The Veil of Forgotten Spells

Chapter Seven: A Web of Shadows

"The truth will set you free, but first, it will make you miserable." — James A. Garfield

Rain had become a continuous drumbeat over London as if the city itself wept in sympathy with the horror that held sway in Draco's mind. Grey clouds were the color of his mind—dark, cloudy and full of portents he could no longer ignore.

He was in his office at the Ministry of Magic, though he wasn't focusing on the pile of case files still open on his desk. They hadn't been for days. No, his mind kept wandering back to the case that had gotten too close to something he wasn't ready to face. Something personal. Something to do with Hermione.

He devoted most of the week to studying records, and there was nothing novel to account for the popularity of a black artifact that terrified the wizarding world in the war. The artifact was dissimilar, however. It was connected to their histories in a manner they could not grasp. Draco had stepped out of his way to not include Hermione, but lines were being drawn and he well knew that sooner or later she would discover all that he had been keeping secret from her.

His fingers roved along the edge of the magic map on his desk, its contents writhing and twisting as they made contact. He could barely focus; the problem itself was enough. And then, abruptly, a distraction. A steady, insistence knock, soft but persistent. A knock that Hermione only ventured to use when she was sure that she would be opening him up.

"Malfoy," she said more softly than she had meant to. She came in, her face shut but with something behind it. She was tense, and she tried to hide it behind professional reticence.

"I know you're keeping something from me," she said, her voice softer than usual but firm with conviction. There was a hesitation in her eyes, but it was laced with an unwavering resolve. She had known something was wrong for weeks, perhaps longer. He had been careless in his attempts to shield her from the truth.

"I'm sorry," Draco began, but she cut him off.

"No, don't apologize," she exclaimed, her voice strained. "What is it? This case, this artifact—there's something more to it, isn't there?"

Draco's throat constricted on the words, trapped in his throat. He longed to say it, to be done with the secrets piling up between them, but the weight was too much. Not just the crime, or the artifact, but all it was a part of—the war, his family, the choices they'd made. Hermione was the last person he could ever have imagined he'd be lying to, and yet here he was, standing before her with everything hanging in the balance. "The object," he said at last, his voice not entirely steady, "is a cursed object. It was something from the war—something that was supposed to be destroyed but fell through the cracks instead."

Her brows furrowed, struggling to follow what he was saying. "I don't understand why it would involve me at all."

Draco's thoughts opened that night, that night after the war. The devastation. All that they lost. What had fallen into her hand so innocently and with consequences they were all still not able to look at.

"I did not want you to possess it," Draco admitted, his gaze flicking to the windowpane where rain slashed at the glass. "And yet somehow it came into your possession. Not by chance, I can be sure. But someone must have known that it would fall into your possession."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, her breath catching in her throat. "How do you know this? What do you mean, it 'ended up' in my hands?"

He said to her, his voice quiet but with a touch of desperation. "The artifact… it's been there all along, Granger. You just didn't realize it. The war left more behind than memories. Dark magic that wasn't entirely purified still remains. And this artifact is in the middle of it."

She shook her head, moving nearer, puzzlement yielding to something uglier. "But how? What was I supposed to do with it? Why did I leave it?

Draco didn't have an answer. The artifact's origin was shrouded in mystery, and the more he dug, the more the trail seemed to slip through his fingers. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. But it's been linked to someone who wants to use it for more than just power."

Her eyes narrowed as she put the pieces together. "Who? Who's behind this?"

The question was never posed, but Draco witnessed the understanding break on her features. She had felt from the beginning that there was something unique about this case—she hadn't understood quite how personal it was.

There was a silence between them, full of something she didn't say. Her eyes flashed to his, searching for something he wasn't sure that he could give. Something in the room shifted a permanent color—a point where the room was closer, the air more fragile between them.

Draco's throat constricted as he clenched his teeth and tried to focus. Not here. Not now. But when she leaned forward a little closer when he could see how her fingers curled into the cuff of her sleeve like she was trying to hold herself back, something constricted in his chest.

Draco's breath caught as the full implication of his admission finally hit him. "It's not the artifact. It's people. War people who were involved, and people who wouldn't let go of their dark agendas. You're stuck because you were involved, knowingly or unknowingly. It's all linked.".

For a moment, she was about to strike out at him, but caught herself, moving back before the movement could become real. The pause had something in him stretched tight.

She did say something, though, her voice low but steady. "You're not on your own with this, Malfoy. I don't care how worse it gets, or what we have to go through. We'll go through it together."

Draco exhaled slowly, his ragged panting. "I can assure you that it won't be simple," he gasped, his voice barely audible. "But we'll find out who's done this. And we'll stop it. I won't allow them to hurt you."

She nodded, her back still turned to him. "I don't require promises, Malfoy. I require the truth."

And there it was, the source of it all. She had never desired anything other than the truth, however painful. This was larger than the two of them, and they would have to fight through the nastiness together if they were going to survive.