𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍-𝘏𝘈𝘙𝘙𝘠 𝘗𝘖𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙

Chapter 40

Lovesbitca8 TAKES CREDIT THIS IS HER WORK - FOUND ON AO3

On Sunday, Mippy picked up an order for her at the newly-reopened Madam Malkins. Despite having a full wardrobe full of Pansy's clothes, there was nothing fitting for her new role. So Narcissa had helped her place her order by owl that Friday, enclosing a clipping of an article from the Prophet that morning.

The headline had read: From Slave to the Youngest Member of the Magical European Advisory Council: Meet Hermione Granger!

On Monday, Hermione was dressed in her new navy robes a full hour and a half before her meeting. She stared at herself critically in Draco's mirror before turning on her heel and heading through the passageway to her old bedroom.

The creams, powders, and brushes were just as she'd left them last. She settled on a bit of light makeup and left her hair alone, ignoring Pansy's nagging voice in her head.

After bidding Mippy and Narcissa goodbye, Hermione walked down the Manor's drive, readying herself to leave the property for the first time in three weeks. The gates swung open for her, and she felt the wards shiver as she walked through.

Fear rose sharply in her belly as she glanced around, bracing herself for something — a curse, perhaps, or an encroaching army. But there was nothing but the summer wind rustling the grass.

The gates clicked closed, and she remembered herself, walking briskly to the edge of the estate's Anti-Apparition line and Disapparating to the location Hestia had given her.

She appeared on a cobblestoned street, usually bustling with tourists and open shops, but there was no one. A layer of ash was heavy in the air, blanketing the street like fog. Hermione's gaze drifted to the skyline, where the remains of Edinburgh Castle came into view, still smoking. She drew a deep breath, spun to the south, and began walking.

The Magical European Advisory Council would meet in Edinburgh, as would the International Magical Military Tribunal. "A fitting pace for the death of the Great Order," the Prophet had proclaimed.

Hermione walked the empty street, ghostly in the morning light. The buildings were more intact the farther south she walked. She looked closely at the vacant shops and restaurants until she found the Muggle travel agency and chemist Hestia had told her about. She stepped up to the two storefronts and watched an old building materialize between them, just like the Leaky Cauldron in Muggle London. The wooden sign above read, Thistle & Rose.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione opened the door and stepped inside. The pub was empty apart from two occupants — Hestia Jones, half-resting on a barstool, and a light-haired older man behind the bar. Hestia broke off their conversation when the door closed, giving Hermione a quick nod.

"Miss Granger." She slipped off the stool and stepped forward to shake Hermione's hand.

"General," said Hermione, returning the pressure.

Hestia gestured to a narrow corridor behind her. "Shall we?"

"Oh." Hermione frowned at the clock above the bar. It was only half-seven. "Aren't we waiting on any others?"

"No." Hestia clasped her hands in front of her. "Most of the Council is military. I'm afraid we all have a habit of being pathologically early."

Pressing her lips together, Hermione nodded. She was silent as Hestia led her down the dingy corridor, stopping at a door with a faded sign that read, Pub Staff Only. The moment she pushed it open, a twisting staircase appeared. Hestia had to duck her head as she descended, and Hermione followed.

They poured out into a large waiting room filled with stiff chairs and an empty reception desk. Hermione examined the layer of dust on the coffee table as Hestia led her briskly down another long corridor.