Restitution

"Restitution"

by Paracelsus

Chapter 10: Breakthroughs at Last

"Then you're certain," Potter persisted, "that Dr. Pohuhu can't Apparate?"

"Absolutely certain," declared Te Matorohanga.

Otimi had brought them into a quiet side room after the morning's incident with the pounamu wand. Potter's "colleagues" had gone to the school library; Pohuhu had returned to the Infirmary. This suited Otimi well: he'd had questions for the Headmaster and didn't want the answers shouted about to Potter's entourage. He was beginning to regret having included Potter... though there'd really been no way to exclude him.

"Margaret Pohuhu can neither Apparate nor Transfigure, Charm nor Divine," continued the Headmaster. "Her magical power is concentrated on one specific ability - but within the confines of that ability, her power is as great as any I've ever seen."

"And that ability... would be her gift of healing?"

Te Matorohanga nodded. "Plus ancillary skills. Her Potions expertise, for example, is still developing, but I see no reason she shouldn't become proficient in time." He held out his hands, palms upward, as he continued, "All her magic is linked to her sensitivity to mauri, the life force. She tells me her grandmother has helped her learn to sense this, and I must admit she shows extraordinary promise."

"That sensitivity... that must be how she could detect the true greenstone tiki," Otimi guessed. "I shouldn't have been surprised - when we first met her, she'd done the same with the mere on display at the Ministry."

"She is an unusual synthesis of beliefs," mused Te Matorohanga. "They've shaped how her talent is employed. Her medical training leads her to think in terms of biochemistry, infection and genes... while her grandmother's lessons emphasized the flow and balance of mauri through the body." He smiled and added, "And thanks to her religious upbringing, she tends to practice her magic through the laying on of hands."

"She'd have to physically touch her patient, then, to heal them?" Potter asked.

"Or her victim, to harm them?" added Otimi. He saw Potter's frown, and said coolly, "Karakia and makutu, Headmaster. It's one of the first things you taught us."

"Indeed." The Headmaster steepled his fingertips and regarded Potter and Otimi with a neutral expression. "Whatever her intent... yes, she would need physical contact with her subject."

"And how long would it take for the effects to be seen?"

Potter sighed and bit his lip. "Judging from the patients I saw at Christchurch Hospital," he admitted, "it took several hours from her initial contact before anyone showed an improvement. Maybe a day at most."

"That time will shrink considerably as she grows into her ability," said Te Matorohanga.

"But for the moment, she could shake hands with a man, and it might take days before he mysteriously died," Otimi said.

"You keep coming back to that," Potter replied sharply. "And I keep reminding you that she had no motive for those first three murders."

"We don't need to prove motive. If there's only one way the murders could have been done, and only Pohuhu could have done them that way..." Otimi saw Potter about to object, and overrode him. "No curse residuals. No lethal potion ingredients. No physical damage to the bodies. And no other explanation."

"Yet," returned Potter, looking Otimi in the eye.

"Yet," conceded Otimi after a moment.

"So for now, we will leave the topic," declared the Headmaster with finality, "until more is known." He raked Potter and Otimi with a stern gaze, and neither of them chose to disagree with him.

*

Te Matorohanga insisted on a lunch break for everyone. "We've only a few students at the school over the winter holiday," he explained as they headed for the dining hall, "and new faces are always welcome."

And in truth, when they arrived in the whare whakairo there were only a handful of teens sitting together at one of the tables. Harry spotted the sandy-haired young man who'd been their escort, talking earnestly with a girl about the same age - Harry grinned when he recognized Ngaire, the welcoming witch from the airport. Student here? Of course. She must've been earning some extra cash over the hols, he speculated.

He continued with the Headmaster and Otimi to their own table... and so failed to notice how Ngaire and the young man were watching him in barely concealed excitement, before turning back to their tablemates and whispering frantically.

As Harry started to take his seat, Margaret Pohuhu entered the hall. She made a beeline for the adults' table. "Hi, Opaleyes," Harry greeted her.

"Hello, tohunga," she replied. "Do you have a moment?" She gestured away from the table where Otimi and the Headmaster were seated. Puzzled, Harry followed her.

