Enchanted

Enchanted Chapter 12

"Simplicity and Life Never Go Hand In Hand"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ron softly shut the bedroom door. He paused a moment, ear pressed to the smooth oak. Only the soft breathing of the room's female occupant could be heard. He smiled to himself and padded down the stairs.

Elizabeth will have a nice long kip. She'll never know I've gone, he thought to himself.

Ron stopped in the living room and leaned over the green sofa to check on his sister. Ginny lay curled up like a cat, her red-hair falling in a blanket of curls around her face. Ron pulled a quilt over her sleeping form and crept out the door.

He Apparated to the meeting point and glanced around for his co-conspirator. Ron flicked his eyes to his wristwatch as he waited.

A soft "Pop" made him smile.

"Took you long enough, mate. I was beginning to think you were up to something foolish--and without me."

Harry Potter glared at his long time best friend. "I'm never going to live that one time down, am I?"

"Not by a goblin's arse."

Harry shook his head. "Well, are we ready then?"

"We ought to be careful. Hermione mentioned--"

"Don't worry about her; she's at the office with Sirius, researching and planning. She's plenty occupied and none the wiser."

"But I thought you said--"

"No one ever minds me. Let's just get on with it."

"Right."

Ron trailed Harry to the alley and, after a few mutterings and wand-wavings, entered the building through a side entrance. Both ducked behind a corner, with Harry peeking out. Harry made a small hand motion to indicate the hall was abandoned. They darted down the dim corridor and into a brighter hallway, sneaking past the check-in counter while the on-duty nurse was occupied with paperwork. Harry spotted the door to the room. He and Ron slipped inconspicuously inside.

The hospital bed lay empty, the sheets crumpled as if someone had hastily pulled them up.

Ron swore. Harry glanced at his best friend.

"Where could the ferret have snuck off to?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hermione felt frustrated. Never before in her entire academic or professional career had she felt so trapped in a dead end. The gathered evidence from the last Death Eater attack sat in a careless stack before her, messily arranged from her constant sifting and shuffling. Hermione had hoped to discern a pattern from the missing artifacts, or at least a conjecture as to what a group of Death Eaters would want with a history book and a painting. After hours upon hours of researching, she only drew a blank.

Hermione pushed her chair away from Sirius's desk, rolling her neck in an attempt to relax and refocus. She glanced around the room, spotting the shaggy, black mane belonging to the ex-Marauder, who was currently occupied making coffee. She rose from the chair as she stared at the clock hanging above.

"Eleven-thirty already?" Hermione yawned.

Sirius glanced up from dumping a spoonful of sugar into his mug.

"So it is. You've had quite a long couple of days. Why don't you turn in for the night? We've hit a wall with the evidence; there's little else we can do now. Maybe we'll uncover something we missed tomorrow."

"Possibly," Hermione muttered in acquiescence.

She waved goodbye to Sirius as she headed out the door, shoving one arm in her robes. When Hermione reached the Ministry lobby, she decided to take a nice stroll home, instead of Apparating, and relish in the fresh, open air. As a captive, she had come to appreciate such simple liberties. Even though she had not been detained in a cage, deep underground, the very fact that she had no voice in the trite, everyday matters--such as when she could leave the room, where she could go, etcetera--made Hermione place an even higher value on personal choice. She now took advantage of those uncomplicated decisions. Her outlook on life had taken another turn, just as it had after every episode with Voldemort during her Hogwarts years.

Hermione breathed the cool, London air deeply into her lungs. January meshed with February to create a smooth, unnoticed transition between months. Hermione thought her recent preoccupations might have contributed to time's relatively speedy expenditure.

I still have hope, she thought. With Draco's information and our preparedness, I really think we have a chance this time. I believe we can put Voldemort away, once and for all.

Hermione found something of a spring in her step at the newfound optimism. Ducking through the crowded streets, she raced home to Godric's Hollow. She opened the front door and glided through, feeling happy for the first time in what felt like an excruciatingly long while. She was stopped short by the presence of an unhappy looking Harry and Ron, accompanied by a confused Elizabeth and a rather cross Ginny.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"I knew it! I knew the wanker couldn't be trusted!" exploded Ron, punching the sofa's armrest.

"He had us all fooled," muttered Ginny darkly.

Elizabeth remained quiet, patting Ron's arm reassuringly.

