The National Library
Darkness loosens its oppressive grip from Hermione’s body as her feet land on uneven pavement. She lurches, hand twisting against George’s.
“Careful!”
George’s harsh whisper cuts through the stagnant air. His free hand comes to grip Hermione’s elbow, holding her upright as her legs steady themselves.
“Is this the right place?” he asks, voice low. His grip on her elbow tightens and he turns slightly, as though trying to shield her from the sky.
Hermione sucks in a breath, shaking off the tremors of apparition. She steps away from George, swiveling her head as she tries to orient herself to the shadows that surround them.
“I don’t know,” she whispers.
Nighttime drapes across the area around her. Hermione blinks, her eyes adjusting. Slowly, the scene before her emerges from the gloom like images developing in a photograph.
The first thing she sees is the elaborate walkway of tiled stones beneath her feet. Hermione shifts her weight and drops her eyes as she examines the lilting pattern.
George shuffles beside her, one hand still on her elbow and his face pinched as he takes his wand from his pocket.
“Lumos,” he murmurs.
The glow from his wand illuminates a walkway extending down a short set of stairs in front of them, across a city street, and through what looks to be a small park. Hermione lets her eyes flit over the view once, ensure all seems quiet, then turns to look behind her.
She gasps. Behind them sits a looming stone building flanked by eight white stone pillars gleaming against the gray sky.
“It looks right,” she breathes, eyes traveling over the building’s pillars and elaborate doorway.
George tugs her arm and pulls her towards the door. “We need to get inside.”
“Wait.” Hermione drops his hand and takes out her own wand, raising it towards the building. “We need to be sure there’s no one else here.”
With a wave of her wand, she murmurs a series of incantations, examining the walkway and building as she does so.
Nothing happens.
Hermione turns her eyes to the top of the building and waves her wand once more, nodding slightly as gold sparks spit into the air.
“There are cameras above,” she says to George, biting her lip and rolling her wand in her fingers. “And it doesn’t seem that there’s anyone else here but we should be careful. I’d expect a place like this to have at least one guard on duty at night.”
“Right. What will be the best way to block the camera things?”
“I can do it.” Hermione points her wand towards the top of the building again and mutters a charm under her breath.
They both pause.
“Did it work?”
Hermione shrugs, lowering her wand. “I suppose so. There’s not a good way to tell. I just cast a cloaking charm so we’re obscured but the cameras aren’t broken.”
“Right.” George steps in front of her, lit wand held aloft. “Let’s go, then.”
A quick alohamora opens the heavy front door, and Hermione slinks through the entryway. The door closes behind her with a heavy thud, the sound reverberating through the stillness.
Even with the light from George’s wand, the lobby of the National Library is eerie: dark and breathless. More than once Hermione jumps and brandishes her wand only to find shadows dancing against the low light.
She shivers and makes her way behind the large desk sitting in the entryway. A stack of brochures and maps sit next to the computer keyboard, and she snatches one of each, unfolding them hastily.
“It doesn’t say exactly where everything’s kept—” she murmurs, eyes squinting in the dark. “But there’s a reading room for electoral roll records towards the back. We probably—”
“Let’s get over there.” George stands in front of the desk, wand held in front of him. “I don’t like this place. It feels like—”
“Like we’re in a strange dark building in the middle of the night while one of Voldemort’s biggest supporters is probably searching the country for us?”
George flinches slightly at the sound of the name. “Yeah,” he mutters, turning and surveying the entryway behind him. “Pretty much.”
“We’ll be as quick as we can,” Hermione says. She glances once more at the map in front of her before stuffing it in her bag. “We have a better chance finding what we need while nobody else is here.”
George grimaces. “If you say so.”
Hermione straightens and steps around the desk, nodding towards one of the library’s wide corridors. “I think we have to go this way.”
“Right.” George steps beside her. “Lead the way. I’ll make sure there’s nothing behind us.”