"Um, you know... I was thinking," he said quietly. "Maybe you should find another nickname for me besides 'tohunga'. I mean, I don't mind a joke, but now that I've learned what the word means..."

"You don't want me to call you that?" Margaret arched one eyebrow at him.

"Only I reckoned... if the Headmaster's a tohunga, then I can't be," mumbled Harry. He felt a bit embarrassed, as though he'd been caught impersonating an archbishop.

Margaret snorted. "I trust Nana," she said cryptically. They'd reached the door of the hall, out of the hearing of the others, when Margaret suddenly turned on Harry. "You should thank God you're not my patient anymore," she flared.

"Wh-what?" asked Harry in confusion.

"Your anemia! This isn't a relapse - this is the same blood loss you suffered three weeks ago, isn't it?" Harry realized belatedly that she'd had all morning to think about his sickly pallor - and diagnose the state of his health. "Have you had this treated at all?"

"I, um, well... I saw a Healer..."

"Wait, don't tell me, let me guess. He gave you some of that Blood Replenishing Potion as a temporary measure, yes? Yes. And you've been living on the stuff ever since." Margaret started jabbing her finger at him. "Do you have any idea of the risks you're running, you idiot? Let's start with the obvious: extreme fatigue, loss of strength and endurance. And of course, since your brain isn't getting its usual blood supply, there's dizziness, inability to concentrate - making you even more stupid! We won't even mention the possibility of stroke and TIA."

She advanced on him, still angrily jabbing at various areas of his body, as she continued to berate him. "Want more? There's cardiac arrhythmia. There's impaired immune response. Oh, oh, I know! How about acute renal dysfunction!?" By this point she had Harry backed against the wall, with no escape in sight.

"As long as I keep taking the potion, I can manage," said Harry defensively. "Look, as soon as I'm done working here, I'll see my Healer again, I promise."

"You had no business coming here at all, in your condition..."

"You needed my help," said Harry, suddenly surer of his ground. "And I owe you this."

"I'm not worth risking your life!" Margaret insisted fiercely.

Harry smiled. "No, Opaleyes, that's exactly wrong. Friends are the only thing worth risking my life." He spoke with a serene confidence that gave Margaret a minute's pause. It was plain that she wanted to contradict him - and couldn't.

"Promise me you'll have it treated properly when this is all over," she finally said in a low voice.

Harry raised his hand. "I promise."

"Because if you don't, I'll... I'll..." Margaret cast about for a suitably fearsome threat. She gave a sudden, entirely wicked grin as she found it. "Ron," she said with relish. "Hermione."

Harry's smile vanished abruptly. "That's hitting below the belt," he protested feebly.

"Don't even think I won't tell them, tohunga," she said, pressing her advantage. "If you're not my patient, you don't get patient confidentiality." She turned on her heel and headed back for the table where the Headmaster awaited them.

Harry drew a shaky breath. Oh, joy. Yet another person who feels the need to royally ream me. What kind of masochist risks his life for friends like these?

That thought brought a wry chuckle. You do, Harry. And gladly.

He decided he needed a moment of fresh air before rejoining the table. Harry turned to the door, opened it and stepped outside - and nearly collided with Ron. He didn't even need to ask the question... he could tell by Ron's wooden expression that he'd heard every word of Dr. Pohuhu's tirade.

When Ron finally spoke, he sounded mournful. "Harry..."

"You'd risk your life for me," Harry said quickly and quietly. "And as you once told me, it'd be your choice - no one else's. This is no different."

Ron nodded jerkily. "Yeah, I know." He turned away to gaze at the horizon. "What bugs me," he said without looking at Harry, "is that you've managed to find a risk that none of us can share."

"The murderers wouldn't wait for me to get better."

"I reckon not," he sighed. "I did notice you were using up the Blood Replenishing Potion faster." He fell silent, sadly pensive, still looking into the distance.

"Hey," said Harry softly. "I'm not going to die, Ron. I've got too many reasons not to die."

Ron couldn't help but snort. "Right." He said nothing more for another moment. Then he took a deep breath and turned back to face Harry. "What do you want me to do...?"

