Veneficium

Thursday, May 28th 1998

Stepping out of the steamy hot kitchen, Hermione took a left down the narrow hallway. Feeling the ex-Auror’s wards, she knew he had no desire to talk to any of them, but they were weak enough that it didn’t take her too long to break through them. They had cleaned up the first half of the basement, but everything beyond his wards had been left a mess, spiderwebs and dust coating the walls; there were boxes haphazardly thrown about the floor. Catching a peek inside as she manoeuvred around them, unsure if Kingsley had bothered to clear them of the typical curses against muggles and muggleborns, she saw old books, various knickknacks and the odd jewellery ripped out of their protective newspaper wraps. 

One of these days, she would ask him more about his family. 

A cold hand touched her shoulder and she quickly switched to action, her wand out and ready, but there was no one there, not even the whisper of the ghost of long gone Shackledbolt. Sighing deeply, Hermione resigned to putting the strange encounter on her dishevelled mental state. With her trusty vinewood wand back in her pocket, she remembered the real reason she had come here and marched right up down the narrow hall. 

He was holed up in the likely library — for whatever reason, no one had checked out this room before the wizard had taken over it — by the intensity of the wards surrounding the last door at the end of the hallway. Only he would be able to break through those, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t try. 

“Kingsley?” she called out, knocking loudly on the door. “Lunch is ready, come out.” 

Not hearing a soul behind the wooden barrier, she knocked continuously, knowing she was bound to annoy him sooner or later. He would come out eventually if only to tell her off. “Kingsley! I know you’re in there.” 

She felt the strong wards falling before she saw him peeking his head from behind the door. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but I’m not hungry. Maybe later.” 

Pushing her foot in to stop him from closing the door in her face, she insisted. “It’s always maybe with you, Kingsley. What are you even looking for? Perhaps I could help with finding it quicker.” 

The ex-Auror sighed, running a hand over his closely trimmed coils. “I don’t even know what I’m searching for, Hermione, only that I will know once I have it in my hands. You know I can’t risk you coming in contact with all of my deranged family’s cursed objects. You shouldn’t have come here regardless, I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“That’s a bullshit excuse, Kingsley.” 

“Please, Hermione.” 

Not one to relent, she tried out a different approach. “Bill and Professor Flitwick have news — they went out today.” 

At this, he did seem mildly intrigued, and he turned his head just enough to look back inside the room, but she couldn’t see anything behind his large body. “Fine,” he sighed, carefully stepping out of the room, his magic hoisting the wards back up strong behind him. 

“Is it at least going to help with the war?” she asked, following closely after him, just to make sure he wouldn’t bail. 

He caught on to her little plan and smirked; she hated that, despite how much he had annoyed her recently, she still found him very attractive, all roughed up from decades as an Auror and yet decidedly elegant at all times; she had always had a thing for older men. Except now. Now he was anything but a gentleman. “I said I’m coming, Hermione. Don’t you trust me?” 

She pouted, even if he could no longer see her face from behind him. “No, not really. Can you blame me?” 

“I think I will need a heck of a lot of trust from you in what is to come,” he said as his tone turned eerily sombre. “Dark times are upon us, Hermione, and I sadly don’t have much hope.” 

Her face fell. “You shouldn’t say that, Kingsley.” Had she ever lived a moment outside these dark times, her entire identity shaped by them? 

They were now outside the kitchen door, and he stopped just before pushing it open. “I’ve seen a lot more of this war than you… Sadly I don’t think it will end well for us.” 

“How can you think that? As long as we can still fight, we will win.” 

“I meant, all of us — british wizards as a whole. You don’t understand these people like I do, Hermione. I’ve grown up with them since I was a little boy. Believe it or not, I have reason to suspect You-Know-Who was actually holding them back.” When she scoffed, he continued, “There are worse wizards than him, who don’t have a purpose to the evil that they cause.” 

“That is insane. Their purpose is to destroy our society,” she hissed, amazed that he held such outrageous opinions. 

“Exactly. You’re a smart girl, Hermione, you can figure it out. You-Know-Who wanted to rule over us, he needed us, or else his efforts would have been in vain. You’ve seen him at Hogwarts, telling Neville Longbottom he was welcomed in his ranks despite being a blood traitor fighting on the opposite side. His Death Eaters, however — they would have gladly killed the poor boy right then and there were it not for their orders to stay put.” 

