The Scent of Lightning

Chapter Two

I should have just enough time, Hermione thought to herself, glancing at the clock. Time enough to go over to Harry's and catch him before he left for Quidditch practice and still get to work on time herself. She wrapped some toast in a napkin and stuck it in her bag for later. Ron was still asleep. He didn't really have a set schedule and often didn't leave for the Ministry until after ten unless there was something urgent going on.

Hermione knew Ron probably wasn't going to like her interfering like this. No - she wasn't interfering. There was nothing dangerous about this or Ron wouldn't have told her. It couldn't hurt to have a look at this book. How could she pass up a chance to read something written by Salazar Slytherin? Once it was handed off to the Ministry, it would probably never see the light of day again. Anyway, it sounded like Harry would need her help with the spells.

Putting on her cloak over her Healer's robes, she Apparated to Godric's Hollow. The sun was just cresting the hills, bathing the small house in a golden glow. Pulling out her wand, she cast the spell that let her pass through the wards unharmed, and walked up to the door. She knocked. A few seconds later, Draco jerked it open. He was still in his pajamas and looked like he hadn't slept well.

"Good morning," Hermione said with a smile. "Can I come in and see Harry for a second?"

Draco scowled. "Harry's in the shower. Overslept and now he's going to be late for practice. It'll have to wait."

"This won't take a moment," Hermione said, and pushed past Draco into the living room. She sat down on the couch.

Draco remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest. "You want tea or something?" he finally asked.

"Oh, no thank you." Hermione cleared her throat. "So, I guess Harry is going to be translating a book of spells for Ron?"

Draco's scowl deepened. "Translated. He was up all bloody night."

"And it was really written by Salazar Slytherin?"

"Apparently so. I guess I'm supposed to be the expert on it, since it was found in the Manor. Even though I've never seen it in my life."

Hermione was about to question the wisdom of this statement when the bathroom door opened and Harry appeared, dressed in his Quidditch robes. "Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"Sorry for the unexpected visit, Harry," she said, smiling. She'd have to approach the subject in a tactful way - Harry was probably going to be reluctant to let her see it. "I just thought I'd stop by and - "

"She wants a look at the damn book," Draco interjected with a snarl, and pushed past Harry into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Harry scowled at the closed door and then turned back to Hermione. "Is that true?"

Hermione sighed. So much for tact. "Yes. Ron told me about it last night. I wanted to take a look at it, see if I could figure out what the spells were for."

As expected, Harry shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Hermione."

"Why not?"

"It might be dangerous."

"How dangerous can deciphering spells be? It's not like I'm going to use them if they're Dark."

"What I read last night...I'm afraid it might go beyond spells." Harry had moved into a patch of sunlight while talking, and Hermione could see the shadows under his eyes, a tightness to his expression.

"Harry, what is it? What's wrong?" she asked.

Harry hesitated. Then he sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "I'll show you," he said, beckoning her into the kitchen.

Hermione picked the book up carefully, opened it. She ran her finger slowly along the lines of symbols and odd marks that filled the pages. "It's really written in Parseltongue. Were you able to translate all of it?"

Harry handed her a sheaf of parchment which Hermione took eagerly.

"Recognise any of the equations?" Harry asked after a few moments.

"Oh, yes," Hermione replied. "There are quite a few here that I've studied, but the way they're put together... I think that this first spell has to do with Transfiguration, but I'm not sure."

"It's not the first one I'm concerned about." Harry took the parchment from her and rifled through to another page. "Read this one."

... Death is a mystery which has taunted the greatest witches and wizards. But is it final? What might one learn in the beyond? If one were to return from that - perhaps it would be with powers this world has never seen...

Hermione frowned. Long equations were crowded together after the text, numbers pushing up against one another. "You don't think - "

"What if it is?" Harry asked quietly. "What if he figured out a way to return from the dead?"

"I don't know, Harry," Hermione said. "Slytherin has been dead for over a thousand years. If he could come back, you'd think he would have done so long before now."

"Maybe." Harry looked unconvinced. "Can you figure out what this spell is, though?"

Hermione looked back down at the parchment. Nothing is so satisfying as a worthy adversary. "I can figure it out."

"I know it's probably nothing, but just to make sure..."

"Of course. I'll take the book, too, give it back to Ron."

Harry cleared his throat. "Is Ron going to be okay with you researching this? I know it's technically Auror business."