"Help me finish this case quickly. Be there when I need you."

"Always. Goes without saying, doesn't it?" Ron gave Harry an affectionate (and very light) punch on the arm. "Ginny and Hermione will be along in a moment," he remarked after a pause. "Let's get some lunch. You hungry?"

For his friend's sake, Harry was glad he could answer "Yes."

*

For a change, Ron didn't feel like talking much at lunch. Small wonder, given what he'd heard minutes before. He knew how Harry trusted him... he couldn't tell the girls about the severity of Harry's condition, never mind what he'd said to Hermione yesterday morning. He'd just have to find a way to work around it.

In the meantime, he contented himself with listening at lunch more than talking. There was certainly plenty to hear.

On one side of the table, Hermione was in deep discussion with the Headmaster about the curriculum at the school. "Obviously, we've taken quite a bit from pakeha magic," he was saying. "Wands are a particularly nice innovation. But we haven't neglected Maori principles... which emphasize gaining knowledge, wisdom, as a prerequisite for magic. To the Maori, knowledge literally is power. Our greatest folk hero, Maui of the Topknot, was raised learning the secrets of the birds and beasts, sea and sky - then he had mastery over them."

On the other side of the table, Dr. Pohuhu was telling Ginny and Harry about her medical studies. "I was angry at first by all the cures available to wizards - and unavailable to ordinary people! Do you know how many lives could be saved if everyone had access to, oh, just the burn paste alone? But then Master Torohanga showed me that wizards are more resistant to injury in the first place. A fall that would kill a... a Muggle (I hate that word) might only break a wrist on you."

On Neville, actually, thought Ron, remembering their first flying lesson.

"Likewise, using these medical potions on, on Muggles would probably kill them. I was horribly disappointed when I learned it, but it's true. Only magical people can safely use magical medicine."

"Except for your healing magic," said Harry. "That's safe, isn't it?"

"Yes, but then it's a different level of magic altogether," explained Margaret. "I almost feel it's more like the medieval 'balancing of humours'... but in my case, I know where the mauri has to be directed for balance. It's..." She waved her hands in the air in an attempt to show what she meant, then smiled sheepishly. "I'm not explaining this very well, am I?"

Beside Ron, Mr. Otimi sipped his coffee. Like Ron, he hadn't participated in much of the discussions, but he was listening to every word.

"Do they play Quidditch here at school?" asked Ron out of the blue.

Otimi blinked at being addressed. "Yes," he said. "Though Te Whare doesn't have houses as I'm told Hogwarts does. The students here organize themselves into what we call 'squads'... and squads in turn form Quidditch teams. It's quite popular here."

"Squads? Like study groups?" Ron thought back to the D.A., and wondered if Whare Wananga's 'squads' were similar.

"They share some elements of study groups... but they're also something like fraternities, though much less formal. A successful squad can last for years, recruiting new members as the older ones leave school."

Ron made a long arm and snagged the coffee pot. "Then I assume you didn't have to worry about House points and such? Sounds neat... I always thought House points were an awful way to promote togetherness."

"Maybe," said Otimi. "On the other hand, squads tend towards cliquishness... not exactly the sort of togetherness you're talking about."

"Oh, we had cliques aplenty when we were in school..." Ron's nostalgic moment distracted him from the task at hand: pouring his coffee. Instead of going into his cup, it splashed spectacularly onto the tablecloth. "Yow!!"

Harry and Ginny broke off their conversation with Dr. Pohuhu to snicker. "In the cup, Ron," smirked Ginny.

"Not to worry, I'll clean it up," Ron assured them hastily. He drew out his wand and pointed it at the spilled coffee. "Evanesco!" he commanded, and the liquid vanished from the table. Unfortunately, a brown stain remained in the tablecloth where the coffee had soaked into it.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Scourgify, Ron, not Evanesco," she said in scornful tones. "Honestly, you always get that wrong... doesn't he, Hermione?" She glanced over to her friend and gave an anxious cry. "Hermione?"

Everyone's attention turned to Hermione. Hermione looked almost as though she were in the throes of an epileptic seizure. Her eyes were wide and unfocused... her mouth gave little incoherent gurgles. She made tiny sporadic gestures at the stain on the tablecloth.