"Harry," said Hermione, turning. "Please, explain to me what everyone's upset about."

"Ron and I went to St. Mungo's this morning. Malfoy's gone. No trace, no Owl of explanation, nothing."

"But, but there must be some reason!" Hermione insisted. "He couldn't have returned--"

"Quit thinking the best of him, Hermione!" growled Harry. "Just accept he fooled every one of us. He's escaped to relate everything we spoke about to his father and Voldemort."

"No, no he can't have," whispered Hermione weakly, slouching down into a chair.

"Harry, stop being so harsh," interrupted Elizabeth, leaving Ron's side to go to Hermione. "She's been through so much, and he saved her. I think you're jumping to conclusions."

"Saved her? Merlin's Beard, he kidnapped her!" shouted Ron, the red anger washing over his face and tinting his ears.

"It was an elaborate deception to make us let down our guard," declared Harry, folding his arms tiredly over his chest. "And we did. Now he knows everything and we're back where we started--with nothing."

Hermione felt the tears of frustration, disappointment and exhaustion prick her eyes. She allowed herself to bury her face in Elizabeth's shoulder and be lead upstairs to her room. Elizabeth gently took Hermione's robe and folded it over her desk chair. Hermione kicked off her shoes, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" pleaded Elizabeth. "You haven't had any at all since the battle at La Masion; all this emotionally charged news must be distressing. Please, Hermione. Try to nap a little."

Hermione nodded her assent, feeling like a petulant child being coaxed to sleep. Once Elizabeth shut the door, Hermione rolled on to her stomach, clutching her pillow and stared at the corner of her bed. Millions of emotions poured over her and she fought the urge to cry.

How could I have been so stupid? So gullible?

She wanted to unscrew her head, dump the contents on the bedroom floor and watch her feelings seep through the carpet and far, far away from her reach. She desperately wanted to analyze this situation with a clerical, detached view and formulate a plan like she always did in every situation. But everything had changed. The rules of logic no longer seemed applicable. She felt like an emotional mess.

Just moments ago everything seemed to be looking up. She had allowed herself to be foolish enough to maintain some childish optimism, and look where it had led her. Her mind flashed with all the recent disappointments. The counter-curse. Thomas. Her kidnapping. The Death Eaters' escape. Voldemort's revival. Lucius....And now Draco's disappearance. A witch could only handle so much. She was sick to her stomach from her relentless optimism. Hermione had reached her breaking point.

How could I have been so stupid and trusted him? I even began to...No, I won't admit it.

Self-directed anger surged through her body and she suddenly found herself throwing the pillow at her bedroom door, watching in satisfaction as it missed the intended target and smashed into a few glass figurines on her dressing table. A dark pleasure whetted her inner, masochistic appetite as she watched the glass spray in every direction over the carpet, a befitting poetic scene.

In an eerie calm, she rubbed the back of her hand over her damp cheeks. Hermione knew turning into an emotional mess was not an option. Closing her eye lids tightly, she concentrated her thoughts inward, taking slow, deep breaths. With each intake of air, she felt her resolve hardening. The hardest decision she thought she could ever make suddenly became blaringly clear.

No more, she thought as she slid to the carpet near the shattered pieces. I refuse to resign myself to failure. I'm not giving up hope again. Merlin be damned, I will find where Draco Malfoy ran off to and I WILL extract a sufficient explanation, so help me!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Well, is she asleep?"

"I think so," Elizabeth replied to Ginny as she sat beside Ron. "Poor thing's really upset."

Ginny nodded, turning to pace up and down the living room. Harry leaned against the fireplace mantle, watching her every move. He noticed her fluid grace, a confidence that extended through every limb, something she had gained perhaps in her last years of Hogwarts and since improved. Her beautiful face betrayed her anger, one Harry shared wholeheartedly.

Voldemort was back and they had no edge. Harry felt transported back into being fourteen-years-old all over again, back in that graveyard, helpless but to watch as the monster rose again. The painful memories surged and he fought to suppress their bitter taste of regret. The situation was supposed to turn out differently this time, with information and preparation on their side. However, their only lead had revealed himself as a spy, who flew back to his master at a moment's chance.

I can't believe I trusted that bastard for a moment!

"What the bleeding hell was that?" asked Ron, jumping up at the sound of shattering glass.

Ginny gasped. "That sounds like--"

"Hermione!" Harry was already up the stairs, banging on Hermione's bedroom door.

