The Replenishment Decree

“All of these? Are you certain?” Hermione’s eyes were almost comically wide.

“Unless there’s another Hermione Granger and another Narcissa Black in the London area receiving quite a bit of owl post these days then, yes, I’m certain these bags are for you two.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione rolled her eyes before turning to Narcissa.

“A quick stop back at the Manor before our next appointment, then?” Narcissa smirked a bit.

“Oi! Don’t forget your ‘owlers! Back ‘ere, pearl,” the Post Mistress shouted.

Narcissa saw Hermione’s hand begin to tremble and subtly pressed their palms together before speaking, “Have you checked them for potions, hexes, and jinxes?”

“That’s extra, innit?”

Smiling with narrowed eyes, Narcissa leaned forward, “Then we’ll pay extra, won’t we? Whatever the cost, please check the Howlers, we’ll be back for them later on today. You can bill the Black Family Vault at Gringotts for both accounts.” Turning back to Hermione, Narcissa released her hand and quickly cupped the younger woman’s cheek. “It’s okay, Hermione. Let’s just apparate back to the Manor with the bags of post and come back for the Howlers later, alright?”

Hermione’s eyes fell shut in relief, “Thank you, Cissa.”

Casting a quick, silent featherweight charm, Narcissa picked up her two bags and motioned for Hermione to do the same with her three before they stepped outside to Apparate to Black Manor.

Waiting to speak until the front door had closed behind them, Hermione finally burst, “I can not add all this post to my schedule! I definitely do not have the time to read this many letters on top of everything else! Nor do you! What are we going to do?”

Narcissa, dropping her bags and wrapping her arms around Hermione, answered immediately, “Stop fretting, darling, I have a plan already. We’re going to hire an assistant. He or she can sort through all this ridiculous post and make sure all of our other plans and appointments stay on track.”

“An assistant?”

“Exactly,” Narcissa beamed.

“Like a secretary? For us?”

“Unless you’ve a better plan to sort through and read all this post?”

Lips pursed, Hermione shook her head.

“Okay, then we’ll put the word out that we’re looking to hire someone as both a personal assistant and wedding planner. Really, their job will be to sort the post. I do wish we had checked on Saturday when we first spoke of it, obviously leaving our post boxes for a week is too long.”

“Just put an advert in the Daily Prophet? The Quibbler? Really?” Hermione looked nervous. “Do you think that’ll work?”

“I don’t know, darling, but it’s a start.”

Releasing Hermione from her arms, Narcissa picked her bags up to carry them to her own study. She paused just before she stepped out of view to glance back at Hermione with her eyebrows raised. The younger woman followed suit and picked up her own bags to deposit them near her desk.

“Good?” Narcissa asked, meeting Hermione back in the grand entryway. At Hermione’s nod, Narcissa continued, “Alright then, let us go to the Ministry. After that I will take care of placing the advert and you can come back and get started on your work.”

Hermione reached for Narcissa and squeezed the other woman to herself in a tight hug, breathing in the now familiar and comforting scent of her. As they headed toward the gates, Hermione suggested they apparate to her flat and take the tube from Seven Sisters straight to Victoria Station.

“Another subterranean train ride?”

Chuckling, Hermione bumped her hip into Narcissa.

A short while later, the pair found themselves seated side by side once more on the London Underground breathing in air that had a distinctly vile smell.

“Honestly,” Narcissa murmured into Hermione’s ear, “if this odor isn’t enough to spark the development of an invisible, undetectable Bubble Head Charm, I can’t imagine what would be.”

Still laughing at the look on Narcissa’s face, Hermione pulled her off the train at Victoria Station. They walked the few blocks to the Ministry phone booth hand in hand and entered the tight space together.

“Oh, no,” Hermione looked at Narcissa with wide eyes before she dialed the telephone.

Narcissa reached out and rested a hand on Hermione’s hip, asking after the exclamation.

“We were supposed to owl Mafalda and let her know what time we would be here.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, darling. She’ll be alerted when we receive our badges.”

They entered the Ministry lobby a few minutes later and made their way to the security checkpoint queue. Before they made it to the front of the line, they spotted Mafalda Hopkirk exiting a lift and heading their way. Nearing their turn, Narcissa looked more and more anxious, though Hermione wasn’t quite sure of the reason. Mafalda was waiting for them with the Security Wizard and it would be a breeze to get through.

