Chapters 101-110

Sad News

oooOooo

‘All members of the staff except Madam Pomfrey and Mr. Filch are needed in the staff room after breakfast, please!’ The face of Headmistress McGonagall was very pale and her voice was shaking slightly, as she hurried towards the High Table five minutes too late on Friday morning.

Hermione exchanged a worried glance with Draco. The bowl of steaming porridge in front of her suddenly looked a lot less appetizing than mere seconds earlier. But Minerva McGonagall sat down without a word or a glance at her colleagues. Whatever had happened would have to wait until the meeting.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione drizzled honey over her porridge and began to eat. She needed her strength, with a full school-day ahead of her, complete with the horror of Advanced Potions, the Little Monsters aka the new First Years and two Study Groups to supervise in the afternoon. But it was hard to keep eating as if nothing had happened, when each time Minerva McGonagall tried to stir her tea, she trembled so hard that her spoon crashed noisily against the porcelain.

oooOooo

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, professors.’ Minerva inhaled deeply. ‘I have sad news.’

Hermione started, clapping her hands to her mouth to suppress a scream. It couldn’t—it mustn’t—

‘The parents and siblings of two of our students were murdered last night.’

Oh God.
It’s not Severus.
Oh God.
Killed?
Not Severus. But—killed?

Hermione’s hands curled convulsively around the armrests of her highback chair.

‘Just before breakfast I was informed by the Head of the Office of Aurors that the families of Alyah Beiond and Barret Cruddace have been killed.
‘Ardashir and Felicity Beiond and their two twin sons Koroush and Mehrdad, Anne and Phillipp Cruddace and their baby-daughter Vera are dead.
‘Felicity was Muggle-born, as were Anne and Phillipp.’ Minerva McGonagall’s hands shook slightly as she put the parchment down that obviously contained the official notice of the murders. ‘There is—again—no trace of the killers, although the Aurors arrived at the Beiond household at a time when—when—the bodies were still—still—warm.’ Minerva’s voice was very quiet. ‘Alyah and Barret are in the Hospital Wing at the moment. Alyah has distant relations in Iran. Barret has a Muggle uncle in Cornwall. It will take some time until everything is settled regarding the funerals and their guardianship. I ask all members of the staff to provide as much assistance they can. I will inform the students before lunch. Before the newspapers arrive.’

oooOooo

Hermione was scared.

She was well prepared. But then she was always well prepared.

She was still scared.

She had the complete documentation of the updates of the Chalice of Neith. She had the expertises of Ewan Grant and the Unspeakable 007, as well as Percy Weasley and Andromeda Tonks-Black to back her up.

But she was still scared.

Harry met Hermione at the visitors’ entrance of the Ministry and escorted her to the Minister’s office. Percy accompanied them, carrying a last-minute stack of folders for Hermione. Both wizards assured her that nothing could go wrong. She did trust them, after all. Hermione tried to smile at them and failed miserably.

She was still scared.

She had to go to the audience with the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, on her own. A life depended on the decision of the Minister. On how she presented their case. And not just any life. The life of her husband.

She was so horribly, horribly scared.

oooOooo

Her feet sank deeply into the lush Persian carpet in the Minister’s office. The watch-wizards scowled at her, their wands at the ready. Then Shacklebolt was there, splendid in pin-striped robes and turban. But he smiled at her readily and grasped her hand to squeeze it reassuringly. He was still tall and dark. But he didn’t look as friendly as she remembered him. There were lines in his face she didn’t recall and a hard light to his eyes. But his voice was as pleasantly deep and rumbling as when they were introduced in the months before Voldemort’s defeat.

‘Please sit down, Hermione. And now tell me what in Merlin’s namehas been going on in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?’

Hermione sank down on the chair he indicated and inhaled deeply. Now or never.

‘Sir, it’s really a huge misunderstanding. The verdict that sent my husband to Azkaban was not correct, because the Chalice of Neith was not appropriately updated concerning all wizarding laws. Therefore it based its decision on the wrong legal premises. Please, sir. You need to issue a pardon. You need to release my husband from Azkaban.’

Shacklebolt frowned. ‘Exactly which laws are you referring to, Hermione?’

Heat crept into her cheeks. She concentrated on the blue letter-weight on Shacklebolt’s desk. ‘The changes made in the 1982 ‘Magical Marriage and Divorce Bill’ were never put into the Chalice.’

‘What changes were that?’ Shacklebolt asked.

‘The ones that didn’t require consummation of marriage according to the old rites for Registry Office weddings.’ Hermione couldn’t meet the Minister’s eyes.

‘Hermione. Are you trying to tell me that the Chalice of Neith sent Snape to Azkaban because you’re still a virgin?’