The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Title: The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man
Author: moirasfate/ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Suspense, romance, angst
Warnings: Character Death, graphic violence, madness, non-consensual sexual acts, abuse, oral, M/F, and overall darkness. Dark!Harry included.
Summary: DH-EWE: Ten years after the fall of the Dark Lord, Hermione Granger leads of life of self-imposed obscurity, that is, until the day Headmistress Minerva McGonagall is murdered and a certain 'hero' is responsible.
Author's Notes: This fic is in 1st person POV, so take heed. It will eventually be a DM/HG, but there is a squicky scene that might make you think otherwise. There is some non-con in this fic, so if it squicks you, don't read it for Merlin's sake! Comments and ConCrit is welcomed!


Unbeta'd!


The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Part 10




I did not find Malfoy in his room. This fact startled me. However, I did find him in Narcissa’s study, drinking tea, and eating biscuits without a care in the world, or as if he had nearly battled Harry Potter to the death a little over a day before.

In the strong spring sunlight, he seemed to glow…and I slammed my eyes shut as I stood just inside the door, terminating any thought into how beautiful his hair was…

I wanted to be more…sympathetic…more feeling, but not a sappy and silly slip of a woman.

“Ah, Hermione, come have something light for breakfast.”

Narcissa’s voice forced me to open my eyes. She sat on the blue velvet couch I had twice occupied. She raised her hand towards me, and I had no choice but to shut the door behind me and move to sit next to her.

Across the repaired maple coffee table, Malfoy sat stiffly, one hand unwrapped from bandages to hold a steaming cup of what smelled like a strange mixture of breakfast tea and added herbs. His hand was red and raw as if it had been burnt. In fact, most of his body was still covered in bandages with loose fitting clothing over top. His face was still bandaged and with his left eye…he glared at me.

I shivered, and looked away, gently taking the cup and saucer being pushed into my hands by Narcissa.

“He’s looking much better than yesterday, isn’t he, Hermione?”

I moved my mouth to answer, chancing another glance at the bandaged man across the way. He was still glaring, his cup still poised as if to drink.

My insides burned under his scrutiny, and I knew I just had to be outright with it…

“I was upset, Malfoy…I did not mean to say what I did yesterday.”

It sounded awkward, and I could feel my lips trembling with nervousness. I managed to rest my tea on my knees before my shaking hands spilled it on the expense rug under my feet.

The loud clack of a cup against a saucer made me jump, sloshing a bit of tea into my lap. I ignored the seeping bit of scalding tea against my thigh, bowing my head so that my chin touched my chest.

“Mother, could you excuse us for a moment. I need a word with Miss Granger.”

His voice was as raw as the skin of his right hand, and the voice demanded obedience. It was not unlike Lucius’ voice, and it unnerved me.

Narcissa rose suddenly. She moved around the couch so that her fingers brushed reassuringly against my shoulders. I had a feeling that she would somehow listen to whatever was about to be said…or wheedle it out of me later. Either way, I felt whatever words were to pass Malfoy’s lips would not be pleasant.

I waited for the hammer to fall.

“Are you purposely wearing a skirt and a tight shirt because I said you looked like a little boy?”

I blinked, and surprised, I found his face. He was still glaring.

“No.”

His mouth moved, but he still glared, his brow furrowed.

“I can see your breasts, your hips…in those clothes. You’re doing this out of spite.”

I blinked again, my mouth opening, but no words shaping my tongue and lips to form a sound. I was not sure how to interpret Malfoy’s words.

“I was teasing you…and then you had to start crying and spewing some bile about how you despised me and felt guilty. I was only trying to lighten the mood.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Lighten the mood?” I asked incredulously.

Malfoy’s glare turned into something I never would have thought possible…a wily, scoundrel-like smirk. I felt boiling anger beginning to rise in my chest, but I pushed it down a bit…hadn’t I come to apologize, and then start formulating a strategy with the bandaged man?

“I don’t know about you, Granger, but nearly dying does not make me want to sing a ditty and do a jig,” he intoned sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes. It seemed Malfoy was feeling better than he looked.

“And there you were, blubbering at the foot of my bed, like some little boy who had had his toy taken from him. I couldn’t help myself.”

I sighed. “And then you went on to…” I began.

Malfoy barked a raw laugh, pressing his bandaged hand to his chest as if in pain.

“Don’t tell me…Merlin, Granger. You got pissed because of…” he laughed, but stopped short, his left eye glazing over for a moment.

I felt a blush creep up my chest. No…this line of conversation was going to a very uncomfortable place very quickly. I was not ready to go there yet.

