Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Fic 12	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 65 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter List
- 1-The Capture of Lord Voldemort
- 2-The Interrogation
- 1
- 2
Chapter 2. The Interrogation

Voldemort had his eyes firmly trained on Harry, hatred spitting out of every fiber of his being. His eyes didn’t turn red, which they should’ve under these circumstances. That was definitely a factor of interest to her department. How the hell had he gotten an intact soul back? The pieces that were destroyed outside his body should be beyond any means of recovery. Then again, he should be beyond any means of recovery, yet here the buggering murdering bigot sat. Very much alive. Again.

He’d barely given Ron a glance and hadn’t even deemed her presence worthy of that when she’d sat down in the corner, crossing her legs, her notebook in her lap, wand underneath it in her hand. She would have to pretend to write with her left hand, but since she didn’t need to actually write, just mimic the motion, that wasn’t a real issue. Ron sat down next to Harry at the table. Voldemort shifted, pulling his legs back when the clank of the metal reminded him he couldn’t pull them underneath his chair as he’d clearly planned to do. His exaggerated sigh made her want to roll her eyes.

Overly dramatic much?

Still, her special shackles - Voldemort: 1 - 0

However, it didn’t escape her attention that despite his adjustment to his posture, he hadn’t moved his hands, which was something people tended to do when they changed position. His one hand still completely covered his wrist.

Damn.

1 - 1?

Harry likely had noticed it, too.

‘Today is October 15th, 2025; time is 15:04; present are Marvin Monroe, Auror—’

Quick thinking, Harry.

‘—Julia Longsdale, Scribe; and Harry Potter, Head of the DMLE. Suspect name is,’ he paused, looking expectantly at Voldemort.

Clever. Get him talking.

‘Tom Marvolo Riddle,’ Voldemort said with a sneer.

‘Yes,’ Harry said, leaning back, ‘so you claim.’

Now Hermione wasn’t so certain anymore if there was or wasn’t a dash of red in Voldemort’s eyes. It could be a trick of the light in this overly bright environment or he could’ve a Horcrux. There definitely was a shipload of tension in the man’s muscles, much like a predator ready to strike or a prey properly cornered and unable to flee. Either way the resulting actions would be violence in his case.

‘We’ve had people claim to be Lord Voldemort before,’ Harry said casually, investigating his fingernails as if they were by far more interesting than the wizard sitting on the other side of the table. Ron shifted somewhat nervously in his seat but otherwise remained silent. ‘Janus Thickley ward, that’s where they ended up going.’

Brutal, Harry.

She’d seen enough about Voldemort and his past to know that any mention to a possible psychiatric disorder wouldn’t go over well. However, instead of fury, the wizard frowned, looking puzzled.

‘Who?’ he asked finally.

Stopping her pretend writing, she stared at the wizard. He couldn’t possibly be thinking that angle would work? Not after he’d already tried to kill Harry in a public bar of all places?

‘Janus Thickley,’ Harry repeated, smiling condescendingly, ‘he was a—’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Voldemort interrupted, lifting his hand and waving dismissively with it, the metal clanging. ‘I know who he is.’

Her eyes immediately snapped to her shackles, and when she looked up, she realised with horror that both Harry and Ron had had the exact same reaction, but because they were sitting right opposite of Voldemort he’d noticed, the brief curve of his lip all the evidence she needed.

She shouldn’t have warned them.

The shackles looked fine on a first glance. They glowed as they should. She couldn’t see anything wrong with them. She would have to test them, though.

‘But who is this … Lord Voldemort, you say?’

Harry turned sideways to Ron who raised his eyebrows. That was clearly all Harry needed from him, because he turned back to Voldemort.

‘So, let me get this straight, just so we can record it properly—’

Voldemort briefly glanced in her direction. She managed to avoid his gaze by scribbling circles on the paper.

No, Harry, no; don’t draw his attention to me.

‘—you say your name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, yet you don’t know who Lord Voldemort is?’

The incredulity in Harry’s voice was definitely not meant to infuriate the man unlike his attitude before. He truly was baffled. He wasn’t the only one.

