Harry breathed.
“What intolerance, Harry!”
“Goodness, I just told you that Barney got tortured to death for secret information and you can’t stop insisting on knowing why I’m forced to live almost vegan? Honestly.”
“What?”
“He’s got an albumin intolerance, Hermione. That’s what he tests all his food on. He’s not paranoid. Just trying to survive.”
“Trying to survive – ”, she whispered, wheels clicking in her head.
“You really haven’t told her, mate?”
“No. To be fair, I thought she knew.”, Harry sighed.
“Albumin? And what does that do?”
“And I also thought you were the bookworm, Hermione.”
“Harry!”, she protested. “You still can’t expect me to be living, breathing, walking Encyclopædia Britannica! Just because I – ”
“The what?”, Ron chuckled.
“I did, though. Guess I was wrong then. Never give up hope, right? Well, long story short, because I do reckon you’re gonna look up the full details,”, he ignored her crossed arms and heavy puffing, “Albumins are proteins produced in the liver. And by an inheritable malfunction, my liver stopped doing so. Meaning, my body treats the stuff as a very foreign substance and therefore tries to fight it, resulting in an anaphylactic shock whenever I consume anything containing much of it, which would be most sorts of meat and dairy. Strangely goats’ and donkeys’ milk has the least of it, so I can digest that, but yes, you were always right about noticing how I cut meat off my diet. It kills me, Hermione. Much more certain than the Killing Curse does, as we reckoned.”
“Oh my god – ”
“It’s not the end of the world.”, he said grim. “I just need to be careful.”
“Oh my god!”
The voice of Ginny from years ago echoed in her head: `And you’ve been using the wrong milk.´ Also she saw herself grating goat cheese with the question why he didn’t bother those expenses. She saw him pushing a plastic pot off with disgust. Smelled the clear vegetable broth he had had her order from Dobby explicitly. How he had left for the back door after Slughorn had dumped steak sauce on his plain pea rice. How Burbage had reacted – it hadn’t been because of the mess Slughorn had made. She had known what the sauce would cause. All the times Hermione had never questioned Severus’ eating habits. She had wondered, yes, but never questioned that there might be an actually fatal reason behind it. What she wondered however was –
“Why suddenly in the middle of your life?”
“It’s not clear how it actually works. Francis has spent most of his life trying to figure. Yes, Herm, he’s got the same intolerance. Hit him shortly after he got to Hogwarts, while his twin brother or cousin got much older, yet not lived long enough to find it happen. I know by now that I inherited it from my father’s side. My grandfather had it too. It’s apparently a male thing, but not exclusively.”
“But eating fish is okay?”, she now remembered a big salmon in a bag.
“What you have to understand about fish is, that the gene pool is completely different.”
“Sure. And you say, it suddenly happens? Out of the blue?”
“There might be contributing factors, as it was in my case, multiple things had happened then that weren’t good for me, like, having lost my daughter or realised what exactly happened the night Voldemort went to Godrics’ Hollow or that I hadn’t eaten defrosted things in ages – I was already weakened and possibly already intolerant months before without noticing, as I hadn’t consumed much of the wrong stuff, but yeah, as I said, your liver can make it through a lifetime without stopping to produce albumin, or only a few years. I was lucky to have seen twenty. But actually, there is so much stuff in the world a human can eat, I’m not really complaining. Unless someone tries to poison my rice with cow butter, of course.”
~~#~~