“Wand,” the wizard behind the desk droned without looking up.

Hermione looked at Narcissa but the older witch simply motioned for Hermione to go first. She handed off her wand to the security wizard who finally looked at her when the wand registration became available. Hermione caught a glimpse of his nametag and understood Narcissa’s tension.

“Ah, Hermione Granger and...friend,” he glared.

Smiling, Hermione corrected, “Hermione Granger and fiancée. May I have my wand receipt, please?”

The sullen man flicked it across the counter while staring at Narcissa.

“Good morning,” she said quietly, “here’s my wand, Officer.”

Still staring daggers at Narcissa, he dropped her wand carelessly onto the weighing station. He finally looked away to read her registration information. “Is this the same wand you had last week?”

“It is.”

“Have you any other wands in your possession?”

“I do not.”

“Are you aware it is illegal to carry a concealed wand into the Ministry?”

“I am.”

He waited a long moment before tossing her wand receipt in her general direction.

“Bring those papers with you, signed by Department Head Hopkirk, if you want your wands back when you leave.”

Madam Hopkirk leaned down to speak quietly to Officer Burbage who shook his head, lips pressed together. Hermione and Narcissa stepped slowly toward the lifts, waiting for Mafalda but not wanting to make the situation with Burbage any more awkward.

“I don’t need a break!” Burbage said loudly.

Mafalda answered so quietly no one else could hear what she was saying.

Burbage stood quickly, “I said I don’t need a break. I just need not to deal with that murderous wh-”

“If you finish that sentence I will fire you on the spot,” Hopkirk said clearly. A moment later she continued, “I am relieving you of duty for the rest of the day. When you arrive tomorrow for your shift, report directly to my office.”

Turning to face Narcissa, Hermione surreptitiously eyed Burbage. She needed to be certain he wasn’t headed in their direction. Instead, she watched his face pale considerably.

“No, Madam Hopkirk, please. I can’t be fired. My family—my dad—we can’t...I need this job, ma’am.”

“You’ll receive your pay for the rest of today, Christopher, and tomorrow we’ll discuss how we can move forward.”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you, I’ll see you in the morning,” Burbage said quietly, all the fight gone out of him. He stepped back from his work station and removed his cap, shuffling away to head out of the Ministry.

“Mistress Black, Miss Granger, if you’ll give me a moment to get this squared away, I’ll meet you on level two,” Mafalda said clearly to the women.

They immediately acquiesced and made their way to the lifts, waiting for the crowd to diminish before stepping in one. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand shot out, holding it open. Seeing to whom the hand belonged brought a quick smile to Hermione’s face...until Harry’s eyes widened and he glanced to his side.

Stepping back and moving out of sight, the women heard, “No, that one’s not empty. Let’s just wait.”

“Come off it, Harry. I can see from here it’s not full!”

At the sound of that voice, Hermione’s entire body tensed up.

“Just wait for the…” Harry didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Ron stepped directly in front of the open lift doors.

“Hermione!” Ron smiled.

She didn’t answer, hand trembling, she reached for Narcissa.

“And Miss...tress Black, good morning. Sorry, almost called you the wrong last name again. I’ll get it right one of these times,” Ron chuckled self-deprecatingly.

Narrowing her eyes at the confusing young man, Narcissa carefully pulled her fiancée closer to her side.

Harry gently nudged Ron into the lift and followed closely behind, shutting the door to any other would-be riders.

Looking back and forth between her oldest, dearest friends, Hermione couldn’t stop the tears flooding her eyes. Seeing the emotion clearly on the younger woman’s face, Narcissa wrapped her arm around Hermione.

“No, it’s not what you think,” Harry said desperately.

“You don’t know what I think,” Hermione shot back, though her words were muffled as she was pressed quite tightly to Narcissa’s shoulder.

Ron looked at Harry, clearly perturbed at Hermione’s tears. “Eh, Mione? What’s...what’s wrong?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, really?” Narcissa pressed her free hand to her eyes.

Harry nodded slowly.

“Any idea who would’ve done it? It’s an Unforgivable and they are illegal again, I believe.”

