Revelio
“I thought we were done with all this,” A voice shouted from the crowd.
“The Ministry’s security is a joke!” another said.
Harry, Hermione, and Luna had been summoned to the Headquarters immediately following Hannah’s funeral, along with all other witches and wizards employed by the Ministry. Still dressed in their funeral capes, they were almost crushed as everyone gathered at The Atrium, arriving noisily within the fireplaces, wreathed in plumes of green flame.
“How did this happen?!” A woman screeched.
“We don’t know,” Kingsley Shacklebolt boomed, his voice cutting through the noise. He stared ahead, his expression grim. “Azkaban’s security has failed us—but they are working around the clock to find the source of his escape and discover Dolohov…”
“This is the third time Dolohov has escaped—” John Dawlish shouted, “and always before a war,”
“There will be no war,” Shacklebolt said, his voice harder than before. Hermione worked to keep her breath steady. “I know many of you might feel unsafe, but rest assured, this will not escalate…”
Not-so-subtle whispers arose around Hermione, one voice standing out clearly above the rest. “I heard that the barred gates to his cell hadn’t even been tampered with. It’s as if he vanished into thin air,” It was Ernie Macmillan, and beside him was a tall man with messy grey hair. Hermione could not see his face. “Someone’s gonna get into big trouble,”
“…but we cannot allow this to spread discord among the Wizarding community. I ask all of you to remain vigilant. We cannot afford fear-mongering or baseless accusations,”
“How will you fix it?” another wizard shouted.
“I will see it arranged that Auror presence will increase,” Shacklebolt declared, and Harry’s shoulders slumped slightly, “and the rest of us must be on our guard. Anything unusual will get reported directly to me,”
Noise and chaos clanged against Hermione’s ears. The only other wizard to have escaped from Azkaban without outside help was Sirius Black—and they knew exactly how he had done that. Hermione felt certain that Dolohov was not a secret Animagus, which left only one option—someone had helped him escape.
~*~
“Probably turned into a bloody bat and flew out the window,” Draco said bitterly as he glanced at the newspaper lying flat on the examination table.
ANTONIN DOLOHOV ESCAPES AZKABAN
The bold letters were emblazoned upon every copy of The Daily Prophet the following morning. Even some muggle newspapers had published articles about a dangerous fugitive, though his true crimes were wisely left unannounced.
He would have done it already years ago if he could do that,” Hermione dismissed, though Draco had given a rather disconcertingly good guess at Azkaban escape methods. Since the announcement of his escape, droplets of anxiety occasionally trickled down Hermione’s spine, and it was not like she had enough to worry about.
Her fingers trembled as she worked at the potion station, preparing the two flasks holding Hannah’s and Draco’s magical signatures. She could still remember the pain when Dolohov had hexed her; the twisted look on his face; the stench of his breath.
“He probably stinks even worse now,” Harry added, stroking Crookshanks as he sat in the armchair. It was barely eight o’clock in the morning, but Harry was already with them in Hermione’s beaded bag, despite Kingsley Shacklebolt ordering all Aurors to patrol key areas—and having to be in close quarters with Draco.
Draco didn’t bother looking up. He showed little interest in keeping things civil. Though he was less translucent since drinking the bottled human blood, his lack of memory and bad temper remained the same. If anything, his snide remarks had increased. “Would you rather he smelled like candy, Potter?”
Harry stilled, and Hermione wondered if she would have to break them apart again. Instead, he smirked. “Wouldn’t hurt, would it? Ah, that reminds me,” He opened his jacket and rooted around in his mokeskin pocket, “You will have better use for these than me,” he threw the bundle of objects into the air, Draco catching them with ease, “Blood lollypops. A vampire favourite, so I’ve heard.”
Harry had taken them with him on their first trip to Highgate, which now felt like an age ago. What did he think he was going to do with them? Throw them at a blood-thirsty vampire as a distraction? Some kind of bribe? Hermione snorted at the thought.
Draco opened his palm to find the crimson candy—sugar saturated in human blood. He dropped them on the bed. “I’ll make sure to send you a cheque,” Draco sneered, leaning back and crossing his long legs.
“It’s done,” Hermione announced, bringing the two flasks to the examination table. Both looked identical—half filled with clear liquid, almost like water. “We’ll look at Malfoy’s first.”
Draco turned lazily, his eyes hidden beneath his blonde hair, obviously trying not to seem bothered by the fate of his existence being sealed within that innocuous flask.
Hermione removed the lid and waved her wand confidently.
Revelio
Almost at once, as if it couldn’t wait any longer, an image of Draco’s magical signature burst forth, rising above the flask like a shimmering hologram. Hermione jumped back, startled, as the thin shining daggers erupted, so close they almost caught her on the nose.
The trio watched, transfixed, as those daggers morphed into slender silver flames, sparking and flickering wildly. The room was lit with an icy white light, and the mooncalf Celestine’s remaining eye bugged as if it might pop from her head.
Abruptly, the flame appeared to become aware of itself and stilled. For a moment, it hovered quietly until slowly and almost darkly, it began to spin—turning and coiling possessively around a dark space like a serpent wrapping tightly about its prey.