They creep through the winding hallways. To Hermione’s relief no security guard or authorities appear, and there seem to be no additional cameras inside the building. It is just her, George, and the whispering shadows.
“Here.” Hermione stops in front of a nondescript door towards the end of the corridor, leaning forward to read the placard beside it. “I think this is it.”
She bites her lip and leans down, wrapping her hand around the doorknob. She pulls. The door strains against its lock but does not open.
Hermione sighs and drops her hand, lifting her wand towards the bolted door.
“Wait.” George catches her by the wrist, stopping her before she can cast another unlocking charm.
Hermione pauses, turning to look at him with an arched eyebrow.
George shrugs, a tight smile on his face. He drops his hand from Hermione’s wrist and pulls something from his pocket.
“Sometimes these things are best done the muggle way,” he says, squatting down in front of the door and brandishing the hairpin in his hand.
Hermione raises her eyebrows, watching with no small amount of astonishment as George slides the hairpin into the lock and jimmies it. A moment later a faint click echoes and the door swings open.
“How on earth did you learn to do that?” Hermione asks as George rises and steps into the dim room.
He glances at her over his shoulder, the smile wider now, a mischievous spark shining through the darkness. “We noticed pretty quickly that most wizards—including the Hogwarts staff—only think to guard against magical means of breaking in and completely ignore muggle methods.”
Hermione rolls her eyes. “So you learned to pick locks to get around anti-alohomora enchantments and sneak around school?”
George shrugs. “It’s come in handy other times as well.”
Hermione bites back a smile and shakes her head as they sidle into the room. Her eyes adjust once more to the dim light, and she inhales as she takes in the rows and rows of shelves housing heavy duty file boxes.
“I’m guessing this is it,” she says, coming to a stop in front of the nearest shelf and gingerly reaching out to lift the lid off the first box.
She lights her wand and lifts the first document out of the box, her heart growing heavier as her eyes flicker over the dense text.
George hovers behind her, his wand still held in a fighting stance. Hermione can feel him fidget, his weight shifting from foot to foot.
She takes a shaking breath and returns the document to its box.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” George mutters. He steps closer to her, and she can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“It’s alright,” she mutters, waving her wand so the box lid flies back into place and the container slides back to its original position.
George doesn’t reply. She hears him turn, the light from his wand flashing as he examines their surroundings. She can feel his body tense, the very air around him seeming to hold its breath.
“This is the right room,” Hermione continues, trying to keep her voice under control as her thoughts once again run wild.
They are so close. The key to finding her parents is in this room. She can feel it.
“We just have to find the box that has a record for Wendell Wilkins. Then we can—”
The rest of her sentence is cut off as George claps a hand over her mouth and shoves her down beside the shelf.
“Mmmph—” Hermione’s cry is stifled by George’s palm and she strains against him until she hears it: heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway, growing unmistakably louder.
Hermione snaps her mouth closed and turns to George with wide eyes. He meets her gaze and shakes his head, his hand falling away from her face.
Hermione shrinks back more firmly against the wall, her shoulder knocking into George’s. She reaches out into the darkness until she finds George’s hand and clutches it. He does the same, shuffling slightly so he sits between her and the doorway.
She takes a breath and tries to quiet the thumping in her chest. It is just a security guard, she tells herself. It is just someone doing their rounds for the night.
They will pass.
The footsteps continue, making their way towards the records room at a steady clip, and Hermione realizes with a sinking heart that she and George have left the door open. Whoever approaches will know someone has broken into the room, and will no doubt come to investigate.
She presses her hand more firmly against George’s and clamps the other around her wand. Any moment now, they will have to move to apprehend the security guard. She must be prepared.
The footsteps slow, and Hermione knows without being told that someone stands just on the other side of the wall. She hears shuffling, a low murmur, and then, as a shadow appears in the doorway, a strange feeling comes over her.