Frowning deeply, she pushed past him and entered the kitchen, sitting down rather unceremoniously on her unofficial seat, the remainder of all her friends’ brutal deaths crushing. If what Kingsley had just told her was true, if there was even a possibility of it, then they were in for a hell storm.  Were the Death Eaters a worse threat without Voldemort to chastise them? It should have come as a surprise how easily she accepted that as the truth as soon as the idea had entered her head, but she could barely muster up enough energy to keep her eyes clear, the telltale fog of tears threatening to cloud her vision. 

 Kingsley entered after her, and Fleur jumped on him with questions as soon as she laid eyes on him. 

Try as she might, Hermione couldn’t focus on anything the two were saying. Her head was pounding like subjected to the wails of a hundred banshees, and she tried to stifle a sob. The mental stress she was constantly under, ever since she had been 12 years old, coupled with the grief and the bizarre nightmares she had been having lately, made it so she was constantly under the unrelenting whip of her headaches, a slave to her own misery.  

She hadn’t had the guts to ask for a potion to help her…

Clutching her head, she stared down at her bowl of beef and barley stew, hot steam rising into her face. Inhaling a few breaths of it, she sighed. A favourite of the Weasley household, the familiar smell helped calm her down; the warmth was comforting, offering a glimpse into a kinder past. She wondered when Mrs Weasley had taught Fleur how to make it, given the two had never been particularly close, and the war had ensured everyone was wary about unnecessary visits. Maybe it had been just a mailed-over cookbook. 

Lifting her head, Hermione felt a tad bit rejuvenated, and she looked around the kitchen. Kingsley was lying back in his chair talking to Professor Flitwick, who at some point had sat down to her right, unbeknownst to her. Fleur was fidgeting with her fingers, and she looked up when Bill entered, in clean clothes. 

He took the empty seat between his wife and the ex-Auror, reaching over for a piece of bread; Hermione noted his beef was left uncooked. “Kingsley… I heard you’ve been giving the girls a hard time. What’s the deal with it?” 

At the mention of his private business, the older wizard stiffened, picking up his spoon. “Ah, it was never my intention to upset anyone… I’m looking for something and it’s been driving me up the wall that I can’t find it.” That was more than he had ever revealed to the two of them, even if they had picked up along the way he was doing something of the sort. 

“Is it going to help?” Bill didn’t seem too convinced, but he trusted Kingsley enough to accept his answer as genuine. 

“If I remember it correctly? Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “What about you, did you find out anything today?”

Bill had been out since the previous day, having missed dinner and breakfast. Everyone around the table was as curious as Kingsley. “Hm… Managed to track Dolohov last night. He had just gotten into some nasty fight with Rodolphus Lestrange, over who was to be the next Dark Lord or some other bullshit. Mind you, I only caught this from his conversations — he was at some sketchy pub, drinking his body weight. Can’t have gone too well for him, but he looked fine.” 

“Why didn’t you attack him then, if he was drunk?” 

“Because there was a whole pack of them, about eight or so Death Eaters if I recall correctly…” he paused for a second to eat some of his stew, utterly famished, no doubt. “I reckon there were Goyle, the Carrows, Jugson, Pyrites… didn’t catch anyone else’s faces. They were talking something about Lestrange being at the Ministry and dropping his load about.” Frowning, he returned his attention to his food, and they all just watched him, none having touched their portion yet. “Dolohov complained about being stuck with Hogwarts duty while Lestrange was to lounge about the Ministry… I reckon Lestrange’s to be Minister for Magic soon, if he hasn’t made himself already.” 

Kingsley, the one with the most knowledge of the Death Eaters out of them, looked disgusted. “Ha, I called it, didn’t I? That wretched bastard must have been planning for something like this for a while, must have been his dream.”  

“Who, Lestrange? Don’t be ridiculous.” Professor Flitwick said, perplexed. Never having been involved with the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione wondered how much he really knew about Voldemort’s forces. At least Fleur had attended Order meetings in the past, been on missions. “Why would he have planned for this, of all things?”

“I can’t imagine a man like him wouldn’t have been vexed at being stuck in second place… You know, there were some rumours back then that Bellatrix was sleeping with You-Know-Who? Only heard it because I used to sell them cigarettes.”

“And who told you that?”