"Hermione?" asked Harry in alarm. "Are you all right?" He leaned over to lay his hand on her arm. She turned to him quickly at his touch.

"Evanesco, not Scourgify," she said with intensity. She held up her hands with their backs to Harry. "My nails. Evanesco!"

She was trying to convey something vital, it was clear, and Harry was trying his best to follow. "Your nails... right..."

"The stain, Harry..."

Harry's face suddenly lit with understanding. "Of course! It leaves behind...!" He grew more excited as a new thought occurred. "Wait, Hermione, wait! It fits! Don't you see? Lavender!"

Hermione looked puzzled for an instant, then her face likewise lit. "Field test!" she cried.

"YES!!" they shouted in unison, and slapped their raised palms together in triumph.

Ron watched their antics with a satisfied smile. At last, he thought, some progress... He felt all eyes on him and glanced around the table. Ginny, Margaret, Otimi, even the great Headmaster were all looking to him - in the hopes he could provide reassurance that his friends had not gone quite mad.

"They act like this," he said soothingly, the Voice of Experience. "I've seen it loads of times... you get used to it. Don't worry, in a minute they'll explain everything."

Hermione turned and addressed him. "Ron, don't you see it? Evanesco removes the staining agent while leaving behind its stain. If you administered a potion to someone, and then used Evanesco to remove the potion - if you did it right, the effects of the potion would still remain!"

Ron gaped. "No, hang on... if a potion disappears, how can you still be affected by it?"

"If I hit you on the head with a hammer," Harry pointed out, "and then make the hammer vanish, don't you still have a lump on your head?"

"But," objected Margaret, "it's the potion's ingredients that cause its effects. If you made the ingredients disappear..."

"You're thinking in terms of Muggle drugs, like aspirin," reproved Hermione. "Potions get their magic from more than the list of ingredients... there's the interaction of ingredients, the order in which they're mixed, the magic used in preparation. They all combine to give potions a magic that can linger after the potion itself is gone."

Margaret looked unconvinced. "Think of a potion," amplified Harry, "as a liquid that gets magic into your body. It carries the magic... so in theory the magic can exist without it."

"Exactly." Hermione took her notebook from her pocket and began to scribble spell formulae. "Let me think... if I were going to do this, I'd use an inert binding medium as the potion base, with all the other ingredients magically bonded to it. Then a simple Evanesco on the binding medium removes the entire potion!"

Te Matorohanga looked fascinated. "Ingenious. And because the vanishing spell isn't used directly on the active ingredients, their effects can be sustained even in their absence."

"Uh huh. Well, that's clear," said Ron, in tones suggesting otherwise.

"There's your traceless murder method," Harry told Otimi. "No curse residuals, because no curses were performed. No trace of potions, because you tested for potion ingredients, not potion effects. And if you want proof that this would work," he added, anticipating Otimi's objection, "contact St. Mungo's Hospital in London and ask for the case history of Lavender Brown."

"Lavender?" asked Ginny in surprise. Ron remembered she'd been at Beauxbatons at the time of Lavender's injury.

"Lavender fell into an enchanted sleep that lasted for a year and a half," explained Harry. "The Healers at St. Mungo's told me her symptoms were those of the Draught of Living Death - but they didn't find any trace of that potion in her. But don't you see, they were looking for wormwood and asphodel. Now that we know, we can ask them to look for the magical effects of the Draught on her system. I've got twenty Galleons that says they find 'em, once they know where to look."

"No bet." Otimi hurriedly finished his coffee and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "I'll put in an exhumation order immediately. Probably for Haldane, his was the most recent death. It might take a day or two... but we'll have samples for testing as soon as possible." He looked across the table at Hermione. "Good work, Ms..."

"Granger," supplied Hermione inattentively, still scribbling. Margaret turned to look curiously at her.

Ron's mind was spinning from Hermione's announcement. He didn't understand all the technical details with the potions... but as he thought about it, he began to see the implications in Lavender's enchanted sleep. As Otimi started to rise from the table, Ron prepared to stop him... and saw Harry urgently trying to catch his eye.