“What happened?” I asked abruptly, causing Malfoy’s perception to return to the room.

“What do you mean?”

I sighed again, moving to set my untouched tea on the coffee table. “After you told me to run at the Shrieking Shack…what happened?”

Malfoy licked his lips, and also set his tea aside. He moved stiffly, but steadily.

“You ran…I told you to go…and then I threw Potter so he would not curse you.”

I bit my lip. “As a wyrm.”

Malfoy blinked, and slowly, he frowned.

“You saw?”

I shook my head. “Not really…not then. When they brought you back here, I saw you then, don’t you remember?”

“No.”

Silence fell as Malfoy’s eye moved to his bandaged left hand in his lap. He took a deep breath through his nose, and raised his head to meet my eye.

“You weren’t suppose to see that, Granger.”

I did not understand, and I conveyed this with a frown. “Why?”

“I’m ‘unregistered.’”

“So?”

It was Malfoy’s turn to sigh. “Besides the Minister, her deputy, Flint, Macmillan, Wiscombe, and my parents, no one else was ever to know I was an animagus. Potter did not even figure it out…at least who I was when I was fighting him.”

If possible, my frown deepened.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Malfoy raised a raw finger at me.

“If you dare make a crack about why I am not a ferret, I will hex you, Granger.”

My frown reversed into a short smile. I could not help but find Malfoy’s words and tone of voice oddly hilarious. But I did not laugh.

“So, why does the Minister, and select others know about your animagus ability, and allow it, if you are unregistered?”

Malfoy smirked. “It is part of my job, Granger. I’m not going to advertise that I’m an animagus, or divulge my form for Ministry records. Those records are public, you know.”

It made a strange sort of sense, but then I began to wonder…Malfoy was not just some regular DCI…was he?

“Why bother with Transfiguration at all? Why not duel him?” I asked softly.

“Potter? Ah…well, Williamson asked me the same question yesterday before I passed out from the pain,” Malfoy drawled in a combination of laugh and sigh. “I had to move faster than this form,” he pointed to his chest, “would allow me. Potter is wicked fast with casting curses. When he began to vocalize the ‘Sectumsempra’ surprised me… Maybe he wanted you to know exactly what was coming.

I am fast on my feet, but I needed to be faster. So, I transformed while you ran. It had been a long time since I had…”

Malfoy fell silent, his eye distant again…but only for a moment.

“What did you see?” he asked me.

I swallowed and said, “I streak of white, and then Harry flying through the air. I heard your voice just before, and I Apparated.”

Malfoy nodded. “Potter somehow managed to land…a cushioning Charm, maybe. But I went after him. I knew if I could somehow subdue him, break the Elder Wand, anything, I could bring him to the Ministry.

Potter fought me, Hogsmeade burned. I’m sure it was frightening to an outside viewer, but to me, I was fighting him with all I could muster.

Even in my animagus form I could work spells, but nothing like what he was using. I could only block or dodge. My claws were more useful than the magic I could perform.

And then the bastard Apparated. I had had the foresight to place a tracking spell on him during one of our ‘exchanges,’ and I followed. I was so pissed that I did not think about where I was going, or what I would find. All I knew was Potter’s anger began to dull his senses. He couldn’t understand how I was able to appear just behind him. I lost track of where I was…the last thing I remember was Dolwyddelan Castle in Wales…

Finally, I followed him to Stonehenge…not too far from here…and I knew that it had to be the last place. Everywhere we had gone had one thing in common though…magic. Each place had a point of power…where the Magic and Muggle met…like a border.”

I stiffened. Malfoy had noticed it…without being told what it was, and I grew very concerned.

“I had broken his arms, but he still was casting spells. I nearly ripped his leg off with my teeth, and yet he still stood. He was screaming…a terrible scream. Most of what he said came out as screams. He did not know who I was, but he told me he would find out what or who I was… And then, he tried using the Killing Curse.”

Malfoy paused, finally deciding to unravel the bandages of his left hand, apparently growing increasingly irritated by them…

“And?”

Malfoy chuckled, letting his bandages drop to the rug under his bare feet, which seemed to be the only bit of him that was unmarked as he moved to prop them up on the coffee table.

“It didn’t work. Instead, it seemed to overload the wand, and his body. He was blown back, bashing his head into the Muggle fence they have around Stonehenge. Then he was up…stared at me for a long time, and then he collapsed again. I tried to move, tried to change back so I could grab him and Apparate to the Ministry, but I couldn’t. Then, I could not remember anything more…except waking up in my old bed with Mother hovering over me, crying.

