Ten

Voldemort Plus Ten: 2008

The time: Wednesday to Friday

"Thirty-six hours' uninterrupted sleep will generally see off the effects of a Stunning spell on a young, healthy, adult body." [Theophilos Twinge, Symptoms and Treatment of Basic Curse Damage, Penn and Scribble 1952, p. 247.]

Hermione barely made it through the Floo, staggering into her living room and stumbling against the coffee table. Wanting nothing more than to be alone after the day's disasters, she disconnected her fireplace from the network. Hopefully, Severus would understand her need for solitude. A few deep breaths, a lurch to the kitchen to fill a plastic bottle with tap water to put by the bed, one more lurch, a quick strip, a crawl under the duvet, and an instantaneous descent into darkness were all she knew until Wednesday morning.

The fact that it was Wednesday didn't really dawn on her until after she had seen to her bursting bladder and craving for coffee. Then, after a trip downstairs to collect her mail and the morning papers, she settled into her armchair with a second mug of coffee and John Humphrys carping mellifluously at some financial expert or other. She applauded mentally as he told off his interviewee for using the word "dialogue" as a verb, and opened up the Guardian to start her daily perusal of the country's disasters. Half-way down her mug and the second page, the date finally registered. Oh, bugger. A whole day gone; nobody at the Ministry any the wiser where she was; Severus getting stroppy with all and sundry, no doubt; and Lucius.... Better not think about Lucius just yet. Not quite strong enough for that. Definitely a third-cup issue that one.

She began to open her post.

Water bill – pretty much as expected. Electricity bill – bloody hell! Gas bill – Merlin and all the Sleepers! How was it even possible to spend that much on heating one small flat? She checked the tariffs: there had been a twenty per cent price hike. No wonder the papers screamed about it constantly. The next was an unbeatable subscription offer to The Economist, followed by another for The New Statesman. She was subsequently informed that she had reached the final stages of a wonderful prize draw, and then a colourful catalogue besought her to buy all sorts of cunning gadgets she couldn't possibly live without. So why aren't I dead yet? she thought, adding it to the pile on the floor. And finally, there was a hand-delivered letter bearing her name in familiar, spiky handwriting.

Hermione felt a rush of affection as she opened the envelope. To know that he had been close but had the delicacy not to intrude was a wonderful thing. Of course, he was a Slytherin and she had been completely blotto, so for all she knew he'd been cartwheeling around her flat in a pink tutu (no – it would have to have been green), but the fact that he had left no traces was very touching. In a rush of girly romanticism, Hermione raised the letter to her face and breathed in. It smelt of... paper.

"Hermione,

I've told Arthur you have the 'flu and are staying at home for at least a week. We trust you are feeling better now. I will know when this letter has been opened, so you can expect us to arrive in an hour or so.

Yours,

Severus."

Well, not many lines to read between, there – a characteristically Snapean missive, full of care and devoid of its expression. Kind of him to keep Arthur off her back, and very considerate to give her enough time to get her clothes on. Her eyes rested on that "we", though. What did that mean? Evidently, he and Lucius were still on speaking terms, which was good. They had been discussing her – whether that was good or not remained to be seen. They would be arriving together, and that sent her into a bit of a panic.

She had deliberately avoided thinking about what had taken place between herself and Lucius. A few snippets of some pleasant dreams remained from her long sleep, sufficient to make her uncomfortable about seeing him again, but she was a woman with a disciplined mind, and she could certainly discipline herself to duck an issue when necessary.

Yet she couldn't deny the tremor of excitement she felt each time he did intrude on her thoughts. Nor the swiftly-following flash of guilt. "Enough!" She told her image in the bathroom mirror. "It was a moment's affection between friends, that's all. It's quite all right to think he's pretty, because he is pretty. I love Severus, and heaven knows I lust after him – but I still have eyes in my head, so I might as well enjoy using them. There. Sorted."

So when they finally arrived, and she could detect nothing amiss between them, she was able to greet Lucius with tolerable composure after throwing herself at Severus in a manner he chastised as 'undignified' and 'juvenile' while taking full advantage.

Having settled her guests with tea and crumpets as a buffer against the foul day that was chucking horizontal sleet at her windows, Hermione pushed aside their queries about her health – too many potentially tricky lines of conversation there – and adopted what they already privately called her McGonagall manner:

"So, what's the fallout from Monday's debacle?"