Harry gave Ron the tiniest shake of his head and made a patting motion with his fingertips. Ron nodded slightly to show he understood. He sat back in his chair and kept his mouth closed as Otimi took his leave of the table and strode from the hall.

Once Otimi was gone, Harry seemed to relax. "Sorry, Ron," he said. "But I couldn't have you saying anything while he was here. No telling who he might have mentioned it to, is there?"

"You don't really think it's him?"

"If not, it's someone he works with and talks to. Better to keep it mum for the moment..." Harry pondered for a few seconds. "I'll speak with Minister Tucker. Maybe she can quietly get me access to the Beam records."

"Okay," Ginny jumped on them. "You're both being very mysterious, and it's time to let the rest of us in on the secret. What are you two talking about?"

"Harry saw it right away, I'll bet," said Ron. "Harry, you think this disappearing potion trick was used on Lavender?"

"I'm certain of it. I'll bet she was their trial run in the field."

"Back in England, a year and a half ago," Ron continued. He waited for Ginny to make the connection... if she reached the same conclusion he and Harry had, then maybe they weren't crazy.

"And for this you want Beam records?" interrupted Hermione. She had just stopped scribbling in her notebook - she was clearly still engrossed in the details of her discovery. "Why do we need Beam records?"

"Whoever used this new spell on Lavender..."

"Call it Potion Evanescence," Hermione put in.

"Whoever used Lavender as a field test for Potion Evanescence," put in Harry grimly, "have to be the same persons who brought the spell to New Zealand. I can't believe it was independently discovered."

Hermione drew a sharp breath. "And Lavender and her parents were attacked by Death Eaters. Merlin's beard, Harry..."

"Death Eaters?" asked Margaret.

The four English visitors looked at her, wondering how to explain. "Followers of Lord Voldemort," said Ginny succinctly.

"By my ancestors," whispered Te Matorohanga in horror. He had obviously heard the name, and understood the implications. "Followers of Grindelwald's successor - active in our land?"

"If we're right, then yes," Harry replied. "Either they were here before Voldemort was defeated, and taught Potion Evanescence to local wizards... or else..." His face turned dark. "Or else they're here now - and using it themselves."

"The Death Eaters who escaped," Ron said. "Dolohov. The Lestranges. You think they might be here?"

"Will someone please tell me what these 'Death Eaters' are?" demanded Margaret.

Hermione considered how best to phrase her answer. "A terrorist organization," she explained, choosing words that would fall within Margaret's frame of reference, "led by a fanatic who believed that only pureblooded wizards were fit to live."

"The fanatic was a powerful Dark wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort," Harry said. "He was defeated very recently, but some of his followers remain at large." He didn't expand on his explanation - and his expression made it abundantly clear to Ron, Ginny and Hermione that he did not want the details of Voldemort's defeat told at the table.

Margaret looked from one face to the next. "I'd think this was a joke," she said slowly, "except that you're all so serious... and that Master Torohanga's heard of him. You're saying a... a sort of cross between Hitler and Saruman has been doing the wizard equivalent of ethnic cleansing... and nobody's heard about it?"

"In five years, you'd have heard about it," replied Harry dryly. "He would've expanded past Europe. In another five years, even Muggles would've heard about it... and our world would've been exposed forever."

"Well..." Margaret thought for a moment. "If you're right, if these terrorists are here in New Zealand, shouldn't we tell the police? ...Oh, I see." She looked from Harry to Ron. "You think Otimi's one of them."

"Someone at the Ministry of Magic is leaking information," said Ron. "We don't know who. Like Harry said, if it isn't Otimi, it's someone he works with and talks to."

"I know they know we're here. They may not know we know they're here," said Harry, past caring about his pronouns. "I want to keep it that way as long as possible."

"Getting back to the Beam records," said Hermione, "why do we need access to them?"

"Ah! I did figure that one out," said Ginny. "The Apparition Points on the Beam keep automatic records of who's used them. Most travelers aren't aware of that. And Death Eaters would have to use the Beam, wouldn't they? I mean, you couldn't expect them to lower themselves by riding on Muggle airplanes or ships."