Williamson told me that the Ministry was just behind me, but not quick enough to catch Potter who had escaped while I was out for the count. Flint and Macmillan brought me home…and that is that.”

I looked away from Malfoy, exhaling loudly.

“Oh, and I lost my eye, I forgot to mention that. I think it was some where in Derbyshire,” he said with the most obvious twist of sarcasm.

“How can you be so calm?” I asked, annoyed.

“Defense mechanism.

You think I’m delighted that Potter tried to kill me, took my eye, marked me with curse scars? No, absolutely not! I hated the bastard in school, and I still hate him. I’ve even a good reason to hate him now,” Malfoy growled, but a smirk remained on his lips.

I rolled my eyes.

“Now…you’ve made your apologies, I’ve told you my account of the events, are you wanting me apologize for teasing you about the kiss as well?”

I reddened, and bit my lips.

“It was a mistake, obviously. I lost my senses in the moment, it won’t happen again,” I said abruptly.

Malfoy said nothing, but reached for his tepid tea. The silence was awkward, and I felt like an idiot. Malfoy had somehow managed to make me look like an idiot many times through the years, but at that moment, I, by far, felt like I truly, absolutely was an idiot.

Sitting back, Malfoy sighed. “What did you want to talk about, Granger? I can tell there’s something rattling around in your head. You wanted to apologize so I would give you more information. Now you have it. What have you deduced?”

I hesitated. What had I deduced?

I shook my head slightly. I had not deduced much. All I had were bits and pieces of thoughts, speculations, and few facts. The anger I had pushed down swept through me like a storm surge and was suddenly gone. Whoever had called me the ‘brightest witch of my age’ was also an idiot.

“I…er, I had a dream last night,” I started softly, knitting my fingers in my lap, trying to keep myself from flailing at my lack of information and true deductions.

“Very nice, Granger. I had a dream as well, but I doubt mine was like yours…unless there was a harem of naked women attending to your every need and whim,” Malfoy growled.

His sarcasm was becoming a bit irritating.

“No harem, Malfoy…the Department of Mysteries. I dreamt about beautiful naked brains swimming about in a tank of gorgeous emerald,” I countered with as much belligerence as I could produce so early in the day.

I sighed…I had been sighing quite a bit, but it was the only thing I could think to do to show my disdain at Malfoy’s acerbic nature.

“I cannot form any real deductions, Malfoy, but I can speculate. So, bear with me, and try to keep your insightful comments to yourself for a moment,” I muttered, twisting my fingers tighter in my lap.

Malfoy finished his tea, and placed it on the table, nodding slightly, a grimace upon his lips. I wondered, suddenly, how well he truly was, still wrapped in thick bandages.

“Harry has the Stone. And…I thought that maybe it would stop there. ‘It’ being the attacks, the deaths. But, then he killed the Dursleys. I thought that if he had the Stone he would start moving to use it, but as far as we know, he hasn’t.

Weeks ago, I thought that he would try to somehow infiltrate the Department of Mysteries and take a Time-Turner, if he did not have the Stone. I am still convinced that he somehow wants to change something in the past, or save someone in the past. The problem is…who does he want to save?

Let me pause for a moment… There is something that you may not know, so I’ll say it straight out now.”

Malfoy nodded, his raw skinned hands folded neatly on his knee.

“In Third Year, I used a Time-Turner to help me with my coursework. I took a double curriculum. Minerva gave it to me to use…”

I trailed my words, blinking into the space I had created with my mind’s eye. Had Harry believed that Minerva still had a Time-Turner? It would explain a bit as to why he had gone to her… But I knew, and the Ministry knew, that Minerva had turned in the magical device soon after my Third Year. But did Harry know that?

“When Sirius Black was captured by the Dementors…Harry and I saved him. That night we learned about Sirius’ connection to Harry. The existence of Peter Pettigrew… After Sirius was caught be the Dementors, Harry and I used the Time-Turner to return to just before the point Buckbeak was to be executed. You might not remember, but I gave you a piece of my mind…”

“And a piece of your fist…” Malfoy muttered darkly, his raw hand moving to absently rub an undamaged portion of his jaw.

“Harry and I saved Buckbeak. Later, Harry used his Patronus to save his past self and Sirius. Afterwards, we freed Sirius and caught up with ‘real time.’ Only Harry, Ron, Albus, and myself really knew about what had happened.

A few days later, I returned the Time-Turner to Minerva, and that was the end of it.”

Malfoy shifted slightly on his couch. “Interesting story, Granger, but what does that have to do with your dream of brains?”

I ignored the sarcastic drawl. “I will get to that. I’m not done with my speculation.

