Changing of the Guard

Chapter 8

Wednesday: Changing of the Guard

We returned to Spellbound the next morning. Remus and Hermione were intent on keeping up with the latest news from the wizarding world now that Voldemort was on the move, and I didn't mind the diversion. The one downside to surviving Lucius Malfoy's attack on my life was that I could no longer go with Remus to the quaint shops in Diagon Alley. I found Spellbound, along with the other wizarding shops we visited, to be more modern, more Americanized, yet every bit as fascinating as their British counterparts.

The man at the counter must have seen us coming.

"Did you want the British daily again, sir?" he asked Remus politely.

"Yes, if you please," Remus said, fishing in his pocket for change. He carried the rolled up newspaper the man gave him to the table as he had done yesterday, and Hermione and I sat down on either side of him to have a look.

It wasn't difficult to read the headlines. They were big, they were black, and they screamed the news:

* BONES DIES; MALFOY ASSUMES TEMPORARY CONTROL *

Promises Order and Safety to Fearful Citizens Until Permanent Replacement Can Be Found

I gasped aloud. Hermione moaned, "Oh, no," and I heard Remus mutter, "Bloody hell, we've lost the Ministry!" under his breath.

The two of them practically had their noses touching the newspaper, poring over the details. I did not. I didn't need to, because as far as I was concerned, it made no difference.

A Death Eater was in control of the Ministry of Magic.

We'd known that Remus, assuming we got him back into the country, could no longer show his face in wizarding locales any more than I could. But now that he'd made the mistake of threatening the pro tem Minister of Magic... In fact, if word got out that he was even back in Britain...

A thrill of fear and panic shot down my spine. I stood up abruptly, gasped "I'll wait for you outside," and fled the bookshop.

Once among the early morning throng of Muggles on Navy Pier, I found a bench and sat down, utterly sick at heart. Why was nothing easy anymore? This trip was supposed to be a no-brainer: visit Billy and introduce Remus to some of my family. Instead, it was turning out to be one major upheaval after another.

My eyes filled with tears, which I quickly wiped away. I was tired of crying, tired of events spiraling out of control. And so I swallowed the lump in my throat and concentrated on the sidewalk at my feet while furiously blinking back the tears. It took several minutes until my vision was no longer blurry. I tried to relax and look like any other tired tourist taking a break, but my arms and legs seemed all gangly.

Finally I gave up and went back to huddling tensely on the bench. A glance around at the stores told me that the entrance to Spellbound was now invisible to me, a Muggle, but I didn't care. Remus or Hermione would be out in a few minutes, and right now I was more than a little disgruntled with the wizarding world.

I had to admit that Remus had been right in dragging his feet several months ago, when I'd been gung-ho to start a family. How in the world could we make plans for a baby under these circumstances? I recalled the vivid image of Lucius Malfoy, sneering at me in the Leaky Cauldron, warning me that associating with werewolves could be dangerous. The man had tried to kill me just for the fun of it, and now, somehow, he was the acting Minister of Magic. While the general public was worrying about Voldemort, one of his Death Eaters had slipped in to take control of the British wizarding populace.

I wondered what would happen to the dedicated people in the Order of the Phoenix. And what of Remus, when we returned to Britain? All it would take was one Ministry official to recognize him, and my husband would be worse than banned from the country. Malfoy would likely see to it that Remus was tortured and carted off to Azkaban.

"Kailin?"

It was Remus, hurrying toward me. He sat down next to me, put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. "Are you all right? No, I can see you're not, you're white as a ghost."

"We can't go back," I said, my voice slightly unsteady. "He'll kill you."

"Who? Malfoy, you mean?"

"Of course, Malfoy."

"I can take care of myself. I used to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, remember?" Remus reminded me, a reassuring smile on his face.

"That doesn't mean a whole lot if the Minister of Magic wants you dead, does it?" I snapped. "We can't go back to England. It's not safe. We can stay here. I'll renew my Illinois nursing license and get a job, and we can live at Billy's until we can afford a place of our own."

"Kailin..." Remus took my hands and gripped them tightly, willing me to look him in the eye. "Of course it's not safe. It hasn't been safe for the past two years. The only difference is that now we know who's truly in charge at the Ministry instead of wondering. It doesn't matter who's named to the post now; he or she will be Malfoy's puppet, irregardless.

"If you want to stay here, out of harm's way, I'd be delighted. You've had one brush too many with Malfoy, and I don't want you anywhere near him."

"Me? I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you!" I thought back to our wedding; it was a wizarding ceremony rather than Muggle, but it still had some version of the 'for better or worse' vow in it. And I wondered how many newlyweds had to face homicidal maniacs in their first year of marriage.