"So a quick search for the surnames of known Death Eaters," Harry said, half to himself. "Over, let's say, the last eighteen or nineteen months' worth of daily Beam records... hmm, how many Apparition Points does New Zealand have? I'll find out..."

"Uh, Harry," said Ron, "do you have any idea of how long that'll take?"

"Not long," smiled Harry. "I've got a Grep."

Ginny gave a sudden laugh. Ron hadn't a clue what Harry was talking about, but evidently Ginny did... and Harry seemed to think he could do a search easily enough. "Let's hope Tucker gives you permission to see the records then, mate," he said. "Would they be in International Cooperation or Magical Transport?"

"The latter, I expect," said Hermione. "And in the meantime, we should also contact Lavender's Healer at St. Mungo's and have her checked for Potion Evanescence. It might be easier to do with a living patient than a cadaver."

*

They'd left the dining hall and were outside, on their way to the library and Infirmary, when Hermione thought to look for the first time at the hills around the school. "Harry, did you say we're on the North Island? Where exactly are we?"

Te Matorohanga smiled broadly. "On the site of one of my own schools. When I was asked to choose a likely spot for Te Whare Wananga, when it was first proposed in '47, I thought it very appropriate to build it near where I myself had once been taught." He waved at the landscape. "If you're interested, those are the foothills of the Tararua Range, and we're standing in the Wairarapa - somewhere."

"I assume the school's well hidden from Muggles, then," commented Hermione.

"Oh, yes. The Ministry of Magic insisted on that. I didn't care at the time, but my grandfather said to let them have their way."

"You mentioned your grandfather before," said Harry. "Does he always advise you like that?"

"Always... whether I wish it or no," sighed the Headmaster.

"Given your own age," said Harry, "I'm surprised he's still alive."

"He isn't. But he offers his opinion anyway."

Harry looked puzzled at that, then his face cleared. "Oh... you mean he's a ghost."

"Not a pakeha sort of ghost, no. Ghosts have a form like their living bodies, and speak quite clearly, do they not? No, our dead survive as spirits, but they don't manifest as ghosts do - they're quite invisible. On the other hand, unlike your ghosts, all the spirits of my ancestors are available to lend me strength and counsel. Ancestors are one of the sources of the tohunga's magic." Te Matorohanga gave a slight shrug. "If nothing else, it has made us experts in genealogy."

"And you can... hear the voices of the dead?" Harry asked. Hermione noticed that the subject had his total interest... she couldn't understand why.

The Headmaster nodded. "Whispers," he said, wiggling his fingers around his ear. "Very soft, hard to distinguish - but occasionally I can make out words."

The party had reached the doors to the library. "Margaret, if you'd please return to the Infirmary, you can proceed with the next steps on the wound-cleansing potion," said the Headmaster. "Mr. Potter, if you'd like, we can continue our discussion in my office... this way."

Harry and the Headmaster proceeded down the corridor. Hermione was about to enter the library when Margaret stopped her. "I was... er, wondering if I might ask a favor," she said hesitantly.

"Favor?" asked Hermione politely.

"You, er, you seemed to know quite a bit about potions, back at lunch," said Margaret. "And I was wondering if you could offer me... well, any help you could give me would be greatly appreciated." She blushed slightly. "I was pretty good in the chemistry lab in med school... I thought Potions would be much the same, but..."

"But they aren't," said Hermione, trying not to laugh. She felt a wave of relief for no obvious reason. "I can give you a few pointers. Let me finish my work in here, and I'll meet you at the Infirmary... say, in about an hour?"

Margaret thanked her and left quickly. Hermione turned back to the library doors to see Ginny standing there, waiting for her and smiling faintly. "What?" she demanded.

"You just seemed quite pleased to be helping a doctor with Potions."

"Hmph. I'll wager she'll be easier to coach than Harry and Ron were. And after all, it's perfectly reasonable for her to ask my help on this topic."

"Mm hmm. As opposed to other topics..." Ginny murmured.

Hermione looked at her sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing at all... You weren't afraid for even a moment that she was going to ask your help on a certain Topic-Who-Lived, is that it?"