The other day, when Harry attacked us, I could not have anticipated it. Of course, I wouldn’t. But the reason I did not anticipate it was that I did not think Harry would need me. He had the Stone, what else did he need? Surely, he had figured out a way to resurrect the dead, but then I remembered my initial speculation…the Stone, a Time-Turner, the book in his study… True resurrection must be contingent on time. Moments after death, when the soul is still in reach of the body…

Albus had said ‘time and chance.’”

My mind was far away, in some other place, and my eyes were filled with the sight of the large timepieces of my Time Room and then to the desk with my ‘samsara’ jar.

“The unknown elements…who and when? There are only two Time-Turners made to go back further than a day, and those are under the heaviest protections. To go back more than a few hours is risky…the odds of creating a paradox in this particular time line increases. But that isn’t the only problem…or alternative for him now…” I whispered, my mind soothed by the cycle of death and rebirth in my mental bell jar.

“What do you mean?” I heard Malfoy ask distantly.

“The many-worlds theory…where there are no paradoxes. He could decide to insinuate himself into a timeline, his existence and reality superimposing into another. He could kill himself in another world, take the place of himself if he found the world suitable. Moving from one world to another can have devastating consequences…realities can overlap, but not completely. His existence in this world is his and his alone…his own path. But, if he would move to another world and exist there as well, the danger of the two realities colliding is almost certain.”

I closed my eyes. Hoping it was not ‘that’ alternative. There was only one device that allowed someone to move between worlds, and no one had had access to it in ages…it had been hidden long ago, and only records remained used only for the purpose of instruction.

“All the same, if he wants to alter this timeline, the repercussions could be severe. This moment, the people we are would no longer exist. Of course, we would not realize this fact as soon as the quantum ripple passed, but all the same…it would be the end of this reality.”

Malfoy growled, and I opened my eyes to look into his silver eye.

“I follow, for the most part, Granger, but something bothers me about all this…”

I took a deep breath, and nodded for him to continue.

“I always thought that if a person is meant to die, saving their lives would only postpone their inevitable end for only a very short while.”

I smirked. “There is that, as well, to consider. We know Harry has the Resurrection Stone. Why else would he need it than to resurrect someone?”

“Either Potter is too stupid to realize that he will just keep losing people, or, he doesn’t care.”

I had wondered the same thing.

“And…who does he want to save? The problem with that question is that it could be any number of people. His parents? Cedric Diggory? Sirius? Albus? I could go on and on. Or, is resurrection even all he feels he must do? He could go back and kill Voldemort…”

Malfoy unconsciously winced.

“Or you, your father, Bellatrix Lestrange, Greyback…the choices are too complicated and too many.”

“Giving Potter the benefit of the doubt for three seconds,” Malfoy sighed, “Maybe he is going back to impart some information that would prevent some event.”

I shrugged. “Given the pattern of his recent behavior, I rather doubt that.”

Malfoy smirked. “And you were supposed to be his best friend?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m being logical, Malfoy.”

The room fell silent again, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

I felt as if I should somehow try to reason with Harry, ascertain his motives to verify that my speculations had been correct. Or, to learn who or when he wanted to ‘correct.’ Even if he, for example, managed to prevent Sirius’ death, the timeline would be changed. All the same, Sirius most likely would die in some other fashion within days or weeks. Somewhere, a place I could not remember, I hard heard the phrase ‘course correction’ when speaking of such an effort. It was a proper phrase.

Even if Harry changed something seemingly insignificant, the time line would alter. That was why I was still analyzing what we had done in Third Year. We had changed the timeline then…and I had always wondered what would have been if we hadn’t saved Buckbeak or Sirius. I always wondered if we had inadvertently spared Sirius his intended fate by saving him…only to have him die in our Fifth Year in the Death Room. It was not until later that I learned that ‘course corrections’ often took place within moments or as long as two weeks later. The universe demanded lives, and we, as human beings, finite creatures of dim understanding, had no business pitting ourselves against the universe.

I had always questioned the need to keep Time-Turners…why not destroy them all and never have to worry about ‘fucking’ up the space-time fabric of our fickle universe? All the same, the Ministry would never go for destroying the Time-Turners…we might as well destroy our wands or the Muggles give up nuclear weapons. Time-Turners were a weapon to the Ministry, collateral against foreign or malignant incursions. Did that mean the Ministry let anyone use the devices often? Of course not. The only reason I was allowed one in Third Year was because I had applied for one as soon as I learned of their existence two months into my First Year. Even then, I had to fill out forms of twenty feet or more, write a statement as to why I needed it, guarantee that I kept up my scores, etc. I was surprised that I could use one at all.

