A Kind of Sanctuary

"A KIND OF SANCTUARY"

by Penpusher

Chapter One - Exposition

"You've heard, then."

It wasn't a question. Hermione Granger continued her perusal of a lengthy parchment.

"The Chinese leadership has always been fickle," she replied without raising her eyes. "Their decision to side with Voldemort was scarcely unforeseen."

Her companion gave a snort of derision.

"Fickle?" came the reply. "That's putting it mildly. Still, I suppose the writing was pretty much on the wall when Li Chiang was assassinated. Han Sioux's election to First Mandarin was a done deal; there simply was no one else."

"Harry, you made no mention that Han Sioux was sympathetic to the Dark Empire's politics in any of your reports." Hermione laid down her parchment, her gaze cool and questioning.

"That's because he isn't."

Harry Potter chewed his lip thoughtfully.

"Han Sioux isn't a Dark wizard," he began slowly. "He's just weak, easily led. He's so caught up in his own vanity, he's the archetypal easy target."

"You think he's being manipulated?" Hermione raised a well-shaped eyebrow. Harry nodded firmly.

"I'm sure of it," he replied. "The Council of Mandarins is known for its pragmatism, but the Chinese have generally been for the Light rather than against it."

Hermione shook her head wordlessly. She gestured to the scroll still clutched in her right hand.

"This," she gestured contemptuously to it, "is almost as bad. It's from Michael Korner."

"The guy who used to date Ginny?"

"The guy who's been lobbying on our behalf in New York, Harry," Hermione admonished severely.

"Sorry." Harry's reply was curt and careless. "I don't have much time to read the Daily Prophet these days."

"Then perhaps you should make the time, at least for events of this importance," Hermione told him. "Sometimes, Harry, even for you, the bigger picture is worth the trouble of piecing things together once in a while."

"Okay, okay. You've made your point. So what's Korner's problem?"

"Read and see."

Harry picked up the parchment; the heavy vellum felt warm against his fingertips.

"The Coven leaders say we're being alarmist," he summarised, his eyes scanning quickly over the words. "In other words, America won't take sides - they say it's not their war." Harry broke off with an exasperated sigh.

"For Merlin's sake," he continued with passion. "It's everybody's war! Can't they get it through their thick heads that if we go under, they'll be next?"

Harry crushed the scroll into a ball and slammed his fist hard on the desktop. Hermione sighed.

"Harry, you're not thinking," she replied wearily. "Michael's been working with the American Coven for a year now; he knows the drill. You have to read between the lines in his correspondence to get at the truth, but the gist is fairly clear. He's positive Voldemort has infiltrated the Coven's Ruling Council. Until the mole is identified and neutralised, the Americans daren't make a move either for or against us, for fear of queering the pitch."

"So that's it then, is it? Just Wait and See?" Deeply unimpressed, Harry threw the ball of parchment into a corner of the room with unnecessary violence.

"I take it they've had no luck in ascertaining his or her identity?" he asked wearily.

"Not so far," Hermione sounded resigned. "They're working on it."

"Story of my life at the moment."

There was a silence; neither seemed to have the energy to speak.

"Do you have a place to stay?" Hermione enquired finally.

Harry's green eyes glittered behind his spectacles. An innocuous-enough enquiry to be sure, but for Harry Potter, safe places to stay were always in short supply.

"Actually, Herm," he began awkwardly, "I was wondering whether you...?"

Hermione sighed.

"You know I will, Harry," she told him in a dead, weary voice. "But you're going to have to use the hidey-hole again. The Securitates have been extra vigilant lately; we've had two surprise searches this week alone."

Harry shook his head.

"I can't stay here, Herm," he told her. "It's too risky. I have to get away - to England, tonight."

Hermione sighed and shook her head.

"Harry, I'm sorry it just can't be done," she replied. "Getting you out of France would involve too much risk to the Embassy. We're already under 24-hour watch. I'm sorry, you'll have to find your own way out this time."

"I don't believe what I'm hearing!" Harry paced, his hands clutching his messy black hair in disbelief. "You would refuse to help me, to give me succour in my hour of need..."

