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!

Excerpts from 'Jane Eyre' included.

Unbeta'd

The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Part 12



He kissed my forehead before kneeling down before me to remove my Transfigured galoshes. I sat on the edge of a the tub in the magically enlarged bathroom of Malfoy’s private quarters. When he pulled off my the left boot, I whimpered, and then froze as he lifted the foot up, pressing a warm kiss to top of my ankle.

The ankle was swollen double its normal size, and as Malfoy moved the joint, I bit my lip. It was not broken, but severely sprained. Malfoy rose, and moved to a small cabinet near the door, pulling out a large fluffy towel, unfurling and spreading across it my shoulders. He then extracted a small kit, opening it to pull out a phial of pale violet liquid.

I said nothing as he knelt before me again, pulling my foot up to rest the heel upon his knee. Drawing Severus’ wand from his sleeve, he whispered a soft incantation, which seemed to numb the pain in my joint. I wondered why he had not used the other wand.

Then Malfoy uncorked the phial and poured a bit of the violet liquid into his left palm. Rubbing his palms together, he began to massage the oily violet liquid into my ankle. Almost immediately the swelling went down, but bruises took the place of the distended skin.

“After a few hours, you’ll be able to walk normally…” Malfoy said softly as the liquid was completely absorbed into my skin.

I blinked slowly, suddenly very tired, but still very cold.

Gently lowering my foot to the floor, Malfoy rose, replacing the phial in the kit from the place he had extracted it. At the door he turned to me, his face impassive.

“Take a bath, Granger. You have mud caked in what little hair you have…”

Malfoy slowly shut the door, and I was alone in the bathroom, sitting dumbly on the edge of the small tub…a regular tub, in my opinion, deep porcelain with clawed feet on the bottom. My own bathtub in the cottage was only slightly larger. I sat for several moments, my brow furrowing in confusion.

He had kissed me, at least three times…and I could still feel the impression of his lips on my foot, forehead…and the back of my neck. Odd…I thought…and very ‘out of character.’

When I stood, I found that there still a small bit of pain in my left foot, but not so severe as I moved to undress, finding that my clothes were literally stained with mud and heavier with rain. I dropped the wet garments on the floor, not caring about them for the time being. I slid my right arm from my wand holster and placed the leather on the edge of the sink, gazing at my reflection in the mirror above. Indeed, I had mud caked about my shorn head, but mud streaked my face and neck as well. I sneered at my reflection and moved to the tub.

It took several moments to draw the bath, but when I was able to sink down into the steamy water, scented with a combination of sage and citrus, I sighed, my voice echoing through the small room. The cold that had permeated my bones was replaced with comforting warmth.

Pulling the curtain about the bath to keep in the steam, I ducked my head under the water and scrubbed. Emerging, I found, to my surprise, a bottle on the edge of the tub, one that had not been there before. Shampoo…Merlin, it seemed like ages since I had to use shampoo.

I also found soap and a cloth, which had seemed to appear from thin air. I tried not to think too much about the spontaneous appearances of spicy scented toiletries, and instead scrubbed at my face and limbs until the water was a bit murky.

Rising from the bath, pushing back the curtain, I found towels stacked on the floor just atop a bathmat. I also found that my clothing was gone from the floor… Wrapping the towels about me, I glanced at the bathroom door, which was still closed. My clothing gone, I moved to my wand, ready to Transfigure the towels if I needed to…but I found a stack of clothing resting upon a small table next to the sink.

Drying myself, I moved to the clothing, eyes narrowed. I pulled the first article up and eyed it suspiciously. It was a soft black camisole. Next was a pair of black lace underwear, cut in a manner that I did not wear…bikini cut, I believed it was called. I found a black blouse, a knit top with mother of pearl buttons down the front and quarter length sleeves. Lastly was a black skirt, much like the one I had worn only moments before, but of a softer linen, with layers that fell at different lengths to ones ankles.

I dressed with a sigh, wondering what had happened to my bra…but as I donned the camisole, I found that it was Charmed so that I would not need the uncomfortable contraption. In fact, after I was fully dressed, I marveled at how soft and comfortable the clothes were…even the lacy underwear that was almost risqué compared to what I owned.

I strapped my holster back to my inner forearm and gazed into the mirror again. My hair was still too short to be considered in the least bit feminine, and I promised myself that I would Charm it soon…possibly the next day…

But as I moved to the bathroom door, I knew I had to consider the man waiting on the other side. Why had he brought me to this little abode? Why had he tried to divert my attentions? Why had he kissed me? Surely there was some ulterior motive. A Malfoy was not a Malfoy unless they had an ulterior motive…I had learned that long ago.

Opening the door onto the small parlour, I found that a table had been placed before the fire, the couch pushed back. Upon the table were two places, two chairs, and two bowls of steaming cream based soup. My mouth watered, literally. Without a proper breakfast, and so much emotion and exertion, food was suddenly the only thought in my head.

I limped to the nearest chair, grasping the back of the cane and wicker, staring down at the soup. It was potato soup with celery, some herbs and cheese. A loaf of hot brown bread rest upon a small cutting board, and glasses of rested empty, waiting to be used.

“Sit, Granger,” Malfoy’s voice called from the kitchen.

I did not bother to acknowledge him, sitting down and eating with no preamble. I was either very hungry or the soup was very good. I did not care about table manners as Malfoy sat across from me, cutting a slide of bread for himself. I did not even look at him as I gnawed on a chunk of hearty bread, and drank from the glass, which magically filled with milk…exactly what I had wanted.

