Chapter 6

AN: Thanks go to my beta firefly_124 and my Brit-picker saracen77!

Chapter 6

It's obviously been too long since she's had as much fun as last night because there's no Hangover Potion to be found in her cupboards.

With a groan, Hermione downs a couple of Muggle paracetamol her mum left. The smell of cat food makes her gag, so after feeding Crookshanks, she flees the kitchen for the morning.

At least it's well worth it, she thinks, remembering how the lock-in had gone to the small hours of morning, Order member after Order member Apparating in as they were healed – or at least healed enough to raise a pint. They had another round with each addition to their numbers, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Severus, and Minerva all crammed into one booth. Minerva, it turns out, can truly hold her drink, her only signs of inebriation being that Severus was able to tease more and more examples of her sharp wit from her. It's all one big, joyful whirl of laughter and talk and good friends.

She presses a hand to her stomach. If only it weren't still whirling.

And Harry's head yelling from her fireplace isn't helping matters either. "Hermione! Hello, Hermione!"

She staggers into the room, holding her head. "Harry?"

He quiets immediately. "No Hangover Potion? Sorry. I'll get some for you by the time you get here."

"Get there?"

"Yes, you've got to come down to Auror Headquarters. We need you to help with the Pure-blood Sanctimonia."

She groans. "All right."

"Apparate," Harry says. "Trust me, as bad as that is, it's better than Flooing. See you in ten?"

Waving a hand at him in answer, she goes back into her bedroom. A series of Cleansing Charms later, she shrugs into fresh clothes and concentrates on the reception area of Level Two, praying she doesn't splinch.

She arrives with a lurch of her stomach that has her swallowing and taking deep breaths to quell the tide of nausea.

A small green vial appears before her, and Severus's voice says, "Drink it."

The taste bitter on her tongue, relief nonetheless comes instantly, her head clearing and stomach quieting. "Circe, that's brilliant!"

"It should be. I brewed it myself."

"Thanks." She smiles up at him, and he nods.

"Hermione. Snape." Ron emerges from the corridor, Harry just behind him.

"Thanks for coming so quickly." Harry takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. "We could do with your help – we haven't got much of anything yet."

"Yeah." Ron says. "Except for Umbridge going absolutely mental and screaming her bloody head off that 'Mudblood filth' was going to steal all the magic."

Harry grins. "That was a sight! Too bad she's come over all catatonic and stopped talking. And Lucius has been a cagey one from the start, the bastard. He just sits there, looking all superior and asking for his solicitor."

"None of the others will say anything either," Ron says, leaning tiredly against the wall. "A few – Cadwallader, Hopkirk, and Edgecombe – have been pissing about like they might give us something, but they've been keeping their gobs shut so far."

"Which leaves us with only one real informant – Draco. But he says he won't talk unless you lot are in the room."

Hermione looks over to Severus with an eyebrow raise.

He shakes his head slightly.

The interrogation room is stark – a wooden table flanked by five chairs, the one off by itself already holding Draco.

Once they're seated, Harry starts a Quick-Quotes Quill going and says, "Alright, Malfoy. Everyone you asked for is here now, so talk."

"Not so fast, Potter. I want a promise of immunity for the role I played in exposing all of this."

Hermione leans forward. "You stopped your father, yes, and I'm sure that will be taken into account, but you're not the one who did all the work to uncover this conspiracy."

"Come on, Granger. You were always supposed to be the smart one, remember?" His lips curls into a sneer that looks no better now than that time she hit him.

Her hand starts to tingle, imagining the impact of it.

"Just who do you think it is that spelled the cabinet to stick and made sure you'd find the list of Hogwarts students for our year so interesting?"

"An Attraction Spell," Severus says.

Draco nods before looking back to her. "You only sussed out that there even was a problem because of me."

Severus snaps his fingers. "And Gristletow's book on Old English spellcasting – I knew I had never seen it before."

"Yes, I planted that a few weeks ago and keyed the Attraction Spell on it specifically to you as soon as I knew you were working with Granger."

"How did you know we were working together?" Hermione asks. "We were supposedly dating."

"Please!" He laughs.

Not sure who's being insulted, her or Severus, Hermione feels her cheeks flush with anger. Mouth opening for a sharp retort, she feels Severus's hand on her arm and looks up at him to see a tiny head shake. He's right – Draco's just trying to get her back up, and she needs to not play his game.

"So, Draco," Severus says, "why all this subterfuge? Take for instance the note you sent. Why was it in riddles?"

"Do you really think that the most powerful pure-blood families would conspire in this way and not protect their secret?" Draco's lost none of his annoying ability to talk and sneer at the same time.

"They used the Sodalitas Charm."

"Exactly."

"The what?" Hermione asks.