Beside me, Remus took a deep breath. "Kailin, you know that I'm not a highly visible member of the wizarding community. I'm not Albus Dumbledore. For all intents and purposes, I live as a Muggle. I generally have to go out of my way to be noticed, and that's saying something for a werewolf."

I couldn't disagree with that. "I know that, but..." I stopped, frustrated. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you," I managed finally.

"And I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you. We're in this together, right?"

I bit my lip: the lump in my throat was back. "That's well and good, but I'd rather be in it together from a safe distance."

Remus burst out laughing then, and I found myself joining in, despite my worries. He pulled me into his embrace. I allowed myself the luxury of burying my head in his shoulder for a few moments and blocking out the world. I knew that I was doing what Marvy had called 'borrowing trouble', giving credence to fears which might never happen. The problem was that these fears had a face: long, thin, cold gray eyes, streaming blonde hair...

"I'm sorry," I sighed wearily, eventually disentangling myself to lean back on the bench. "I didn't plan to start blubbering again. It's just the whole idea of Malfoy being in control, I guess."

"But you blubber so beautifully," Remus said in all seriousness.

"That's because I'm getting lots of practice at it," I pointed out.

"Just be glad you're not married to one of Malfoy's real enemies."

I think that's what finally got through to me. No doubt any number of people, all of whom had run-ins with Lucius Malfoy in the past, were quaking with fear today. And Remus was right: we did live lower and lower beneath the radar these days, and while Malfoy had doubtless instigated the deportation purely out of spite, the man surely had bigger fish to fry.

"What else did the article say?" I asked.

"It said that Amelia Bones' death would be investigated, although I'm quite sure they'll find no evidence connecting it with Malfoy. He's not that stupid. And it went on about how he was supposedly controlled by Voldemort last year but he's now a reformed man."

"How can people believe all that?" I burst out indignantly. "I can't imagine that the general population of wizards can't see though that pack of lies."

Remus stared off at the crowds on Navy Pier, deep in thought. "I think that we all have the tendency to want to see the best of people. Usually, that's not a problem."

It was true, I thought. We judged people as innocent, truly wanting to believe they were good-hearted and well-meaning, and were shocked and stunned whenever we were proven wrong.

"Malfoy snuck in through the back door when no one was looking," I said glumly.

"Do you know," Remus mused, "that one time back in school - when my friends learned to Transform into animals to keep me company every month - Peter told me that a rat can squeeze through a hole the size of a Galleon. So even if you think your house is secure and in order, there's always a chance that a rat might sneak in."

By the time Hermione wandered outside looking for us a few minutes later, I was calmly resigned to the latest news. Remus and I were holding hands and watching the pedestrian traffic as if our biggest concern was where to have lunch.

"Well," she said, plopping down beside us, "what do you think?"

"I think," Remus said firmly, "that it's time for us to forget about Lucius Malfoy for a while. Kailin, why don't you show us another fine museum? Art this time, do you think?"

The Art Institute of Chicago sounded like a good idea, I had to admit. Quiet and probably less crowded than other places we could go. And it was someplace where the beautiful won out over evil. We could all use a good dose of that right now.

"Art it is," I said.

We walked through gallery after gallery, refreshing our souls and tiring our feet once more. I've always enjoyed art museums, although I'm not one to linger and study the works for great periods of time. This can pose a problem if I'm with someone who prefers to dissect each painting along the way, but fortunately Remus and Hermione seemed to be of like mind and we made good progress.

"Are there artists in the wizarding world?" I asked as Remus and I paused to admire a Monet. "I've don't think I've ever heard anyone mention wizard art galleries and such."

Remus made a wry face. "There are very few artists among witches and wizards," he admitted. "I think our art leans toward practical things such as textiles and wizarding objects. Other than portraits, most wizards are too impatient for something as time-consuming as painting just for the sake of making a pretty picture. That's one area where Muggles have us at a disadvantage, I think."

I was still mulling that over in my mind when I realized that Hermione was nowhere in sight. "Where's Hermione?"

"Wandered off to the next gallery, I think."

He had barely completed the sentence when Hermione appeared in the doorway leading to the adjoining gallery. She was pale and breathing hard.

"Hermione?" Remus hurried toward her. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"I - I don't feel well," she mumbled, stumbling forward. "I'd like to go back to the hotel."

He put a steadying arm around Hermione's shoulders and steered her toward one of the benches in the middle of the gallery. "Here, why don't you sit down?"

A museum guard spotted us and came over at once. "Do you folks need some help?"

"The young lady's not feeling well," I told him. "Could you possibly get us a glass of water?"

He nodded and moved off, looking a little concerned that she might be ill enough to do something as drastic as throwing up in the midst of all these valuable works of art. Meanwhile, I was feeling Hermione's forehead, hunting for a fever or some other clue as to what was bothering her.