When I had my fill, I wiped my mouth daintily with a napkin, and pushed away from the table to limp to the window. It was still pouring rain, and the sky seemed darker than ever.

“Can’t we just take the Floo back to the Manor?” I asked without turning.

Malfoy was still eating, but I could feel his eye on my back.

“No, I do not have this Floo connected to the Manor.”

I frowned, that statement did not make sense to me.

“It is silly to let a bit of rain keep one from moving about here,” I muttered.

“We can go anytime you’d like Granger. If you hadn’t fallen and sprained your ankle, we could have returned then… But like a fool you ran out into the rain without thinking. We could have ridden back, made quick work of it.”

I rolled my eyes.

“And now you’re here, you’ve been fed, washed. You’ll need to put your ankle up for a bit, and perhaps tonight we can go back to the Manor.”

Malfoy had said this calmly, but with an air of authority that made me suddenly uncomfortable.

I wrapped my arms about myself, the sight of the rain pounding against the windows and my distance from the fire making me cold. Window blew against the stable house walls, and behind the house I could hear the mournful creak of the trees. If only I were warmer, I would have felt comfortable, and perhaps believed I was home in my own little cottage.

I paid no mind to the sound of Malfoy behind me, or the sound of moving furniture. My stomach was full, my mind exhausted with fruitlessly trying to solve so many questions about the world I lived in, and my ankle sore and uncomfortable.

When Malfoy bid me to relax on the faded red couch, which he had moved closer to the fire, I complied without a word. I was sleepy now my belly was full, and the shock of the cold rain and the twisting of my ankle made me content to lounge across the couch. With heavy eyes, I watched as Malfoy Conjured a pillow to place under my left ankle, propping it up comfortably. Then, pulling a pale green throw blanket from the back of the armchair to my far right, he spread he soft velour over me.

When Malfoy seemed satisfied that I was comfortable, my head resting on the malleable leather arm of the couch, my body covered with the throw, and my ankle sufficiently propped up, he took a seat in the armchair, resting in booted feet upon the hearth. I sighed softly, thankful for the modicum of comfort allowed me, but a part of my mind was still functioning.

With my ever questioning nature, that infuriated most people, but was one of my intrinsic characteristics, I asked: “Why did you bring me here, Malfoy?”

I had not meant to sound so taciturn after I had angry fled and subsequently played the fool and injured myself.

“I thought a change of scenery would be nice. Mother actually suggested it. She could tell that the Manor was not to your usual taste, and that you spent most of your time in the kitchens. Father would call it disgraceful…he is quite proud of the Manor. But Mother grew up in a smaller home in London near her cousin Sirius. She has told me many times that the sprawling space and rooms of the Manor never really felt like a home to her,” Malfoy said softly.

I could not see his face from my place on the couch, but I could hear in his voice that he too felt the Manor was not a proper home. Living around so much artifice was an acquired taste, I assumed. Lucius had always lived in the Manor, so he knew nothing of the close, familiar warmth of a space just for oneself.

“You did not mind that I intrude upon your space?” I asked, my voice distant as my mind begged to be released from such thoughts and to sleep.

I heard Malfoy move against the leather of the armchair. “I rarely have company, Granger. And if it had to be you…well…” he trailed.

I was not offended, I was too sleepy to be offended.

“Why did you kiss me?” I asked softly.

I heard Malfoy sigh softly, and a part of my mind awoke from a doze and I felt more awake.

“It was very out of character, and there was no whiskey about…” I continued. “Did I miss the notice that today was to be ‘out of character’ day for Draco Malfoy?”

He chuckled softly, and I closed my eyes, the light from the fire tingeing the backs of my eyelids a comforting orange and red.

“Some might say you are in love with me…and that just won’t do…” I whispered, nearly quoting Malfoy’s own words back to him.

I did not hear his reply, if any, for I had slipped softly into a state of sleep, my body and my face relaxing. I did not dream anything that I would remember, I only felt safe and comforted, warm and slightly happy. Often times, in my little cottage, I would take naps on the fainting couch near the fire, wrapped in a crocheted afghan Minerva had made me years ago, Crookshanks curled about my feet and the warmth of the fire cocooning me in a state of simple happiness. Both Minerva and Crookshanks were gone, and the last time I had had the luxury of napping before the fire seemed years ago, in a different time.

My life had changed so profoundly that I could no longer recognize it, or myself. I had changed…Harry had changed me. I was afraid, and it had been years since I had last been afraid of anything. I was confused, not just about Harry and his actions, but by Draco Malfoy and his seemingly warm kindness and his harsh mien. The man was an enigma, while Harry seemed to be as simple to read as a word on a page.

Somehow, I had allowed myself to think of Draco Malfoy, and his family, as safe, when ten years before I would have thought the opposite. I knew that they had their ulterior motives, but I felt that there was no danger for me in those designs. The Malfoys had been slighted, abused, ignored, ridiculed, and used. Of course, their own actions had led to such a state, but it seemed to me that the Malfoys were never really evil, and thus happy to aid someone like me as well as using their care with me to solidify themselves in a position of power, a position they had lost after the War.