“The Department of Mysteries will have to be closed and sealed,” Malfoy announced, rousing me from my thoughts of the flow of my mental bell jar. “It seems like the most ‘logical’ course of action to me.”

I frowned. “Alex Roux will fight such a decision. There are on-going experiments down there that need constant supervision…and my work…whoever is working as my substitute must be cursing my name at the moment.

All I can think to do is to post guards, lay wards, move the Time-Turners to a safer location…” I trailed.

A flash of my dream passed through my mind’s eye, and faintly, I could hear Severus humming to himself as if to remind me of what I had forgotten.

“The dream…” I whispered, moving my attention to Malfoy. “I need to tell you about that.”

“The brains?” he asked, moving to stand.

I watched him as he swayed on his bare feet, and moved to the window, the light changing from morning brightness to afternoon warmth. He wore loose fitting pyjama bottoms, white in color, and the waistband hung from his hips, revealing a space of torso wrapped in bandages. But after a few steps, Malfoy seemed to be walking and moving as if he had not been so injured.

“The brains…specifically the twelve brains in the Department of Mysteries.”

Malfoy turned slightly, his lips curled in disgust. “You have brains in the Department of Mysteries?”

I nodded, trying not to smile. It was a bit disturbing to keep brains in a tank, and what was worse, the brains were sentient, living, organs.

“Roux works in the Brain Room, and I have only ever observed once. From what Roux told me then, the brains work collectively like a Muggle computer…or super computer. The brains, as Roux said to me, contain a great deal of knowledge of a great variety of subjects. But, I never worked in the Brain Room, I never had any dealings with the brains, and to be honest, I took Roux’s explanation as fact.

But last night, I dreamt about the brains, and they spoke to me. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was important, very important.”

“Don’t tell me you think you had some psychic insight…a prophetic dream?” Malfoy drawled, moving to his mother’s bird’s eye maple desk, picking up the peacock feather quill, and swiping it over his lips.

I finally laughed, “No. I do not believe in those sorts of things. A part of my own brain remembered what Roux had said, and my mind formulated the dream. Nothing more.

But, I would like to go there…to the Department of Mysteries. Maybe if I went back, the environment would inspire me to…to do something…” I trailed pathetically.

“And you know you cannot go anywhere at the moment.”

I blinked.

“If Potter is still after you…”

Yes. Harry would still come for me. But the exact reason why he wanted me was still unknown. Would he want me to somehow get him into the Department of Mysteries? The possibility could be remedied easily. I would have to give up my clearance, resign, possibly only temporarily, but give up access to my workplace.

I doubted that that was the reason Harry wanted me, but I had no idea as to any other reason. Malfoy had mentioned Harry needing both Ron and myself…just to function. I was not sure that was the case either.

I could not risk seeing Harry, and I doubted he would answer my many questions. All I could do was assume and speculate…and it frustrated me.

“Potter will not be moving for a while.”

I turned my face to Malfoy who was sitting against the desk with his back to me, twirling the peacock feather quill between the raw looking thumb and forefinger of his right hand. As if sensing my slight bewilderment, Malfoy turned his face to peer over his shoulder, but all I could see were bandages.

“I did break his arms, nearly tore off a leg, not mention knocked him soundly about the head…I nearly broke every bone in his body. With no help…no Healers, he’s not going to be moving about any time soon.

There is no one in Britain that would help him now…”

I let my eyes fall to my fingers woven in my lap. Lucius had said the same thing…

I wanted to find some bit of relief in Malfoy’s words, but I knew that Harry had never been an ordinary wizard.

But he is not extraordinary either, Miss Granger…Severus whispered.

I had to agree. Harry was formidable wizard, powerful…but even he suffered pain.





The Equinox passed with little ado. I missed my cottage, and the close warmth of the stone, earth, and wood. I felt as if I were living in a dollhouse at Malfoy Manor, only the kitchen seeming like anything close to the earth.

A week and a half had passed since Malfoy had been brought to the Manor desperately clinging to life. And over the week and a half, I was shocked to witness how quickly Malfoy was healing. The skin of his hands and arms were a pristine white, no scars. He moved as he had moved since I had been reacquainted with him…quickly, precisely, stealthily. All that remained as a reminder to his battle with Harry was the bandage around his head.

The second day of April, I sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee, and staring out the small window in the back of the nook to the flowers blooming in the garden outside. I had made it routine to take breakfast in the kitchen, sometimes alone as I was that day, but most times with Narcissa.

