Chapter Text
“Fatti non foste a viver come bruti, ma per seguir virtute e canoscenza”
Dante Alighieri, Inferno, Canto XXVI, lines 118–120
The tomb was supposed to be empty.
At least, that’s what the smug little clerk in Artefact Retrieval had said before they’d Portkeyed to the outskirts of rural Somerset, where a crumbling wizard’s treasure sat halfburied in the earth. “Just an old warlock’s cellar,” he’d told them, “Couple of trinkets, nothing dangerous.”
The wind snapped around them the moment they landed, tugging at Hermione’s coat and turning the already grim landscape even bleaker. They could only see blackened tree trunks and half dead grass. The hill tilted steeply downward, leading to the ruins of what might once have been a proud manor, now just the ragged remains of stone, overtaken by roots and dry weed.
Hermione squinted against the fog. “You’d think Retrieval would have mentioned the wards destabilising the entire hillside.”
Theo adjusted the strap on his satchel, already digging into a tin of lemon sherbets like he hadn’t just been flung into a swamp. “Probably thought it would ruin the surprise.”
A soft crack echoed somewhere in the distance, twigs snapping, maybe. Hermione’s fingers tightened around her wand.
They hadn’t even reached the cellar yet.
She crouched on the cold stones, wandlight illuminating the jagged lines of a runic ward carved into the stone. “‘Nothing dangerous,’” she muttered, “and yet this is a binding rune older than Hogwarts.”
Theo, who was leaning against a toppled column and tossing a silver sickle between his fingers, grinned. “Oh, you mean the kind of rune that flays intruders alive? Nothing dangerous at all.”
“Do you ever stop talking?” she hissed under her breath.
“Do you ever stop working?” he shot back, perfectly mimicking her tone with an exaggerated sigh, one brow arched.
Hermione shot him a look, then turned back to the rune, tracing its outer curve with the tip of her wand. Whoever had laid these wards had known their craft. Layers of protective magic hummed faintly in the stones, overlapping enchantments, woven in a way she hadn’t seen since the war.
“It’s keyed to blood,” she said softly, more to herself than to him. “See this overlap? They mixed a defensive rune with a trigger glyph. You step wrong and…”
A pulse of magic rippled outward as if to punctuate her words, dust cascading from the vaulted ceiling.
“And we’re cooked,” Theo finished helpfully, strolling over.
She glanced back at him, lips twitching despite herself. "You know, some people might think you're joking to hide the fact you're nervous."
He made a grand, sweeping gesture. "What, me? Never. This is how I cope with the terrifying reality that we’re possibly seconds away from being devoured by cursed stones."
He peered at the glyphs without crouching. “So, oh brilliant one, how do we get in?”
“Carefully,” Hermione said, her voice distracted. She shifted her weight, lips moving silently as she tested a countersigil.
Theo crouched beside her, elbows on his knees, chin propped on one hand like he was watching a Quidditch match. “You know,” he drawled, “normal people would go to the pub on a Friday night. We, on the other hand, break into cursed cellars for fun.”
“We don’t do this for fun,” she said, flicking her wand to adjust a rune, “we do it because half the Ministry can’t tell a containment ward from a breakfast charm.”
“I’d argue you do it because you’d be bored stiff otherwise.”
Hermione’s lips quirked despite herself. Theo wasn’t wrong. He rarely was, though she’d never admit it.
The rune shivered as her spell settled and the protective glyph dimmed, then vanished entirely. “There,” she said, exhaling. “That should do it.”
“Ladies first,” Theo said, sweeping an arm toward the dark corridor beyond.
“If something eats me,” she warned, “you’re next.”
They stepped over the threshold together, Theo’s wandlight flaring beside hers. The air grew cooler, carrying the dry scent of parchment and old magic. Shelves lined the narrow passage, filled with tarnished goblets, stacks of scrolls bound in leather and the occasional glint of something gold.
