Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.

There were literally dozens of them in the Smithsonian American Art Museum. Children chasing each other up and down the marble tiled stairs, the treads of their trainers only just gaining traction. Children gathered closely on long wooden benches, one child always seated precariously at each end. Children following a museum staff member, pencils gripped tightly as they scribbled unintelligible notes in their muddled penmanship. Some were as small as five or six, sanctioned to holding the hand of a buddy as they waddled wide-eyed through the large hallways, a confused curiosity furrowing their tiny brows as they took in the immense portraits of U.S. Presidents, almost life-size in their gaze. Many more were much older though, copying the informational cards sitting next to paintings of expansive landscapes and abstract arrays of squares.

"You're certain she's on this floor?" Snape asked for the umpteenth time, his jaw barely unclenching, his thin lips moving only slightly more.

Hermione sighed knowingly. He was not employing some patented double agent technique as one who only knew Snape through the tabloids might guess. No, it was clear that being around so many children was an unnerving experience for him. It was different from the ticking jaw he exhibited prior to meeting with Wright. Physically, the difference was close to minuscule, but emotionally, the reasons could not be more opposite.

"Are the children making you nervous, Detective?" Hermione asked in a hushed tone, walking slightly closer to him in order to keep Thomas out of earshot.

"Only that I might have to suffer the accidental stains of their grubby hands," Snape muttered, flinching away slightly as two of the younger children ran between them.

"Makes a Hogsmeade weekend seem like a holiday, doesn't it?" Hermione agreed, watching as their disheveled teacher clip-clopped by in her platform Mary Janes. The ends of her black pencil skirt clearly had not been spared the "grubby hands" treatment.

"You don't know the half of it," Snape replied tersely, a look of disgust passing over his features.

Perhaps, but Hermione was certain she could puzzle it out. Watching the children dodge to and fro between displays, she remembered first seeing her battered classmates the night she had arrived at Hogwarts before the battle; the long gash along Neville's cheek, his swollen eye, his tattered robes. And it was left to Snape to make sure that they didn't receive worse.

Watching Snape's careful focus, his eyes trained on some distant point beyond them, she felt her right hand twitch again, nearly following through before better judgment paused its progression towards Snape's left.

The hallway ended in chaos, the rest of the path blocked by a gold corded rope hung between two metal posts, keeping the public from becoming stranded in the piles of cardboard, plastic and Styrofoam that littered the patterned marble floors. Others had ventured in, however, clad in acid-washed jeans and frayed gray t-shirts, plastic construction hats fitted around their heads and large safety goggles strapped to their faces. The high-pitched squeals of screwdrivers were only overtaken by the rhythmic knocks of hammers as LCD screens were fastened to the blank white walls, and Plexiglas display cases were assembled. A few of the men stood on ladders, adjusting overhead spotlights, running them through a rotation of colors. And there amongst them, like a feeble wildflower among weeds, stood Anna Stephens.

The trio didn't enter the construction zone at first; as if afraid their sudden movements might startle Anna into flight; they instead remained silently watching her while she snarled at the men, castigating their every move in a terribly loud attempt at an undertone. The sight was almost comical, especially since it appeared from their vantage point that she might only reach Hermione's nose in height. Her entire body was narrow, her limbs thin and brittle-looking. The lumpy black cardigan she wore seemed heavy on her, causing her closely-set shoulders to hunch under its weight. Her ashy blonde locks were gathered at the back of her head in a strict bun, the hairstyle bobbing slightly with every disapproving shake of her head.

"Well, aren't we going to approach her?" Thomas inquired impatiently. Severus only gave a sharp shake of his head, and Hermione, for once, heeded his order.

However, they hadn't gone unnoticed. One of the workers glanced over at them instead of watching the screen he was mounting, the device nearly slipping out of his grip. This did not escape Anna's glare.

"This equipment is worth thousands of dollars, you idiot! Unless you can afford to replace it," Anna snapped, and the look she gave him indicated that she highly doubted that he could, "stop looking around and watch what you're doing!"