The longer I spent in the Manor, the more I began to realize how silent the house was, with little or no visitors, and never any great to dos or dinners. I had always imagined the Manor a central location for extravagant balls, dinners, or dances, but it was not.

Narcissa told me that many centuries before the Manor was such a place. The nearby village the domain of the Malfoy lords, with other witches and wizards living in close proximity to the Malfoy lands. However, after the 15th century and the Act of Magical Segregation, the village had forgotten the Malfoy Manor for ruins, and the magical folk had either moved away or died out. I found it a bit sad…

As Malfoy had predicted, Harry had not been seen, or noticed in the weeks since his confrontation with the wyrm Malfoy. No murders, no sightings, no leads…

The lull was troubling to me for I still had not formed any sort of deduction about what was happening to my life, and the lives of so many others Harry had imposed upon. My mental Severus had kept silent for the majority of the time, only making soft comments about my lack of evidence in my deductions, and the dangers of assumption…mostly his type of encouragement, which often sounded like derision.

I saw little of Lucius Malfoy, and only a bit more of his son. We did not speak often, and during the weeks, there were times that up to three days would pass that I did not speak to him. Often times he was immersed in a Floo call of which I had been barred from eavesdropping…Malfoy cast privacy Charms every time he entered a room to make a call. But as far as I could tell, Malfoy always informed me truthfully about the few developments in the case.

The Aurors had been recalled, just as Lucius had said, and every time I managed to see the front page of the Daily Prophet I would see a picture of Harry’s face…a picture taken on his wedding day…with the eerily familiar words: Have You Seen this Man?

Only the day before was I able to begin making Floo calls of my own. Apparently, Alastor Gumboil was hesitant for me to be communicating with anyone outside the Manor. Of course, I understood his hesitation in light of Harry’s unnatural attentions toward me, but I still had to investigate, speak to, and question those who I believed to have important information regarding the case.

The only call I had made by that point was to my department head Alexander Roux. Roux and I had a great rapport, which had nothing to do with my so-called celebrity. Roux had been the one anxious to have me work in the Department of Mysteries, reading my papers on the practical applications of the relegation of time, my experiences with the Time-Turner in my Third Year, which I documented later in life then understanding the mechanics of time travel, and my paper on methods to prove the existence of the ‘multiverse.’ Roux had found my work interesting, and possibly applicable, and thus my work in the Time Room began.

When I called Roux, he seemed to have anticipated what I had to say. He was very concerned, not just about the possibility of Harry Potter infiltrating the Department of Mysteries, but Harry’s violence toward me. The first thing he asked was: when are you coming back to us, Jane?

I explained to Roux that it seemed as if the Ministry was going to detain for a long while yet, but I hoped that with some information, I would be able to aid in stopping Harry. I did not tell Roux specifics, but I conveyed that I needed information. My speculations and assumptions were dangerous in the sense that I was quickly moving away from a very simple principle of deduction… ‘Lex parsimoniae.’ Occam’s Razor…

Roux and I laughed as we spoke in unison: entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem.

It was then Roux grew serious, and leaned through the Floo a bit more.

“The Titans have been in a frenzy as of late. I cannot get them to speak to me for long.”

I had blinked at Roux.

“I had tried to let the Ministry to allow me to reach you weeks ago, Jane. Unfortunately, I was met with a literal threat that if I brought more attention to myself, concerning you, I could make myself a target for our recent rampaging Wizard.

As much as I would like for you to come back to us, something has been happening that has everyone in the Department in a perpetual state of confusion…not just the Ministry placing protective wards or posting policemen, now Aurors, in every bit of the our Level…but something else.

The Time room has been secured, but my room and the Death Room have been strangely cold. Of course, this is not really a concern, but it is troubling. Some have heard voices in the Death Room, and not just your typical whispers from beyond the Veil. It started a few weeks ago, and has not stopped since. The voices are clear, their words disturbing.

They are saying, Jane, that the portal between the two worlds is about to open…no, not open, but combine. Personally, I cannot understand what that might mean, but it is disconcerting all the same.”

I agreed with Roux. I could not tell him that Harry had found the Resurrection Stone, or my speculation that he was to use it in a greater capacity than what was first believed.

“But, the most disturbing bit of information I must give you is about the Titans.”

I vaguely remembered Roux referring to the brains as the Titans once before. The Titans…twelve in number, each with its own personality traits as well as knowledge.

“They have said your name, Jane. And rarely do they speak as one as they did the first time I recorded your name. They will not tell me why they want you, and actually, I am going out on a limb to say that they do want to speak to you. Your name has been whispered by them for a while…maybe three weeks or so.