The Malfoys would never willingly let me come to harm, they had proven this fact many times. And I suddenly counted myself fortunate. The Weasleys would have done everything they could to protect me, if possible, and as much as I loved the Weasleys, their pure heartedness would not be as protective. The Malfoys had minds much like my own, scheming, logical, multi-dimensional. The Malfoys planned for every eventuality, and did not shy away from the ugliest of truths.

No matter how I felt about the Malfoys, especially the Malfoy heir, I really would have been a fool to leave their protection. And as far as I knew of the Malfoys, they had been kind and truthful with me. I was still surprised with Malfoy senior and his candidness about ‘The Hanged Man.’ After everything, slipping Tom Riddle’s diary to Ginny and the Department of Mysteries, Lucius Malfoy never apologized, but atoned himself by being helpful, civil, and truthful. The man was not some evil patriarch, and I could see that much of that façade had dropped away the few times I overheard him speaking with his son and wife.

Voldemort had made us all behave in ways contrary to our true nature…

I napped, contented in my comfort. However, as I lay halfway between waking and dreaming, a voice spoke over me, soft tones almost caressing my cheeks. The words were spoken with such delicacy and precision that I smiled as I began to let my mind interpret the words.

My feet had been moved, so that both heels were resting upon something harder than the pillow Malfoy had Conjured, and occasionally, a soft trailing tickle would run along the tops of my feet, or over the tips of my toes.

“’…Two wax candles stood lighted on the table, and two on the mantelpiece; basking in the light and heat of a superb fire, lay Pilot--Adele knelt near him. Half reclined on a couch appeared Mr. Rochester, his foot supported by the cushion; he was looking at Adele and the dog: the fire shone full on his face. I knew my traveller with his broad and jetty eyebrows; his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black hair. I recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable for character than beauty; his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler; his grim mouth, chin, and jaw--yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake. His shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived harmonised in squareness with his physiognomy: I suppose it was a good figure in the athletic sense of the term--broad chested and thin flanked, though neither tall nor graceful…’”

I opened my eyes and blinked, raising a hand to wipe at my face. I realized that candles had been lit in the room, and that through the windows on either side of the fireplace, all I could see was the darkness of night. I felt like I had not napped long, but apparently the sun had set and night was upon me.

A hand moved over my feet again, calloused fingers brushing over the softness of my ankles.

“’… Mr. Rochester must have been aware of the entrance of Mrs. Fairfax and myself; but it appeared he was not in the mood to notice us, for he never lifted his head as we approached…’” Malfoy read, his left hand holding a small, battered tome close to his left eye, his elbow resting on the arm of the couch so that his head was slightly turned to the light.

I studied his face for a moment, blinking in confusion. He was smiling slightly as he read, his voice taking a slight bit of change when he read the dialogue. By the practiced manner in which he read, I was certain he was well acquainted with ‘Jane Eyre,’ but why he was acquainted with a Muggle written book was a question I did not want to ask. Why did he like Muggle music? For the same reason he liked Muggle books, I assumed.

“She reminds me of you,” he said softly lowering the book from his face.

I swallowed, “Jane Eyre?”

He had known I had been awake, but had made no prior motion to acknowledge it. Malfoy ran his fingers up and down the slope of my right foot, and it tickled slightly.

“A little pixie of a woman, independent, passionate, and moral. Even with your hair so short, you are even more like some fairy thing…” Malfoy whispered, closing the book around a finger in his left hand and lowering to set it on the wide arm of the couch.

I smirked. “And you are very much like Edward Rochester…taciturn, abrupt, and not in the least bit handsome…you don’t have a mad wife in the attic of the Manor, do you?”

Malfoy threw his head back and barked laughter. I smiled.

“No…no wife. And I’m not ugly, Granger.”

I quirked my mouth. “All you need is the dark hair and complexion, and you would be very much like a Mr. Rochester.”

“I may be blinded, but I’m not crippled. It is you who is crippled at the moment…the circumstances of which are as silly as your naiveté, Miss Granger.”

My jesting smile faded, and I moved to sit up on the couch, but did not extract my feet, which had been resting on Malfoy’s right thigh.

“I do not care much for your ‘out of character’ attitude, Malfoy. It makes you the silly one. And I will assert again…it mocks me. I do not like being mocked, or given attentions which are false.

Besides, you hate me. Why aren’t you scrubbing yourself down? How can you bear to touch me?”

There was only a bit of venom in my voice. I was daring him to honestly answer me, not reprimanding him.

Malfoy’s face darkened, and he removed his hand from caressing my small feet. I took the opportunity to pull my toes under the throw, curling up on the couch, staring willfully at Malfoy, awaiting his answer.

“’Hate’ is reserved for those who have harmed me and my family, Granger. And as far as I know you have neither harmed me or mine. At one time I resented you, and I ridiculed you by any means I could find. But hate you? No. Disliked you, naturally.

The sentiments I had for you in school were brought on by my own resentments and jealousies. And when school was no more, I let my resentment and jealousy fade. Now I am your protector, your keeper…and I would be remiss in my job if I should not keep you.

Believe me, Granger, when I say that I feel no remorse for much I have done in my life. The only regret I have, and always will have is this…”

Malfoy pulled up his left sleeve, turning toward me. Pulling away the wand holster holding Severus’ wand, I could just see the discoloration and scarring of the Dark Mark. Even when Malfoy was wrapped in bandages I had seen that Mark, and had not thought about it, although I knew he had taken it sometime before or during out Sixth Year.