‘Yes, I never heard that name before.’

That was the most ridiculous lie Hermione had ever heard in her life. A dumb one, too. Everyone knew who Lord Voldemort was. Unless …

No. Impossible.

Nothing is ever impossible, Granger, just improbable.

Something her first Unspeakable mentor had taught her whenever she’d rigidly told her something was against textbook regulations or theories. Still, this had to be an act. If only she knew what he tried to achieve with it. There was no workable end goal with a lie this bold and insane. Nobody would believe him. Nobody.

Harry leaned back, tapping with his fingers on the table. ‘You never heard that name before.’

‘That’s what I said,’ Voldemor said impatiently. ‘Now can we get on with this, Potter? I’m starting to think you could benefit from a trip to the Janus Thickley ward.’ The mocking sneer on his face broadened.

Harry pulled out his wand and slowly drew the name Tom Marvolo Riddle in the air. Voldemort glanced from the fiery letters to Harry with a facial expression that clearly said he thought Harry had lost his marbles. Harry flicked his wrist; the letters rearranged themselves into I am Lord Voldemort.

Those dark eyes turned impossibly wide, and then the wizard laughed, loud boisterous infectious laughter, so unlike the high-pitched ones plaguing her nightmares.

Harry Potter is dead. Nyahaha.

Voldemort leaned sideways in his chair, doubling over. His forehead came to rest on his forearm on the table, his body shaking uncontrollably with laughter. Seizing the opportunity, Hermione cast—it would only take a split second. She sensed the power coiling through the cuffs and cursed silently when she detected the microscopic fracture. It was too small to break free, but a start. With time or a wand, he’d be out, she realised with a decisive pang to her ego. She had created these shackles after all to restrain wizards and witches with more than average power so they wouldn’t immediately have to be shipped to high security cells at Azkaban. She’d even had Harry test them out, knowing he was the Master of the Elder Wand. Harry—who’d slipped through many fingers during his lifetime—had been unable to regain his freedom.

Merlin, hopefully, it was just a manufacturing error in this pair.

It would be costly if it weren’t and not just to her wounded pride. They’d sold them to Ministries abroad. If they were flawed, they’d have to be recalled. Minister Singh would be beyond herself. It would definitely throw a huge gap in the budget. Still, MACUSA had never had any complaints and they’d used them on every prisoner they caught. Surely, it must be a faulty pair.

‘Are you pulling my leg?’ Voldemort said, looking up, his eyes tearing up and his throat hiccuping from laughter. ‘How much time did you spend on that droll anagram? May I see the other options? You must’ve made a list. I can’t imagine your tiny little mind could do this by heart. Let me help you choose a less corny option. Lord Voldemort,’ he scoffed. ‘Really, Harry Potter, what are you, a bored teenager?’

Shivers ran down her spine. At times, the intonation and word choice was so similar to that high-pitched voice it superimposed those snakelike features onto his handsome visage in her mind.

‘I’m not the one who created it, Tom,’ Harry said calmly. His wand had long returned to his pocket and he had both elbows on the table, his chin resting on his folded fingers.

‘Oh!’ Voldemort exclaimed, abruptly leaning forward across the table.

Shocked, Ron pushed his seat back in reaction, but Harry didn’t move an inch. They were almost nose to nose now, ignoring Ron whose cheeks flushed ferociously while pocketing his wand.

‘I see,’ Voldemort said slowly. ‘Of course. You’re saying I did. What an odd thing to suggest. What’s your angle here? Instead of killing me, you're going to try and get me committed? It seems to me there must be better methods to ensure that; a strange anagram hardly will suffice. Plenty of people go by nicknames.’

‘Okay, Tom, I’ll accept your answer. You don’t know the name.’

‘I don’t.’

‘When and where were you born?’

‘31st of December, 1960. London.’

‘Mother’s name.’

‘Merope Gaunt.’

Harry continued with the rapid fire questions, getting equally rapid answers back. It was faster than a ping pong match. Hermione noted the ones he answered incorrectly: birth year, orphanage’s name, job after Hogwarts and not knowing his chosen name. Odd seemingly meaningless inconsistencies that either were a lie or the truth. She was rooting for a lie because the other option was by far worse.

