Chapter 16: Crisis by Identity

Chapter 16: Crisis By Identity

"Now that I have been weighed and measured..." Voice hoarse with weariness, his raised remark found only resonance in the seemingly empty study. Shadows blended in part, weak sunlight fading in the growing evening. "Have I been found wanting?"

This time his causal stance relaxed further into aimless wandering; inspection of cobalt glass vase; fingertip flick of cobweb remnants upon a bookshelf. Leisurely stroll to the glass-fronted mahogany cabinet developed into the draining of three fingers from the decanter. Left handed retrieval of the tumbler, seemingly unfazed slouch at the darkened window, eyes assumingly taking in the limited view. He knew someone was there, in his library, lurking in the shadows. Watching him. Studying him. Believing themselves hidden.

Tiny hairs prickled at his nape, his fingers lightly gripping hardwood tucked into cotton shirtsleeve. Visually hidden, yes. But senses more than sight were acute in his worn body, detecting his intruder upon first entry of the room. He waited.

If they were going to kill him, they would have done so by now. Stun him? The same. His wife and daughter were kipping over with friends for the evening; he was very much alone. Under circumstances, that was best. No fear traveled through him for their safety. Which led only to concerning himself with his own well-being.

He swirled the amber liquid in languid motions, sharp whisky biting his nose. Patience he'd learned long ago; but had his uninvited visitor?

"I know you're there," he spoke to the mullion-paned window before him. They'd lain in wait for him, knowing he'd venture into the careworn room sometime this evening. Such arrogance could only be borne in familiarity. Had they studied him long, then?

Disturbing scents mixed with the alcohol. Suddenly he grew uneasy, more cautious. He stilled, shallow breaths slow and meticulously even in growing anticipation. Something wasn't right, more so than merely being stalked by one intent on stealth.

Unsettled now, lanky limbs eased back slightly from the glass, reclaiming greater perimeter of view in its reflection. Without preamble, hazy blackness behind him began to take image, boundaries, form. Keen eyes squinted, deciphering, yet he dare not turn about. The form grew, drew closer, took on specifics, detail, identity.

Remus Lupin's blood ran cold.

-o-

Raj MacGregor turned slightly, a soft smile to his lips... one not quite reaching his eyes. Wariness lay there, a slight peering as he acknowledged Hermione with some surprise.

"Milady, Hermione," he greeted with an inclination of his head. Ever the gallant knight, he drew her right hand to his lips, eyes never breaking contact. Gentle, barely brushing in a kiss, he held her delicately ever so longer than necessary. Was he flirting with her, again?

Hermione's solid gaze broke suddenly, words returning tardy to her mind. "Er, hello, Raj. Fancy meeting you here." Slightly accusatory perhaps was her stare, but he appeared unruffled.

In fact, he merely held her eyes steady, unwavering, without comment. It was Zelda who broke the lengthy, uncomfortable silence.

"Yes, dear, I'm nearly ready." Her words were to Raj first, before turning toward Hermione. "And you, my dear, are most welcome to join us. It would be grand fun to have you along." Crinkling at the eyes set her genuine smile to heart, and Hermione could only be endeared further to this paradox of grandmére-hood.

"Er, thank you, Zelda, but..." Glancing back at Raj, she suddenly realized he still held her hand. Still held her look. Still held her thoughts... fears. Nonchalantly as possible, Hermione pulled free his grasp, offering him one last tweak of challenging glare. "No, I've other plans this evening. But I'm sure you and your nephew will find your own company quite enjoyable enough, I should think."

More chuckling. "Raj is not precisely my nephew, love," Zelda was explaining. Hermione turned immediately back to the little old witch, her visual battle with MacGregor momentarily forgotten. "Auntie is an honorary title; I've known his father since Argus was a wee lad, back when Bubby and I were still at school. Of course, Bubby was closer than I to Jacob, Raj's grandfather, but kept up with the family for years. Sadly, when Jonas and I married, we went off to France for many years, and I lost touch. What a thrill it was, then, when dear Raj came to the Ministry this past winter. Oh, I was so delighted –"

"Auntie, I don't believe Hermione wishes to learn the genealogy –"

"Posh, Raj!" she gently scolded, waving a frail, bejeweled hand dismissively. "As I was saying, dear," Madam Luminare continued, warming further to her subject of reminiscence. "When Raj came to the Ministry, just out of the clear blue, it was like fifty years had rolled back." Soft sigh. "I had always envisioned little Argus had grown up and had children of his own... to meet his handsome young son was like gaining another grandson." Sly, self-depricating glance stole from her animated face. "Well, like a long-lost grand nephew."