"Hermione! Open up! What happened?" he ordered.

Harry twisted the knob again, and then tried shouting "Alohamora!" to no avail. Throwing his shoulder into the oak, he door swung back on its hinges to reveal Hermione kneeling on her carpet, calmly scooping the shards into her rubbish bin.

"Hermione?" Harry questioned apprehensively, bending down beside her.

"I'm fine, Harry," she replied in a clipped tone, her eyes cold.

"Hermione, stop lying. You're a bloody wreck," he replied, grabbing her shoulder. "Don't touch that! Use your wand or else you'll cut yourself."

Hermione shrugged his hand off. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Hermione," Ron whispered in a strangled cry.

Standing up, she stood to face her friends. Taking her robe from the back of her desk chair, she pushed past the group and down the stairs.

"I'll return later," Hermione quietly informed them.

"But--" Ginny pleaded as she watched Hermione's quickly retreating back.

"Where in the bleeding hell is she going now?" wondered Ron aloud.

Harry shrugged as they all stared in shared bewilderment at the slamming front door, each wondering what had changed in their beloved friend.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Where is he?" Voldemort hissed. "I want to see them, now!"

"Please be patient, Master. They will be brought before you momentarily," a chubby man whimpered as he bowed low to the ground. The silver of his arm reflected the glistening sweat of dread dripping down his pasty face.

"Wormtail, I've grown tired of your endless excuses." Voldemort made a motion with his hand, catching Wormtail in and updraft of air and dangling him several feet from the ground. Pressure increased around his neck, and Wormtail helplessly clutched his silver appendage and normal hand at his throat.

"Master! I have them!" a voice called merrily, storming through the doors to the dark chamber.

"Excellent," the creature hissed. Wormtail fell in a cold heap to the floor. "I knew I could trust you, my lamb."

Thomas Shields smiled in self-satisfaction, for having pleased his lord, and bowed low, presenting the heavy textbook and the rolled up painting at the bottom of Voldemort's dais.

"Yes, now I have them...Now, where is he? The wonderful wizard who made this plan run perfectly?"

"Shall I fetch him, Lord Voldemort?" asked Thomas eagerly.

"No need," the inquired-after wizard drawled. "I know well enough to come when my master calls."

"Draco, my wonderful apprentice, how pleased am I with your work! The orchestrated plan worked wonderfully. Such diversion, so devious and cunning a scheme! You are shaped in my likeness, and will soon be rewarded for your strength."

Voldemort reached out his wand, waving it over Draco's outstretched arm. The Cloaking spell disappeared, revealing the infamous Dark Mark on his forearm.

"Such secrecy is no longer needed."

"I thank you, my lord. But the success lies in the simplicity of out-thinking those trusting fools. The feigned attack on me served as the perfect diversion to collect what we required. And now that Shield's discovered the counter-curse, you shall be unstoppable, my lord. Those fools have no idea what we are planning."

"Indeed, nor do my Death Eaters, aside from Lucius. But that shall be resolved soon. Once we are all together again, I shall begin the second phase," said Voldemort, carefully unrolling the painting.

"A prophesy pertaining to my successor, and a legendary power source for the taking. Your intelligence has served me well, Draco."

"Armando Philipe's ruminants are the key, master. He was a Seer of extraordinary talent, who possessed the Inner Eye to a much greater capacity than any who have claimed such a gift. I know the secret to this prophesy lies within those items."

"But what of Hermione Granger?" interrupted Thomas.

"Granger?" Draco scoffed. "She, Potter and the remainder of their group might prove troublesome in their attempts to interrupt our proceedings. But I wouldn't be worried. They'll be more of a minor annoyance than anything."

"But isn't she integral?" questioned Thomas, pointing to the woman in the painting.

Draco stared at the figure's features, realizing instantly Granger was a dead ringer for the woman lying in his own look-alike's embrace. The painted moonlight cast little doubt upon her identity, highlighting her chestnut locks and unmistakable cinnamon eyes.

No...Draco thought dejectedly. I had hoped to leave her out of this part. Please, please Merlin. Let her receive that book...I sincerely hope she hasn't written me off yet.

"What does this mean?" Voldemort demanded.

"She will be only a means to an end, my lord," Draco replied quickly. "I assure you, I will be incomplete control of this prophesy."

"You had better keep such a promise," warned Voldemort.