"The Sodalitas Charm is an older and somewhat broader form of Fidelius," Severus replies. "One may only speak on the subject protected with people who already know it as well." He turns to Draco. "So you set us a trail of clues and waited until we had followed far enough along that you could contact us."

Draco nods. "And even then, the spell still wouldn't allow me to be direct. But I hoped you'd sussed out enough to take the note seriously."

"But why, Malfoy?" Harry says, voice firm. "Why did you do all of this?"

"Do you really have to ask? Is that what you think of me, Potter?" Draco's sneer holds as he looks from face to face. Yet whatever he sees there makes him slump forwards like a popped balloon deflating, all pretense gone – his face softens, and his shoulders droop. "Look, I've heard the whole pure-blood superiority thing my entire life, but killing ... especially babies ... Once I'd held Scorpius, I just ..."

After a few moments, Ron breaks the silence. "Let's all have a cuppa, shall we?" With a flick of his wand, a Ministry brown betty appears on the table with five cups.

Severus aims his own wand at the pot.

Taking a cup and breathing in the now familiar smell, Hermione can't decide which strikes her as more amusing: Severus's insistence on not drinking Ministry tea or Ron playing good cop to Harry's bad.

It works though. After a few sips, Draco starts talking again. "I only found out about it all a couple of months ago. Right before Scorpius was born, Father had me inducted into the Pure-blood Sanctimonia. I thought it was just a club, but then ..." He clears his throat. "Well, then Father told me about the Gebryidan Galdorléoð and how it was the only way to get back the magic the Muggle-born were stealing from the pure-bloods. He told me because he wanted to do the ritual on Scorpius, just as he'd ... just as he'd done it on me." His voice emerges as a harsh whisper, and even though he's turned his face away, Hermione can see how his mouth twists with pain.

"You did not make that decision, Draco. Lucius did," Severus says. "Do not forget that."

"And Voldemort must have pushed it too." Harry's voice is grim.

Draco shakes his head. "No, this was kept separate from Voldemort. While some Death Eaters were involved, there were also quite a few people in the Sanctimonia who didn't follow Voldemort. No, Father and Umbridge thought up the entire thing. She was in some low-rung job in the Ministry's Department of Education and kept reading all of these reports that Muggle-born and half-bloods were some of the best students at Hogwarts."

"Was that in the early 1970s?" Hermione asks.

"Yes. Interestingly, the two students who originally caught her attention were Lily Evans and, well, you, Severus."

Snape cocks an eyebrow.

"Then Father comes along with the personal spell book of one of my ancestors, a Bertwald Melred –"

"Just a minute." Ron interrupts. "I thought you lot were French."

"With hair like this?" Draco snorts. "Hardly. No, my Anglo-Saxon ancestors were merely smart enough to change their surname to French to increase their odds of surviving the Norman Invasion."

"You were saying," Harry says pointedly, shooting a look at Ron, who shrugs sheepishly.

"Father found quite a few spells in the diary, including that enhanced shield spell and the Gebryidan Galdorléoð. They tried the latter on an orphaned Squib, it worked, and the rest went from there."

Severus shifts in his chair, eyes intent. "And this spell book?"

"Hidden. Father never lets anyone see it or any of the spells it contains. Half of Gebryidan Galdorléoð is non-verbal, and all of the shield spell is, so ..." Draco shrugs.

Numbers flash through her brain, and the magnitude of it all washes over Hermione again, ice water through her veins. "They've been doing this for thirty years. Even at only four rituals a year, that's one hundred and twenty Muggle-born babies killed."

"And there isn't even that much trouble with Squib births these days. There hasn't been for a good five or six years. No, now they just do the ritual 'in case' and because 'it can't hurt anything, can it?'" His voice changes from its high sing-song imitation of Umbridge and grows hoarse. "As if they weren't killing a baby every time. I look ... I look at Scorpius and think of someone hurting him for something like this and ..."

After a pause, Hermione asks softly, "So Scorpius is a Squib?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. The diagnostic spells don't show anything conclusive yet." He rubs at his face, looking suddenly more drawn than can be accounted for by one night's missed sleep. "I looked into it, and not every baby immediately manifests a magical signature that's strong enough to differentiate from the mother's – only the most powerful tend to do so. Most can take up to six months to register with the Detection Spells."

"Then why do the ritual so early if it may not even be necessary?" Severus asks.

"That's what I wondered about. It turns out the spell requires the donor to be exactly three months old, but the other baby could be older. However, three months is also the last time the Hogwarts Induction Lists will automatically update with a child's name. Anything after that and the parents have to fill out multiple forms."

"And that much paperwork could attract attention," Hermione says.