The worker returned to his task, grumbling a retort under his breath.

"I can still hear you," Anna warned him before turning around to see what had caught his attention. Her hawk-like gaze swept over them, and then, without hesitation, she made a shooing gesture, her wrists raised parallel to the ground as her hand swept upwards, an audible "shoo" leaving her lips before turning her back on them once again.

Unsurprisingly, this bolstered Snape into action. "We will approach now," he commanded in a low tone. Exchanging looks, Hermione and Thomas followed as Snape approached the diminutive woman, and yes, he was somehow billowing.

"Ms. Stephens?" Snape inquired coldly.

Anna turned at the sound of her name, her look of contempt mirroring the one worn by Snape. "I'm sorry, it seems I wasn't clear. This area is under refurbishment, or hadn't you noticed? The rope at the entrance indicates that you are to bypass this room and move on to the next exhibit." Her high-pitched, girlish tone carried the false friendliness of the mean girl on an American sitcom, and the manner in which she stretched out each word indicated that she thought them at least a little slow.

Sneer in place, Snape casually reached into his coat. Hermione shut her eyes. I knew it was only a matter of time before he'd hex someone. Wasn't betting that I wouldn't be the cause though.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open to behold a sight only a mite more surprising – Snape had presented Anna with gold badge. Though she couldn't read the inscription from her vantage point, the manner in which the color drained from Stephens' face indicated that it was at least known to Americans as the badge of an Auror.

"Fine," Anna snapped impatiently, as if she had simply been waiting on him. "We'll take this to my office. Too much noise here, anyway."

Hermione glanced back one last time, finding it difficult to ignore the looks of relief shared by the assembled workers, apparently responding to Anna's brisk steps in the other direction with a "good riddance."

Anna led the group only a few feet down the hall before leading them through a door marked "Staff Only" and down the flight of stairs that they met on the other side of it. Once out of the staircase, they turned down a long hallway of offices. Throughout their progress, Anna continued to "mumble" to herself, a disparaging rant about video games as art becoming the main theme of her diatribe. Hermione could only guess from the monitors she saw that this was in reference to the exhibition Anna was setting up for.

Finally, near the end of the hall, was Anna's office. It seemed plain enough upon first gaze, furnished with a desk, two opposing bookshelves and a few stiff, wooden chairs for visitors. In fact, the walls were blank, suspiciously so. Wouldn't an art curator have at least a few prints? Not even a decorative vase occupied the room.

Once inside, Anna waved them towards a group of chairs, still muttering about the indignity of her current assignment, completely unaware of the way Snape gave the room a calculated once-over. When she failed to end her rant, Snape made his annoyance known.

"Enough!"

The word echoed sharply in the colorless room. Thomas could barely contain his smirk. Anna, however, was not amused, but she didn't appear angry either. Hermione watched the young woman sink slightly in her chair, her tiny frame somehow seeming smaller as her head ducked minutely. The look of chastisement painted on her face – her reddened cheeks and downward facing gaze – made Anna appear younger than Hermione had originally guessed. In truth, it was likely she was probably only a few years older than Hermione and perhaps just as green. But, much like Hermione, she wouldn't be cowed.

After only a moment of cowardice, she sat up again, a charming smile forming on her lips. "I'm sorry for my abruptness out there," she apologized. "It's just the total and complete incompetence I'm forced to deal with."

Hermione tried to meet Severus' eye, but he was clearly avoiding her amused looks.

Squaring her shoulders, Anna continued, "Let me introduce myself formally. My name is Anna Stephens, and I serve as a curator for traveling exhibitions for this museum; though, I guess you already knew that." She extended her hand politely.

"I am Detective Severus Snape, Head Auror and Investigator for the Ministry of Magic," Snape replied, ignoring the extended hand. "And this is Ms. Hermione Granger," he continued with a nod towards Hermione. "An inspector from the I.C.W's Office of Magical Creature Regulation and Concealment."

"And my apprentice, Thomas," Hermione hastily added when Anna looked over at Thomas pointedly.