Hermione feels as though a light, fluttering curtain has dropped over her shoulders. Gentle threads tremble against her, and she looks down to see a faint gold shimmer pulsating around her.
Hermione swallows a scream and whips around to tell George to run.
It is too late.
The traces of homenum revelio fade from her skin and the figure at the doorway steps fully into the room as the shelf beside George explodes into a pile of rubble.
“Protego!” Hermione screams, waving her wand around herself and George as Yaxley strides into view, his wand aimed towards them and a sneer on his face.
“You thought I wouldn’t find you?” Yaxley calls, his features twisting into a smile that makes Hermione’s breath curdle in her lungs. “You really thought you could hide from me, little Mudblood?”
George’s hand tightens against Hermione to an almost painful degree. He jumps to his feet and pulls her into his side before turning sharply on his heel.
Hermione holds her breath as she waits for the world to fall away.
George’s chest knocks into her, both of them still firmly located in the National Library, and a jet of red light slices through Hermione’s shield.
“What—” Hermione pants, looking wildly over her shoulder as Yaxley approaches. “Go —”
“I can’t!” George releases her and brandishes his wand, sending a jet of blue light screaming towards Yaxley, which the other wizard blocks with a lazy flick of his wand.
They can’t—
Another curse shoots towards them, and George drops her hand as he leaps out of its path.
Yaxley comes closer, his wand dancing through the air, sending curses flying towards both of them.
Hermione casts another shield charm and takes a shuddering breath, trying to clear her head.
He has found them again. But how—
Red light bursts into a shower of sparks against her shield charm and Hermione steps back instinctively, her back smacking against the wall as Yaxley bears down.
They have to get out of this room.
Hermione glances sideways and sees George crouched nearby, his wand in front of him as he sends spell after spell towards Yaxley.
Yaxley deflects them all, his eyes alight as they bounce between George and Hermione.
Hermione steels herself and raises her wand, her knuckles popping from the tightness of her grip.
“Stupefy!” she shouts, her wand crashing through the air with careful aim.
Yaxley’s eyes dart towards her, tracking her wand’s movements. His grin widens as the stunner goes wide and hits the shelf beside him. In the next second, as he glances down and sidesteps the debris, her full body bind jinx catches him in the stomach.
“Run!” Hermione screams, catching George’s arm as Yaxley topples to the ground.
They both sprint from the room, leaping over Yaxley’s stiff form and running down the library corridor towards the front entrance.
“The name!” Hermione gasps, her eyes going wide as she looks to George. “I said the name. That’s how he found—”
“Explain later!” George shouts, shoving her down the corridor.
They run, following the path they had taken earlier. Hermione’s legs seem to push forward of their own accord, moving faster than she knew they could.
“I couldn’t disapparate,” George pants, looking at her over his shoulder. “He must have put up some sort of ward.”
“We’ll just have to find another way out,” Hermione cries, her bag slamming painfully against her back as she tries to keep up with George.
Pounding footsteps sound behind them, and Hermione knows even before the curse sails over her shoulder that Yaxley has recovered.
“Get to the door!” George shouts, sending a hex over his shoulder as he runs.
Hermione doesn’t respond, glancing over her shoulder to see Yaxley’s face twisting only a few body lengths behind her. She hastily casts another shield charm behind her, praying it is enough to get them to safety.
George continues to send a fleet of spells over his shoulder towards Yaxley. Whether they are defensive or offensive, Hermione does not know. She does not pause long enough to see their effects, forcing herself to keep moving, refusing to let herself be a sitting target.
Her chest screams from the exertion and her legs burn. She keeps going.
A jet of purple strikes the center of her shield charm, shattering it, and Hermione throws herself into an adjacent hallway to avoid the curse that quickly follows.
She stumbles slightly, blindly running down her new path as she tries to clear her mind enough to recast the shield charm behind her.
George has disappeared from sight, and she breathes heavily as she moves forward. She must find him. She must find George and get them out of here.