"Oh, stop with the hearts and flowers!" Hermione's exasperated explosion revealed a backlog of tension. "You've already caused me a great deal of trouble, Harry Potter. I'm in a very delicate situation as an Ambassador for the Alliance in an occupied country as it is. After I gave in to your most recent plea for help, I found myself under suspicion for aiding and abetting a high-profile escape bid. Harry, really - you could have warned me!"

The last was spoken with heartfelt reproach. Harry hung his head then looked up at her through his lashes, his face creased into a smile.

"But it worked though, didn't it, Herm?" he told her with a trace of his old carefree self. Hermione frowned.

"That's hardly the point!" Fear made her sharper than she intended. "Cornelius was a major-league target, Harry."

"We covered our tracks carefully," he protested.

"I know that," Hermione replied, "and, believe me, I'm grateful. But Lucius Malfoy is just waiting for me to put a toe out of line. He's had promotion, you know."

"Yes, I'd heard." Harry's tone was sour. "Overseer of All Foreign Nationals in Dark Territory, no less, whatever that's supposed to mean. Still the same old licence to kill, maim, imprison and torture with impunity, just more people to terrorise, I guess."

"I think the change of status has gone to his head," agreed Hermione with chagrin. "He was suspicious of me before Cornelius made his dramatic escape; now he's out for my blood. All Lucius needs is one little piece of proof, and I'm done for - and so is this facility."

Hermione paused, her lips thinning into a line.

"I'll do it for you this once, Harry," she replied with a sigh. "Just this once. I'm not only putting my own neck on the block, you realise, but the lives of everyone who lives and works here."

Harry scratched his head, looking everywhere but Hermione's face.

"It's - a bit more complicated than that, Herm," he muttered. "I'm, well, not alone."

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione muttered. "Harry, if this is some poor waif and stray you've managed to adopt during a mission..."

But Harry was shaking his head violently.

"No, Hermione, it's really not like that, I swear," he replied urgently. Then, unable to hold her piercing gaze, he dropped his eyes.

"Well, not exactly," he muttered quietly. Hermione stiffened.

"Potter," she said warningly. He looked up again, earnest and sincere.

"If I don't get them out, they'll die," he said flatly.

"They?" Hermione queried, her heart sinking. Harry nodded reluctantly.

"Who are they?" Hermione sat down at her desk, her legs suddenly unwilling to hold her up any longer.

Harry shrugged.

"Four spies, like me, only from India, Armenia and Uzbekistan; a couple of squibs whose memories can't be altered; three Muggles who risk immediate execution on sight for their anti-Empire activities; two underage witches who managed to escape from one of the Malfoy Pleasure Houses ..."

"Spies, squibs, Muggles, children - Harry, just how many waifs and strays did you take on?"

"...and one Pure-blood wizard," continued Harry as though the interruption had not occurred, "who merits the highest price ever levied by the Dark Empire on the head of an outlaw."

The two old friends stared at one another, eyes curiously open and naked.

"You don't mean..." Hermione's voice was suddenly hoarse. "Oh, Harry!"

"They know I'm alive, Herm," he told her soberly. "Pettigrew saw me with his own eyes, for Merlin's sake. I tried to wipe his memory, but the bastard saw me coming and blocked the charm. It's only a matter of time before they pick up my trail, and if they find me, they'll trace me to you and Ron and Neville and Arthur - and Merlin knows who else. If they track me here to the Embassy, they'll simply seal the doors, set fire to the building and laugh while we burn alive."

Harry's breathing was becoming shallow, his eyes burned with the intensity of his words.

"They'll go through their own people with a fine-toothed comb," he told her. "They'll weed out anyone suspected of having any contact with me. Merlin's Balls, Severus Snape has already escaped two purges by the skin of his teeth this year. If I so much as breathe his name under interrogation, he's dead, along with all of his contacts. And I'm not the only one of us with that sort of information!"

Impulsively, Harry stepped behind Hermione's desk to grasp her by the shoulders.

"Hermione, you've got to help us!" he told her, wide-eyed with urgency. "We've got to get out of France, away from Voldemort's creatures. There are others, as well as me who have information He would cheerfully sacrifice His own mother to secure. We can't stay here. For all I know, His Securitates could be on your doorstep as we speak!"

Hermione stared at her former schoolfellow, for once lost for words. Then she pulled herself together.