Then, within that rapid back and forth, Harry asked,

‘Who have you killed?’

Voldemort leaned back with a wide smile. ‘Nice try, Harry. I see why they made you Head Auror. So smooth.’

‘Have you ever killed anyone?’

‘Tsk, tsk, tsk.’ He clicked with his tongue whilst shaking his head. ‘Such a crude and unsubtle question. Do try again to get me to trip up, though; I rather enjoy answering meaningless trivia about myself. You should hear about my exploits in Greece. It's a thrilling tale.’

‘Yes, I’m aware how much you love talking about yourself.’

‘Has there ever been a better subject?’ Voldemort said, smiling.

He tried to stretch his arms out wide, forgetting for a moment he was restrained, and the loud clang and abrupt stop of motion really undid the grand gesture he was going for, turning his smile into a snarl. But he regained his composure swiftly, placing his hand back on the wrist and smirking when he noticed the bob that brought to Ron’s throat.

‘Now what other wonderful and amazing trivia about Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as …’ he paused dramatically, turning his head to wink at the only woman in the room, ‘Immortal Love Rodd, can I share with the world?’

‘False trivia, you mean.’

‘Harry, you wound me so. After all our time together, you deny knowing my true nickname is Immortal Love Rodd?’

‘You were born in 1926, not 1960.’

Voldemort’s eyebrows raised skyhigh. ‘Look at me, 93 years old, and not a single crack when I bend my joints.’

‘I can get the official records and show you, Tom, but why would I? We both know I’m right, and you obviously did something unnatural and horrific again to gain this body.’

‘Unnatural and horrific. You know how people often tell on themselves when they accuse others? I find your obsession with fabricating false facts about my life quite disturbing.’

Ron huffed.

‘Something to add, Monroe?’

Voldemort’s intensity heightened when he spoke the name. Was he already onto Ron? Was he onto her? It wasn’t that big a deal anymore since she’d cast on the cuffs already, but she would like to continue to observe quietly.

‘Are you allowed to speak? You can speak, right? If you’re a mute, my most sincere apologies, but if you’re not, by all means enlighten the world—’

‘I speak when I hear something of interest,’ Ron said coolly. ‘So far I’ve only heard a buttload of crap, and you’re not smooth or smart about it either, Riddle. You just sound insane.’

‘Insane,’ Voldemort said as if tasting the word on his tongue. ‘I’ll tell you what’s insane, Monroe. If that’s even your name, you did react rather … peculiar when Potter mentioned it and just now when I did. Some free career advice: Head Aurors come and go, but when you’ve got one abusing their fame and power like Mr Potter over there, it’s best not to get caught up in it too much, lest you end up as the fall guy for their sins.’

‘Harry wouldn’t set me up and he’s not a bad boss.’ Ron was getting angry.

By Merlin. Stop him.

‘This is—’ Harry tried.

‘Harry,’ Voldemort repeated slowly, delight spreading over his features. ‘So familiar with your superior officer. And then there’s that blatant copy of Malfoy hair. Such an interesting choice, wouldn’t you agree … Ron Weasley? That is who you are, right? You were there at the Leaky Cauldron when Potter attacked me, unprovoked.’

‘You attacked him,’ Ron said through gritted teeth, slapping Harry’s hand away who tried to calm him down.

‘That’s not how I remember it,’ Voldemort said pensively. ‘I recall trying to eradicate a dangerous malformation behind Mr Potter when he jumped up and aimed at me. I bet many of the people at the bar will testify to this, too.’

‘The only thing the people at the bar saw was you attacking us.’

‘Potato, potato, fact is that I’m the only one sitting here injured.’

That wasn’t going to change any time soon if Hermione had anything to say about it.

‘Twelve of our Aurors are at the hospital, Riddle.’

Thirteen.

‘Really? How did that happen? I’m so sorry to hear that. I was knocked out as you may well remember.’