Draco nods. "The Keeper of Records before you, old Stephan Molescue, was in on all of it, but even so, the papers would have had to be processed by two people in the Ministry the Sanctimonia couldn't influence before they made it to him."

It's quiet while everyone finishes off their tea, digesting information along with the caffeine.

Everything falls into place in her mind: the timing of the ritual, the expunged documents for the Sanctimonia, the manipulation of the Induction Lists, the reason it all began in 1976. Eventually, Hermione says, "I've got one more question, Draco. I understand that the Sodalitas Charm kept you from telling us anything specific ahead of time. But once the ritual began and we showed up to stop it, why did you wait so long to help? The Muggle-born baby was almost completely drained."

"Have you ever had to turn on your father, Granger? Turn on a father who, no matter what he's done to others, has always loved you, always done what he thought best for you?"

She can't answer him.

His mouth twists. "I thought not. Lecture me all you want on something else, but this you know nothing about."

After a few tense, awkward moments, Harry rustles the parchments before him. "I think we've got enough to go on for now. I'll talk to Kingsley about getting you released to house arrest, and I'll do whatever I can do make sure you're not charged in this."

"Me too." Ron stands and offers his hand. "Thanks, Malfoy."

"Yes, thank you," Hermione says, pouring sincerity into her voice.

Severus places a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I am proud of you."

Draco gives him a small smile, but when Hermione looks back at Draco from the door, he sits, head bowed, shoulders shaking.

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While Harry and Ron use the remainder of the weekend to round up the rest of the Sanctimonia suspects, Hermione spends it catching up on sleep and writing her official report for the Ministry on everything she discovered about the Sanctimonia. Not hearing from him, she assumes Severus finds himself similarly occupied and doesn't Floocall. Besides, Crookshanks lies on her lap or sits on her feet constantly, his furry weight a subtle rebuke for how much she's been away lately, so she spends any free time making much of him.

All of which means she feels quite rested and energetic Monday morning, and that only makes the empty desk and silent vault of the Records Room that much harder to face. Whatever will she do with her time now?

Storing a copy of her report in her desk drawer, she sighs. Maybe the more pertinent question is: whatever will she do with her mind?

She sits, head propped on one hand, doodling at the Prophet crossword, which she finished within five minutes, when a flying parchment hits her cheek.

Kingsley would like to see her.

The lift picks up two people from Magical Transportation in the Atrium and deposits them on Level Six but, other than that, drops her at Level One quite quickly, where the secretary whisks her straight into Kingsley's office.

Griselda Marchbanks, High Inquisitor of the Wizengamot, and Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office, sit with Kingsley on a collection of comfortable wingback chairs gathered in front of the fireplace.

"Hermione, won't you join us?" Kingsley gestures to an empty seat, then looks behind her. "And Severus, you as well."

She glances over as Severus settles into the chair beside her. He appears well, skin pale, but only a normal pale instead of the grey of fatigue. He does not, however, look her way.

"We've all read the reports both you and Messrs Potter and Weasley submitted on the Sanctimonia issue, and we want to commend you for capital work, just capital!" Kingsley beams at them.

They both murmur their thanks.

"Young Malfoy may be trying to take the credit for much of what you found," Robards says, "but it's clear that this was a top-notch piece of investigating on your part."

"Which is why we've asked you to come and see us," Marchbanks says. "I've always regretted that we lost you over at the Wizengamot, Hermione, though I also agree that you need to be something other than a clerk. Although I will say that I can no longer regret it, for it is clear that your work history has given you a unique skill set that we'd prefer to put to better use."

"The situation is a little different for you, Severus." Kingsley gives a nod in his direction. "While you're able to do whatever Potions research you desire in your current position, I must ask if you found this recent adventure interesting."

"It has been somewhat ... stimulating in a fashion that Potions research does not afford."

"Good, good." Kingsley rubs his hands together. "We're proposing to create new positions for each of you."

"My Aurors do a bang up job of taking care of the day-to-day things that occur, but it leaves them little time to dig into anything that doesn't directly affect their case. And trust me, they hear a lot of dodgy business."

"Things are similar for Wizengamot barristers. They might come across an interesting or out-of-place piece of information, but their case load is so heavy that they have no chance to look into anything else."

"Which is why we need you," Kingsley says. "You two would form a new section of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement charged with investigating anything brought to you by anyone in the entire department – or let's make that anyone in the entire Ministry. All those little bits of oddities that may end up being nothing a good deal of the time or may turn out to be something serious. With all the personnel shifts we're going to have due to the Sanctimonia issue, it's the perfect time for this. Besides, we'll also be able to tell reporters that we're taking special steps to ensure such a conspiracy never takes root in the Ministry again." He grins. "That special step would be you."