“Yaxley, can you imagine?” he chuckled, recalling what must have been an amusing moment from his youth, but no one else seemed to find him that funny. “Mad-Eye trained us both together for a while, before I got promoted. I guess Lestrange must have complained to him about it and Yaxley just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Anyway, my point is that I suspect Lestrange was not the biggest fan of You-Know-Who.” 

Bill scoffed, unconvinced. “But Lestrange was basically the only one who looked for him after he lost his powers, that doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Let me put it this way — if Dumbledore were to have slept with Fleur, would you have still liked him?” The whole table erupted at the inappropriate question, animated at last. Kingsley raised his hands in defeat, laughing. “Oh come on, people! Look, I know it was just rumours and you can disagree with me on this if you please, but I stand by my opinions.” 

Once the chuntering had died down, they finally started eating and, although he had been given a much larger portion, by then Bill was already halfway done. 

As she dug into her stew, Hermione could not help but think. She didn’t know much about the particular Death Eaters, save for Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy. Sirius had shared a few stories with the three of them from their childhood, but even those hadn’t really offered much information — they had been rather a way for the older wizard to vent. 

Kingsley, though, seemed to have known a few of the Death Eaters once and, were she to guess, she would put in on his family. She had truly only partaken in one Order of the Phoenix meeting, and even then she had been unceremoniously thrown out by Mrs Weasley halfway through on the basis of being too young. For all she knew, the ex-Auror might have shared anything of use he knew about Voldemort’s forces, and all that was left were empty anecdotes. 

Still… if the fight between Dolohov and Rodolphus Lestrange was about which one of them was to be the next Dark Lord, it would only make it harder for her to kill him. Then again, he couldn’t be any harder than Voldemort and he too found his mortal demise in the end. A corpse just like all the others… he hadn’t been that special in the end, had he? Just another man. 

As lunch progressed, Professor Flitwick too told them what he had scoped out that day, although he hadn’t been following Death Eaters around. No, he had gone to Hogwarts, using both his height and duelling skills to stay out of trouble, watching the nest of dark wizards that had been swarming around the castle ever since the battle. He had met up with Hagrid, who was thankfully still up and well, who was busy shuffling the creatures of the Forbidden Forest further in, hiding in the wood himself. Much to everyone’s shock, Flitwick explained that the crack that had been opened in the floor of the Great Hall alone had expanded over the west wing of the castle, the rocks that kept the grand old structure up above the Black Lake having given in. 

None of that made sense to Hermione, though. Hogwarts was over a thousand years old, having stood mighty with the magic of the four founders. Had the damage caused during the battle truly been that terrible? Lowering her head with guilt, bearing a great part of the responsibility on her shoulders, she sighed. 

They debated for a bit if what Dolohov had said, by being designated to Hogwarts duty meant that he was to lead the repairs of the school, and in the end, they agreed. 

oOo

When she came up to her bedroom later in the evening, Hermione mindlessly turned the knob on the door, effectively locking herself inside. She crossed the room swiftly, pulling the window shut against the rain; outside, golden streetlights blurred into the darkened cityscape, their glow swallowed by the downpour. The hum of Muggle cars echoed faintly as they weaved through the city, but as night fell over the world, an unsettling chill crept into her bones. She had never felt more ripped away from the rest of the world. 

Ripping herself away from the window, Hermione undressed, before throwing on a borrowed nightdress. It did not escape her notice how the room blossomed with the personality of its past owner, the youngest of Kingsley’s cousins — none of the possible reasons for her and her family’s abrupt absence told of a happy story. The ex-Auror was very secretive about the fate of the branch of his family that once resided there, and no one dared ask any uncomfortable questions. It wasn’t hard to guess who was at fault. 

The claws of guilt gnawed at her each time she glanced at the clothes in the armoire or the knickknacks on display on the shelves, the faded photographs that strung the memories of the young witch on the walls. She felt echoes of the envy, the reproach, the sorrow; it was impossible to discern whether they were Inira Shackebolt’s or of her own twisted creation. 

Shoving herself under the covers, finally allowing herself the release she had been holding back, Hermione felt her tears come like a relentless onslaught, as fierce and unyielding as a horde of rampaging Mountain Trolls, shaking her body with their force. Her sobs wracked her until the pounding in her head became unbearable, and, exhausted from the storm of emotion, she drifted into a restless sleep. 

Someone was watching her. 

They were right there, at the foot of the bed. Opening her eyes just briefly enough to get a peek at them, she saw the silhouette of a man before he vanished into thin air as if he had never been there to begin with. 