Hermione gasped, suddenly realizing what Narcissa and Harry were saying. Ron had been hit with an Unforgivable... Ron had been under someone else’s control by way of an Imperius Curse.

“But -” Hermione spoke up.

“No. Not the first few times. I think in the beginning of your engagement, he was just being a dolt. But on Friday I think he was definitely not himself.”

“Friday?” Ron interrupted. “I was sick on Friday...I think. I don’t really remember much about Friday. I came to work, to the Ministry...but then it all goes sort of fuzzy and...calm. Like maybe I had too much Calming Draught or something.”

“And Saturday evening? At the Three Broomsticks? Then, as well?” Narcissa asked.

“I...I think I must have drank too much on Saturday. I don’t really remember the Three Broomsticks.”

Narcissa looked sharply at Harry, questioning how this could possibly be. Before he could answer, the lift stopped at the Department for Magical Law Enforcement and the doors slid open. None of the four wished to share their conversation with anyone else.

Stepping off first and looking around, Harry gestured for the others to follow him and led them to an empty conference room. Closing the door, he quickly cast a muffliato and shared a bit more with Narcissa and Hermione.

“The bar wasn’t empty but we weren’t paying attention to anyone other than ourselves. I didn’t even think to look for anything dangerous or suspicious. We were...we were celebrating and just...enjoying a drink and being alive and...together. Then, suddenly, Ron’s attitude changed.”

“Is that what made you suspect something?”

“Not in the moment,” Harry admitted. “It was actually yesterday evening, Ron owled about the article in the Prophet.”

“Right!” Ron interrupted, his brow furrowed, face a bit flushed. “I don’t know where that came from. I didn’t give an interview. And I know I was a real prat at first but after you came to The Burrow last weekend, I stopped. And why would I care if Seamus and Blaise or Draco and Dean get wed?”

Narcissa sank into a chair. “You sound quite different than I was expecting, Mr. Weasley. When we visited you at The Burrow you tried to hex us from the grass. Do you remember that?”

“I wasn’t going to hex you. At least,” he paused, “I don’t think I was going to hex you. I just wasn’t ready to let go of the idea of marrying Hermione yet and I wanted to talk to her...separately. Away from you and Harry so I could change her mind.”

Narcissa carefully kept her gaze trained straight ahead, not wanting to witness the eye contact between Ron and Hermione. Her stomach clenched, palms slightly sweaty.

Hermione stepped up behind Narcissa resting her hands on the seated woman’s shoulders. “Ron, you must have realized by now, it wouldn’t have worked. There was no convincing me. There is no convincing me to change what’s happening here.”

“Oh, mate, yeah, yeah, I know. I...I get it, Mione, really,” Ron waved his hands between them, as if to clear the air. “Honest, I’m not trying to get between you two.”

After a long moment of silence, Harry spoke up, “But someone is. And we need Madam Hopkirk’s help to figure out who. Now, I think it might seem odd if we all four go traipsing through the Department to her office. I’ll go and bring her back here.”

“No, what if you get Imperiused? Two people go and two people stay,” Hermione disagreed.

“Fair point,” Narcissa looked up at Hermione and nodded.

Harry sighed and tilted his head, Ron was the strategist, not him. He just wasn’t sure if Ron was aware enough at the moment to think it through.

All three members of the Golden Trio spoke at once to make their case for who should go and who should stay. Of course, they all had different opinions…for different reasons. When she could listen no longer to the escalation of bickering, Narcissa stood and raised both hands.

The three friends fell silent and looked at her, wide eyed.

“Hermione and I shall go and fetch Mafalda. It’s unlikely we will gain any undue attention as people have grown mildly used to seeing us together. Madam Hopkirk is expecting us and trusts us enough to come quickly when asked. Harry and Ron - you should lock the door and ward it as well as you can behind us in case anyone realizes you're here and tries to come in with nefarious purposes.”

Ron agreed first and the other two, respecting his ability to strategize well, went with the plan. Hermione and Narcissa, hands linked, headed back into the corridor to find Mafalda Hopkirk’s office and bring her back to help. Finally, a little luck was on their side and the Department Head was just making her way out of the lift as they rounded the corner.

“Ladies, I do apologize for the delay,” she offered immediately.

“Oh, it’s no matter, Madam Hopkirk, actually. We have…well, that is to say…eh,” Hermione stuttered out.