Replacing the holster and pulling the sleeve of his jumper back down, Malfoy settled his arm on the couch again.

“Every action, often times pre-planned, has been deliberate. There are times, of course, where I lose control of myself and do something most people would regret, but I regret nothing.

So, you ask me why I’m not ‘scrubbing myself,’ I will tell you.

I can bear to touch you because you are not a leper, and I’m not going to die from touching a Muggle-born. I cannot understand why you place such a marked difference between us…who is the prejudiced one?”

I lowered my eyes to the pale green throw across my lap. Malfoy was right. I had been the one constantly bringing up the issue of blood purity, I was the jaded one.

“Don’t mistake me, Granger. I am not a good man, I am not in least bit moral, charitable, or forgiving. In fact, I have been told on more than one occasion that I am unbearable for company…”

He was smirking, and I did not know whether to take him for his word or ignore everything he had just said.

“And to answer your question…the one you asked earlier when you were dropping off to sleep.

I kissed you because I felt like it. Little childlike kisses for someone who had been acting like a child.”

I blinked at him, my mouth opened to retort, but the mischievous grin on his face, that scoundrel-like smile stopped me short, and my heart gave a painful beat against my ribs. He was teasing me by phrasing his words with a twist of the truth. And I wanted to hide my blushing face.

“I can take you back to the Manor now, Granger. The rain has stopped, and surprisingly it has warmed with the clouds so low and the wind gone.”

I sighed and nodded. I wanted to go back to the Manor, to escape Malfoy for the night and sort out my own feelings. I wanted to remove myself from the gaze of his one argent eye and curl my thoughts inward. And I knew that I would have to begin to prepare myself for a travel to the Ministry in London.

The danger was not over.

Malfoy held my hand as we walked through the field, his wand lit before us, his feet sure on the muddy path. My ankle felt well enough to walk, and the air was warm just as Malfoy had said. He did not speak to me as we moved into the arboretum, the rain having knocked off quite a bit of bloom from the trees.

Just as before, walking through Hogsmeade, Malfoy’s hand enveloped my own, and I felt so like a child. His comments about me being like a child had stung me. And suddenly I wanted him to see me as a woman.

I was attracted to Malfoy, although parts of me did not want to admit it. The attraction had much to do with his protection of me…a silly romantic notion that was a cliché in so many of the books like the gothic ‘Jane Eyre’ or the works of Jane Austen published earlier. The attraction also had much to do with his character, as taciturn and sarcastic as it was. Malfoy had always, ever since our schooldays, been able to mentally and verbally compete with me…he kept my mind moving with questions as well as ways to manufacture new little derisions in his honour.

I wanted him to see me as a woman, and not as a child or a schoolgirl. I knew, however, that I did little to make him see anymore of me than that. I was the fool. I knew nothing about the love for a man. I was not a virginal innocent, but when it came to passion…I was lacking. And Malfoy was darkly passionate. He had called me passionate, but it was for my work and all the little worlds I had created for myself, none of which had anything to do with love or companionship. I had created a closed world for myself, and as we walked into the garden just outside the lit windows of the kitchen, I knew I had crippled myself from experiencing so many things.





Malfoy’s plan to enter the Department of Mysteries was hindered slightly when we learned just before our departure from the Manor that the Floo to the Ninth Level was blocked. Alastor Gumboil had decided due to growing concerns of security that the Department of Mysteries was to be strictly monitored into who came and went. From a tactical point of view, Gumboil’s decision was not unexpected, however, it put a hitch in Malfoy’s plan.

My security was his immediate concern, and the decision to Floo into the Atrium made moving through the Ministry a bit more perilous.

We stood in the foyer of the Manor, Malfoy speaking to Williamson through one of the fireplaces while Narcissa fussed with applying a cloak about my shoulders. Only the night before Narcissa had approached me about wearing some suitable clothing to go to the Ministry. While I had worked at the Ministry, I had worn sensible clothing under my Unspeakable robes, a pair of dress slacks and a simple blouse. When I had had long hair, I usually had it pulled back in a bun or plaited down my back, but as it was, I had no hair to style.

“Here, Hermione, take these phials of Polyjuice and slip them into the pocket of your frock,” Narcissa whispered as Malfoy’s voice rose with a hint of anger arguing with Williamson.

I blinked at Narcissa, shoving three phials into a concealed pocket in the dress I wore. I felt silly, wearing a frock made of stiff dark green taffeta, not too extravagant, but not plain either. I had seen many stylish witches in the Ministry wearing such functional dresses, looking more like early nineteenth century governesses than witches. But, it was the fashion of the time, and I, of course did not bother.

The cloak about my shoulders was a heavy traveling cloak, dark brown in color with darker fur about the edges. An ornate silver clasp held it shut at my throat, and on my feet I wore a low-heeled boots, again further strengthening my masquerade as a fashionable witch…a Pureblooded witch. The only incongruous element was my head…and in a nearby polished bronze mirror I saw that my face and hair still made me look like a little boy in his mother’s nice clothes. I was entirely unhandsome.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was dressed to the nines. He wore a fashionable dark gray suit, slightly different from the ones I had grown accustomed to seeing when he was fitted in his formal DCI position. The suit was antique by Muggle standards, but quite in style with Magical fashion. He wore a neck cloth that wrapped about his throat as if to strangle, he also wore boots that came almost to the knee. If it had not been for the terrible scarring on his face and his messy silver hair, Malfoy would have resembled a gentleman.