"Did this just start all of a sudden?" I asked.

Hermione nodded, although - and I wondered if I were imagining things - she seemed to be avoiding my eyes.

"Are you nauseated?"

"A bit."

"Dizzy?"

"A little."

"Here, put your head down between your legs. That'll help the dizziness go away."

She shook her head. I tried another tack. "Any stomach cramping?"

"No."

I hesitated, lowering my voice. "Is it that time of the month?"

Hermione shook her head once more.

I gave up, reminded of the admonition we'd received a hundred times in nursing school: NURSES DON'T DIAGNOSE. It was just as well, since I was getting nowhere with my questioning.

The guard returned shortly with a cup of water. Remus thanked him while Hermione gulped it down.

"Does she need to lie down for a while?" he wanted to know. "There's an office where she could rest."

But Hermione was already shaking her head. "Thank you, but I'll be fine," she said faintly.

The guard nodded and moved off. Another minute or two passed while we sat there, then Hermione announced that she would like to visit the Ladies' Room to wash her face.

"I'll go with you," I told her. "Are you all right to walk?"

Hermione nodded, shrugging off my assistance as I reached out to help her up.

The rest room wasn't far; we'd passed it on the way to the last gallery. Once there, Hermione splashed copious amounts of water on her face while I made use of the other facilities.

"You know," I said as I joined her at the sink afterwards, "it could have been whatever you had for breakfast." I reached for the soap dispenser and began to wash my hands. "Did you have one of those banana muffins, or -"

"It wasn't breakfast," Hermione said wearily, blotting at her face with a paper towel. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, and I noted that despite the healthy beginnings of a tan, she was pale beneath it all. Then: "There was a painting in that other gallery."

I waited.

"My parents have - had - a copy of it hanging in their clinic waiting room."

"Oh." The pieces fell into place. "I see."

"I thought - well, I thought it should be no big deal, just ignore it and walk on-"

"- but you couldn't," I said. I turned around and leaned against the sink. "Things sort of jump out at you when you least expect it," I said quietly. "You think you're going along quite nicely, and suddenly something like this happens."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I think I'm much better now," she blurted, tucking her unruly hair behind her ears and starting for the door.

I stared, momentarily at a loss for words. "Well, let's find Remus and we can head back to the hotel."

"Actually, I think we can carry on here. Like I said, I'm feeling much better." Hermione flung the rest room door open and walked out, leaving me gaping behind her.

I found Remus waiting in the hallway, a puzzled look on his face as he watched Hermione march back into one of the galleries.

"Do I need to get her a Soothing potion? I spotted a pharmacy in the same block as Spellbound."

I shook my head. "Apparently not."

"What happened?"

I explained about the painting here and the print in Hermione's parents' dental office. Remus merely nodded.

"Of course. It makes sense."

"But what doesn't make sense is how she's behaving now," I said in a low voice. "She was upset about seeing the painting. Very upset. I made a comment about how you think you're handling loss well until it backhands you out of the blue one day, and suddenly it was like she hauled herself up by the bootstraps and put on her happy mask again."

Remus arched an eyebrow. "She didn't want to hear what you had to say."

I nodded agreement. "It's as if what happened to her parents isn't real as long as she doesn't acknowledge it."

"I don't know what we can do to help her, Kailin," Remus said pensively. "But we can certainly let Arthur and Molly know what's going on when they come to collect her."

'We'? I let that pass, thinking that it was entirely probable that I would be the one doing all the talking when the Weasleys came to pick up Hermione a couple of days from now. The other part of 'we' would likely still be in the United States.

"I suggested we go back to the hotel," I continued, "but she insists that she's fine and wants to keep on going."

"Well, I'm not sure I want to keep on going," Remus retorted. "I could do with a nice lunch and a quiet afternoon."

"I'm with you," I agreed.

We found Hermione and convinced her to leave the art museum for a meal and an afternoon swim. The drive back to Rockford was a rather quiet one.

The red message light on the motel room phone was blinking when we got back. Uncle Roger had called to say that Billy would be released from the hospital tomorrow morning. The problem, he said, was that there was a business meeting in Milwaukee which he, Roger, couldn't possibly cancel. Any chance I could take Billy home and get him settled? He would be by after work to check on him.

I called Roger back at once and assured him that I would be more than happy to help out tomorrow. And as for tonight's plans, I told him that we were all exhausted and would not be going to the hospital. Remus, overhearing from across the room, looked happily appreciative of that idea.

We spent the afternoon at the hotel pool, getting gloriously waterlogged and sunburned in spite of the sun block I finally remembered to buy. And despite the day's rocky start, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.