"Nothing at all," Severus replied rather smugly. "As far as our guests are concerned, the Ministry car broke down in the middle of nowhere and help failed to arrive until well after dark. They never reached the Manor, and the appointment will have to be re-scheduled."

"I had no idea you were so adept at memory charms, dear boy," said Lucius.

"I'm not, beyond rough patch-up jobs. I left it to Johnson, the driver. Department of Mysteries," he added for Hermione's benefit. "It seems Arthur is re-learning a little caution, belatedly."

"And while I've been snoring, have you two come up with any nice, shiny ideas with which to distract our revered PM?" she inquired.

They exchanged a glance.

"Well, how about this one?" said Lucius. He wiped the butter fastidiously from his lips before continuing. "We engineer some sort of natural-looking catastrophe. The PM, throwing all his analytical and organisational acumen into serving the country's needs, saves the day, because we will of course ensure that everything he does is successful."

"Well," said Hermione dubiously, "it's got style, I suppose. And by natural-looking, you would be thinking of....?"

"Dragons, floods, earthquakes, that sort of thing."

"You do have flair, Lucius, I'll give you that, but... I think we'd be better going for something a little less dramatic."

Lucius pouted charmingly. He could cope with accusations of style and flair.

"For one thing, disasters, natural or not, tend to get out of hand rather quickly – the risk of collateral damage is too great," she explained gently, choosing to ignore his indifferent shrug. "And in any case, our PM, though I'm sure he possesses many sterling qualities, could make even the most outrageous acts of heroism look dour and boring. It just won't wash, I'm afraid. What else have you got?"

It was Severus' turn.

"We did wonder briefly about having some far-reaching terrorist plot exposed, but that would probably end up in a tail-spin of accusations as a result of the government having let it get so far."

Hermione nodded.

"So then we wondered about getting the goblins involved in order to engineer a smooth transition into the Euro..."

"Good grief, NO!" she said, horrified. "Little England would throw a fit!"

"Well, that's it for the moment."

"That's it?"

"I still like the dragons, or a volcano going off in Milton Keynes," said Lucius.

Hermione shivered and wrapped her fingers round her mug.

"Why don't you turn the heating up?" Severus chided, pulling her close.

"What – and miss this? Besides," she added, "I've just had the most humoungous... power... bill..." She ground to a halt, staring at them in turn.

"Look!" she squeaked, scrabbling on the floor for her discarded mail. She spread out her bills on the coffee table, and then grabbed the newspapers.

"Look!" she repeated excitedly. "It's staring us right in the face! And all we need to do now is figure out exactly how to do it!"

*

The Prime Minister was in no very friendly mood as he and Mr Snape waited for the wizarding delegation to arrive. He wasn't getting any more popular with the passing days, the stupid pranks these magicians kept pulling were seriously getting on his nerves, and on top of it all, he thought he might be developing an ulcer. He wanted those taxes sorted, and he wanted them sorted now.

Arthur Weasley led the way, looking serious and magisterial. He had chosen to don his Wizengamot robe (minus the very silly hat) for the occasion. Miss Granger followed him, and lastly the Malfoy fellow stepped through the fireplace, an annoying little smile playing on his lips. They took their places at the meeting table.

The PM leaned forward threateningly.

"Well?" he demanded of Arthur. "What do you have for me?"

"Prime Minister," said the Granger girl, "before I tell you what we might be able to offer, I want you to answer a simple question."

"I'm not playing any more of your games, Miss Granger," he growled.

"No games, sir. Just a question – it is of material import."

"Very well."

"Bear in mind that I want a completely honest answer," she admonished.

"Just get on with it!"

"Do you enjoy your job, sir?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you enjoy your job?" she repeated.

The PM cast a puzzled glance at Weasley, who was sitting back, apparently content that Miss Granger should take the lead.

"Well, it's an important role – the country needs responsible guidance..."

"That's not what I asked, Prime Minister. Do you enjoy your job?"

God, the woman was relentless.

"I... well...," he sighed. "In truth? No, Miss Granger. Not one jot. Now tell me what this has to do with the price of eggs."

"Actually, it has more to do with the price of what you use to cook those eggs, sir."

