Part 4

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to JKR. I make no money.

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Ten minutes later, the documents I had requested lay upon my desk. The papers, yellowing and curling at the edges after almost a decade in a filing cabinet, had been brought straight up from Central Filing by two Aurors, but I was hesitant to open them. I knew, or at least suspected I knew what lay within those files, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. It was fighting the inevitable, I realise, but at that moment, I was willing to do whatever it took to save Hermione.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the file and began to read.

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Upon the twenty-second of October, 2001, nine meet to try the case of Hermione Granger, a doctor of our fine city. Present: the accused, nine representatives of the most noble Wizengamot, and Geoffrey Morgan acting as clerk. The indictment is read by Dolores Umbridge. The judge appointed to try the case in question is Cornelius Fudge, former Minister for Magic. The accused conducts her own defence.

I had the correct file in my hands. Sighing, I plunged back into the account.

DU: We are here to try a most unusual case involving a member of the recently liquidised St Mungo’s.

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DU: Dr. Hermione Granger has been accused of the murder of one Mr. Ronald Weasley through the method of poison. Upon administering the poison, which we know to be none other than the Belladonna from her potions cabinet, she then attempted to dress the murder as suicide. She is being tried on one count of murder, and one count of wilful deception.

(A young woman is brought before the nine. Her hands are bound behind her back. Her head is held high. A small smile plays about her lips.)

I imagined the scene.

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DU: Dr. Granger, you stand accused of the murder of your husband, Mr. Ronald Weasley. How do you plead?

HG: Guilty. On both the count of murder and wilful deception.

My eyebrows rose in shock. It was an answer I hadn’t expected. It certainly explained the security measures placed upon the document. And why the trial was hushed up. Back then especially, Healers like Hermione were getting rare, and they couldn’t afford to alienate another.

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CF: This is most irregular, Dr. Granger. Would you care to explain yourself, or are we to be forced to make our own assumptions as to your intent?

(Fudge leans back in his chair, seemingly mollified by her response.)

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DU: I wonder if you realize, Miss Granger, that the use of belladonna in the detoxifying of alcoholics has been outlawed within the wizarding world for over one hundred years for safety reasons. Surely the thought that this was perhaps foolish and dangerous occurred to you.

HG: It was a mistake. One which I paid for most dearly. But when left with no other option…

The conversation stopped there. I assumed there was a page missing, for the next section did not follow the first. However, some sort of conclusion seemed to have been reached. And Umbridge appeared most upset.

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DU: But, Your Honour, I must protest. The woman has admitted her contribution to the crime. Murder cannot go unpunished!

CF: Dr. Granger, you have been found guilty of wilful deception and must fulfil the suggested sentence of ninety-four hours of unpaid service.

I snapped the file shut. I needed to see no more.

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Everything clicked into place. I had my ‘why’ and my ‘how’. All that remained now was to confirm my suspicions, which meant another trip to the Mortuary.

I ran full pelt down the corridor, the soles of my shoes slipping on the polished marble floor. Luna was in her office, and I rapped on the door with the back of my hand, beckoning her into the Storage Room.

“Open Hermione’s drawer,” I said, ignoring her puzzled look. This was no time for idle explanations.

She complied, unlocking the catches with a snap and sliding out the body.

“Check her face.”

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Luna reached over to the side, taking a box of latex gloves from their place on the counter. She snapped a pair on, sending a puff of white powder into the frozen air, not waiting long enough to sterilise her hands. It was against Lab rules, but I didn’t care. I was too anxious for the answer.

The room seemed eerily quiet as Luna smoothed her hands over Hermione’s face, checking for something I wasn’t even sure was there. She traced the scar tissue and the bone structure underneath, feeling for any abnormalities that suggested the use of unauthorised magic.

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Minutes passed, and as time ticked on, I became more and more disheartened. I was so sure I was right. My theory was entirely plausible, but it all depended on this.

I remember turning away to leave, defeated, when she found it.

“Severus?”

Luna’s hands were poised over the bridge of Hermione’s nose, her fingertips just touching the cold, rubbery flesh.

“Yes?” I asked, entirely too much hope evident in my voice.

“Something’s not right. There’s residual magic tingling just beneath the nasal cartilage. But it’s somehow damped, almost to the point of non-existence. It’s so small I missed it.”

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“Do you think it’s from surgery?”

Luna made a small noise in the back of her throat, as she often did when thinking hard. She flicked her hair out of her eyes, the blonde strands almost white in the low light.

“Most certainly. But it’s not like any I’ve ever seen before.”

She turned to me, her blue eyes wide behind her glasses.

“None of the old scars have been disturbed, and there are certainly no new ones. It’s cosmetic, certainly, but why Hermione’s done it, I can’t imagine. It wasn’t for enhancement; she looks exactly the same as before.”

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Exactly the same.

“Luna, you knew Hermione,” I said, looking straight into her eyes for any trace of deception. “Did she dye her hair?”

She shook her head violently, her radish earrings swinging back and forth.

My insides felt as though they had turned to jelly. I was right. But I was wrong too. We had lost so much time by following my assumptions, and I felt guilty.

“Run her DNA.”

I made my way to the door, the sound of the drawer rolling back clear in my mind.

“Why?” I heard her call.

“I don’t think this is Hermione.”

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