"Really?" Hermione drew out, arched brow turning from Zelda to Raj, keen focus observing his reaction. Disappointment briefly slashed through her, as she noticed his face: impassive at worst, well-acted pleasantry and shyness at best. From the floor his eyes rose, catching her look and holding her gaze steadily. Talented at this game, he betrayed no inner thought, feeling. If he had nothing to hide, more emotion should have shown from him. Annoyance, humor, embarrassment, boredom, interest. But nothing crossed his unreadable features.

Raj MacGregor was controlling his reaction too well. Only one with a desire to remain unconsidered would remain so completely composed.

Ice water trickled down her spine, and Hermione suddenly grew fearful. Hints of power radiated off Raj, a sensation she'd not before felt in his presence. An oddness, yes, but never this aura of ancient strength. It unnerved her greatly.

Self-preservation ceased eye contact, and she again turned to Zelda, quietly clearing her throat, re-wetting her quite dry mouth. "Er, Zelda... when did you meet –"

"If you would excuse us, Auntie," Raj interrupted, grasping Hermione's wrist and swiftly turning her about, her bag and wand falling ungraciously to the floor. Meters away he forcefullly pulled her to a nearby cross-corridor. Her mind delayed registering the move. Mouth gaping, the young witch found herself pressed back into a heavy-wooden wall, facing Raj MacGregor but a step before her, his face hidden in the shadows of the ill-lit area. The Ministry was shutting down business for the evening.

Soft muttering from Raj brought Hermione's attention back to her situation. Casting an Imperturbable Charm, was he? Didn't want to be overheard, it seemed. Too late, Hermione also guessed that included any cry for help she may utter. Assistance only a mite away in distance, but eternity in sound. She shuddered.

"Don't look as though I'm going to hex you right here." Annoyance prickled his words. Raj leaned heavily upon the wall through a straightened left arm, both shielding themselves from possible prying eyes and essentially pinning her by his grip on her robe's shoulder. Eyes penetrated the darkness to peer intensely into hers. Frustrated, heavy sigh fell; a brief glance to the darkness on his right, as though to seek answers not yet yielding to his need.

Eyes returned, carrying with them honor and gentleness as par Raj MacGregor. "Hermione..." His breath was warm, sweet, and in that instant Hermione realized she noticed this by the sheer fact he had leaned in, closer to her. Pulse quickening, uneasiness darted through her, though whether in fear of him or in excitement, she knew not.

"In earnest I plead of you, do not question dear Zelda further of my family." His voice low, breathy, deep. Earnest, perhaps, but authoritative as well. No mere request was this. Nor commanding, either, but something in his tone leveled to her an unspoken need. What was he hiding?

"It brings her sorrow to think of days gone by. Her true love has passed on, and with him the days they spent with my family. Recalling the past will only return those feelings. She would never admit such to you, for she is quite fond of you, but I do not wish to cause her old pain from wounds long since scarred."

Scarred drifted across her cheek, gooseflesh following its path. So close was he that her eyes could not focus upon his; too near was his five o'clock shadow, his heat, his scent... his lips.

"Hermione!"

"Hermione! Where are you?"

Jumping in start, Hermione regained her composure and sense of self. Raj had also stepped away, muttering. Rationale stated it was the counter to the privacy spell, but ill-mannered oaths of aggravation caught her ears. Raj MacGregor did not appreciate the interruption.

Instinctively straightening herself, Hermione spared no glance at her companion, and instead whipped about the corner as quickly as possible, greeting the now limited crowd still gathered about in small cliques. It was Bailey's voice that had first called, followed by that of the new arrival to their group. Broad smiles broke through both their faces.

"Fred!"

-o-

Rattling words only half registered as he and Hermione made their way through the near-empty Atrium. Retrieving her per Ginny's need, Fred was attempting to detail situational aspects on the way, but images of olive skin and white, even teeth... dark hair and darker eyes... all refused to let go her thoughts. Dispossessed of faculties, Hermione found herself reliving the bizarre moment, each answer suggesting only further question. Raj's mood had swung greater arcs than a henchman's blade; challenging, secretive, angry, beseeching, seducing, annoyed...