Rhea is the only one who will speak to me now. She is concerned about what the Titans have been seeing…Potter, the voices of the Death Room, specific people she will not name, and specifically you.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. I dared not tell Roux about the dreams, I did not want him involved, and possibly put into danger. I did know, I had to go…I had to hear what the Titans had to say, but leaving Malfoy Manor was going to be a problem. During my last outing, I nearly died, and Malfoy was nearly killed. Even with a detail of Aurors, I doubted that I would ever be safe.

I finished my call with Roux, plastering on a face of hope, of safety. I wished Roux the best, with a half-hearted promise that I would see him soon and be back to work doing what I did best. My job had never been one where I had to appear to work everyday, but I always had done so because I felt that the Department of Mysteries was a natural habitat to foster a great thoughts.

Sitting in the Malfoy Manor kitchen, idly sipping coffee, I knew I had to go back to London. I doubted that any definitive answer lay in the Department of Mysteries, but surely, I would be able to collect more evidence to support my theories.

All other things being equal, the simplest solution is the best.

Harry wanted to change time. He would do this by the only means open to him. He would use a Time-Turner. If he were unable to save the life of one immediately, he had the Resurrection Stone.

These were the things I knew with ninety-eight percent certainty. The other two percent had nothing to do with fact or speculation…it was my own doubt.

And now, the compendium of our knowledge, the entity known as the Titans have spoken your name, Miss Granger…Severus said softly.

“It smells of a type of prophecy, Severus, and I do not like it,” I answered aloud, taking in the scent of irises and daisies from the garden window.

I simply did not have the stomach for a prophecy or some mystical portents. Not during the battles with Voldemort, and absolutely not after his fall. The cosmos had nothing to do with what Harry had decided; the cosmos did not have anything to do with Harry’s vanity either. Of course, considering the life Harry had lived, anyone who knew well would not be completely surprised at Harry’s behavior. He had been called ‘mad’ even as a child.

This thought made me remember Malfoy’s words. Either Harry did not know the dangers of time travel, or, he did not care. I opted for the latter. And this thought frightened me.

Harry would go for the Time Room; he had no other choice. He would fight his way through and preventative measure, kill, maim, and eradicate anything or anyone who deterred him from his goal. Harry was single-minded, he always had been.

I had to go to London, but in a manner that would not bring any unwanted attentions. I could Polyjuice myself easily, but would it be enough? I had a feeling that Harry was waiting for me just outside the wards of the Manor…a silly feeling, I knew, but one that kept me indoors. There had to be a way to slip past him if need be.

I sighed, moving in the nook to pour myself another cup of coffee, when I noticed a figure standing at the threshold of the kitchen. When my eyes alighted on the figure, it began to move, wide, purposeful strides toward me. I knew immediately it was Malfoy, and as he moved to slide into the nook at my left, he avoided my gaze and began pouring himself coffee.

Malfoy was dressed in his typical black jumper, black slacks, his holsters strapped to him. His hair had grown, I noticed, the length of which fell over his pale face nearly to the end of his nose, the bandages had kept me from noticing before how his hair had grown. The scratches and cuts on his visible flesh were gone, however, the right side of his face was mangled. It had been the first time I had seen him without the protective bandages.

An angry scar ran down his face, from his temple, over his brow, over his ruined eye, terminating a finger width from the corner of his mouth. The eye itself was scarred so that the eyelid was fused shut and a line ran down to evenly split the skin. I could tell that he still had most of his eye behind the lid, but it was ruined and useless. Besides that disfigurement, Draco Malfoy was little changed.

“A good morning would have sufficed, Granger. I know I’m a handsome beast, but gawking is still rude,” Malfoy drawled, raising his cup to his lips.

I flicked my eyes away to the dark liquid surface in my own cup.

“Morning, Malfoy,” I whispered with a hint of growl.

We sat in relative silence for a few moments, before Malfoy spoke again.

“How did your calls go yesterday, Granger? Anything I should know about?” Malfoy said holding his cup before him in two hands, apparently relishing the warmth against his long, healed fingers.

I took another drink and set my cup down, running a hand over my shorn head, happy to feel that that the hair was beginning to grow.

“Roux told me…” I began, but shook my head slowly. Rephrasing, I said, “London, we need to go to London, Malfoy.”

Malfoy smirked, his left eye staring at the cup in his hands.

“To the Department of Mysteries, you mean?”

I nodded.

“The dream I had…”

“About the brains? Didn’t Mother give you enough Dreamless Sleep to knock out a team of Thestrals?”

“I haven’t been taking them.”