“You had better be there, Williamson! I am not submitting myself to the horror of Polyjuice only to find you do not meet us and escort us to the Ninth Level!” Malfoy roared into the fireplace, terminating the call by stepping away.

Narcissa finally straightened the cloak on my shoulders, and took a step back, smiling at her handiwork.

“Are we ready, Mother?” Malfoy asked, moving across the foyer to where we stood, a phial in his hand, along with a pair of leather gloves.

“Costumed, and stocked, my dashing son. Doesn’t Hermione look just adorable?” Narcissa crooned, and I felt as if I were some doll in the Manor dollhouse.

“She’d be tolerable with some hair…but I can only hope she won’t look so sour after the Polyjuice. Who are we again?”

Narcissa shrugged. “Anonymous donors of a few locks of hair. Your father procured them.”

I wondered if the donors were still alive, and smiled wickedly at the thought.

“Here you go, my dear,” Narcissa sang, pressing another phial into my hand. “Same donor as the ones in you pocket. I trust you have yours, my dear,” she said, turning to Malfoy.

Malfoy grunted, readying a phial, flicking the cork out with the fingernail of his thumb. He moved away, obviously wanting a bit of privacy for the painful transformation. Narcissa moved to the fireplaces, leaving me to myself. I sighed, and uncorked the phial, the scent wafting from the bottle assaulting my nose. After Second Year, I would never forget the stench.

Steeling myself with a breath, I up ended the phial and poured it down my throat. I tried to gulp it down like a pill so that the chunky texture would not linger long against my tongue. I swallowed until it was all down, and gagged.

The effect was instantaneous, and I grabbed my stomach as it felt as though that every cell of my body was rearranging itself. I dropped the phial, but it did not shatter on the marble floor, but clinked and rolled away as I swayed, grasping the post of the stairs to steady myself. Seconds passed, but it felt like the transformation was taking hours, it ended, and I reminded myself that the last time I had used the potion had been to imitate Bellatrix…and that transformation had been better than the first time…when I inadvertently transformed into a human/cat hybrid…

Clearing my throat of the lingering foulness of the potion, I straightened and moved to the nearest mirror.

I had felt hair sprout from my head, and as I gazed into the reflective surface I found that I had long, wavy black hair, beautiful and soft. It fell past my shoulders, down to my back, longer than my own hair had ever been.

I ran alien fingers over my face. I was maybe an inch taller, and my eyes were a brilliant shade of sapphire. My face was young, younger than my original face it seemed, and longer…a handsome face. My breasts were larger, but the frock seemed to be filled in as I looked down. I was lovely.

Narcissa seemed to glide to my side, producing pins from a hidden pocket in her stylish pinafore, as well as a comb to begin sweeping my hair up into a style. When I looked into the mirror again, I found that I resembled a great young lady of superior birth and rank…a girl whose smile shone brighter than my own. I was jealous.

“So lovely, Hermione, but I must say that I think your face is much prettier. I do believe the donor was older than you, by a few years…” Narcissa whispered, placing flatteries upon me that I could not truly believe.

“An hour…and with the phials in your pocket, four at most. I hope it will be enough,” Narcissa sighed.

“I think so. At least, it had better be,” I said softly, my voice still my own, and oddly disproportionate from the face I now wore.

“Yes, it had better be, or all of this might be for nothing.”

I turned to find a man standing nearby, dressed in the dark grey suit Malfoy had been wearing. Of course, I knew it was Malfoy by his voice, but it was more than that. The potion had barely altered the scar on his face, and from that scar I knew him. As if noticing my puzzlement, Malfoy said: “Polyjuice is still constrained to work around curse scars of this nature. It cannot fabricate an eye for me to see through.”

I frowned. “Crouch Jr. could transform into Alastor Moody…” I began.

“That was a bit different…but no matter, I’ve got a further disguise.”

With a false sense of bravado, Malfoy extracted something from the inside of his coat pocket, and again I could just make out the bulge of his wand holster hidden under the inside vest. With a shrug, Malfoy applied a neat eye patch, which obscured the scar entirely.

I blinked, taking in his entire transfigured appearance. He seemed just as tall and slender, but the hair upon his head was jet black and unkempt. It fell in angles to his shoulders. His left eye was as black as pitch, as were his brows. The features of his face were severe, and I wondered if the donor for the potion were somehow related to Severus Snape.

I was never so roguishly handsome, Miss Granger…Severus growled in the back of my brain.

Malfoy’s complexion was dark, and the face he wore seemed that it was prone to brooding. He was handsome…and ugly. He was my mental image of Edward Fairfax Rochester sans the eye patch.

“Edward Rochester,” I mumbled.

Malfoy’s dark brow quirked. “Not a bad idea, my Jane Eyre.”

I smirked. “Not a bit obvious?”

“A bit. Call me Edward, and to be even less obvious, I shall call you Jeanette,” he chuckled, his thin lips turning up into what would have normally been a grin on Malfoy’s original face, but looked like a sneer on his borrowed one.

Narcissa clapped her hands in delight and pushed us together and toward the Floo. “Go now, my gothic characters,” she laughed, but then turned serious as we neared the Floo. “Be mindful of the time, and be careful. I wish you luck.”

I turned my face to see that Narcissa’s expression was grave and filled with worry, and I couldn’t form a reassuring smile to assuage her fears. I was nervous.