"Very well, Harry," she said crisply. "You give me no choice. I'll hide you and your companions as best I can until we can get you out - and it won't be tonight, I'll tell you that for nothing. But I warn you, the future of everyone here in this Embassy rests upon your shoulders. You'd better be prepared to take that on your conscience if this thing blows up in our faces."

The two former schoolfellows exchanged a long, penetrating glance.

"I, too, have no choice, Hermione," Harry said quietly. Hermione was the first to look away.

"Get your band of refugees to Basement 3 and into the Room of Requirement as quickly as possible," she ordered, turning to shuffle papers on her desk. Harry gave her a twisted grin.

"Already done, Herm," he replied, with a shrug at her outraged glare. "I couldn't think what else to do with them when I arrived. I'll just go and join them now, shall I?"

Wincing at Hermione's narrowed eyes, Harry groped in his crumpled jacket for his wand preparatory to Apparating.

"Oh, and Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?" Was there anything else, my liege?

"Thanks." Harry reached out to stroke her hand gently. "For helping us. I won't forget it."

"No, Harry," Hermione replied dryly. "You won't; I can promise you that."

The story continues in Chapter Two: First Subject. Hermione's life becomes increasingly complicated as the authorities take an unprecedented interest in the activites at her Embassy.

Chapter Two - First Subject

Hermione leaned her head in her hands and let out a long, heartfelt groan. The day was rapidly going downhill, and it was barely lunchtime. Her shoulders slumped; sleep had been a commodity all too rarely attainable lately. Come to think of it, her palms made a soft, comfortable pillow; she could just drift away...

A diffident knock at her door forced Hermione to bring herself back to the present.

"Come!" she called, knowing it would be her Secretary, Office Manager and Gopher, Denis Creevey.

Denis entered the room, the rubber soles of his shoes making no sound on the thinly carpeted floor. Although the younger Creevey was considerably taller and broader now than in his Hogwarts days, he was still smaller in height than Hermione.

"Ambassador," he began, "Thirty minutes ago, Harry Potter and his companions made unauthorised access into the Room of Requirement in Basement 3. I understand, however, that they now have official leave to use the facility and you have made their authorisation retrospective?"

Hermione pressed her lips together hard but refrained from any untoward comment; Denis had a thousand-and-one ways to exact revenge, every one of them different.

"That is correct, Denis," she replied.

"Some of them are in pretty bad shape, Ambassador," Denis continued in a more moderate tone. "They need immediate medical attention. I have taken the liberty of assigning a Mediwizard to them."

Hermione's eyes snapped wide.

"Whom did you ask?" she demanded sharply. Denis gave a small smile.

"Ginny Weasley, of course," came the reply. Hermione's relief was palpable; Denis gave a dry chuckle.

"Ambassador," he said gently. "May I respectfully request that you trust me to perform my offices with the flair and understanding for which you employed me in the first place?"

Hermione's lips twitched again.

"All right, Denis," she replied. "I should really stop barking, shouldn't I? Now that I've got myself a first class guard dog!"

Denis gave a moue of mock-annoyance at the description, but his resulting smile robbed the expression of any seriousness.

"There is, however, one small problem." Denis' fingers clutched the edges of his clipboard against Hermione's temper. He looked up.

"We have cast as many Normality Charms as we can on the Room," he told her. "Colonel Potter is certain that he can maintain the smokescreen for as long as eight hours with little or no strain. Our problem is that Empire techno-wizardry is now so effective that even the redoubtable Harry can go no higher than a 60 per cent camouflage without detection. Any more, and the Securitates will be on us in a heartbeat. If we can keep them out of the basements, I believe they'll find nothing untoward on the premises. However, if they insist on searching the lowest levels, then we absolutely must keep them away from B3, or the jig will be well and truly up."

Denis looked back at his notes and sighed.

"A pity Alastor Moody isn't with us any more," he remarked, making a few check marks in the margin.

"Too true," sighed Hermione, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension in her neck. "He knew more about Confundus Charmwork than the whole of the Ministry put together."

Abruptly, there was a rush of flames in Hermione's fireplace. She and Denis turned automatically to see the worried face of one of the front lobby receptionists.

