Hunter and Prey

Draco was as good as his word. The précis arrived by owl the next day, a useful diversion from the Lists of Lists. Hermione had decided on white for the baby things. She could charm everything clean or there was always bleach. With three on the way, she was going to be too exhausted to care what anything looked like just so long as it was clean.

The two days before the interview passed in a blur of reports. Harry reported in, took the evidence she had compiled and gave her a briefing. Basingly was in custody currently denying everything. All his work at the SMS was under investigation. Hermione winced at that. The disruption to their research would be aggravating but at least none of the new projects had been through approval so nothing would be ruined by the inspection.

“It’ll be a fortnight at least until we’ve gone through everything. Shacklebolt has authorised paid leave for the Department staff, yourself included.” Harry was not sure whether she would like this news so he told her simply. “We need everything we can get. We’re holding him on ‘reckless magic use’ but we need something more robust than that. The embezzlement is useful but if we can’t get him on Dark Arts then we may struggle to keep him in custody.”

“We’ve got to find that barn.” Hermione cogitated as Harry petted Crookshanks in an attempt to shift him from on top of some scrolls he needed. “I think I might be able to mentally go there but tracking me would need Divination. Reliable Divination, if that isn’t a contradiction in terms.”

“I’d hate to see Basingly walk with only a minor sentence. Five years exile for ‘stealing from his master’ isn’t enough for what he’s done.” Harry’s teeth ground. Their lack of concrete evidence galled him. “I’ll find a Diviner with Dreamwalking knowledge. Reliable will be more difficult.” He smirked. “We’re reduced to fuzzy logic and navel gazing.”

“Don’t think I’m not thrilled about having to do find the damn place this way. It’s one step up from sacrificing a chicken to read the entrails.” Her voice was lemon sour. “Then there is the matter of finding Greyback. He has got to be stopped.” Hermione looked at Harry. “How did he get out?”

“Basingly signed him out.” Auror Potter was proud of himself for being able to utter that without profanities. When he had first found out he had use all the foul words he knew. “He forged authorisation from the Department. The custodian on duty signed off without checking whether the serial code. Apparently it’s not the first time he’s done it. Basingly knew that and chose his moment then he walked out with Greyback in manacles and restraining hood.”

“What happened when the shifts changed?” Hermione was conscious of her voice rising in pitch and took a sip of water to stop herself shrieking at Harry, whose face was already thunderous.

“The paperwork got shifted aside because of a minor accident and left. It was near the full moon and all the occupants were on edge. No one did a full headcount until the full had passed. They couldn’t risk it. Four days.” Harry shook his head. “When the custodians found out, they reported it to their boss who reported it to mine. There’s been an elite team looking for him for almost a year. I only found out when McGonagall told me.”

“How did she find out?”

“The Headmistress has tea with my boss and leaned on him. Hard, by all accounts. She threatened to turn him into a spittoon when she found out. That was about a month after you escaped. He didn’t want to cause alarm.” Harry’s expression told clearly how little he liked that rationale. Their eyes met. “I’ll find that Diviner as fast as a Snitch.”

Hermione simply nodded. They had no other option. Harry departed after a tense hug, leaving her to contemplate ways she could make express her displeasure to the hopefully ex-custodian who had stuffed up royally. After a while, she took a Dreamless Sleep potion and left revenge for another day.

She woke late, having planned to get an early start on her long-term budget. There was no such thing as Maternity Leave at the Ministry of Magic. That’s what house elves and wives were for, evidently. But the appointment for the interview rolled around much faster than Hermione had anticipated.

Draco showed up with a few expensive perks and a framed photo of them from the picnic. She was laughing, he was grinning and they looked happy together. A little strategic window dressing. He was in casual robes, which Hermione remarked upon so the reporter happened to walk in with them chatting amiably.

After all the preparation, the interview went off with barely a hitch. The reporter was a middle-aged Parisienne with a keen eye but she softened when they greeted her in French. Both of them were fluent enough to conduct most of the interview in that language and it helped to keep their story simple.

Their tale began with a half-drunken encounter at a muggle club, some mutual Weasley-bashing then a tryst. That unflattering but credible start was followed by a heart to heart the morning after with tentative cafe interludes away from prying eyes. Her kidnapping interrupted their nascent romance. When she returned they had the serious conversation about babies. Obligation, mutual attraction, love overcoming social obstacles and so forth.

Hermione lounged back in one of the armchairs, unconsciously emphasising the fullness of her bump, and smiled as Draco told an anecdote from the fete. Apparently Marcus Flint had been very impressed when she smacked him across the face. He took it as confirmation of her affection for Draco. She was unprepared for the Frenchwoman’s so very artless question.

“Are you going to marry him, mademoiselle?” She asked cannily.

“Oh, no.” Hermione answered idly. “I don’t want to be a Malfoy.” She smiled and with the quickness of thought that had saved her life during the war added. “But I haven’t given up convincing him to become a Ganger.”