Snatching a handful of Floo powder into his right hand, Malfoy wrapped his left arm around me as we entered the fireplace. I grasped him in turn, and with a bark of his deep voice, we were off…

…and stepping out of a Ministry Floo and into the Atrium.

It was early in the day, and people were moving about the Atrium toward the lifts beyond the central fountain. My heart seemed to pound at the amount of people pressing against me. But Malfoy’s arm circled tighter about my waist as he pulled me forward, his left eye peering about over the heads of the Ministry employees.

I looked about as well, noting that Aurors moved about the crowd, their eyes casting about. I saw other Aurors stationed along the hall, all dressed in plain clothes, only seeing badges from time to time on the insides of their coats.

Just before coming to the turnstile to check our wands, Malfoy pulled us out of the line of people discreetly, toward the edge of the throng. Malfoy stopped us near a pillar where Auror Williamson stood, arms crossed about his chest, waiting impatiently.

Malfoy spoke softly, too softly for me to hear, and Williamson nodded, his eyes peering down at my face curiously.

“This way…” I heard Williamson say, and we moved into the dark of the sidewall where Williamson tapped the stones with his wand and a door appeared, melting from the stones.

Hastily we moved inside, and I found that we stood in a dark corridor, the only light coming from the very end. Malfoy squeezed my waist, and glanced down at me with his borrowed black eye. We moved quickly, boots tapping against the stone floor. I found that at the end of the corridor was a lift, slightly smaller than the lifts in the Atrium. Williamson ushered us aboard, and I nearly fell as the lift took off, moving rapidly to the right and then down at an alarming rate.

Malfoy held me securely, his right shoulder against the wall of the lift. No words were spoken as the lift jarred again, and suddenly my body was thrown to the right and into Malfoy. I had always hated the lifts, and had always been thankful of being able to Floo from the Ninth Level directly.

Finally, the bone jarring ride over, the lift stopped, and the doors open. A curt recorded voice announced ‘Department of Mysteries,’ and we filed out.

It seemed like ages since I had been in the dark corridors, and the strange scent and cool air brought a smile to my borrowed face. Williamson escorted us to the first door, which led into what I called the ‘carousel’ room. After so many years I, and only a few others knew which door was which. However, inside the ‘carousel’ room, we paused, for there were half a dozen Aurors standing guard, as well as a figure that I had also missed, Alexander Roux.

“Mr. Roux, I am Williamson. We spoke earlier about two consultants coming to inspect the department?” Williamson said with an air authority.

I peeked around Williamson’s red cloaked back to my department Head.

Alexander Roux was only a few years younger than my father, and he stood with a regal bearing. Roux’s face, as long as I had known him, was always pale, and his hair always neatly oiled and combed to cover a bald spot at the top of his head. He was a fastidious man by all appearances, but very warm and very well versed in every subject. He was a Pureblooded wizard, but did not prescribe to the questions of blood purity.

“Yes, Mr. Williamson. Shall I escort them?” Roux said softly, his eyes moving from my face back to Williamson. Williamson nodded, and soon Malfoy and I followed Roux through the door to the Hall of Prophecy.

When the door disappeared and we were alone, Roux turned to Malfoy with a smile.

“Thank you for bringing Jane back to us, sir. I’m so happy that she was able to come so quickly,” Roux said, grasping Malfoy’s hand and shaking it.

Roux had been privy to the plans Malfoy had made. I trusted Roux, and it made it easier for me to return to the Department of Mysteries.

Turning to me, Roux’s smile widened. “Polyjuice or no, I think I would know you, Jane.”

Roux took my hand, and I smiled. “I hope you are joking, Alex. I do not want anyone to know who I am, at the moment…”

We began walking down the long aisles, the only light coming from the globes upon the shelves. Roux had tucked my hand in his arm, and I felt Malfoy’s blatant stare against my back. I could also feel Malfoy’s unease, not used to the darkness of the Hall, while Roux and I knew it like second nature, never needing to light our wands to move about.

“Of course, Jane. I suppose I am just a bit too excited that you are here.”

Taking a left, down a narrower aisle, Malfoy followed closer, and just before we approached the door that would take us to the Brain Room, he clapped a hand on my shoulder, pulling me from Roux’s arm.

“Ten minutes, Granger,” he growled as Roux blinked and moved to open the door.

I nodded. Ten minutes before we would need another dose of Polyjuice. I was surprised that so much time had passed.

Passing into the green-lit room, Malfoy paused at my side as Roux shut the door behind us, using his wand to ward the door. Roux bustled to the other doors and repeated the action while Malfoy and I walked down the long room to the tank.

Glancing to Malfoy’s face, I could see that he was transfixed by the sight of twelve white brains floating about the liquid inside the tank like languid fish. It was a sight to see, but I had seen it many times.

“Sit here, Jane. Your companion and I will be over by the door to the Time Room. If you need parchment, there is some in the drawer…” Roux said, pulling out a desk chair to the workspace nearest the tank…the desk in which Roux usually resided.

I nodded, moving to sit down, pulling a phial from my pocket and drinking it as quickly as possible, making a horrible face. I settled into the chair, pushing forward so that the wood scrapped against the stone floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Roux and Malfoy move to the door, Malfoy also moving to down another phial of Polyjuice. His face did not display a bit of disgust for his eye was fixed upon me.

I turned my attentions back to the tank and the floating organs inside. One stopped before me, floating serenely before swimming on again. I knew that the brains could not literally see me, but it seemed they were aware of my presence, just as they had been in my dream.