Something hits her squarely between the shoulder blades and Hermione topples, her cheekbone slamming painfully against the hardwood floor as her wand flies out of her hand.
“Too slow, Mudblood.”
She scrambles to her knees and turns to see Yaxley approaching her, grinning maniacally as he twirls her wand in his hand, the vinewood glinting. Hermione heaves a breath and pushes herself to her feet, looking around wildly for a weapon, an escape route, anything—
“You have caused me,” Yaxley rumbles, “so much trouble.”
Hermione grits her teeth, stepping back as she continues to look past Yaxley. George—where is George—is he—?
“I had so hoped I would have the chance at Hogwarts to find you again,” Yaxley says, his face twisting into a sneer as he continues to come closer. “But this will do just as well.”
He holds up her wand, bringing it in front of him as though to examine it. “Curious,” he drawls, twirling the vinewood between his fingers. “You won’t mind that I take this back, I’m sure. You hardly are worthy of it.”
Hermione grits her teeth and lunges towards him, her hands snatching the air in search of her wand.
Yaxley’s wand swipes through the air and Hermione is sent crashing back onto the floor. Her bag flies from her shoulder at the impact and slides with a dull hiss across the hardwood.
“It’s a pity nobody ever taught you any manners, Mudblood,” Yaxley spits, dark eyes flashing. “We’ll have to correct that. But first thing first.”
He bends slightly and holds Hermione’s wand up between them. For a wild moment she thinks he is trying to give it back, that he is going to give her the chance to defend herself so they can duel properly.
Instead, he takes the end of her wand in his other hand and snaps the wood in two.
The resounding crack ricochets off the wall and a scream rips from Hermione’s throat.
Her wand, her beloved wand, hangs limply in Yaxley’s hand, the dragon heartstring reduced to a thread.
Yaxley straightens, the sneer morphing into a triumphant grin, and he lifts his wand again.
A flash of red fills the hallway, and Hermione screams again as Yaxley suddenly slumps to the ground in front of her.
A whoosh sounds overhead, and she looks up to see George Weasley hurtling towards her on a broomstick, one hand outstretched and pointing a wand at Yaxley’s still form.
“Get on!” George shouts, dropping to hover in front of her. Hermione scrambles to her feet and throws a leg over the back of the broomstick, letting out a yelp as George hastily takes off into the air.
“My bag!” Hermione cries, twisting to look at her knapsack laying on the floor behind them, a few paces away from Yaxley’s head.
“We have to leave it,” George says roughly, leaning forward as the broom picks up speed down the library hallway.
“But it—”
Hermione’s protest is cut off as George flies them around a sharp corner and she nearly falls off the side.
“For fuck’s sake, hold on!” he cries, and Hermione obeys. She wraps her arms tightly around him and wills herself not to look down, not to think about what will happen if she falls.
“My bag—” she whimpers again into George’s shoulder.
“We can’t go back,” George shakes his head, maneuvering them around another corner. Hermione can see the front doors ahead of them, still sitting slightly ajar.
George leans forward once more, urging the broom onwards. Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, holding tight as he flies them through the doorway and out into the crisp nighttime air.
As the wind hits her face, Hermione lets out a throbbing sob, burying her face against George’s shoulder blades as they soar through the Canberra sky.
Somewhere behind them, she knows Yaxley is likely recovering from the stun. Hermione imagines his dark eyes going wide, his face crumpling with fury, her shattered wand still clutched in his hand.
She swallows the bile threatening to rise in her throat and keeps her eyes closed, her hands still clasped tightly against George’s chest.
Her throat tightens. Something deep in her stomach clenches and whines.
Hermione opens her eyes, ignoring her hair whipping around her face in the wind. She turns and looks over her shoulder.
The National Library sits in the distance, the stalwart columns still just barely discernible as they recede from view.
George flies higher, and another sob tears through Hermione’s chest as the columns are swallowed into the night.