Thomas wasn't paying attention, though, and instead seemed quite absorbed with the blank wall beside him. Before Hermione could nudge Thomas to pay attention, Anna asked, "And what can I help you with today?" It seemed their wordy titles were enough to force Anna to muster up a little more courtesy than before.

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a sound, Anna let out a shriek.

"Don't touch that!" she growled at Thomas, whose fingertips hovered an inch from the wall. Hermione grinned inwardly as Thomas donned a look of innocence, his eyes even widening in confused surprise.

"I'm not touching anything," Thomas replied innocently, his hand still poised towards the wall. "I mean, it's a blank wall, isn't it?"

Hermione trained her eyes on the spot where Thomas' fingertips hovered, and then she saw it, the slight indentation pressed against his right index finger, its source invisible.

"Ms. Stephens," Snape drawled tiredly, playing along with Thomas, "we really don't have the time for this charade. If there is anything to reveal, it would be wise to do so now."

Glaring at Thomas, Anna sighed and then reached a hand into her lumpy black cardigan, withdrawing a sleek wooden wand. It took only one snap of her wrist to reveal the hidden paintings which covered nearly all of the white space.

It became obvious very quickly why these paintings had been hidden. While the dark scenes of empty dungeons with manacles hanging loosely from the stone walls were tame enough, it was the scenes of destruction, desolate landscapes of charred homes, people who were clearly Muggles begging for mercy at the feet of large men in cloaks that were disturbing. Perhaps worst of all, a reproduction of the statue which had filled the Ministry atrium during the war, the throne of bodies just as grotesque on paper, held a place of honor across her desk, as if it were something she enjoyed glancing up at as she wrote a memo. Hermione's stomach performed a flip-flop after she caught a glimpse of it, and Thomas, too young to know its reality, covered his mouth, his eyes widened in true horror. Snape, however, had Anna firmly pinned with his eyes.

"You have... interesting taste in art, Ms. Stephens," Hermione finally managed. She couldn't quite work out if she was furious with the woman or was simply disgusted. Either way, their close proximity suddenly felt extremely unnerving.

"I know it's not everyone's cup of tea," Anna acknowledged, looking slightly embarrassed. "But I find the genre to be quite..."

"Captivating?" Hermione supplied, her tone straining for neutrality.

"Um, yes. Captivating," Anna agreed reluctantly.

"They certainly are familiar," Snape suddenly voiced, though he hadn't let his eyes stray from Anna since the reveal. "A source has informed us you've been acquiring artwork from a dealer out of Great Britain, a Mr. Lucius Malfoy."

Anna swallowed hard, but persevered. "A 'source'? I assure you, none of this has been under the table. Everything has been aboveboard and even embassy certified. I... I have the receipts to prove it."

At this point, Anna had yanked open the top drawer of her desk and began rearranging the neat piles of paper within. It took her a minute, but she did produce the permits Malfoy had secured through Wright, pushing them towards the investigators proudly. Snape gave the slips a cursory glance but did not take them.

"It's none of our concern how you obtained the artwork," he said smoothly. "Have you ever seen a house-elf, Ms. Stephens?

Anna scrambled to gather her receipts from the desk, unmistakably puzzled by this turn in the conversation.

"I've seen them in history books, yes. And, well, some of the artwork depicts... I've never seen one in person, though." She looked strangely unsettled, distracted even.

"Ms. Stephens," Hermione said carefully, "your cooperation would be greatly appreciated. After all, we wouldn't want to take up your time with a home visit..."

This last statement certainly resonated with Anna, and Hermione had to hold back from shuddering at the thought of what other "art" she might be housing.

"I might have... there was something unusual..." Anna trailed off silently.

"Yes?" Snape asked impatiently.

Sighing, Anna continued, "In one of the shipments, there was more than just... paintings."

"We don't have all day, Ms. Stephens. Spit it out."