Minutes passed, the only sound a soft gurgling of the liquid moving in the tank before me. The swimming brains proved hypnotic. I was not disgusted by the fact that I was watching brains swim, but rather soothed… My eyes grew slightly heavy, and my body relaxed. I felt as if I were indeed hypnotized…and that was when I heard the voices.

Whispers at first, the brains swimming about…and then one brain floated before my eyes, then another and another, until there were twelve floating about the convex side of the large rounded tank. One brain floated forward, and I blinked, suddenly very aware and very awake.

‘Granger, Hermione Jane…’

It was not a question, but I nodded. The voice, by its timbre, was male.

‘You are known to us.’

I waited. More voices were added to the first. The voices spoke slowly, as if tired, but every word articulate.

‘Your brain has deduced much of what we wanted to tell you…’

Another long pause.

‘Truly superior mind.

He has the Hallows. He will come here. We see our end.’

All twelve voices as one. My borrowed brow furrowed.

‘He comes very soon, very soon. Danger…danger…’

I glanced to Malfoy who did not seem to be able to hear the Titans, but was talking softly to Roux.

‘He intends to go back…back to the night…’

My hands were clenched in my lap, and I gritted my teeth, waiting…

‘The night Tom Riddle was reborn.’

My borrowed eyes widened.

“Why?” I asked, but my voice did not sound…it was my mental voice.

‘You know the answer.’

Yes, to stop a sequence of events that would end in the deaths of so many, and of that of Voldemort in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

‘He will not spare a life of those present that night. The other boy will still die. He will eradicate any of those connected to Tom Riddle…even those who were not connected to him before that night.’

Malfoy…and others who took the Dark Mark later on. Ministry officials, whole families who were forced to join Voldemort, giants, werewolves, and so many others. But would it stop there?

‘Innocent lives will be taken, none will be spared.’

My lips trembled.

“And mine?”

The Titans did not answer, and that in itself was my answer.

I could see it…the world Harry wanted. It would begin with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and end with the near desolation of our world. Harry would be mad with power, mad with vengeance…and everything I knew, everything I loved would be gone. I would be dead, Ron, Ginny, all the Weasleys…and the Malfoys would be gone.

‘He cannot see the course, he cannot see the pain. For this, Granger, Hermione Jane, we implore you. Kill Potter, Harry James.’

Tears dripped off my borrowed jaw as I raised my eyes to the floating Titans again.

“Is there no other way?”

The Titans floated and bobbed in the tank for a moment before answering.

‘None. Every avenue has been travelled by us, and all end in unacceptable loss. The dead do not wish to be resurrected only to die again and again. Kill Potter, Harry James. This world must endure for centuries yet. The Fates have apportioned our time, and that time is not yet come.’

“I understand,” I whispered, wiping my borrowed face.

‘Granger, Hermione Jane. Your fate is before you, the path has been chosen. Walk this path without fear, without remorse. This is your journey.’

I nodded.

The Titans dispersed, and suddenly I felt my brain seem to jolt back into my skull. The brains floated about the tank again as if they had not paused a moment to speak to my mind. I blinked slowly, and rose from the desk, seeing that Malfoy and Roux stood watching me on the other side of the tank. They had moved from the door, and I suddenly wondered how much time had passed.

“Message conveyed?” Malfoy asked, crossing his arms before his chest.

“Yes.”

Roux moved around the tank to my side as I swayed slightly as I stood. “Nearly an hour, Jane…are you disoriented?”

I nodded dumbly.

“It happens. You probably felt as if you were hypnotized. In a sense, you were. The Titans speak through the mind, psychically. I am quite used to it, but for anyone else, it is a disturbing experience,” Roux explained, grasping my arm as I moved away from the desk. “Shall I find a Pepper-up?”

I tried to smile. “No, I’m fine. We should be moving on.”

Malfoy moved to my side as well, whispering that I should soon take another phial of Polyjuice, but I did not feel as though I could handle another dose lest I vomit… I was unsettled in mind, let alone the rest of me.

I took the initiative, and walked without Malfoy or Roux’s assistance, pushing into the Time Room, letting the familiarity of the chamber soothe me. I moved to my ‘samsara’ jar and tried smile. As I did so, I felt the potion wear off, my body reconfiguring painlessly. The cold air against my scalp was distracting, as well as Roux’s gasp at the state of my appearance. I ignored his questions as I ran my own fingers along the glass…the humming bird hatching at that very moment.

“The Time-Turners, Roux. Have they been moved?” Malfoy asked, and I turned to watch him hold a phial before him, ready to drink.

“Yes. They have been secured to a place even I was not privy to know.”

Malfoy downed his potion, tucking the empty phial into an inner pocket of his coat.

“And the other two?” I asked Roux.

Roux seemed to fidget before pointing past me to the very table I had been standing before. I smirked, my hands moving to the drawer underneath my jar.

Inside was an ancient lead box with runes inscribed into the surface.

“Take it with you, Jane.”

I hesitated, and turned back to Roux.

“It is those he’ll be wanting, isn’t it?”

I nodded slowly, glancing to Malfoy’s unfamiliar face.