“What my fiancée is trying to ask is whether we might meet in the conference room here, nearer the lifts, rather than your office? It’s near enough and already a perfect setup for our conversation,” Narcissa smoothly interjected, eyebrows raised, head tilted.

Narrowing her eyes momentarily before nodding, Mafalda agreed and motioned for the pair to lead on. To her credit, she didn’t hesitate a moment when she spotted Ron and Harry waiting for them inside the room already.

Silently casting her own spell to protect against evesdroppers first, Madam Hopkirk then calmly sat at the head of the table and asked for an explanation.

“As you know, Narcissa and I were coming here this morning to file a serious report against Ron,” Hermione began.

“But then we ran into each other in the lift,” Harry continued.

“A report against me? Really, Mione?” Ron asked quietly.

Hermione grimaced, nodding at him. “And request a Writ of Safety.”

Ron’s jaw dropped half-open and all the air gushed out of his lungs, “Merlin’s pants, a Writ of Safety? Have I really been so bad?” He looked between his two oldest friends.

“You really have, Ron. If there’s a Pensieve I can show you.”

“But…I don’t even remember doing anything to upset you. Not since that day I was kind of a git at your flat. When I went in your rooms. Honestly, I’m not even really sure why I did that. I knew it was wrong, even in the moment, but…something…something just made me do it.”

“Not something, Ron,” Harry said quietly.

“Someone,” Hermione finished.

Mafalda, who had remained quiet through the entire exchange, cleared her throat, reminding the trio that she was waiting for something a bit more concrete.

“We believe, Madam, that Mr. Weasley is being routinely Imperioused by someone he sees here in the Ministry.”

“The only people he really sees here though are people who work in this department. Aurors, Investigators, Patrolwizards, Witch Watchers…you think one of them…one of us would do such a thing?”

No one replied for a long, awkward moment.

“Madam Hopkirk, given my history with people on both sides of the war, I’d have to answer yes. Absolutely, I think one of us would do such a thing. It could be something as obvious as wanting to hurt Narcissa or as devious as some larger plan we know nothing of yet. But, yes, it’s someone here doing this. Without a doubt.”

Mafalda questioned how Harry could be so certain, so absolutely sold that Ron was innocent and being cursed.

“It’s simple really. I took a page from Hermione’s book and perceived clearly something which others overlooked. Ron, fancy a whiskey?”

“Ugh, no, Harry. You know I hate whiskey - firewhiskey, okay but plain old whiskey? Never,” he shook his head.

Hermione’s shoulders sagged and she rested her forehead briefly against Narcissa. “You said, Saturday night, he was drinking whiskey. Ron never drinks whiskey.”

“I should have known right then something was wrong. Ron switched from butterbeer to Beetle Berry Whiskey and turned into a right git. I thought it was just the alcohol doing it to him but it was the other way ‘round. The alcohol was the clue that it wasn’t him.”

“And whoever is doing it has the absolute worst taste in whiskey possible,” Narcissa chimed in drily. “If one is going to drink whiskey, one must consume Swott Malt. Beetle Berry,” she shivered, “is the cheapest, most poorly made brand of whiskey in the country. Likely the continent. Possibly the world.”

“Or they’re broke and they’re used to purchasing cheap stuff,” Hermione added.

“Great,” Mafalda rubbed her forehead, “that fits the bill for, oh, half the Law Enforcement Patrol.”

“Ah, but they also have to be capable of executing an Unforgiveable at a distance with a specific conversational target,” Narcissa reminded her. “That ought to narrow down the list.”

“True,” Mafalda agreed.

The group fell into silence as the three Ministry employees mentally sorted through their colleagues.

“Oh,” Harry whispered. “Oh, hell. Bloody hell, I think I have a good guess. It’s not a Patrolwitch, it’s an Investigator. And a ruthless one at that. And she drinks whiskey but she thinks Ron’s a poor Weasley so she made him order a cheap one instead of her favorite, Sir Tomkins. I don’t know that she’s trying to hurt Narcissa, honestly. I think she’s trying to hurt Hermione.”

“Harry! Who?” Hermione practically shouted.

Before he could answer there was a banging at the door. “Oy! We’ve booked this room! There’s protocol you know!”