The narrow corridor ahead was carved from grey stone, the walls etched with more runes some familiar, others so obscure Hermione would need a week and three reference tomes to even hazard a translation.
Theo brushed a finger across a silver bowl shaped like a serpent swallowing its tail. “Charming décor.”
“Don’t touch anything,” Hermione said sharply. “Most of these artefacts are cursed to react to human skin.”
He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Please. I’m not an amateur.”
“You once licked a haunted medallion.”
“One time. And it looked like chocolate.”
Hermione paused before a pedestal, eyeing a bronze circlet etched with intertwining sigils. “These are Phoenician protection marks,” she murmured. “This shouldn’t even be in Britain…”
Behind her, something clicked. Theo swore softly. “Uh… Hermione?”
She spun around, just as the far wall rippled like water and a set of skeletal hands began to claw their way through. Ancient magic flared, burning blue in the dark.
“Of course,” she muttered, flicking her wand up. “Animated guardians.”
“You get the one on the left,” Theo said, stepping beside her. “I’ll take the one with the charming jawline.”
The first skeleton lunged and Hermione’s spell hit it square in the bony chest and it collapsed into a loose pile of little bones before its fingers even grazed her.
Theo wasn’t so lucky. His guardian moved with uncanny speed, blade swinging in a downward arc. He ducked, swore, then retaliated with a shimmering net of silver light that captured it in mid-motion. The skeleton struggled, sparks flying as the net constricted.
“You always pick the easy ones,” he complained.
“I am not apologizing for efficiency,” she shot back.
Another emerged. This one wielding a rusted sword the size of Theo’s leg. Hermione ducked a swing, sent a hex through its ribcage that ignited the sword at the hilt and shattered it on impact. The skeleton staggered back, reforming its joints unnaturally fast.
Theo yanked the circlet from the pedestal and jammed it into his satchel.
“Got what we came for!” he called over the clash of spells.
“And triggered the rest of the defences, brilliant,” Hermione yelled back, flicking a hex that shattered the sword in half.
“You wanted excitement!”
“I wanted a quiet retrieval!”
They ran, dodging another skeleton as shelves began to collapse behind them, stone and splintering wood crashing in their wake. The corridor pulsed with defensive magic, wards flaring now that the key artefact had been disturbed.
Hermione’s heart hammered as they burst into the cold night air, the door to the tomb slamming shut behind them with a final, echoing boom.
Dust covered and panting, Theo collapsed against a nearby rock. Hermione didn’t stop until she’d paced ten metres away, wand still raised, half expecting the guardians to follow them out.
They didn’t.
The silence after the chaos was almost jarring.
Theo blew out a breath. “Well that was exciting!”
Hermione turned to him, chest still rising and falling fast. “Next time, I’m going to let one of them stab you.”
Theo grinned, brushing soot from his sleeves. “It’s not an adventure unless we nearly die.”
Hermione shook her head, trying and failing to hide the reluctant smile tugging at her mouth. “ Keep this up, and we’ll both have one foot in the grave earlier than I’d like.”
“Ah,” Theo said, tilting his head toward her with a mockserious expression, “but you’d be bored without me, GG”
She couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her. Maybe he was right. Maybe, after everything, a little danger was the only thing that still felt alive.
Two hours later, Theo was slouched sideways in the chair opposite Hermione’s desk, idly flipping through the retrieval report she was drafting. His boots were still scratched with cellar dust, leaving faint marks on the pristine Ministry carpet.
Hermione, quill scratching rapidly across parchment, barely looked up. “If you don’t stop leaning back, you’ll tip over and I won’t help you up.”
Theo grinned over the folder. “You wouldn’t, would you?”
“Not unless you were on fire.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” He set the folder down, tapping a finger against the bronze circlet now locked inside a protective glass dome on her workbench. The sigils glowed faintly, threads of Phoenician runes weaving under the containment charm.
“You’re going to stay up all night cataloguing that, aren’t you?” he asked.