Hermione sniffed. "Rules are something that have never bothered Ron. Or you for that matter."

"True." Harry grinned for a moment, but then his smile faded. "I just want you to know that you don't have to do this."

"I know. But I want to." She gave Harry a smile. "It's been too long since I had a good puzzle to work on."

"If anyone can figure it out, you can," Harry told her, and Hermione felt a swell of pride. "Let me know when you find out something, okay?"

"Okay. And don't you worry about it anymore." She gave Harry a quick hug. "I better get going or I'll be late for work."

"Yeah, I'm surprised Oliver hasn't sent me a Howler yet," Harry replied gloomily, as Hermione gathered her things. "Have fun at the Burrow tonight. Say hi to everyone for me."

The Burrow. Hermione bit back a groan. She had almost forgotten. "Sure you don't want to come?" she asked Harry again.

"Yes. We'll be there for Christmas, though."

"I'll tell Mrs. Weasley that - she'll be thrilled. Now don't overdo it in Quidditch today," Hermione went on in her best "motherly" tone of voice. Harry rolled his eyes and promised he wouldn't.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

After Hermione left, Harry went over to the bathroom door and knocked. "I know you were listening," he said. Silence. "Draco?"

"It's not fair that you can sense my eavesdropping charms," Draco muttered, opening the door.

"I didn't sense it." Harry tried to hide a smile. "I just know you."

A glare from Draco. "Why didn't you tell me about the spell?"

Harry rubbed his thumb over his Quidditch gloves. "I'm sorry. It's just that I thought we had gotten away from all that. I was angry."

Draco nodded slowly, then shrugged. "Hey, it's probably nothing anyway, right? Like Granger said, if Slytherin could have come back, he would have done so a long time ago."

"I guess."

Draco reached out to brush back a lock of Harry's tangle hair. "Forget about it, okay? We can't have you distracted while you're out there on your broom. I don't want to come dig pieces of Harry out of the Quidditch pitch."

Harry managed a smile. "Thanks for the image." He kissed the side of Draco's mouth. "I'll see you tonight. Be nice to the goblins."

"Right."

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco always kept his desk neat, with papers in orderly piles, quills and parchment at the ready. He chipped wax off one corner of the desk while waiting for his first appointment, trying not to feel nervous. The initial meeting with a client was always the hardest. After that one, Draco knew what to expect - pity, scorn, or humiliation. The rich ones were usually the worst. He didn't know how he had been able to stand being around these people when he was younger. Not that Draco was averse to money. No, he liked purchasing well-tailored suits, taking Harry out to the finest restaurants. Well, maybe not that last one. He and Harry hadn't really been out anywhere together on what you would call a real date. Neither of them liked the staring or the whispers. Bringing home really expensive wine to Harry, then; he liked that. Of course, his current salary was nothing like the amounts of money he had stood to inherit. The amounts of money his father had controlled. And he missed it - the comforts that came with money. The respect.

His current clients were old acquaintances of his father. They were moving back to England from France and were looking into transferring their account to Gringotts. They both smirked when they saw Draco.

"Draco, how good to see you again. We heard all about it in the papers, of course."

"What a lovely office you have here. Is the pay good? I'm sure I can't imagine what it would be like - working for goblins!"

"Whatever are you doing here anyway, Draco? I've heard that Potter is rich. And now that he's playing for the Cannons, I'm sure he must be rolling in gold."

"Indeed. You were always such a handsome boy - and look at what a lovely young man you've grown into. I'm sure Potter must appreciate it."

Humiliation, then. Draco forced a smile and told them about the top of the line security measures at Gringotts.

Every day it was a struggle to make himself come in to work. Oh, he had looked at other places, but nobody wanted him. They nervously flipped through his resume during interviews, and all the while their eyes were fixed on his arm. Draco had snapped once and shoved up his sleeve, thrusting the Dark Mark into the face of a startled businessman, asking with a snarl if this was what he wanted to see. The goblins didn't give a damn, though.

He never told Harry about it. He knew Harry would never let him come back if he knew about the veiled insults and insinuations that Draco faced every day. Besides, when he was with Harry, none of it mattered. All of it was soothed away after a few kisses, a few seconds in Harry's arms.