"Ambassador," squeaked the young witch. "We've got a bit of a situation in the building. There's a group of - of, well, Death Eaters on their way up. They wouldn't wait, and they ignored Security. Short of putting our lives on the line, we couldn't..."

"All right, Melanie, thank you." Hermione's tone was firm but reassuring. "I'll take it from here. Inform security from me that they are not to blame for this unwarranted intrusion."

The girl's face relaxed into a relieved expression and her image winked out. Hermione turned to Denis, her eyebrows raised enquiringly, but there was no time for speech. They both turned as the office door opened abruptly admitting a group of six tall figures, all cloaked and hooded in the Death Eater uniform of the Securitates; the Military Police. Two black-clad figures peeled off from the main group, stationing themselves either side of the office door. Another, flanked by two acolytes, approached Hermione's desk; he was evidently the spokesman for the group.

"Ambassador Granger," the man began, his voice at once reedy and muffled by the hood. "We have reason to believe that a group of rebel spies have taken refuge in the Alliance Embassy building within the last hour or so. We are prepared to accept your ignorance of the entire matter if you will undertake to hand the miscreants over to us without further ado. If you co-operate fully, we will use every means at our disposal to ensure that no blame attaches to the Embassy or to you personally. However, should you choose not to co-operate, the consequences could be serious, particularly to someone in your delicate political position."

Oh, yes! Hermione was not impressed. Every means at your disposal? As soon as you've got them, you'll close us down. Just the merest hint of insubordination would be enough for Lucius Malfoy to execute each and every one of us!

"I'm sorry, I really have no idea what you are talking about," Hermione replied composedly. She nodded swiftly to Denis. "Would you care for refreshment? Coffee, tea - I'm afraid we have no butterbeer, but perhaps it's too early in the day for you?"

The hooded figure gave a soft hiss.

"Ambassador," he began, with an emphasis on her title bordering on the insulting. "Ambassador, may I remind you that you are in occupied territory. You have a duty to your staff and to your country, not to mention the government of this land, to avoid any and all collaboration with rebel nationals, squibs and Muggle-borns..."

"Which would be a difficult task for me to fulfil," Hermione interrupted, with an edge to her voice like a scalpel. "Seeing as my own parents are Muggles."

The shudder of horror that passed through the spokesman's body was visible to all present.

"I was aware of your..." he began in strangled tones, "...pedigree, and it behoves you not at all to..."

A gloveless hand landed on the man's shoulder, effectively silencing his speech. The sixth hooded figure, motionless until now, inclined his head towards the spokesman, murmuring close to his ear. During the pause that followed, Hermione found herself examining the hand without any thought as to why. It was pale and slender with very long fingers and pale, oval nails. The colourless skin made the fingers look almost transparent, fragile and delicate.

"My Lord," the spokesman protested in shocked tones. "It is my function to protect those of noble blood from the contamination of having to converse with such as these. You cannot wish to sully yourself by communicating with this woman in any other manner than through me..."

The man broke off with a whimper of pain; those frail fingers pressed tendon to bone with a vice-like grip that would have done justice to a manticore.

"Just go and wait by the door, Marley, there's a good chap," a low, cultured voice murmured. "You wouldn't want me to accidentally dislocate your shoulder, now would you?"

The hand released its grip and Marley sagged in relief and fright. Gingerly, he massaged the hurt muscles, cowering as he retreated towards the doorway. The other figure did not so much as twitch.

Hermione was puzzled. Automatically, she had begun to rise from her desk but this strange, muted act of violence had frozen her part way. Now she completed the action and stood undaunted, head held high as she confronted the faceless hood.

"Who are you, sir?" she asked politely. The Death Eater did not reply, but merely lifted the edge of his hood and cast it back over his shoulders. Pale blonde hair emerged, long and tied in an intricate knot at the base of his neck. Delicate, almost feminine facial bones gave the face an ethereal beauty. Silver-grey eyes regarded her coolly below eyebrows so pale they were almost non-existent. His face was impassive. Hermione's eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline.

"Malfoy," Hermione gasped, truly surprised. "Draco Malfoy? Great Merlin, I thought you were dead!"

The thin lips twisted in a faint smile that could have been a smirk; Draco Malfoy bowed respectfully to the Ambassador for the Alliance.