Hunter and Prey

Hermione woke to the smell of lavender. Damnation! She was going to have to cast a tracking charm on herself to ensure she knew where she was whenever she woke up. Nothing in Malfoy Manor had smelled of lavender. Looking around her, she recognised the room as a hospital suite. A certain shabby cheerfulness and a lack of machines that went beep told her she was in St Mungo’s.

Crookshanks looked at her from the end of the bed and yawned with his whole face as she got out of bed to answer a call of nature. Upon her return, there was a Mediwitch and Harry with a thermos. Explanations followed. She had been asleep for almost three days. When he couldn’t wake her, Draco had brought her straight here. Hermione waved the update aside.

“Basingly.” She said quickly, not willing to maintain the mystery novel convention of a long reveal.
“I spoke with Fenrir in a shared dream and he said under coercion that Basingly was the one helping him.”

“Right.” Harry handed her the thermos. “Pumpkin juice.” He said and Apparated away. He had never been one to hang about and he was willing to risk a lot for what his best friend told him she dreamt. The Mediwitch chivvied Hermione back into bed but allowed her a scroll and the promise of an owl.

The day became very busy after that. Aurors arrived to take a statement and copy her memory into a pensieve for their records. Harry had insisted on visual evidence as well as witness statements to avoid allegations of intimidation or Imperius. He had very quietly attended seminars on British policing methods and had modernisation plans much like she did.

Draco visited with an enormous bouquet plus the more welcome gift of her laptop. He stayed to gloat over the reciprocal invitations they had received and the article in the Daily Prophet about the fete. He handed over her correspondence as well as the laundered clothes she had left at his home before going to fetch her parents. At no point did he say he had been worried about her though she noticed his socks did not match.

The Grangers fussed over her, both noticing the change in her demeanour. Hermione assured them she was feeling much better but did not provide any further information. She didn’t want to get their hopes up. The Wizengamot was not going to convict Basingly on the basis of a wanted felon’s proxy testimony. She would tell them everything when she had his head on a platter.

To that end, she had a long conversation with Philip Prewett aka the Second Cousin Who Shall Not Be Named via mobile phone. Hermione explained the situation and he agreed to pop by that afternoon to see what he could do.

A certain militant look in the Mediwitches’ eyes suggested her stay would not be short and when she read Madam Pomfrey’s reply to her owl, she was not surprised. Hermione ended up taking the path of least resistance and giving the Hogwarts Healer’s missive to the Mediwitches, leaving them to sort it out amongst themselves. She knew how to pick her battles.

Neville strolled in just as her parents were leaving. He brought a potted rose, the blooms perfect azure, and Hermione laughed at the private joke. They shared a grin as Neville put his gift on the windowsill were the rose would get the most light then lent over her bed to give her a hug. Neither of them noticed Malfoy’s glare as he ushered the Grangers out of the room.

After pleasantries, Neville and Hermione talked about aconite and other useful plants of the Buttercup family. She showed him schematics of the tranquiliser darts the SMS teams used, explaining exactly what she wanted. And because it was Neville, she explained exactly why she wanted it. He agreed without question giving her another hug before he left.

A middle aged man with carefully combed ginger hair ducked his head into her room a few minutes later. He was wearing a neat blue suit that matched the colour of his eyes. His gaze flicked from Hermione’s face to the laptop then back. He smiled. There was no doubting the resemblance to Molly. She waved him in.

“Thank you for coming at such short notice.” Hermione extended her hand for him to shake. Philip Prewett set down his briefcase, shook her hand then took a seat. He had obviously come straight from work. “Can I get you a cup of tea? Or there’s pumpkin juice in the thermos.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said in a cheerful Yorkshire accent. Pouring himself a glass, he took a long drink then set the juice aside. “Courtesies done, I think. Let’s have a look at those accounts you mentioned.”

Hermione turned the laptop over to him and ran through the standard Department accounting procedure; budget in one column, expenditures in the other first on a scroll then magically scanned onto a spreadsheet. Half way through, Philip Prewett rolled his eyes.

“I know but it is the best system I can wean people on. I didn’t realise how bad it was until I got blank looks when I mentioned receipts.” Hermione had done a bookkeeping course before she got married so she could manage her finances though her parents had taught her the basics. They ran their own business after all. “It all adds up but it doesn’t add up right. That’s why I need someone who knows wizards and accounting.”

“Even with the slyest embezzlement, there are signs somewhere.” He agreed, putting on a pair of silver rimmed spectacles. “I deal mostly with corporate accounting. This is comparatively simple.” He did a few things with the spreadsheet then slotted in a flash drive and hummed to himself. It was the Beatles’ Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Hermione waited quietly.

Philip eventually handed the laptop back. There were a disturbing number of cells outlined with red. She grimaced. The program he had used to verify the totals flagged anomalous entries going back more than a year. Basingly had been planning this for a while and had managed to filch a good chunk of money.

“How did I miss this?” Hermione read through. Five sickles here, a galleon there, all dispersed across projects. Philip had marked suspect expenditures in yellow. Some she could resolve. They’d had a fire in one of the labs and had lost a lot of minor materiel. Basingly had sorted it out. She had trusted him.

“It is only obvious if you know what to look for. I’ve been doing this for years. The trick is to find the pattern.” Philip smiled, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He patted her on the shoulder in commiseration and handed her his business card. Hermione made tactful query about his rates but he shook his head. “Just repaying the favour.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” She lifted her eyes from the technicolour outrage on her computer screen to blink at him. They had never met before. What favour did he mean?

“You invited me to your wedding. None of the other Weasleys did and they’re practically the only family I have other than Aunt Muriel.” Philip frowned, picking up his briefcase. “There was a conference in New York that week so I had to send my regrets but it meant a lot to me that for once I was included.”