"Us? Our own section?" She's gobsmacked, able to do little more than parrot key phrases.

"Hermione, you bring a fair knowledge of the Wizengamot and the Records Room. Severus, you have a great deal of experience as a spy. You've just uncovered the most scandalous infiltration of the Ministry since Voldemort's Death Eaters gained power in 1997, and to top it all off, you're two of our brightest employees."

And she wants it, wants it so. Her heart pounds, and excitement tingles along her limbs, wanting to burst from her in a shout of yes, yes, yes!

Shifting, unable to sit still, she turns to look at Severus.

His face expressionless, he holds his body perfectly immobile, shoulders high, back straight and stiff.

Her mood dulls a bit as she wonders if he doesn't want this.

"Or there's another option." Kingsley's voice pulls her attention to him again. "Hermione will head up the new section and be devoted to it full time. I doubt you'll have a problem leaving the Records Room, will you?" He chuckles at her vigorous headshake. "And Severus can divide his time between his Potions research and this new endeavor."

That has to do it, she thinks, Potions and spy work. How can he refuse?

Yet even under the combined pressure of their four gazes, he doesn't move.

And a small voice in the back of her head, one she's tried to ignore these past weeks, whispers that maybe he doesn't want it because he doesn't want to have to spend so much time with her. Maybe that's why he ignored the kiss, why he tried to leave without going down the pub.

"Yes."

"What?" It emerges in shock – she's convinced herself he'd say no.

He arches a brow at her. "I said yes."

She can't stop smiling, heart skipping happily. "That's brilliant!"

"Yes, it is," Kingsley says. "All right. I'm going to send Walter Buggles down to the Records Room today. He's Muggle-born, so there shouldn't be any worries about him and that Sanctimonia crowd. Show him that new set of spells, if you will, Hermione." His smile turns mischievous. "After all, I fully expect you to have him digging through the cabinets for you instead of bogged down by routine filing."

Robards says, "We'll also have everything formalized by tomorrow with a new office for you on Level Two, Hermione."

"And I already have your first assignment," Marchbanks says. "Find out why the pure-bloods were having problems with increased Squib births. That, out of all of this, is still something to be addressed."

They stand.

Through the entire round of handshakes, congratulations, and thank yous, Hermione feels she's never smiled so much, and as she walks out the door, she almost laughs out loud at hearing Kingsley say, "No, Gawain, we're not naming it the Bits and Bobs Section. Doesn't send the right message, see."

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Severus remains quiet, so quiet, the entire ride back in the lift, not looking at her.

The other people more than make up for it though, giving each other pointed looks and nodding their heads to where she stands beside Snape. Hermione even sees one of them mouth "Trouble in paradise, what?" to another with a giggle.

She grits her teeth, hands balling, and smirks at them with an expression that must be fairly daunting because they look away. Chalk it up to another thing she's picked up from Severus.

He leaves the lift at Level Nine without a look back, and with a humph of frustration, she follows him into his lab and closes the door.

Time, once again, to be Gryffindor.

"Severus, talk to me. I thought if nothing else we were friends."

He turns abruptly. "Yes, friends." The word sounds anything but.

"What? What is this?" She reaches out and clasps his hand, which wrestles to escape, making her only squeeze harder.

He looks down at their joined hands, then up to meet her eyes. A haunting look of pain crosses his face. "Hermione, the investigation is done. There is no need to pretend any longer."

"Pretend? That's what you think this is?" She'll show him where he can stuff his pretend. With a growl, she tugs on his hand, reaching out with her other to catch his shoulder and pull him to her.

Their lips hit with a clack of teeth that should hurt but which instead only makes her fiercer. Tongues, hot and insistent, tangle and release, dancing against one another as her body struggles to get closer. Fire flashes through her, leaving her wanting more, more, more, and she moans into his mouth as his teeth tug on her lower lip. Then they're kissing again, lost in the slide of tongues and lips, hands scrabbling in the confusing desire to both touch and cling.

Breaking apart, they stand panting and dazed, and it's a few moments before she clears her throat to say, "Did that seem like pretend to you?"

"No."

"Good. Because it isn't for me, and if it is for you, you need to tell me right now."

"Hermione." He reaches to stroke her cheek. "I thought you were only doing your best for the case, over achieving as usual." A faint smirk. "I did not think ..."

Placing her fingers over his mouth, she smirks right back. "Well, then, that's your problem right there. This doesn't require a lot of thinking if you do it right, so come over here, and I'll show you just how much I can 'over achieve.'" She pulls him to her.

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12 December 2006

Conclusion of the Office for Unusual Investigations report on anomalous Squib births:

AN: Latin to English: Sodalitas – secret society. Old English to Modern English: Gebryidan Galdorléoð – take property improperly held incantation.