Happenstance

Hermione had thought it grasping at straws but she had swabbed all the blood splatter on her person. If she’d had more presence of mind, she chided herself, she would have grabbed the knife used to stab Draco so they could have had a physical link to trace. Assuming the Anorak Men had not used a freshly bought and therefore anonymous weapon. But assume made an ass out of you and me. In their places, she would have shed knife and anoraks at the first opportunity.

All qualms aside, they needed every lead they could scrounge so while Draco was being terse to the nurses, she had purloined a handful of cotton buds. Feeling like she was on CSI, Hermione had got a sample of every little blood speck she could find on her. Her split lip had bled profusely making most of the mess on her face and coat. Her hands were too contaminated from her first aid on Draco to yield a useful unknown sample either.

Persistently, she tested everything with a modified Heredity Charm, more often used to settle disputed inheritances than in amateur forensic science. A swab from a speck on her ear did not match her or a Malfoy. While there was not enough for a full ritual trace to get the exact location she could track with it.

Hermione went to Draco’s room. The door was locked. She knocked without response. Another louder knock also got nothing. She left a note. The witch was not sure this would work so she simply went by herself rather than making more of a ruckus. She was not going to slip away without telling someone however. That road led to the land of the Gothic Heroine wafting about desolate moors at midnight in a white lace nightgown. Decidedly in sensible clothing, the witch Apparated to Stockholm.

The old city sparkled. Christmas decorations filled the narrow streets with carnival light. Hermione made her way back to the Hotel Nisse. Her wand pulsed as the tracking spell found something. She headed along the street down which their assailants had fled. The trace was hours old; almost half a day. She had to run an amplification Charm to get any response at all from the blood focus. It was not hopeless but it was feeble.

The three Anoraks had been on foot and not moving at full pace down a quiet side road. Hermione tramped slowly trying to look inconspicuous before turning into a courtyard. There was an old Rococo fountain, a patisserie firmly shut at this hour and the sort of fly-by-night club that advertised by word of mouth and closed because of health regulations. She went in.

It was crowded, stuffy, deafening and almost entirely full of women. Of course, she lost the trace as soon as she crossed the threshold. There were simply too many people to get a clear read on anything. There had been a faint response right up until that point however suggesting her targets had gone inside. Hermione checked her coat, smiled at the girl with the ring in her nose then tried to have a look around.

The management had not done much to the building. They probably couldn’t, heritage regulations being what they were, Hermione thought as she contemplated architraves. The lights were dim or strobing, the music industrial and she had to weave drunkenly through the throng. Not her sort of club but she was not such a stick in the mud that she saw anything that really shocked her.

She guessed the building had been a domestic residence originally. Where the kitchen had been there was now a bar with doors leading out into a postage stamp sized garden. There were people outside drinking. Probably antifreeze, Hermione smirked to herself. But what caught her eye was a back gate. It likely led to a laneway behind the house in the days of the nightsoil cart.

The Anoraks could have gone out that way. They had shaken the police officer fairly quickly. She needed to find someone to ask what time the club opened. Distracted by her investigation, Hermione was not watching where she was going and collided with a woman turning around from the bar. Her drinks spilled over the both of them; vivid blue Curacao going everywhere. Both women swore in British English.

“Millicent?” Hermione looked up from her now orange scented blouse into the jolie-laide face of her former school mate. She saw a brief expression of horror before the Liverpool Kiss connected and she went stumbling back dazed. Millicent shoved past her. Hermione grabbed at her sleeve to stop her but missed. She gave chase while trying to fish a handkerchief out of her pocket to staunch her bloody nose.

Hermione caught sight of the ex-Slytherin as she pulled a titian haired woman off the dance floor and dragged her towards the front door. They were talking but the music was too loud for her to hear anything. She guessed part of the conversation was a protest as Millicent rushed her companion out of the club without pausing to get their coats.

Muttering a warming charm, Hermione went after them. She had the advantage in her boots; running in stiletto heels on icy cobblestones was not easy. The pair slid fast into a shopping arcade. A good place for an ambush.

Her wand was ready when Millicent shot out a Jelly-Legs Charm and the redhead tried a Tarantella Charm, which argued they had cast magic together before as that combination was particularly debilitating. Those thoughts and concern over a possible Muggle audience ran quickly through Hermione’s head as she countered both with a rebounding Charm much used by the Order of the Phoenix.

It did not have much finesse but it had a lot of kick. The spells bounced back on their casters. Millicent tried to pull herself up on rubber legs while her companion capered like a can-can dancer on speed. Hermione checked for any spectators and finding the arcade fortunately empty, levelled her wand at her fellow alumnus.

“Right, Bulstrode, care to explain yourself?” She demanded rather nasally. Her nose probably was not broken but it damn well hurt.

“Vaffanculo!” Said the redhead eloquently.