He'd not returned from the corridor when Fred had arrived, Arthur having escorted his son toward Bailey's office. By that time, most of the adjourned meeting members had left, and Hermione had greeted her friend in grand smiles. Materials gathered, she had turned to leave with a quick farewell to Bailey and Zelda when the elder witch had taken Hermione's hand as once before, whispering to her, "As predicted, your young man has returned. It will take him time, but his wild ways will soon leave him, and he will realize his unspoken pledge to you." And with that, she had patted Hermione's hand with a knowing grin. No amount of protest was heard by her aged ears, and Hermione could, even now, only shake her head, amused. Fred and I are not together...

"So she's in a right state," Fred was saying, his voice low as they neared the Floo. "Finally agreed to tell Mum and Dad about the other night – not about our guest, I mean," quickly clarified. "But about seeing Lucius Malfoy."

Cold slivers trickled down Hermione's body. Memories of that night years ago still brought a queasiness that seldom subsided ere long. Shoving down those thoughts, she instead pressed Fred further for explanation. "So she came across Harry's wedding band in the back garden, right about where she spotted Malfoy the other night... Sure it couldn't have been dropped there his last holiday home?" Scenario offered, but doubted even as spoken.

Fred shook his head, looking about suspiciously as they stopped, having reached the Floo alone. "No; that's the kicker, you see. There was a message attached to it – charmed to show only when Ginny's ring touched it. Found out right by accident, but it's definitely not from a prior journey home." Concerned eyes met hers, and grim defeat shone through. "Best if I just let you witness it for yourself."

With that, Hermione stepped though, calling her destination. Apprehension swept her visions of a near-kiss away; images in mortal peril instead dominated her thoughts.

-o-

Consoling had taken half the night. Exhaustion spread throughout, not only from rallying Ginny, but convincing herself that Harry and Ron were fine, just fine. Fact was, this last bit quelled all assurances on Hermione's part, but admitting that to anyone – even herself – was not in the plan. Not yet, anyway.

The message had been brief, and like Hermione's, a bit cryptic. Once the rings were placed together (as Ginny had inevitably donned it next to her own), a scrawl drew up in Pensieve fashion, a vision of parchment and dictated quill, words flowing in hurried Potter script.

Dearest Ginny,

Do not worry; am safe enough. Will take time. Waiting for answers. Cannot risk more. I love y–

Abruptly it had ended, gone black. Vanished. And the ring had been found where Lucius Malfoy had broken the wards, invaded the property.

Not good. Not good a'tall.

Waiting for answers... answers he'd sent her on a quest to find. And she was failing him. Guilt was a heavy bed partner.

Past one in the morn, Hermione eased the dormitory room door open. Weary bones swore her bed was calling, and indeed she intended to comply its request.

Feeling her way about in the silent darkness, she changed into summer pyjamas and tucked herself beneath cool sheets. As her mind drifted off, awareness recalled events of the evening, both actual and intended. Abruptly recollection hit.

I forgot to meet Sirius. Bugger...

-o-

Flame, single and curvy and flickering, illuminated the nearest corner of aged parchment spread about the low table. Refined fingers battered and bruised splayed across in effort to minimize crinkles of shadowing. Eyes bleary in sleep deprivation, Jonathon McCaine surveyed the ancient map before him yet again. Something had been missed, forgotten, left out. If only he could investigate the landmarks –

But no. Too dangerous by far at this early stage. Hah! 'Early' was not quite accurate, as time was of the greatest essence, else he dare secure it and its power for the Dark Lord. But early it was, nevertheless; only under the most ambivalent and formal circumstances could he pass unsuspected through the streets, and his opportunity was not yet at hand. They should hurry.

Barely had he managed to send word of his plan, of his need to involve the others so that he could locate the true, precise site. Only he, Jonathon, knew where. He had discovered it purely by chance, the parting gift of the Council Leaders in South Africa. Knowing his weakness for authentic writings of Merlin, they had bestowed upon him an original script by the wizard himself. Pages from a letter, detailing the rumored site... and debunking the long-held belief of complete purity. There was a lineage, one different than his mother's brother, Elyezer. And Jonathon was the only one who now knew this. But he still didn't know the line; only Dumbledore had. And Dumbledore was dead.

Thomas was currently searching the ancient texts in a fury, seeking the powers, the rituals... Still, no one knew who was of the birthright, and thus neither did they know where to find the sacred. But the Dark Lord had someone quite clever, for he was ever growing closer to acquiring it. Their own stolen information confirmed this. Light was lent his plans by this same source. But if the Dark Lord knew the guardian's identity, secret he kept it, and well.