After the clients left, making sure to get in a few parting sneers, Draco went over to the window and looked down on the bustle of Diagon Alley. Shopkeepers were putting out Christmas decorations. Draco thought about what Harry had told Hermione that morning - that they would be at the Burrow for Christmas. I suppose I can put up with the entire Weasley clan for a few hours. He knew Harry missed them and the only reason he hadn't been there for months was Draco. At least Mrs. Weasley was rumored to be a fantastic cook. Neither he nor Harry was much good in the kitchen (well, if it was actual cooking you were talking about, Draco thought with a smirk) and they cycled through a succession of takeaway, cereal, and frozen dinners.

A tapping at the window heralded the arrival of an owl. Probably someone annoyed at the climbing interest rates. Draco untied the parchment, shooing the owl on its way when it seemed reluctant to leave.

Draco,

I'm sure you're surprised to be hearing from me. A long way from the Slytherin common room, and skiving off Transfiguration, isn't it? I have an offer for you. I can't go into too many details here, but I'm looking for someone to take the lead in a new project. The old crowd is gone, except for you. You're the only one who's fought back against the Ministry (nice job on Potter, by the way) and so I thought I'd ask you first. Let me assure you that the rewards will be substantial. The past isn't as dead as some people like to think.

Send me a reply as soon as possible.

Theodore Nott

Well, shit.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione ran over to the library during her lunch break. She hadn't known about this library when she was at Hogwarts; it was hidden down a side street of Diagon Alley. She had found it one day when she was out for a walk, mulling over a difficult case they were working on at the hospital. Since then, well, as Ron said, he would always know where to come looking for her if she didn't show up for dinner.

She immediately went to the section on Magical Theory. She had received an elementary background in spell invention at Hogwarts (often on her own initiative - the enchanted Galleons for the D.A. came to mind) and was learning more working at St. Mungo's, but she was going to need to do some more research to figure out those spells of Slytherin's. Feeling a familiar twinge of excitement, she ran her fingers over the titles, pulling out promising volumes.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

She stumbled into Irene Bostwick when she got back to the hospital, unable to quite see over the stack of books piled in her arms. "Got enough reading material there, Hermione?" Irene asked, sounding amused.

"Just need to do a little research," Hermione said casually, tipping the books onto a table. "How is the spell coming?"

"Very well. I tried it on a mouse this morning, and it worked perfectly. Now we just need a few human subjects to test it on - unless you want to de-bone your arm in the interests of science?"

"Not particularly," Hermione replied. "I'll go canvas the wards this afternoon and see if anyone's waiting for a dose of Skele-Gro."

Irene handed her a stack of charts. "Have at it. By the way, have you decided if you're coming to the conference?"

Hermione buttoned up her Healer's robes, not looking at Irene. "I'm not sure yet. Ron...wasn't too keen on the whole idea."

"Well, I need to know soon so I can order the tickets."

"Right. I'll know for sure tomorrow."

"Okay. Tell me when you've found a willing victim." Irene smiled and went out into the hall.

Hermione remained standing for a moment, then sank down onto a chair. Ron had been furious when she mentioned she might go to the three week conference St. Mungo's was holding in Paris this coming summer. "Don't you spend enough time with this job already?" he had snapped.

So now she had an almost certain argument with Ron to look forward to this evening, as well as a visit to the Burrow. Wonderful.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

By the time Ron got home that evening, they were already twenty minutes late to dinner. "Let me just take a shower and we'll go," Ron said, giving her a breathless kiss and dashing into the bathroom. Hermione tried to read while she waited, but couldn't concentrate. She got up and went to look at her outfit in the mirror again. Black slacks and a red sweater. She could already hear Mrs. Weasley's comment: "You look lovely dear - so professional." Which was exactly the problem.

"Do you have Bill's present?" Ron asked, hastily buttoning up his shirt. Hermione held up the brightly wrapped box. "Great." Ron slipped an arm around her waist - they always Apparated together like this - and they reappeared in the front yard of the Burrow.

"Looks like Dad picked out the Christmas tree already," Ron said, pointing to the plump green fir leaning against the steps. "We'll have to get ours soon. Hey Mum! Dad! We're here!"

The first few minutes at the Burrow were always a confused swirl of red hair, hugs, and, if Fleur was there, loud exclamations in French. "Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, giving Hermione a hug, "you look so nice in that outfit - so neat and professional."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. Dinner smells delicious, as usual."