“So there is a soul,” Draco said dryly, but Hermione could see he was a little dazed.
She blinked. “Well,” she said, trying to recapture her breath, “This most certainly is your signature.”
“Yeah, it’s also a show-off,” Harry blurted. “Oops, did I say that out loud?”
“You did, Harry,” Hermione said as Draco grumbled something under his breath. Ignoring them both, she bent forward, becoming nose-level with the flask of seemingly clear liquid, “I can see there’s another signature within the jar. I assume that would be the infection,” She leaned back and whipped her wand, casting the revealing charm again.
But nothing happened. They sat waiting, expectant, for that same kind of eruption, but all remained the same—Draco’s signature continuing to spin, silent and deliberate, hovering above the flask. “It’s in there, I can see it. Like energy,” She waved her wand again, but again—nothing occurred. “It’s ignoring me!”
“It has some sense then,” Draco purred.
“Let me try,” Harry announced as he rose from the armchair, Crookshanks skittering from his lap. He positioned himself before the examination table while whipping out his wand, and from the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Draco flinch.
Revelio
Harry murmured as his wand landed softly, gentle yet commanding. Only a moment passed before a light flicked on, as though someone had turned on a lightbulb within the flask. Hermione’s lips turned into a thin line.
The light glowed dimly, almost shyly, and Harry slowly waved his wand, coaxing it to arise. It crept higher—an orb of light cresting above the rim of the flask—until finally breaking free. It soared, rising high, and positioning itself above Draco’s swirling silver flames. It shimmered brightly, filling the room with pure golden light.
That’s… That’s beautiful,” Harry gasped. “Not yours, Malfoy.” He added quickly, “That one,” he pointed to the orb, illuminating his face.
“That’s ironic,” Hermione muttered.
“Huh?” Harry said, still enamoured by the hovering golden light.
“That it looks like a sun? That a supposedly vampiric infection would look like the very thing that kills vampires?” She said impatiently. “I was expecting… To be honest, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that,”
“It’s like angels,” Harry said. “Or something—”
Draco was now sitting upright. “Oh yes, that’s the most beautiful parasitic infection I’ve ever seen.” He said sarcastically. “Once you’re done writing it poetry, Potter, can we figure out how to get it out of my fucking body?”
“Can we do that?” Harry said to Hermione, finally turning away from the orb.
“Well,” Hermione flustered, “I’m sure I could… find something on the subject... but, anyway, we should look at Hannah’s sample now, I know you need to get on, Harry.” She quickly grabbed the other flask and pulled off the lid, “These signatures won’t be remotely as vivid. It was a nightmare to get anything at all—” an image of Draco’s enormous fangs and glittering eyes conjured in the back of her mind as her heart quickened—but she ignored it, returning to the flask.
Revelio
Dimly, a projection of a tree emerged, its leaves a vibrant green. The image flickered, its shape barely discernible—like looking through a pair of Omniculars the wrong way round. But it was obvious—this was Hannah’s signature. Hermione’s heart tugged at the sight of it.
“Harry,” she said, trying to keep that bubble of tears from rising in her throat, “would you mind casting the revealing charm this time? As the infection doesn’t seem to want to listen to me,”
Harry nodded and waved his wand. Gradually, and just as before, that shuttering light began to ascend, hovering above Hannah’s signature.
“So… It’s true.” Hermione breathed, “Whatever bit you, Malfoy, also attacked Hannah. And… seemingly, turned you.”
Draco’s jaw became a sharp point as he clenched his teeth. Smoothly, he lifted the bottle and goblet from the side of the bed and began pouring himself a fresh glass of blood.
Harry’s eyes darkened, but Hermione carried on, tapping her lips deep in thought, “So the question is, why did it kill Hannah but turn you? And kidnap Neville,”
“You’re implying there’s a method in the madness?” Draco said darkly after taking a drink, “You can’t rationalise with a killer, Granger. I got away, they didn’t. That’s the end of it.”
“It’s far from the end of it, Malfoy,” Harry said irritably. It was clear he was trying not to argue with Draco, though it was proving to be an impossible task, “If anything, it looks like the beginning—”
Draco scoffed, but Hermione cut them off. “Right, thank you for your help, Harry. We’ve got a lot to be getting on with,” She slipped the lid over Draco’s flask, and the two signatures vanished, taking with them the bright light that had filled the room. “Now, we need to find Neville and figure out what the hell is going on—”
“There’s still something in there,” Draco grunted, pointing at Hannah’s sample.
“What are you talking about?” Hermione said quickly.
“In the flask. You said it’s like… energy. I can see—there’s another signature in Hannah’s sample.”
“Oh,” Hermione breathed as she bent forward, studying the flask. The faintest wisps of holographic light shot through the liquid. “Oh… yes. So there is,” She stepped back and whipped her wand.
Revelio
This time, instead of a hovering, glittering vision like the other signatures, a great glob of dark green burst from the flask, landing upon the examination table with a squelch.
“Urgh!” Hermione shrieked. Using the tip of her wand, she poked it, before gingerly lifting it from the table. “It looks like bogies,”
Her eyes widened. She spun toward Harry—just as he turned toward her.
“BOGIES!” they shouted in unison.