"Ginny...! She's not interested in Harry that way, he's much too young for her," Hermione huffed. "They're friends, nothing more."

They entered the library and made their way to the worktable Hermione had appropriated for their use. "I really don't think you need to be concerned about her pursuing Harry," she continued in a library whisper.

"Fine," Ginny whispered back.

"And it's not like Harry's shown any interest in her, either. You've no worries on that score."

"Right."

"So let's just drop the subject, shall we?"

"I'm trying to."

The subject was dropped automatically when Ron joined the table. "All right," said Hermione, taking charge. "I still have a couple of things I want to look up, but first..."

"First," interrupted Ron, "I have a question on this Potion Evanwhatsis thingy. Just how complicated is it to set up?"

Hermione cocked her head as she considered. "Well, finding the right potion base would take some trial-and-error... tedious, but hardly difficult. And the spell itself is a simple Evanesco. It's the initial conceptual leap that would be the stumbling block."

"Work of a Potions genius, would you say?" pressed Ron.

"Oh yes, definitely." She paused. "Just what are you suggesting, Ron?"

He answered her with another question. "How long has it been since anyone's seen Snape?"

"Are you daft?" she said loudly, then hastily lowered her voice. "Are you daft? Professor Snape was on our side!"

"We believed he was on our side. And Voldemort believed he was on his side. Someone's got to've been wrong." Ron raised a hand to quell Hermione's outburst. "If it wasn't Snape, it had to have been someone just as brilliant. Don't answer now, just give it some thought: who was as good at Potions as Snape? Besides you, of course."

She sniffed in disdain. "I'm going to ask about Madam Lacroix, the murdered librarian. Ron, I suppose there's nothing left for you to do here now... you can enjoy yourself in the library's Quidditch section if you like." She waited until he'd stepped away from the table before adding softly, "Ginny, the magizoology section is over there..."

"I still say it's a lunatic idea."

"Prove me wrong, then." Hermione sent Ginny on her way and strode to the front desk to ask a few questions.

It turned out that Mary Lacroix spent part of her time on her librarian's duties - caring for books, shelving, repairing, etc. - and the rest of her time pursuing her own researches. According to Mrs. Paige, the remaining librarian, Lacroix often accepted research assignments from the professors at the school - and sometimes from outside it.

She'd even had a cubicle of her own, where she brought piles of books and made notes to herself. Hermione thanked Mrs. Paige and stepped over to Lacroix's cubicle. Mrs. Paige had mentioned that M.L.E. agents had looked over it, but hadn't taken anything. Hermione didn't expect to find much, but...

The cubicle was cluttered and chaotic in a way that pained Hermione's bibliophilic heart. She glanced at the carelessly piled books, then looked over Lacroix's notes - mostly illegible, and so filled with her private abbreviations as to almost be ciphers.

Hermione was about to leave the cubicle when it occurred to her to look under the desk, as well as on it. She stooped down and looked - nothing underneath the desk. She stood again and, in the spirit of trying every conceivable possibility, grasped the desk and pulled it from the wall - and heard a quiet thunk

Looking again under the desk, she saw a book lying on the floor... it had evidently fallen behind the desk and gotten wedged there. Small wonder the police had missed it... She stretched an arm, managed to grab the book, and brought it up to examine it: A scholarly text, a few decades old, its corners beginning to fray. Geology of Aotearoa was embossed on the faded cloth cover.

She opened the book and a note fell out. She recognized the scrawled handwriting - another of Lacroix's notes. "Find pu for Sig," it read, with a line drawn above the "pu".

Something about that looked familiar... She'd seen that mark before, Hermione recalled. Medieval scribes would abbreviate long words in just that way: "dms" with a line drawn above it was their abbreviation of "dominus." This must be Lacroix's abbreviation of a word starting with P and ending with U... Pendu? Perdu? Not French, surely... Pohuhu? She hadn't been lost...

Of course. Pounamu.

*

"They must have been in contact at some point," Hermione said later that evening. The four had gathered in Harry's room at the Rose Cottage. "You did say his name was Sigurdson?"