Draco bowed his head. Better start thinking quickly.

"My lord," interrupted Thomas, "I believe I may have an idea."

Voldemort smiled a cruel smile, beckoning Thomas forward.

"I always knew I could count on my lamb," he hissed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"This has to be the stupidest evidence list I've ever been given," grumbled Sirius as he shuffled through the papers atop his Auror's desk. "Not one piece of this connects at all."

"Haven't you learned that there's always a pattern to be found, my dear old Padfoot?"

Sirius spun around in his chair to find a tired-looking Remus Lupin standing in the doorframe.

"Remus! How good to see you!" he cried, vigorously shaking Remus's hand and enveloping him in a one-armed hug. "What brings you to this part of the Ministry?"

"Someone informed me that you may require my assistance," smiled Remus.

"Dumbledore, that old devil. He knows everything, doesn't he?"

"Not much escapes him, that I know," replied Remus taking a vacant chair (not piled with papers) and pulling it to the tableside. "Now what exactly are we looking for?"

"We're trying to understand how a painting and a book are connected to the counter-curse for the Killing Curse."

"Hmm," said Remus, taking the papers and leaning over the stack in deep thought.

"What exactly is this painting a painting of?" Remus inquired.

"I don't know. We never received a picture, not even a description. Hermione seemed to recognize the title, though. 'Amants mystérieux,' The 'Mysterious Lovers.'"

"I've never heard that title before. From where does she recognize it?"

"La Maison. Where Draco Malfoy had taken her captive."

"And where the latest Auror/Death Eater battle took place, am I correct?"

"Right on target, as usual old friend."

"Well," pondered Remus, setting the papers down, "I think this painting constitutes a very important piece of the puzzle. What does the book the Death Eater's stole contain in relation?"

"I'm not sure. Hermione mentioned some painter's name. Let me see if she wrote it down."

Sirius dragged his index finger down the evidence list, landing on the tidy scrawl in the corner.

"That's Hermione's note. It was a history text of La Masion. This chap, Armando Philipe, was apparently referred to in one of the chapters at great detail "

"That would be the painter of the 'Amants mystérieux,'" interrupted Remus thoughtfully. "Philipe and his painting must be quite important."

"You think so? Hermione didn't seem to pay it mind in the grand scheme of things."

"It's possible she overlooked its importance. Poor girl, it must have escaped her after everything she's gone through. Nevertheless, I would like a satisfactory description of the piece. And a possible copy of this book. Who knows, the key could be within it."

"I've already sent for one, down in the Ministry Archives," replied Sirius as he leaned back in his chair. "Granted they have a copy, it should be here within the next hour."

"Good then," said Remus, setting the papers aside. A sudden thought struck him, and Sirius could see the question forming on Remus's face. "You said Hermione knew of this book. Has she read any of it? Maybe she can tell us why Voldemort's so interested in this Philipe gentleman."

"Possibly," agreed Sirius. "I wasn't thinking straight enough to interrogate her thoroughly. This will have to wait until Hermione returns."

Remus nodded. The two Marauders looked at each other in silence, each wondering what was to come in the near future.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Excuse me miss, but the patient that occupied this room is now gone," smiled an old mediwitch tiredly.

"I know," Hermione replied, "But I was wondering if you had any of his belongings he might have left by mistake, anything at all?"

"Come to think of it," muttered the mediwitch, rooting around in her apron pocket, "I think...Aha! Here it is!" The witch held up a small, leather book. "He asked me to give this to the pretty little chestnut-haired witch who visited him. He said you'd be back. Something about you'd never give up on him...Well, here you go, I better get back to my rounds."

"Thank you!" Hermione called after the mediwitch, sinking into a plastic chair. She noted a few droplets of caked brown on the book's cover. Could this be what Draco went to retrieve that night his father wounded him near death? Everything was beginning to fall into place now. This must be very important, she thought excitedly, opening the book to view its contents.

Her eyes widened instantly. Great wizards! It is! It's--

"Hermione!" a chorus of voices shouted from down the hall.

Harry reached her first. "Hermione, I thought I told you--"

"That he couldn't be trusted, I know," said Hermione, dismissing his accusation with a wave of her hand. "But you're wrong. I was right. Look." Hermione pointed to the text on the page.

"Sweet Merlin," whispered Ron.

Harry locked his gaze with hers.

"Malfoy left you a copy of Voldemort's plans."