"We were beginning to wonder if you guys would show up," Bill said as they all sat down at the table.

"Busy day at work," Ron said, taking a large helping of potatoes.

"Anything serious?" Mr. Weasley asked, trying to sound casual, but his face tightened with worry.

"Don't know yet. Let's not talk about it now, though," Ron said, with a pointed look at Bill and Fleur's three year old daughter, Sophie. Hermione thought of Slytherin's book and felt a chill. Surely Harry's suspicions were unfounded?

"Have some more chicken, Ron," Mrs. Weasley said, pushing the serving platter towards him. Ron heaped a few more slices on his plate, and Hermione gritted her teeth. Did Ron have to make it look like he never got a decent meal except at the Burrow? Of course, on the nights Ron was cooking, neither of them really did get a decent meal. Hermione had flatly refused to do all the cooking, though.

Fleur started regaling them with a long tale of Gabrielle's recent visit and Hermione's mind wandered back to the spell theory books she had been reading. She came back to the present with a start when Fred set off a particularly loud firework, signaling that it was time for cake and presents. Hermione settled into a chair and watched Sophie shriek with laughter as Bill turned into a canary - no doubt due to one of the twins hiding a Canary Crème in his slice of cake.

"I think I missed saying hi in the melee when you arrived," Ginny said, sitting down next to her.

Hermione smiled. "How are you doing, Ginny?"

"I'm good. I've been seeing someone - he had to work tonight or I would have brought him along."

"That's wonderful. What's his name?"

"Martin. He's a photographer for the Daily Prophet." Ginny blushed a little. "It's pretty serious."

"That's wonderful!" Hermione leaned over and gave Ginny a hug. "You must be so happy."

"I am. Mum and Dad both like him, and even Fred and George haven't given him too hard of a time." Ginny took a sip of her drink. "I thought maybe Harry might come tonight."

"He was busy," Hermione lied. "He said they'll be here for Christmas, though."

"Malfoy, too, then?"

"Yes, Draco as well."

Ginny stood up. "I think I'll get some more cake. Would you like another piece?" Hermione shook her head. Ron and Mrs. Weasley were talking over in the corner, and Ron kept shooting glances her way. Hermione ignored him and went to talk to Charlie. She was not going to get dragged into that discussion again.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

"So, what did make you so late this evening?" Hermione asked when they got home.

"A dead body turned up in Knockturn Alley. Some bloke named Eric Ives - he was two years behind us at Hogwarts. Slytherin."

"Was he murdered?"

"We aren't sure. He was involved in illegal potions dealing, so it wouldn't surprise me if he got into some kind of trouble. But there wasn't a mark on him."

"Avada Kedavra, then."

"That's what we all thought, at first. But Avada Kedavra leaves certain signs if you know what to look for. We got the autopsy results back and there was nothing."

"Maybe it was a heart attack. I know from personal experience that Healers often don't look for Muggle ailments in wizards."

"Yeah, could be. I'll mention it tomorrow." Ron paused, cleared his throat. Hermione knew what was coming next, and tried to escape into the kitchen, but Ron stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"I know what you're going to say, Ron, and I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"Well I do want to talk about it."

"It's your mother who keeps bringing it up," Hermione snapped.

"I don't understand you sometimes, Hermione. It's a simple question - "

"It is not simple. If you'd just let me explain how I feel without getting angry - "

"Because that's what you're good at, isn't it? Explaining things. Well this isn't a bloody textbook, Hermione!"

"I know that!"

They glared at each other. "I just want to talk about it," Ron said. "Without you treating me like I'm a first-year."

Hermione tugged her arm away from Ron and leaned against the wall. "Fine, then."

Ron sighed and tugged at his sleeves. "Well, what do you think about it, then? About having kids?"

Hermione was silent for a few moments. "I don't know," she said at last.

"You don't know? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that. I don't know how I feel about it."

"I want to," Ron said. "Have kids."

"Well good for you."

"That's helpful, Hermione. Really helpful."

"I'm just telling you how I feel."

"I thought maybe you were going to hex me! You always get so mad when we talk about this."

"I'm sorry. But with your mother nagging you every time we go to the Burrow, I feel like I'm obligated to do this or something. And all those remarks she makes about my job. Not that you stand up for me."

"Well you know I don't like how much time you spend over there."

"Who was at the Ministry at midnight last night?"