Whimpering, Hermione wondered if she had finally reached the border and become properly mad. “Did… did you see him too, Inira?” Up until then, she had never spoken a word with the portrait of the young witch, hung right above the headboard of the bed, the painting herself ignoring her, even when she went for hours wailing. 

“Who could I be possibly seeing here other than your lonesome self?” 

oOo

Tuesday, June 2nd 1998

As they hit the one month mark since their small group of survivors had taken refuge in the Shacklebolt townhouse, Hermione felt an unexpected shift among the five of them. Somehow, through whatever means and for currently unknown reasons, Professor Flitwick had become privy to Kingsley’s secret. 

So when the opportunity arose for her to join him on a scouting mission to Hogwarts, she jumped at the chance. Putting her hair in a hasty ponytail, she hurried after him out the door. Taking his hand, they side-apparated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where it had been arranged for them to meet with Hagrid. 

There had been multiple reasons why she had finally decided to come; partly because she had wanted to get her old Charms’ teacher alone to question him about Kingsley, partly because she longed to be reunited with Hagrid, and partly because she couldn’t bear to be locked up inside any longer, shackled within her head.

“Hermione!” Huge arms wrapped around her and picked her up from the ground into a smothering embrace. “Yeh alrigh’? I’ve been worried sick for yeh, Hermione!” the half-giant began to sob fat tears into her shoulder, swinging around side-to-side with her. 

“I’m fine, Hagrid, honestly, you can put me down now,” she said, fearing drawing too much attention to them. “I’m happy to see you too, but how are you? Professor Flitwick says you’ve been talking to the Death Eaters!” 

When her feet finally found the ground once more, she sighed in relief, looking over Hagrid. He seemed to be the same cheery man she knew and loved, even if she knew he would never be the same; no one could, after what they had been through. Still, he was a sight for sore eyes, even with his matted mane and dressed in a patched-up shirt and muddy trousers. 

At first, she hadn’t understood what Harry had seen in Hagrid, never having given the Groundskeeper a second thought previous to becoming Harry’s friend. But, as she kept joining Ron and Harry during their visits, even getting herself tangled into the whole baby dragon shenanigans, the four of them had formed a tight bond. 

The Forest was surprisingly peaceful and luminous, the warm summer sun peeking through the thick foliage. They were following a beaten-down path, and Hermione even spotted a few birds up in the trees, singing cheerfully. Yes, it was a happy meeting between old friends. 

“I’m good, good enough… Yeah, they needed me ter keep the Acromantulas away from them, yeh see.” The three of them began to make their way further into the Forbidden Forest, closer to the castle, as Hagrid told them what little he knew. “They don’ trust me, don’t tell me anything, of course… and I’m too big, too clumsy to hide around… but just yesterday I heard one of them complaining loudly, how them at the Ministry closed the borders.”

“They closed the borders?” Flitwick chimed alarmed as he climbed over a large root poking out of the ground. 

Hagrid picked him up and set him down on the other side of the root. “Something of an Apparition curse or other.” 

“That is very bad news, Hagrid, I never thought they would do something like that,” Flitwick said. 

Hermione followed the two men silently, having lost track of the outside world during her… period of mourning. Of course, she paid attention to the reports during mealtimes, but her mind had always been at least partly somewhere else. It had all been words, just words. But now, when she was back in the real world and had been reunited with Hagrid, it hit much differently. 

“But how can they close borders? I didn’t know that was possible.” 

Hagrid shrugged his great big shoulders but didn’t turn around to face her as he kept walking. “Didn’ hear that, sorry.”

“I assume they locked Portkeys and are tracking long-distance Apparitions — that’s how I would go about it,” Professor Flitwick pondered, shaking his head. “They may have tracked us here if that is the case. Keep your wand at the ready, Hermione.” 

Trying to stay at least a little hopeful, she took out her wand, but said: “Maybe they don’t know about us and just assume we are some dark wizards coming to help with Hogwarts?” 

“Oh, that’s a good guess, it might just be true…” 

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw what could only be the Astronomy Tower, stretching high into the crystalline skies. Hogwarts. As they neared the castle, Hagrid turned towards them, telling them he couldn’t go any further. “Yeh need to hide, and yeh can’ hide with me around.” 

Hermione thought he looked on the verge of tears at having to split up so shortly after being reunited, and came closer to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Don’t cry Hagrid, we have to stay strong,” she promised, smiling up at him; a pure and genuine smile, the sort she had been denied since the moment the green flames had taken her best friend. “We’ll meet back up with you later, Hagrid, okay?” 