Harry nodded. "Eric Sigurdson."

"The note says 'Sig'. I'm sure it refers to him. He must have asked Lacroix to research pounamu - true greenstone," continued Hermione. "And given the subject matter of this book," she held up the geology text, "we can make a good guess as to what he'd asked her to discover."

"Where to find true greenstone," guessed Ron.

"Exactly. There's the common thread you were looking for, Harry. They weren't randomly selected victims... they knew one another, and were working together."

"But that just raises new questions," objected Ginny. "Did they know about the pure pounamu, the crystals? Or were they looking for the unpurified stuff everyone thought was true greenstone?"

"And what even prompted them to look for pounamu?" wondered Harry. "Was it coincidence? Or did they know the Umagas and whoever they work for? We know they'd found a piece, it was in the wand."

"And why would anyone kill them in the first place?" asked Ron. "Even if they were looking for the pure stuff, so what? Little tiny bits like we've seen, it's not like anyone's going to find them very easily. Why kill Sigurdson and Lacroix if they're not a threat?"

"All of which assumes," added Harry, "that the 'Sig' in this note really is Sigurdson. I think tomorrow, when I'm at the Ministry checking the Beam records, I'll make a little side trip into the Muggle part of the government. If there's anything that might connect him with Lacroix or greenstone, we'll know we're on the right track."

"Good idea," nodded Hermione. "With luck, we'll be able to see how Death Eaters figure into all this - assuming they do. We're only assuming that they were, or are, in New Zealand because of the Potion Evanescence."

Ron chuckled. "Yeah. For all we know, there's a Dark Wizard newsletter published monthly, with tips on how to kill innocent victims. Potion Evanescence might've been in the May issue."

Harry began to laugh. He raised his hands as though displaying headlines in the air. "'Training Basilisks for Fun and Profit,' by T. M. Riddle," he pretended to quote. "'Rats: the Misunderstood Familiars,' by P. Pettigrew." He laughed even harder as the others started giggling. "'The Azkaban Diet,' by B. Lestrange!" he finished with a gasp.

Even as she dissolved in laughter, Hermione couldn't help observing: He looks so wonderful when he laughs like that... his face just comes alive. It's as though he forgets all his barriers, and lets us see his true self for once.

"Well, I'm off to bed," said Ron, still grinning. "Good job today, Hermione. I think we may be able to finish this case soon, thanks to you."

"Hear, hear," cheered Ginny, and the two left Harry's room. Hermione started to leave as well, but Harry stopped her with a touch on her arm.

"You really were brilliant, Hermione," he said with a grateful smile. "Thank you. You can take tomorrow off," he added magnanimously.

"Only if you are," she smiled back.

Harry shook his head. "No, I've got to work as fast as I can to finish this." He hesitated, and continued, "Tell me if I'm paranoid, but... I'm a little worried I haven't been attacked again."

"I should think you'd be happy about it. I know I am."

"If it was so important to kill me last week, why haven't they tried again?" Harry unconsciously ran his fingers through his hair as he began to pace. "I think - and this is where the paranoia comes in - I think they were startled that day, the day I arrived. They tried to kill me almost out of reflex. Now they've decided that their work, whatever it is, is more urgent."

He turned back to face Hermione. "Which means we're in a race against time... we have to find out who they are, and what their plans are, before they can carry them out. So... am I mental or what?"

"No," she replied, no longer smiling. She stepped close to him and placed one hand on his chest. "No, you're not mental, unfortunately. But as long as you have us here to help you..."

"Side by side," he nodded. For a moment they locked gazes, warm brown eyes meeting brilliant green, before he took a step back. "You're more of a help than you'll ever know, Hermione," he said. "I couldn't do this without you." He smiled in reflection. "Don't know if I've ever told you that," he added softly.

"Not in so many words," Hermione said, deeply touched. "It's nice to be told... Thank you, Harry."

"Any time."

She bade him good night and left his room. As she walked down the corridor, still warm inside from his words, she could only think of one thing: Nothing was going to happen to Harry. They'd make sure of that. She would make sure of it, even if she had to fight an army of Death Eaters with her bare hands.