Restlessness gave way to uneasiness, and with that came fear. He felt watched. If something untoward should happen to him, before the others learned his new knowledge...

Damn! Why had contact been so difficult? Spies everywhere! The Dark Ones can not know... not who, not where. It is too great a power!

Acrid bite hung in the air, alerting his senses. Jonathon sprang from the earthen floor, gathering the fragile parchment in a rush. No time for delicacy, he little more than stuffed it into his pale robes, anxiously grabbing up only the essentials.

He dashed for the trap door of the subterranean room, desperate to gain exit before the smoke and flame overtook him.

He had been found out.

-o-0-o-

Thursday and Friday found no unexpected chat-ups with Raj, or shocking revelations of Zelda, and for that, Hermione was sure she was grateful. Absolutely. Definitely.

Wasn't she?

Fact of the matter, she was amazed by Madam Luminare, and Raj MacGregor both excited and scared her. Intrigue followed about him; Hermione found herself desiring to puzzle the pieces of his mystery together. Come what may.

Bailey had been his usual, slightly patronizing self. Egypt made up his primary focus, St. Cyr nipping in only once to verify the diplomat's agreement to attend the meeting later in the month. Hermione's presence was not planned; uni would be beginning soon, her internship concluding with the start of term. Which was all right with her, honesty be told. More than enough to be going on with, she had. Daily her attention divided itself, much going to deciphering Harry's message to her – he needed her help, and she was blank with ideas! Fair bit of thought fell to Ginny, and how to reassure her when Hermione herself held little hope that Harry had not been captured by Death Eaters – and a dead one at that.

Errant spells of consideration latched onto Raj MacGregor. Foolishness could only deny her faint attraction to him, a realization marred by her growing leeriness of his presence, his quiet power, his unspoken knowledge.

Then there was Sirius.

What could she say? Blind truth forgave weeks of denial, admitting that she now, and had had for weeks, a growing fervor of awareness to him. Before she'd found him, she'd found herself thinking of him, believing she had seen him when, indeed, she had not. Blushing at his teasing words, breath held at inadvertent brushes of his hand, tingling chills when catching his intense gaze...

Well, any warm-blooded woman would find him attractive. Still childish, enough of Sirius proclaimed his mature masculinity, and Hermione's body noticed long before Hermione did. And now she missed him, but three days apart. Laid out on the table, her cards revealed two things: Sirius Black was a want she never even knew she needed.

And she was never actually in love with Ron Weasley.

Sensations of betrayal enveloped her as she left the Ministry that Friday afternoon by the Visitor's Entrance. Long, hard thoughts over the past few days forced admittance to her feelings. And they were not happy thoughts. Years of friendship, dating, planning a future together... Abhorred to concede her being right, Hermione realized her mother's words, spoken not a week past. No, Ron Weasley would never be her husband.

Lost in her own mind, Hermione's eyes followed only the path before her, the bustle of Londoners jostling her without care. Only when abruptly arrested and whipped around did she awaken to her surroundings.

"David!" Before her the young man stood, concern creasing his brow, negating the warm smile his boyishly handsome face bore. Immediate return smile graced her greeting, faltering at his obvious worry. "What's wrong?"

As though attempting to throw off the scent, his face livened further before his answer. "Oh, nothing, nothing. You just looked in another world, is all." Glance over his shoulders, over hers, then eyes settling back on hers. He sighed, apparently unable to grant falsehood longevity.

"You didn't answer when I called to you, which was fine," he quickly added. "But as I was trying to catch up to you, I noticed someone following you. Looked like he might've had a knife or gun on him, from the constant grip he had on something pointy in his coat pocket. Bit too warm for long-coats today, as it is. Bloke wasn't up to any good, I'd figure. You need to be more careful, Hermione. All these alleyways make for crime scenes, you know."

Blood flushed from her face. Wands were pointed, too. And outer robes could be mistaken for long-coats. But maybe it was just a Muggle thug, intent on her unaware body. Not that that was a comforting thought, mind you.

She hastily looked about, seeking out the new problem in her life.

"No need. He's gone now. About the time I got close enough to catch your attention, he looked over at me and veered off down an alley. Long gone by now, I 'spose."

"Didn't happen to catch what he looked like, did you?" she inquired, dryness setting in her mouth.

"Don't worry; you'd know if you saw him. Just walk the other direction if you run across a tall bloke with long, white-blond hair. Walking stick, too."

Woozy, faint. Get a grip, Hermione. You can't pass out now. Think about it later. Just get home, and think about it then, in private, in safety.