He sniffed into his trusty old handkerchief and mumbled something unintelligible to her. 

“Alright then, we’ll meet back up here then, if all is settled.” Professor Flitwick said and it didn’t take long until Hagrid was once more alone in the Forest, for he had put the two of them under a strong disillusionment charm. When she looked down where she knew her feet had been a mere moment prior, Hermione saw nothing but a patch of dirt and the low-lying shrubbery. 

After Hagrid wished them a chocking good luck, they made their way carefully to the edge of the Forest. Hiding in the bushes, they looked around. Seeing the clear coast, they advanced closer to the castle until they spotted a small group of wizards across the greenhouses. 

Far enough away that there was little risk of them hearing anything, Hermione looked down where she assumed Professor Flitwick was. “Sir, those men… they’re not Death Eaters, are they?” 

His whispered reply came from the opposite direction. “Yes… they came here to deal with the bodies but they stayed to help with the repairs. I recognise a few — past students of mine.” 

“They are on their side nonetheless, they must know something,” Hermione frowned. “Do we — do we go closer?” 

“Be careful with your steps.”

They rounded around the greenhouses, slowly advancing towards the group. They seemed unbothered, drinking and chatting amongst themselves, sat on the familiar staircase leading out of the East Wing, a few bottles and napkins scattered around them. As Hermione and Professor Flitwick come close enough to finally catch their conversation, the huge door opened and out came two men, evidently Death Eaters by their black robes, billowing behind them as they rushed towards the group. Antonin Dolohov and Amycus Carrow. 

Hermione's breath hitched, her body going rigid. She didn’t dare move a muscle, knowing that even the smallest sound could give them away; if discovered, they were painfully outnumbered.

Dolohov’s eyes were like daggers, and none dared to meet his glare. “Hey! What is the deal here? We need every wand on the Staircase Tower, pronto!” he yelled at them, his wand moving with impossible speed as he vanished all their mess and the remaining bottles. “Lunch is over, you dossing wankers, get back to work.” 

No one seemed brave enough to dare complain at the man’s attitude or orders and swiftly rushed into the castle, half apologising and half wishing to avoid any further contact with the feared Death Eater. 

Left alone at the top of the stairs, Carrow crossed his arms, a sneer on his face as he observed his seething friend. "Why bother? We patch up the tower, and it’ll fall apart again by week's end. I told you, we ought to put an end to that crater or else all our efforts will be in vain.” 

Dolohov’s gaze hardened, though his eyes flickered across the greenhouses as if searching for something, his patience clearly worn thin. “Do you take me for a fool, Amycus? I’m working on it, but I’d like to see any of you lot try to fix it yourselves,” he retorted, a note of irritation lacing his words. 

Carrow rolled his eyes. "Spare me your arrogance. What are you staring at?"

Dolohov turned away to face his fellow. “Nothing.” 

“Come on, I’d like to see this done as soon as possible since I still need to board up my fireplaces. That Lestrange is really getting on my last nerves with all his bullshit. Gassing up my house… preposterous.” 

“For once, Amycus, I agree with Lestrange on this. We need to calm the population down and the least you can do is block your dammed fireplaces so this can work accordingly,” Dolohov tsked, seising the other up and down mockingly. “Or would you much rather be turned into some docile little sheep with the rest?” 

“Shut your trap, Antonin, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carrow brushed him off, heading for the door. “Come.” 

Dolohov wasn’t paying any attention to him though, as Hermione had shifted over just enough for her foot to slip on a few pebbles, the noise sharp in the stillness. Swearing inwardly, the grip on her wand intensified as the Death Eater walked down the stairs, his eyes locked in her direction. 

“Hold on a moment, Amycus, I heard something.” His wand was stretched out right in front of her, only a few feet separating them, and Hermione wondered if it wouldn’t be smarter to be the first to attack instead of quailingly biting her lips down, her heart beating so hard it threatened to jump out of her chest. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Carrow scoffed. "This place is crawling with sentient plants, and you’re spooked by a noise? Get inside before I hex you myself." 

Dolohov hesitated for a heartbeat, then shot one last suspicious glance at the spot where Hermione stood, hidden and trembling. With a frustrated grunt, he turned on his heel and followed Carrow back into the castle, the door slamming shut behind them.