He turned to Harry. ‘How did you attack your own staff and make it seem like I did it?’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Ron said, shoving his chair back and getting to his feet. ‘How can you listen to this bull, Harry? He’s not saying anything useful. Might just as well book and send him to Azkaban.’

‘Is that the plan, then? To bury me in a faraway dark hole, Harry? Neither must live, I suppose, but it’s kind of harsh.’

Neither must live while the other survives.

Interesting that he mentioned that. She wrote down prophecy with her left hand.

‘Kind of harsh? You slaughtered thousands! Because of you, my brother is dead!’

Ron’s hands slammed on the table. Hermione glanced at Harry who didn’t move, just watched quietly. Voldemort’s attention was now fully on Ron. Harry no longer existed for him. She realised Harry hoped to get a breakthrough this way now that Ron’s cover had been blown. Hoping that Voldemort would think he had them now that Ron had lost his temper and by doing so would get reckless himself as well.

‘I never touched your brother or anyone—’

Ron grabbed Voldemort by his collar, yanking him up violently.

‘Stop the insulting lies, or no, better yet, keep it up. The stupider, the better. The Wizengamot will have a field day with you. The Daily Prophet will spend featured spreads on how the Dark Lord finally lost all his marbles. We should bury you under Azkaban. Alive preferably. I hope you can’t die, too. That you’ll just lie there, stuck in the dark, going mad—I mean, madder. Forever.’

‘And who’s going to dig the hole, you, Ron Weasley?’

Voldemort’s scathing laugh rang through the interrogation room.

‘It will have to be done by hand. That far below Azkaban, it can’t be done magically. You’ll have to dig through solid rock. That’s hard work, precious flower, real physical labour, not sitting on a broomstick and watching another Quaffle soar past your incompetent head. Once you’re finally deep enough, you need to put me in and fill the hole. All up, close and personal. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

‘Even if you succeed, and you never once accidentally put your exhausted back towards me, allowing me to rip out your throat, do you think you can live with doing that to a person? That the nightmares won’t come, over and over again, until you can’t stand to sleep, until you’re drowning in your own saliva from the overdose of Dreamless Sleep Potions you’ll take to make it all go away?’

How did he know Ron had taken Dreamless Sleep to stop his nightmares after the war? That wasn’t general knowledge.

Hermione noted it down as a point of interest.

‘Do you think you have what it takes or will you stand idly by as others do your dirty work for you, or worse yet, run home to Mummy, close your eyes to all the horrors of the world and refuse to watch because you’re too weak and never ever good enough? Always, always second choice. Even for running a joke shop. You know you’re not as good as your dead brother, George.’

Hermione made another note.

‘You’re a lousy replacement. And a little beetle told me—’

Jar time so soon again, Rita?

‘—you’re not even good enough to marry a Mudblood. She, too, rejected you. The only child of six who never gave sweet, precious Molliekins—’

Six, Molliekins, it all started to add up.

Unfortunately.

It still could be an act. There'd been that thing in the Death Chamber. He'd been a nightmare, too. Voldemort had had redundancy upon redundancy. She prayed it was an act.

‘—any grandchildren. What a disappointment you are to everyone, but most of all, to yourself.’

Harry had the right strategy. Voldemort was saying far too much now. And honestly, she was a little impressed at Ron’s restraint. She’d expected a punch by now, but his fingers had firmly dug into Riddle’s collar, and even though his other hand was balled into a trembling fist, he didn’t swing it.

‘I stabbed your Horcrux, Riddle. Would you like to watch my memory of how pathically you screamed when the Sword of Gryffindor coated in the venom of your disgusting, dead Basilisk pierced the locket of the great Salazar Slytherin and destroyed that heirloom forever. What’s a dumb hole after that? You tell me.’

Now Riddle’s fist was clenched as well, but worse was the brief brush of magic sweeping over her skin, which should’ve not been possible despite the hairline fracture. She noted Harry’s hand had gone to his wand. He’d felt it, too.