"Elves, all right! They were unconscious or sleeping, I don't know, at the bottom of the crate. It was like a hidden compartment or something. I don't know, okay?" Her voice had become shrill and she had stood up, as if she were moments from leaping out the window behind her. "The delivery man was taking out the painting and it had disturbed a board at the bottom of the crate and I saw them. He covered them up just as quickly and didn't say a word. I guess we just pretended that neither of us saw anything."

Even though she had paused, something about the way her eyes were darting around established she knew more than she was saying.

"I am not a patient man, Ms. Stephens," Snape persisted.

"Harrell. It was the other name on the delivery list. Margaret Harrell." With this pause, she searched their eyes for understanding. Although Hermione's and Thomas' portrayed none, Snape had lifted a single eyebrow.

"I assume you're referring to the head of the Improper Use of Magic Office."

Anna finally threw up her hands in frustration. "Look, I don't know. But, she's the only Margaret Harrell I know of. And you must admit, Detective, there's not a lot of us in this town." The way she said us made Hermione's skin crawl.

Severus seemed to consider this information for a moment before standing, Hermione and Thomas following suit. "Very well, that'll be enough for now. Thank you for your begrudging cooperation. However, there's still one matter to be settled before we take our leave." Unsheathing his wand, he leaned over the Anna's desk, pressing its tip to her temple.

"But, wait, I don't understand," Anna sputtered, her eyes darting from Severus to Hermione. Despite the slimy feeling the woman gave her, Hermione couldn't ignore the fear in her eyes. It was just too familiar.

"Detective, I'm not sure if..."

"Do not finish that statement, Granger! We agreed before we arrived that this was necessary to keep Lucius one step behind!" Snape was now clutching the young woman's arm to prevent her from squirming.

"I know, but I'm not sure how I can explain this to my..."

"You will find a way," Snape snarled before facing the woman again, lining up his wand once more. "Obliviate." The incantation left Snape's lips as a whisper, and Anna's hazel eyes became unfocused and hazy, her body swaying limply in Snape's grip. He released her arm seconds later, allowing her body to slump down into her office chair.

As the trio took their leave, they suddenly heard Anna mutter behind them, "What just happened?" This was followed quickly by, "Wait, who are you? Get back here! What are you doing in my office?" None of them bothered to look back.

Once they reached the open air of the busy Washington D.C. streets, Snape let Hermione have it.

"Did we not have an understanding about how things would proceed once we interviewed her?" Snape demanded. Thomas was conveniently peering at nearby advertisement.

"Yes, we did," Hermione admitted, finding herself quite flustered by the situation. "But once we were in there... Didn't you see the look on her face?"

"You're feeling sorry for the woman who enjoys images of Muggles, not dissimilar to your own parents, being tortured?"

Hermione groaned with frustration and shook her head. "Do not bring my parents into this, Snape! It just seemed wrong, all right? To use a Memory Charm against her will, for her to have no idea what was being done to her. It must be against some protocol."

Snape looked like he wanted to say more, but after giving her an odd look, he let his glare drop. Was it a look of understanding that had clouded his features so briefly? Hermione wanted, needed for him to understand. He was the only one who could.

If he did, he certainly didn't voice it aloud. However, when he did speak again, his tone was softer, his stare less hard. "Well, it's done. She'll be none the wiser and neither will Lucius. For now, at least."

Hermione sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. "It's coming up on five," she finally said after consulting her watch. "Shall we wrap for the day? I assume we won't find Margaret Harrell in her office at this hour."

"No, we can't afford to lose any time, especially with the impending media circus." The idea seemed to inspire weariness in him as his shoulder dropped as well.

Hermione grimaced. "Right. Well, do you know where she lives?"

"Yes," Snape replied simply, and just as before, began walking away without a word, leaving Hermione and Thomas trotting to catch up.

While they walked in silence, Hermione saw Anna's face again in her head, the familiar look of fear. She shook her head, as if wiping the image away. She didn't have time to dwell on it.

A/N: Thank you to my hardworking beta, justine 34, and my equally hardworking Brit-picker, magicalpresence, for their corrections and suggestions.

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