Ron scowled. "You know that I would cut back my hours. But you're never around here anyway, so I figure, what's the point?"

"I am around. But my work takes time and it's very important to me. I've always spent a long time doing research - you knew that when we got married."

"I guess I thought you believed other things were important, too," Ron muttered.

Hermione didn't think she could respond to that without bursting into tears or slapping him. "I went to see Harry today," she said instead, and Ron looked up quickly.

"You're not on about that book of Slytherin's, are you?" he asked suspiciously.

"Harry wants me to take a look at the spells. See if I can figure out what they're for."

"Why? I thought he said they weren't anything important."

Hermione paused. "Actually, one of them seems to imply that Slytherin found a way to come back from the dead." She felt a small bit of pleasure at being able to drop that bombshell on Ron after the way he had been acting.

Ron's eyes widened. "What?"

"I have my doubts, but Harry thought we better make sure."

"Wait - just hold on one second, Hermione. First of all, there is no we involved in this. Certainly not you - hell, even Harry shouldn't be meddling in Auror business."

"You're the one who asked him to meddle in the first place," Hermione pointed out.

"And I'm regretting it now. The Unspeakables should handle this."

"What, don't you think I can do it?"

"It has nothing to do with whether you can or not! It's potentially dangerous and it should be handled by qualified Ministry officials."

"Fine. Hand it over to the Ministry. They'll probably laugh it off like they always do. But I'm going to keep researching it."

"No, you won't."

Hermione lifted her chin. "Harry has confidence in me. He thinks I can figure it out."

"Well bloody good for Harry."

"You could be a bit more supportive, Ron."

"See, it's always about your work, Hermione! It's always about you solving some medical mystery or some ancient spell! We're supposed to be a family!"

"We are a family, Ron!"

"Well to me a family is more than just the two of us working all the time!" Ron gave her a final glare and then strode from the room, his face red. Hermione heard the bedroom door slam.

"I'm going to the medical conference this summer!" she shouted. Ron didn't answer. Hermione stood there for a few more moments, breathing hard. Finally she went over to her desk. She opened one of the books she had checked out, took out her quill to take notes. Her hand trembled a little at first, but she slowly calmed down, losing herself in the small, cramped paragraphs.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Draco lay propped up on his elbow, watching Harry sleep. It was quite dark, but a hint of moonlight shining through the curtains illuminated the room enough that he could see Harry's face. Dark lashes brushed pale cheekbones. Tangled black hair obscured the scar. Harry looked...innocent. As innocent as though he had never seen anyone murdered or been forced to commit murder himself.

But eventually Harry would wake up, and Draco would see the shadows in his eyes. Thinking of the part he had played, however small, in putting those shadows there made Draco's heart constrict with guilt. If only he could take it all back - the insults, the stupid pranks. Most of all the help he had given to the Dark Lord. If the Dark Lord had succeeded - if Harry had died... Hesitantly, Draco slipped an arm around Harry's waist and pulled him a little closer. Harry sighed, and smiled slightly, but kept sleeping.

Draco often watched Harry like this. He wanted to be on guard so that when Harry had a nightmare, he would be there to wake Harry up, assure him that everything was okay. A small thing, but perhaps it would atone for some of his sins.

The letter was in the pocket of Draco's cloak. He hadn't answered it. He hadn't told Harry about it either. The truth was that part of him wanted to say yes. Those hints about the Dark Arts - they were just hints, right? In all likelihood, Nott wasn't involved in anything illegal. It was probably some lucrative business venture. Draco imagined himself stepping into Gringotts, not as an employee, but as a valued customer. Thousands of galleons piled up in his vault.

Except Draco knew it wasn't a lucrative business venture. Oh, money would probably be involved, but the whole thing stank of the Dark. The memory of shadowed days in Azkaban drifted back, and Draco shuddered. Never again. But still - part of him wanted to accept Nott's offer. Regain the influence and respect he had lost. Do you really want to be just like those idiots you had to meet today? a voice inside him, sounding suspiciously like Harry, asked.

Yes, a part of him answered. If he had money, people like that wouldn't be able to humiliate him. No one would care about the Dark Mark, or if they did, they wouldn't say anything.

You shouldn't let those people hurt you. It doesn't matter what they think.

Easy for you to say, Draco thought bitterly. That was the problem with inner voices. They told you all these wonderful truths, but you still had to face the bloody world on your own.