‘I’ll tell you the difference, Ron Weasley. You'd better make absolutely sure that hole is deep enough and covered well enough because no matter how long it will take me, I will get out, and you better hope you’ve died by the time I do because once I am free, I’ll come for you. I’ll come for every single soul of your disgusting, blood-traitoring family, and if you’re still alive, I’ll make you watch as I erase the Weasley and Prewett name off the planet. Forever.’

‘Finally,’ Ron said triumphantly, ‘I knew you’d drop that despicable act, Lord Voldemort. You’re not as clever as you think you are.’

He shoved Voldemort back into his chair and sat down, positively gloating.

‘Got that, Harry?’

‘Yes,’ Harry said softly, ‘I got all—’

A lightning flash followed by a clash of thunder shook the room. Everyone looked up. A blood-red memo sailed through a tiny hole in the ceiling and landed on her outstretched hand. The heavy feeling of Voldemort’s full attention pressed upon her, but she ignored that. With a flick of her wand, a pinprick drop of her blood fell on it. The memo opened.

Original content of vault intact. No forgeries.

Terry Boot, Assistant Director of DOM, Poodle14.

The memo went up in flames, leaving no evidence behind of its message.

Not good. The wand was real. He’d cast the Killing Curse with it. She would need to verify its core, but …

Oh Godric, really - really not good. Option 2, they hadn't been lies.

Slowly she raised her head, meeting a set of penetrating eyes. There was a knowing quality inside those bottomless, dark pools. Hermione was trying really hard not to hyperventilate because if what she thought was the case, they were utterly and truly fucked. Did he know? Was that why he’d not cared about the contents of the conversation? She tried to read it off his face, but it had suddenly become a blank mask, which was telling enough all by itself. She could try Legilimency, but she figured with his expertise in Mind Magic, it likely would take more time than she had. What other options did she have?

‘Hermione? Hermione!’

Harry slammed on the table, shaking her out of her staring match with Voldemort.

‘What did it say?’

She had to stabilise it. There was no other way. Abruptly she rose from her chair.

‘I’ll be right back,’ she said, turning on her heel.

‘Clever little Mudblood,’ Voldemort said softly, freezing her on the spot. ‘I wondered who’d be the first to understand. Should’ve known it’ll be you. It’s always you, isn’t it, my Hermione?’

My? Now there was a development she hadn’t anticipated. She turned back and faced him.

Harry frowned. ‘What’s he talking about? What was in that memo?’

‘Is it about his wand?’Ron said. ‘He stole it from the vault, right? It’s not your fault, Hermione, if we could get into Gringotts, surely that asshole there could get into your department undetected. No one blames you.’

Hermione ignored Ron and Harry’s voices.

‘You don’t move,’ she ordered snappishly, pointing her finger at Voldemort who was grinning back at her in a most unsettling manner.

‘Harry, the cuff on his left wrist has a hairline fracture; don’t let him keep his hands on it.’

‘Aww… so unsporting, Hermione dearest,’ Voldemort said, removing his hand from the shackle, ‘you could at least have given me a fighting chance.’

‘As a matter-of-fact, not only aren’t you allowed to move, you’ll shut up, too,’ she added for good measure.

There was a continuous loud pounding echoing in her ear, her face burned while the rest of her skin had goosebumps all over. Her magic whirled, electrifying her neural pathways. Merlin, she didn’t have time for this. She needed to hurry.

‘Stay here,’ she ordered the boys. ‘Whatever you do, don’t let him out of your sight. If you see any indication that he tries to leave, petrify him. That should slow the progression.’

She ran out the door, grabbed the yew wand from the window sill, and blasted away the outer door to avoid being incapacitated for even a second. Susan and Smoker already had curses en route, not realising who she was, but she caught them with the tip of her wand. Both Aurors crashed to their knees as she drew on their combined powers to Disapparate from the fortified corridor.

‘Impressive,’ Voldemort said before the door of the interrogation cell slammed shut and the visual of the corridor disappeared. ‘Oops, I spoke. Think she’ll be mad?’

‘What do you know that we don’t?’ Ron snapped angrily.

‘You’ve got to be more specific; there are so many things that I know that your tiny little brain can’t possibly comprehend.’