Malfoy set down his mug with a sharp tap, and turned his face so that his left eye peered at me with the intensity of two eyes. Before he could open his mouth to speak, I cut in.

“They are addictive, besides, the dreams have changed.”

“So, Potter isn’t raping you? What’s he doing he doing now? Playing Gobstones?” Malfoy hissed.

I rolled my eyes. It had been mistake to tell Malfoy the rest of the dream. He pressed me to do so a few days after I had initially told him about it. The reason for the Dreamless Sleep was because the dreams had grown more intense, more violent, and I would wake screaming and crying. Before, no one came to my room when I woke in such a state, but then, Malfoy came.

It had been a week prior, and the dream had been the most violent yet. In the dream, after listening to the Titans, Harry would attack, but as the nights progressed, Harry did not repeat his actions toward me in the cottage. One night I was suffocated, another I had my skin flayed, another I had suspended upside down with my throat slit…but that night, the night Malfoy came, Harry was raping me.

Malfoy shook me awake, as I sat up screaming in my bed. I did not realize who he was at first, but when he wrapped his arms about me to keep me from scratching him, I knew him immediately. It was the scent of him, a scent I had somehow associated with safety. After that, Malfoy insisted on Dreamless Sleep.

My dreams by that day were not as violent, in fact, in the most recent dream; Malfoy had saved me from Harry…Malfoy killing Harry… I did not know whether this dream brought a sense of relief or fear. All the same, I had associated Malfoy with protection.

“Roux told me that the Titans have been saying my name, Malfoy. It is rare for them to ever name a person out right.”

Malfoy calmed himself, turning his silver eye away from me. “And you feel you have to go to London to investigate?” he asked distantly.

“Yes. The sooner the better. If your theory is correct, Harry will be revealing himself again. It doesn’t matter if he has not completely healed, he will move even with broken limbs.”

“He was always so pertinacious… Then, how do you suggest we get you to London?”

I smiled. “I can Floo straight to the Department of Mysteries, and if I do not want to be noticed, there is always Polyjuice, or glamours. I can inform Roux about my coming, and he can arrange for me to speak with the Titans. I can check the Time Room, secure the Time-Turners with Roux’s help…and visit the Death Room.”

Malfoy’s eye blinked. “Death Room? You mean where the Veil is?”

I was not totally surprised Malfoy had heard of it. Bellatrix had killed Sirius there, and his own father nearly killed me and my friends there as well…

“Why would you want to go there?”

I took a breath, hesitating. “Roux mentioned that something odd has been happening. The whispers behind the Veil have become louder, succinct. As far as I know, it has never happened…no one in the history of the Department has been able to discern the words spoken before.

With the Titans calling my name, Harry’s actions, and now the Veil…I doubt it is all a coincidence.”

Malfoy’s mouth quirked, and he nodded, turning his eye back to me again.

“To London, then?”

I smiled. “Whenever we can.”

“Day after tomorrow, in the morning.”

My eyes widened, so soon?

“As for a plan of travel…taking the Floo to the Department of Mysteries is the most direct route. And Polyjuice is not a bad idea…just in case. Mother has a few phials. We go in, do what we need to do, and go out the same way.

If something should happen, we go up to the Atrium. We can get lost in the crowd and escape into Muggle London. Of course, my men and other Aurors will be all over the place. If by some stroke of fate, Potter shows up, he won’t stand a chance against so many.”

I blinked. It was a simple plan, but a sensible plan. And then I remembered something…something I had been meaning to ask Malfoy.

“Your father said something to me a while back, after you were brought back to the Manor…”

Malfoy snorted, “You shouldn’t listen much to my father, Granger…he is prone to lying…”

I sighed. “He said that with the Ministry recalling Aurors, you will be with them?”

His face darkened, and he turned it away to rest his chin on his left shoulder to gaze out to the kitchen, the elves moving about.

“Even your mother mentioned that you trained in America…”

Malfoy rose suddenly from his seat in the nook and took two steps into the kitchen, his back to me. I wondered if I had said something wrong, and then derided myself for even caring.

“Let’s take a walk, Granger.”

I blinked. “What?”

Malfoy turned, his face stoic and impassive. “A walk. It is a nice day, might as well enjoy it,” he said, but his words had no emotion behind them.

“Alright,” I replied, curious.

Malfoy began walking toward the sidewall of the kitchen, near the windows, and as he approached, a Dutch door seemed to slip into existence, melting out of the stonewall. He opened the door, and outside I saw that a cobbled path lead through the kitchen gardens and out of sight.

I followed, wondering what Malfoy wanted me to hear or to see.