Chapter 5
“Another acquaintance of his.” The gruff head auror confirmed with a sigh, pulling a muggle pen and notepad out from his robe pocket. His trusted duo followed closely behind into the warded crime scene and out from the early morning downpour.
“Emilia Jones, his friend.” Harry read, flipping through its dog-eared pages.
“You think it’s related?” Draco stared distastefully down at the gore before them. His pale lithe form and platinum hair stood stark against the dreary blue atmosphere.
“Maybe.” Harry answered, jotting something down on the notepad.
The two deliberated over a gruesome scene. The body of a tall gorgeous witch lay in a lifeless bloody heap in a lone dirty passage left of Knockturn. Her long inky hair matted into a sticky mess of thick glistening maroon, dark against the pale of her translucent skin.
Hermione stepped carefully around the corpse, taking a long scrutinizing gaze into her glossy clouded eyes, affixed with an expression of abject horror.
“Cursed.” She concluded, pulling her vinewood wand out from its bed of ribbons within her tawny bun.
“Must have been quite painful.” She added, spying the trail of dried red that cascaded down the woman’s ears.
Hermione inscribed a charm into the air above the corpse's head. It produced for her a ribbon of floating runes. She ran the tip of her wand over them, her eyes slowly widening in alarm at the revealed information.
Most of the connections in the witch’s brain had been severed. Slowly.
Minor broken connections in the brain were quite a common side effect of being cursed. It is, after all, how the human brain naturally reacts to unbearable pain or stress, but to this degree…
“The Cruciatus…” Draco glowered behind her, leaning down slightly to read the contents of her floating diagnostic charms. Hermione only nodded. Few knew this particular curse as intimately as Draco Malfoy.
“Of course…” Harry sighed, ruffling a calloused hand through his shag of raven locks in frustration.
“And Right under my fucking nose again.” Harry growled in a low voice. Hermione winced.
There were many stressors involved with being head auror, more so when an alleged former death eater begins running amok all over London, leaving a trail of murders and odd circumstances in his wake of destruction. So when Harry started walking around with the stench of the dead hot on his tailcoat, no one had faulted him for it. His friends all knew how stressful this particular case has been for him.
Unfortunately, he’s been taking his foul mood home with him lately. He’s lucky Ginny is such a strong-willed, patient woman.
Harry’s anger problems had been the whole reason Hermione was even hired for this case. Just days after she had arrived back in London, Ginny all but shoved Harry right up to her, impatiently tapping her foot behind him as he asked Hermione for help with his eyes on the carpet.
“Save the tantrum for the mind healer's, Potter.” Despite the words, it had an underlying tone of gentle suggestion behind it. After eight years in the force together, Draco and Harry had come to somewhat quell their undying rivalry. At some point, Draco’s jabs ceased to have the same bite they once did and began to feel more like banter.
They’d become work friends, albeit tumultuously.
Harry responded to Draco with a silent frowning glance. His countenance softened only slightly with contemplative reflection.
“There’s something else.” Hermione’s voice cut through the emotion in the air, catching both men’s attention.
“Traces of a memory charm. He tried to obliviate her first.” She explained, running the tip of her wand through a section of differently colored runes.
Interest piqued, Harry came up closer to inspect the runes on her other side, never mind that he didn’t know how to read them.
“Odd pairing of spells. Why obliviate someone and then torture them?” Harry rubbed his scruffy chin in thought, contemplating the floating gibberish.
“Key word being tried.” Hermione elaborated.
“Why not just kill her outright..?” Harry said with a shrug.
“An accident perhaps.” Draco said, tapping his chin.
“So he failed to obliviate her then decided to torture her into silence and failed that too?” Harry raised a skeptical brow at the blonde wizard.
“Must not be particularly gifted.” Draco said with a smile.
“Yes, possibly.” Hermione said, sounding a bit skeptical about her own response.
“What do you suppose then?”
“I suppose that he intended to fry her brain after failing to remove a memory.”
“To what end? Once someone is dead there’s no memory to recover. At that point may as well just kill them like Potter said.” Draco said with a shrug.
“Not necessarily. It’s not impossible, but it’s certainly not easy.”
“You’re giving him too much credit. Wright was one of the lowest ranked death eaters during the war.” Draco challenged with a raised brow. He was of course the de facto death eater expert, having first hand knowledge of their inner workings.