‘Don’t play coy with us, Riddle.’

‘I’m not playing with you at all, Weaselbee. In fact, I think from hereon the Mudblood—’

‘Stop calling her that!’

‘—is the only one I’ll be playing with, and Lord Voldemort can’t say he’s unhappy about that development. Not to hurt your egos, fellows, but she’s much nicer to look at and a great deal cleverer.’

‘Why don’t you just tell us what you know? I bet you’re dying to monologue us to death.’

‘And on that note, I’ll take the Mudblood’s advice and shut up.’

‘As if you can.’

‘Well,’ Voldemort started, ignoring Ron’s scoffing noise and Harry’s concerned face. ‘I think charade time is about to come to an end. Yes, I can feel it coming. A shame though, she got so close at succeeding. Bye boys.’

Voldemort began to shimmer in and out of focus. The shackles stopped glowing, dropping from his wrist and ankles. He levitated. Harry flew to his feet, his wand in hand, the Petrification Curse already en route. It smashed straight into Voldemort’s chest, his arms and legs snapping together, yet his body continued to fluctuate and just hovered there in midair.

‘What the hell?’ Ron whispered, his wand out, too. ‘Harry?’

Harry shrugged, moving closer cautiously. He reached out and was about to touch Voldemort when a spell yanked him back abruptly. He smacked into the wall with a groan. Hermione, who was back in her own body, burst into the cell, immediately followed by a sea of Unspeakables.

‘Whatever you do, do not touch him while he’s in flux, you’ll be dragged along with him,’ Hermione said, whirling her wand above her head. An infinity symbol erupted from it. With two hands, she swiped it towards Voldemort. It curled around him, twisting and turning.

‘It’s already begun, Miss Granger. So much for the stasis container,’ Ian MacDougal said, vanquishing a large cylindrical shaped container.

Terry Boot vanquished the table and chairs with a flick of his wand, making room for the other Unspeakables to move as they swarmed around the hovering Voldemort, installing tripods all around him.

‘I see that, Ian. Parkinson, Boot, initiate those stabilisers, fast,’ she ordered as she fought to keep her Infinity Charm around Voldemort. ‘I’m not going to be able to hold him much longer. And if he leaves like this, he will rupture our entire universe to shreds.’

‘He’ll do what?’ Harry said, looking horrified.

‘Back up, let us work,’ McDougal said, guiding Ron and Harry to the far wall.

Glass spheres with tiny hourglasses were installed on the tripods. Pansy Parkinson tapped each one with her wand, causing the spheres to light up and the hourglasses inside began spinning. Each of the spheres emitted violent sparks after her tap. When the circle was complete, the spheres fully erupted. A flash of blinding light was followed by a slowly growing dome of flickering temporal magic. When it had engulfed Voldemort fully, Hermione slashed her wand sideways, removing both her Infinity Spell and the Petrificus Curse in one go. He smashed to the ground with a groan, completely solid again. Pushing himself up on his hands, he smirked in her direction.

‘You are fast. I’ll grant you that, Hermione Jean Granger, but this—’ He touched the dome with his fingertips. Reflexively his arm withdrew, and he shook his hand to relieve the pain. ‘—won’t be enough.’

‘I’m aware, but it’ll do for now,’ she replied, looking around. ‘Okay, I think the entire cell might be the safest method. What do you think, Terry? Spatial magic is your expertise.’

Terry followed the path her eyes had taken and then nodded. ‘If we want to avoid slicing into the temporal magic, moving the entire interrogation cell is not only the safest but also the easiest method. To the Time Chamber again?’

‘Yes,’ Hermione said, groaning.

‘We're gonna need a bigger room,’ Panys muttered.

‘Hilarious, Pansy. Just get on it,’ Hermione ordered, turning to her friends. ‘Harry, I’m really sorry that I have to do this, but under Ministerial Regulation 7b, I’m invoking my authority to overrule the DMLE and take over full control and responsibility of your prisoner. You’re hereby ordered to stand down.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Harry said, exasperated.

‘I’m afraid so,’ she said, swishing her wand towards Ron, ‘Stupefy! Obliviate!’

