The Veil of Forgotten Spells

The wind whined down Diagon Alley's dark alleys, in and out of crevices in the half-light shop where Hermione stood next to a pile of parchment, tapping her quill against the rim of her inkwell in listless abandon. She read the letter she had received hours before. The letter was cryptic, but disturbing—an invitation to a clandestine meeting for information on the case of Draco Malfoy.

Draco.

She breathed roughly, irritated at the way his name was now coursing into her mind. Ridiculous, really—how his presence was now a sort of permanence. The tension between them had changed, no longer weighted with open hostility, but something much more perilous. A guarded détente. A wary awareness.

Pushing the thought away, she stood up, pushing all of her stuff hastily into her bag with smooth ease. No postcode on the envelope, merely coordinates, and that irritated her. She pushed her wand up her sleeve beneath her nightrobe and Disapparated, the pull of magic creeping through her familiar as her feet touched damp cobblestones.

Knockturn Alley.

The air was thick here, sticking to her skin like a cloud of smoke. The shadows cast oddly on the tilted, dented buildings, and the light from shattered magical lanterns warped their shapes into something almost alive. She gripped her wand tighter, every nerve twitching as she moved forward.

The entrance was an apothecary dating back hundreds of years, its sign creaking in the wind. She hesitated, then pushed the door open and stepped inside. Shelves of dusty jars loomed over her, and the smell—old herbs, something metallic—coiled in her stomach.

Blood? No. Something old. Something. damned.

A figure stepped out of the darkness. Cloaked. Hooded. Their voice rasped, slow and low.

You're late, Granger.

She froze, hand snapping towards her wand. "Who are you?"

The stranger ducked her question. "You shouldn't have interfered. The past must be left undisturbed."

Her heart pounding. "What do you know of the case? Of the artifact?"

A cold, humorless laugh. "Malfoy might have been better left ignorant where he was most content. You two are tampering with tombs best left undisturbed.".

No time to respond before air exploded—chaos magic, wild and uncaring. A curse whizzed past her, barely so. Hermione got a shield up before the intruder vanished in darkness.

Then—

Silent movement behind her.

Cold steel against her throat. A wand.

This is your last warning, Granger. The voice slow, deep. One she knew with a splash of ice down her spine. "Walk away."

Her breathing was stuck on her lungs. Her brain firing to recognize the voice, but before she could, the one at her back slammed.

The strike sent the attacker reeling back, and in the fleeting moment of surprise, Hermione managed to escape. She did not need to see to know who had arrived.

Draco Malfoy stood tall, wand raised high, bathed in the dim light of the alleyway outside, his face shadowed, his jaw clenched, his storm-gray eyes brooding the room for threat.

The assailant Disapparated before they could even take a step, vanishing like mist.

The silence that followed was stifling.

Draco spun on her, his face expressionless, but the fury in his eyes burned bright. "What were you thinking?"

Hermione did not get the message. "I was on a lead."

"Alone? In Knockturn Alley?" Softly menacing. "Do you want to get yourself killed?

"I can take care of myself," she snapped.

His fists were clenched at his sides, as if he could reach out and grab her, shake some sense into her. He ran a hand through his hair instead, letting out an ugly breath. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Same."

A wealthy laugh rose in him, but the anger did not subside. "We have to go. Now."

Hermione restrained herself. "Do you think you know who they were? They knew about the artifact. They knew—"

Draco's eyes darkened. "They knew too much. And they knew you'd be alone."

Cold seeped into her chest.

This wasn't about the case anymore.

This was personal.

As they walked along the empty, curving side streets, Hermione could feel Draco glancing at her every so often—ensuring she remained present, intact. It was maddening, but for once she lacked the strength to battle it.

"We need to talk to Shacklebolt," she cut in sharply, breaking the tension. "He needs to realize that this is no longer about the artifact."

Draco nodded, though his eyes wandered. His eyes scanned the streets for concealed threats.

"You know they're on our tail now," he said at last. His voice was gentler, yet somehow more menacing. "They knew exactly where to find you. And that means—"

"They know everything," she finished curtly. "About the case. About us."

The note suspended in the air for a heartbeat too long, and she felt the flash of something new slide across Draco's face. He suppressed it before she could.

"We have to leave," he barked, his voice brief.

Hermione nodded, but the chill in her back was caused by the bite of the night wind and had absolutely nothing to do with cold.

They were no longer investigating a crime.

They were being pursued.