“Alright, it was just a theory…”
“We’ll put it on the board. We can’t be too cautious.” Harry compromised for them.
The trio managed to end their morning on a good note, grabbing a coffee from a local shop together before splitting apart and going their separate ways.
Harry and Draco both went home to their respective families, and Hermione apparated to the Gates of Hogwarts. She had more business to attend to in Diagon Alley after a short stop by Minerva’s to pick up her charge.
She thought it was unfortunate that she had to see a dead body on what was meant to be a nice day out shopping. But it couldn’t be helped. She had to be there for Harry. He needs her.
Arriving inside McGonagall’s office she found the grim little boy waiting for her already.
Hermione regarded the sternly pacing boy. He hadn't even noticed her yet, so she took this time to study the mysterious child. He carried himself like a grown man. His shoulders were squared as he paced back and forth, his head down as he chewed nervously at his thumbnail. His other hand rested militarily at the back of his hip, a black wand nested within his tense little fingers.
He was dressed in a simple Slytherin-emerald button-up and a tightly done-up black vest, black slacks, and shining black Oxford dress shoes. A tight silk scarf hugged his neck, tucked neatly into his vest.
She caught a small frustrated sigh escape quietly from his lips.
Why is the poor dear so anxious? What had happened for him to be in this situation?
The information McGonagall had given her had been minimal, and Hermione trusted Minerva’s judgment to not ask if the woman hadn’t already told her. All Hermione knew was that he needed protection and that he has no family.
Her heart ached for him, remembering Neville’s circumstances. At the very least he had been lucky to have his Grandmother. This poor boy has no one.
Hermione cleared her throat gently, breaking the boy's trance and bringing his attention up to her form at the door. His curtain of raven hair parted as he lifted his head to reveal the shining onyx gems hidden beneath.
“Miss Granger.” He greeted hesitantly with formal surprise. Her name sounded somehow familiar on his lips.
Everything about this shy enigmatic boy had a vague air of familiarity. Particularly, his flat, serious brows, distinctive nose, and gently pouting lip, even the way he moved and spoke.
Then there was that magic about him.
She had seen it quite clearly the day he looked into The Book of Admittance, despite the area already being thick with powerful magic. A whisper of silver surrounded and drifted about him. It had trailed out into the landing like a pleasant scent for her to follow, leading her up through the open vault door.
What she discovered up there was a boy no older than eleven, welding a magical might that could rival the likes of Albus Dumbledore. His aura of personal power was red, different from the foreign silver magic that had led her to him. The silver magic was something else that had attached itself to him.
She had become instantly intrigued.
She’s dedicated her life to the study of magic, and this boy was a study subject she just couldn’t pass up.
She wanted to learn more about him.
“Hello, dear. Have a nice morning?”
The boy seemed to struggle to find a response, creasing his already stern brow.
“It was satisfactory.” He finally responded, itching absently at the corner of his jaw.
“Will the Headmistress come to see you off?” Hermione asked with a glance around the silent office.
“No.”
“Then I see no reason to stand around. Let's start the day shall we?” She offered him a charming smile and invited him out the door, following close behind.
He dropped his head blankly and complied with her request.
“You haven’t told me what I should call you.” Hermione spoke as they reached the first landing.
“Prince.” He replied simply, staring down at the ground as he walked alongside her.
This was a familiar name to her. A pureblood family perhaps.
“Is that a family name?” She probed with genuine curiosity.
“Yes.” He didn’t seem to want to contribute much in terms of conversation, but Hermione carried on regardless.
“Well, Mister Prince, I would like to ask you something.” At this, the boy lifted his head. Marbles of inscrutable black searched her own honeyed orbs.
“How did you get into that room?” Her genuine question was met with the silent narrowing of his eyes.
“I know how to open it.” He responded matter-of-factly, a skeptical brow raised just a twinge.
Hermione tilted her head at the boy inquisitively, unperturbed by the underlying rude tone.
Hermione had been in that room a few months ago after returning from Egypt. She had watched McGonagall release the powerful wards that held the vault door shut and was certain that a mere boy could not accomplish this as simply as he had put it.
“You’re a very interesting boy, Mister Prince.”
His eye twitched with undiscernible emotion at her words and he turned his attention back to the ground, the furrow in his brows renewed.
They arrived beyond the wards in silence. Hermione offered him her hand to apparate. He took her wrist instead and they vanished with a crack.