‘Hermione!’ Harry called out, shocked.

‘Ruthless,’ Voldemort said under his breath.

She ignored them both. ‘Pansy, please take him home. Make sure he’s comfortable.’

Pansy nodded and levitated Ron out of the warded room, bumping his head against the doorway.

‘I said comfortable, Pansy,’ Hermione said warningly.

‘Sorry, accident, it won’t happen again,’ she said lightly, not sounding sorry at all.

‘I expect you to handle the rest of your department, Harry,’ Hermione said, stopping right in front of him. ‘You know what 7b entails.’

‘Not here,’ Harry said with one eye on the too amused Voldemort. He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her out of the room through the Watcher Room into the corridor, slamming the door shut. ‘You can’t be serious about this. The Leaky Cauldron was packed when he attacked me. All those people saw him. The Daily Prophet is most likely already printing an extra edition.’

‘Nothing my Unspeakables can’t handle, but you need to do your staff. I mean I can of course if I must, but as long as they know Voldemort is here, they might consider it an attack and it could get ugly, which is the last thing I think we both want.’

‘I’m going to Minister Singh about this.’

‘You can, but if I have to, I’ll overrule her, too, should she foolishly take your side in this.’

‘How am I going to explain all the injured Aurors? They likely talked about it at St Mungo’s as well. Are you going to mass Obliviate everyone?’

‘I’ll worry about the civilians. You take care of the Aurors. That’s how this works.’

‘You’re being ridiculous. He falls under my jurisdiction.’

‘No, he does not. This isn’t the Voldemort you fought before. You can’t prosecute him for the crimes the Voldemort of our universe committed. Besides, you won’t be able to hold him anyway. He’s a Mystery and thus he falls solely under my department.’

‘You can’t declare a human being a Mystery.’

‘You think that’s never happened before?’ The laugh escaped her.

‘Not at all disturbing information, Hermione.’

‘Deal with your Aurors, Harry, please. I don’t want to Obliviate you as well, but I will do so if it has to come to that.’

Rubbing his forehead, he groaned. ‘I want updates.’

‘Harry.’

‘Hermione.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Not good enough.’

They stared at each other. The determination in those green eyes was something she was all too familiar with. He was going to become a problem.

‘Fine,’ she said, holding out her hand.

They shook on it. As Hermione watched Harry walk away, she stretched out her back and walked into the Watcher Room. All her Unspeakables just flitted out of the interrogation cell. Terry Boot was last, casting as he walked back. The door sealed shut with a thrumming vibration that shifted into the walls, spreading onward.

‘Tomlinson,’ she called out, making a come hither gesture with her finger. ‘Everyone else not having any spatial work, please offer Ollie downstairs your Obliviation services. We got quite a large group to get through.’

Everyone left apart from Tomlinson, Boot and MacDougal.

‘I need you to Obliviate Harry once he’s done with his Aurors.’

‘You trust me to do that?’

‘You’re the best at Mind Magic we have in the DOM.’

‘Apart from you. I would’ve thought you’d want to do him yourself.’

‘I would. Normally. But he’ll see me coming a mile away, and this unfortunately can’t wait until he no longer expects it. I saw the look on his face. He disagrees with what we’re doing here, and when Harry disagrees with something, he has this uncanny ability to rally people and make it stop. I can’t risk that happening, not with our entire universe at stake.’

‘Okay,’ Tomlinson said. ‘You want the report immediately when it’s done, I presume?’

‘You presume correctly.’

‘Okay, well then,’ Tomlinson said, rubbing her sweaty palms on her trousers, ‘I’ll guess I’ll go and discreetly follow Harry Potter then.’

‘Good luck with that,’ Terry said sardonically as he finished his casting with a final jab.

‘Not helpful, Ter.’

‘We are ready for transport,’ Ian MacDougal said with a last swoosh of his wand.

The walls of the cell billowed and morphed.

‘Good,’ Hermione said. ‘I’ll set the anchors downstairs. Give me five minutes to prepare for its reception.’
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Fic 12

Chapter 2. The Interrogation