Deep breath. Refreshed smile. "Right. Thanks. I'll be more careful from now on." Glance about, locate another topic. "So... what brings you out again to London? I thought you were heading back north for some gardening or something."

Genuine smile, relaxed from previous tension. He edged her closer to the wall, away from the afternoon commuters. "Old mate of my mum's saw me the other night at the Origami Legion concert, and engaged me to re-landscape the venue's front garden, what there is of it. She's on the Wimbledon Greyhound Board."

She chuckled. "Well, good luck with Attila." At his quirked eyebrow, she elaborated. "That massive bodyguard trolling the corridors and watching the band's dressing room. Giant bloke, blond, body art..."

Head threw back, and David laughed heartily. "Ah, yes. The personable Dursley. No fear, Hermione. I'm used to his tactics. Just have to know how appease him. In Dud's case, loads of well-placed Galaxy bars."

Dursley? Dudley Dursley? Hermione's jaw must have dropped, for David only laughed harder.

Misunderstanding her befuddlement, his answering words did little to clear her confusion. "Yeah, scoffs 'em all down in a blink. Didn't think he transformed himself that squidgey by garden salads, eh?" Chimes in the distance echoed through the streets, and David's face cleared to realization. "Gads! Sorry, Hermione. Got to fly; Beechers' closes in a half, and it's all the way up in north Camden. It was good seeing you, again. Mind yourself!" The last he called over his shoulder as he trotted through the masses, heading for the tube entry.

Gobsmacked for a moment, Hermione quickly drew herself together and hurried on, now more than ever ready to be home. Peace and quiet and security she craved and needed, now. Time to sort all this new information, and prepare herself for coming face to face with Lucius Malfoy, his deadly intent evident in his cold stare.

Again.

-o-

Laughter bled through the door just as Hermione slipped her key in. Lovely. I'm having a mental breakdown and now I've got to do it with an audience. Please, Shauna, run lines somewhere else...

Turn and push combination later, pleasant faux smile plastered on her face, she entered the room to find Shauna seated on her bed in naught but her dressing gown. Draped in black-print Asian silk, the blonde distractedly and repeatedly readjusted her attire, slips-off revealing bronzed flesh here and there. Animatedly chatting up her guest... all lithe, male, and sensual...

"Sirius!" His name bounded from her lips in utter surprise, and the pair before her glanced up from their happy fixation. However, Shauna made no move to un-sidle herself from his side, and Hermione found great annoyance in this.

"Hermione, you're back!"

"Hey, love. Just who I came to see..." He made no move, either, Hermione noted. Look right snug there, you two. Glad to see you were able to keep company whilst I was away. All chuckles and hugs, no doubt, eh? Where was this bitterness coming from? She, Hermione, had no claim staked on Black, and really, he was just being his usual flirtatious self... with the ever flirtatious, gorgeous Shauna....

"Hermione..." Said gorgeous, flirtatious babe called from her cozy location practically atop Sirius. Appearances smacked of suggestive, quick-shag-by-nightfall intentions. Mental images of such called bile to her throat. "Your friend Stubby here has some fantastic stories. Didn't know you were mates with a top musician." Girlish giggling betrayed fandom tendencies, Shauna carelessly running her hand in play along his denim-clad thigh. And Sirius was quite enjoying it.

Just cracking.

Launching into recapitulation of Boardman exploits, Shauna's voice rang in the small room, leaving Hermione free to store her details and bag without comment. Loath she was to concede his storylines interesting, but truth was that she recognized his antics as those of young, pre-Azkaban Sirius Black. And deep down, she was simply mesmerized by him.

Eleven minutes' time was all she could suffer watching thinly veiled seductions on either side. Nearly half that time she'd sat quietly on her own bed, staring blatantly across the room at the couple – shudder – without their breaking stride. Though Shauna was telling Hermione the stories, Hermione could just as well not have been there, for all the notice either gave her. Disgusted, it was time to put a stop to it.

"Yes, Shauna, that's all well and good," she interrupted, and the two finally turned to acknowledge her continued presence. "But I've a bit of a schedule, so if you don't mind, I'd like to get on to business." Direct stare full of peevish animosity zeroed in on Sirius. Surprisingly, he met her baleful gaze, amused curiosity reflecting in his own.

"What did you need to talk to me about... Stubby?"

Dog-like, Sirius cocked his head to the side, his humor spreading to his firm lips in cheeky taut. "Why, my dear Hermione... I believe I've located our missing friend..."