Madrigal

She led me downstairs for a quick meet-and-greet with her parents, and they were so warm and gracious that it nearly brought me to tears. I helped Hermione finish magically packing the last of her parents’ important belongings as they called the airline and the cab company. The taxi arrived remarkably quickly, so I loaded the boot and respectfully tried to ignore their tearful goodbye. I kept an eye on the street, wand up my sleeve, just in case. I felt mild pangs of jealousy as she kissed and hugged her parents repeatedly, though I couldn’t tell whether I was envious of the paternal affection or her affection.

The Grangers were nearly paralyzed with grief as they climbed into the backseat, and she awkwardly hugged them once more through the door. She waved to the departing cab, and when it turned it corner, she let out a small whimper. I reached for her, enfolding her protectively in my arms. Sobbing, she buried her face in my chest. My tailored muggle blazer was almost immediately soaked in tears and snot, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I embraced her tightly, made soothing sounds in her ear, and stroked her glorious hair until she finally calmed enough to look up at me. She gave me a small, watery smile, and I cupped her cheek in my palm. “This too shall pass, Miss Granger. Your parents are alive and well thanks to you.”

A half-hour later, we were sitting in her parents’ car, dressed in their clothing. We choked down doses of Polyjuice we’d treated with the strands I had collected from their hairbrush and comb as I was packing up their toiletries. Her hands were shaking as she drove, and I gave her a bracing squeeze on the arm. As we pulled into the parking lot at her parents’ dental practice, my Hominem Revelio charm exposed a disillusioned figure skulking in the alleyway across the street. I gave a slight nod to indicate the location to Hermione, and she intelligently avoided glancing over.

We entered the office casually, our clutched wands concealed inside our sleeves. I followed Hermione through the waiting room and into the back office. We found her parents’ business partner, and sat down with her to weave our story. Excited and breathless, we told her that we had just gotten word from the Peace Corps that our wait-listed applications had just been accepted, but they needed us to ship out to Columbia immediately.

The woman was so delighted for us that I almost felt guilty for lying to her. We told her to put our salaries toward hiring replacements, because we were hoping to receive a second assignment after our year in Columbia. She bid us tearful goodbyes, hugging us repeatedly and wishing us good luck. I struggled to stay in character as Mr. Granger, but fortunately, my time with Hermione had made me far more agreeable to displays of affection.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, our tail fell into place behind us. He flew so high on his invisible broom that his disillusioned form was indistinguishable against the clouds. Hermione continued past her parents’ house, eventually pulling up in front of a ramshackle little cottage. It had apparently been foreclosed years ago, and was in such terrible shape the bank hadn’t even bothered to put it on the market. Praying the Death Eater just assumed all muggle dentists lived in hovels, Hermione and I let ourselves inside. We positioned ourselves on either side of the front door and waited with baited breath. After about ten minutes, the door loudly creaked open.

I gave her a calming expression and held up three fingers. The assassin saw an apparently empty room, and opened the door completely. I lowered one finger. He took a single cautious step into the room, wand preceding him. I lowered another finger. He squinted into the darkened room, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the the gloom. He took another step, and now his body was directly between our own disillusioned ones. He took one more step, and I lowered my last finger. I cried, “Petrificus Totalus!” at the exact second she shouted, “Stupify!”

I strode impassively across the room to where the masked Death Eater had slammed into the wall, leaving a rather sizable hole in the plaster. I ripped his masque off, and Yaxley’s pock-marked, over-large head was revealed. I spit on his unconscious face and sneered. “Thank Merlin it’s this fucking imbecile. He’s the Dark Lord’s favorite muggle executioner, and his modus operandi is raping and torturing his victims for hours, then burning down the house to make it look like they simply died in an accident,” my lip curled in disgust. “Fucking animal. It’s going to make him that much easier to take care of, though.”

Twenty minutes later, Hermione and I parked a block and a half away and watched the flames rapidly consume the old cottage. “This is the first time I’ve killed a person,” she whispered somberly, “and it probably won’t be the last, will it?”

I shook my head in commiseration and replied, “If it helps at all, look at it this way: you didn’t kill him. You only stupefied him. It’ll look like he simply passed out from carelessness in the smoky inferno and the fire consumed him,” I said with a shrug. “And you were safely hiding in the car when I lit the fire, so at worst you witnessed someone being killed for the first time. And you didn’t even really witness it, so I doubt you’ll be able to see Thestrals now.”

She sighed, “That doesn’t make me feel much better. I know he was a monster and deserved to die. It just sucks that I had to do it, you know? I’ll never be the same person again…”

“I understand, Miss Granger. I’ve had that exact thought every damn day for the past 18 years. But we all have our roles to play, and this is mine.”

“Your role isn’t a killer, Professor,” she asserted passionately, “You’re so much more than that. You’re a HERO.”

“Thank you for thinking that, Hermione,” I murmured, marveling that I had managed to fool her so well.