"I don't follow."

"How would you like it, sir, if in return for dropping your absurd notion about taxing the wizarding community, we were to offer you a way to see out your remaining two years of office a popular man, one who has done something of material benefit to every citizen of this country? You would leave Number Ten in a blaze of glory, able to hand over the reins to your successor at the head of a party renewed in vigour and ideological credibility, blah, blah, blah. Depending, of course, on how skilfully you present all this."

"Leave, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, yes, sir. We couldn't possibly allow you to remain, knowing as much about us as you do, because you might be tempted to do something foolish again. But if, as you say, you do not enjoy your job – and to be frank, it looks as though it's killing you – then leaving should be no hardship."

"I feel as though you are trying to back me into a corner, Miss Granger. It's not a feeling I appreciate."

"Of course I am. But listen –"

She drew a deep breath.

"What is the one thing that nearly everyone in this country is worrying about, from big businesses to individuals in bedsitters? The one thing every newspaper complains about, regardless of how its editor votes?"

He thought.

"Why – energy costs. But we've been arguing that one in circles in the Commons until we're blue in the face."

"I know. Because you want to build more nuclear power stations so the country is less reliant on foreign oil and gas, and because they're 'clean' – except for the fact that they aren't."

The PM kneaded his tired and doughy face.

"And what exactly can you offer me?"

"How about really clean energy?"

"How is that possible? I can't litter the whole country with wind turbines, and tidal power and all the other things take time to build and integrate, quite apart from the fact that they are insufficient to our energy needs."

"Mr Snape," said Miss Granger as if she were asking for the time of day, "did you bring the geiger counter?"

The Prime Ministter leapt to his feet.

"Just a minute! What's going on here? Why do you need a...? Snape! You're in on this?" He rounded on his unperturbed aide. "You – you're one of them! I – I –"

"I'm amazed it has taken you this long to work it out," replied Snape blandly. "Don't worry, man! I'm no more likely to hex you now than I was yesterday. Sit down and listen."

"Thank you, Mr Snape," said Granger warmly, taking the machine from him. "Now, Mr Malfoy, the case, please?"

Malfoy picked up a small case that he had set on the carpet by his feet. He handed it over rather ceremonially.

"Before we continue, would you please demonstrate what we mean by Transfiguration, Mr Malfoy?"

Lucius, with his most charmingly sarcastic smile, Summoned a rather ugly ornament from the mantelpiece. He placed it in the centre of the table and trained his wand on it.

"Prime Minister," he said, "watch closely. This is what we like to call 'magic'."

The PM was in the process of training a dirty look on the blond popinjay when his attention was attracted by what was happening to the ornament. Before his eyes, it transformed slowly into a delicate crystal vase, thence into a mouse, followed by a teacup and saucer, then a shotgun, and then.... With increasing rapidity, Malfoy rang the changes, until he returned the object to its original gilt-bronze form.

"I rather liked the vase, didn't you?" said Malfoy consideringly.

"Oh, yes," said Weasley, speaking for the first time. "Allow me." And he flicked his wand.

"I preferred the marquetry box," said Hermione. Flick

"And I think the PM needs a drink," finished Snape, Transfiguring it into a bottle of Old Ogden's and conjuring a glass. "Try this – you'll find it gets easier after a drink or two."

"And you can all do this?" gasped the PM, once his coughing had subsided. He took another gulp to buffer him against the answer, and found it went down rather more easily the second time.

"Yes, all of us, with varying degrees of skill," answered Malfoy. "I am, of course, the best."

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy," said Granger repressively. "Now to the meat of the matter."

She straightened the case in front of her.

"The problem with nuclear power is the management of its waste, is it not?"

The PM nodded slowly.

"So what if we were to eliminate that problem?"

She opened the box. In it sat an undistinguished-looking lump.

"This is a piece of highly-radioactive nuclear waste," she said in what the PM considered to be entirely too blasé a tone. He himself was at the far end of the room before she had finished the sentence.

"Oh – don't worry!" she smiled. "It's inside a Containment Charm. Mr Snape, the geiger counter, please?"

She appeared to be having fun. The machine was silent as it passed over the lump.

"Now, Prime Minister, we will protect ourselves and you with further Charms, so we may demonstrate that we are not cheating."