“Take it with you. Dispose of it if you can. I did not tell the Aurors about it, and I doubt there are only two other people outside this room that know about them. Take them…”

Roux’s face was paler than I thought possible, but the tone of his voice was adamant. I took a breath and turned back to the open drawer. When my hands wrapped about the heavy lead, I felt a strange current of magic run up my arms. It was like a mild electric shock, but not entirely unpleasant. Goblin magic…similar to what I had felt when I had walked through the gates at Hogwarts. I lifted the box, which was not as heavy as I first thought. It was about the size of a shoebox, more rectangular than square. There were more runes around a clasp, but no lock.

Turning the box slightly, letting it rest in my arm, my fingers brushed the clasp, which popped open at my touch. Setting the box on the table next to the bell jar, I opened the lid to find two Time-Turners made of what looked like silver set inside silver velvet cast casings. Normal Time-Turners were made of bronze or gold, and much smaller than the two I stared at in the box.

I considered drawing my wand and blasting the devices into oblivion. But I did not, and closed the lid and shut the latch so that another charge of magic moved from my fingertips up my arms. Tucking the box under my arm, I turned to the two men who had been watching me all the while.

“I wish I had my coat,” I said with a forced smile.

Roux tried to smile back, knowing of my love for Hagrid’s coat and the bottomless pocket. Malfoy only stared at me impassively.

Roux asked if I wanted to listen to the voices from the Death Room, but I told him there was no need. I had an aversion to the room, and I had all I needed from the Department of Mysteries.

We walked back toward the ‘carousel’ room when Malfoy reminded me that I needed another dose of Polyjuice. I downed another phial, and waited in the Hall of Prophecy for it to take affect. When Malfoy nodded to me that I looked alright, although my hair was now down around my shoulders.

Roux made his goodbyes before Malfoy opened the door, and was surprised when I threw an arm about his neck and embraced him.

“Thank you, Alex. I wish I could tell you…” I trailed, pressing the lead box tighter in my right arm. “When all of this is over, we’ll have a long talk, yes?”

Roux nodded, his face stricken. As if leaving before he somehow embarrassed himself, Roux strode down the dark aisle and out of sight. Malfoy made a strange noise, like a growl and opened the door.

However, before I could follow him, he had stopped just inside the door, I bumping into his back.

“What is…”

“Ssshhh!” Malfoy hissed, quickly drawing his wand from his concealed holster. His other hand groped for mine, and I took his, fear rising up like hot lava in my throat.

Pulling me slowly into the ‘carousel’ room, Malfoy pressed me against his back, much as he had several times before. Danger…there was danger.

I shifted the lead box to that my cloak obscured it. I knew I could not shrink it due to its goblin enchantments, and I really wished, fervently, for my old coat.

Peering around Malfoy’s left arm, the fear seemed to rise all the way to my brain. Upon the polished wood floor about the room were the bodies of the six Aurors we had encountered on our way in. Studying the nearest one, I realized that his throat had been slashed and that his blood was indistinguishable from the floor. But as Malfoy moved us forward toward the exit, I saw that not all of the Aurors had their throats slashed, at least two lay stiffly…and I knew the cause. The Killing Curse, I knew the look of the curse better than any other modes or manners of death.

I suddenly had a doubt that Harry was responsible. But then again, no alarm had been raised…and Williamson was not among the dead.

“Malfoy?” I whispered.

“Quiet, Granger.”

Malfoy was scanning the room, and slowly manoeuvred us to the corridor to the lift.

“Is it certain the Floo is blocked?” I whispered.

Malfoy growled in warning, and sternly nodded. I bit my lip. It meant we would have to go through the Atrium. Although going there seemed safer, I could not see it that way. It was near the lunch hour, and soon Ministry Employees would be filling into the Atrium.

Finally, we reached the lift, and Malfoy ushered me inside, scanning the ceiling of the lift and casting about as if to find some scrap of a cloak, a drop of blood, anything to tell him that the lift might be unsafe.

“Pull the lever, Granger.”

I blinked, but complied pulling the lift’s lever so that a panel near the door read ‘Atrium.’ The grating and then the doors closed and I took a breath. I wanted to think that we would make it out of the Ministry unscathed…or that whomever had killed the Aurors would not go deeper into the Department of Mysteries and harm Alex Roux.

The lift jerked as the doors opened to the Atrium, the curt voice once again informing the lift’s occupants of its destination. Malfoy stepped out first, grasping my hand again and pulling me along. With his wand still drawn, Malfoy pulled me past the few people waiting for another lift, ignoring the pointed looks at the infamous wand in his hand.

Around the fountains and past a few more people, I noticed that the Aurors who had been standing guard before were gone. I bit my lip harder.

Releasing my hand to jump the turnstile, causing the guard wizard to shout, Malfoy effortlessly lifted me over, taking my hand again. We were nearly running to the Floos, Malfoy apparently noticing that we were no longer under the eye of the Aurors. The grip on my hand was crushing, and I could barely keep up with Malfoy’s wide strides.

“Draw your wand, Granger,” Malfoy snarled, stopping suddenly so that I, again, bumped into his back. He released my hand, and I fumbled to obey his command, trying to discreetly move the lead box from one hand to the other, letting my wand slide out of my sleeve into my palm.

Malfoy moved to stand directly before me, trying to block me from sight. But around his arm I tried to see what he was staring at down the hall. With narrowed eyes I watched as the air shimmered before us and Harry Potter appeared out of thin air.



Hopefully, in this part, questions of cliche and OOC-ness explained. If not this part, then definitely the next, in which, more Dark!ness abounds.