There was a little hocus-pocus and a cool sensation. Then Weasley waved his wand at the lump and the geiger counter went wild for a moment before Weasley did whatever-it-was again. The PM retained sufficient aplomb to direct an ironic look at Miss Granger, who despite her own assurances had backed away. She shrugged.

"Too much Muggle in my background, I suppose," she said. "And now if you would, Mr Malfoy?"

Weasley waved his wand once more, but the geiger counter barely squeaked before Malfoy transformed the lump into a... lump. Of a slightly different hue. And no apparent radioactivity at all.

All four wizards turned their eyes to the Prime Minister.

"Well?" drawled Malfoy. "Do we have a deal?"

*

It took several hours of discussion to hammer out the details. Malfoy Enterprises would lease the government its revolutionary new 'technology' for treating nuclear waste – in effect, wizards who would be paid rather well for a few hours' basic Transfiguration once a week – under conditions of the strictest secrecy. After demonstrating its effectiveness by beginning the conversion of waste already stored at Sellafield, the 'technology' would be a major new plank in the policy of constructing several new power stations conveniently sited in depressed areas in the country, thus creating employment. There was a strong prospect that the government could then, in conjunction with Malfoy Enterprises, raise additional revenue by licensing the technology to other countries.

As an addendum, the Maiden Castle Accords were to be set down on parchment, signed by both Ministers, and magically bound.

The PM was reluctantly impressed with the team which confronted him – the combination of Granger's tenacity, Weasley's persuasiveness, Snape's subtlety, and Malfoy's insouciant flair (the velvet glove round the... whatever it was inside, it was scary), really amounted to an attack he couldn't have repulsed even had he wanted to. She was right – it really was too good to refuse. He abandoned his original plans and shook hands all round.

So here he was, exhausted at his desk in the early hours once again, but with hope in his heart and the prospect of retirement in two years' time. Life was looking good at last.

Snape came in bearing some files, as he so often did.

"So, all this time, you've been spying on me?" said the PM.

"No – hardly at all, really," he replied, leafing through the in-tray. "We have other people to do that sort of thing."

"So why are you here?"

Snape stared at him for a moment, then pulled up a chair.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked. "Perhaps it might be a good idea to tell you, because then you will understand just how lucky you have been to stumble upon the wizarding community now, and not ten or eleven years ago."

*

Severus didn't return to Hermione's flat until after three in the morning. He expected to find her asleep, but was pleasantly surprised to find that she was awake and waiting for him. He was also pleased to see Lucius there, the pair of them arguing equably over a backgammon board.

"You ought to be playing her at chess, Lucius!" he commented, pulling off his tie and undoing a button or two.

"That's hardly fair," she complained. "You know I'm pants at chess, and he insists on playing for forfeits."

"Whereas, you, my dear, have the devil's own luck at dice, it seems. I've already had to promise you the Crown Jewels and all the bears in Russia."

"Oh, you can talk – I owe you twelve adoring virgins and Fort Knox, so fair's fair!"

"Well, Severus, is it finished? Will he leave us alone now?"

"He will. Gods, I'm tired." He toed off his shoes and stretched out his feet towards the electric fire.

"Don't go to sleep yet, Severus. I've got some champagne in the fridge," said Hermione. "We have to celebrate!"

As they raised their glasses to drink to their success, Lucius forestalled them.

"What is it?" said Severus with a touch of irritation.

"I think that we are drinking to the wrong thing," Lucius said. "Success over Muggles, one way or another, is pretty much a given, and not really worth wasting what seems to be a very good vintage. You do us proud, Hermione," he added with a sweet smile in her direction. "No – I suggest that we drink to something far more valuable. To the three of us. We work well together, do we not?"

Severus met his friend's eyes and clearly read his meaning. He raised his glass to his lips.

"Indeed we do."

*

Author notes:

1."Little England" is a term which can be used to describe the conservative, patriotic, insular and often often vociferous section of British society which seems to view change in any form as a Bad Thing.

2.Sellafield is a large nuclear reprocessing plant in Cumbria. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sellafield

3.John Humphrys is a presenter of the Today Programme, the news and current affairs flagship of BBC Radio 4. He did actually berate an interviewee for using "dialogue" as a verb recently. And he has a lurvely voice.