Hermione finally glanced at him, one eyebrow arched. “And what would you do, Theo? Bring it home and wear it to dinner?”
“Might impress the neighbours.” He flashed a grin, then sobered as he watched her hands fly over the parchment. Five years and she still did this, threw herself into every cursed artifact like it might hold all the answers the Ministry was too blind to see.
Around them, Level Four buzzed with evening activity. A harried clerk chased a floating stack of mislabelled scrolls. Someone shouted down the corridor about a rogue banshee in Leeds.
Theo tilted his head, watching her. “You know, you could take a night off once in a while. Normal people go home, eat dinner, maybe even…hear me out…sleep.”
“Normal people don’t end up responsible for the messes the Ministry ignores,” she said, not looking up.
“You keep that up, you’ll work yourself into an early grave.”
“And you’d be bored without me.”
He gave a mock bow from his chair. “Touché, Granger.”
She shook her head, quill still moving, though the faintest smile tugged at her lips. “Honestly, Theo… one day you’re going to get us killed.”
“Ah,” Theo replied, leaning back again and lacing his fingers behind his head, “but what a glorious obituary we’ll have.” He smirked, mocking, “The sexiest Death Eater and the Golden Girl…”
Hermione snorted softly, shaking her head as she turned back to her work.
Theo stretched his legs out further, the heels of his boots knocking against the side of her desk in a way that made her eye twitch. “You’re going to scratch the finish,” Hermione warned without looking up.
“Good,” he replied. “This place is far too polished anyway. Needs a bit of character.”
“Character,” Hermione repeated, flipping a page in her notes. “Like that time you nearly set fire to the archives in Luxembourg?”
Theo gave a soft laugh, leaning his head back against the chair. “Ah, Luxembourg. Good times. That flame ward came out of nowhere.”
“It came out of your wand, Theo.”
“Semantics.”
Hermione set her quill down just long enough to give him a flat look. “You can’t keep pretending every catastrophic event on our assignments is a coincidence.”
Theo placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “I’ll have you know, GG, I’m a beacon of caution and professionalism.”
“Professionalism,” she echoed dryly, “is not charming your way past a sentry in Budapest because you didn’t file the right clearance form.”
His grin widened. “Worked, didn’t it? And in my defence, she was very understanding.”
Hermione groaned softly and rubbed her temple. “Merlin help me.”
For a few minutes, the only sounds were the scratching of her quill and the low hum of magic from the containment dome. A memo zipped by, bumping against the top of her head before darting away again. Hermione sighed and caught it midair, flicking it open with one hand before tossing it into the wastebin without comment.
Theo tilted his head, watching her. “You ever think about what you’d be doing if you hadn’t joined the Department of Ancient Artefacts?”
Hermione blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. “I don’t know. Maybe the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I considered it after the war.”
He nodded slowly. “Figured. You always did have a soft spot for lost causes.”
“Thank you?” she said, unsure if it was a compliment.
“It is,” Theo said easily. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, his grin fading into something more thoughtful. “I didn’t think they’d ever let me in here, you know. After the war. A Nott in the Ministry? Bit of a scandal, that.”
Hermione’s quill slowed. “People change.”
He gave her a sideways look, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re one of the only people who believed that.”
Her throat tightened unexpectedly. She focused on her parchment, unwilling to let him see. “You proved yourself.”
“Or maybe I just annoyed you so much you didn’t have the energy to get me sacked.”
“That too,” she said, lips twitching.
The moment hung there, comfortable and quiet, broken only by the sound of distant footsteps and the occasional clatter of a filing cabinet in the next room.
Theo shifted again, dropping his boots from her desk and leaning forward on his elbows. “Remember Romania?”
Hermione let out a groan that was half laughter. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting. You, me and that cursed obelisk in the middle of a dragon preserve.”
“I told you not to touch it.”
“And I told you I wanted a closer look. It’s not my fault the thing tried to eat my wand.”
“You almost lost your hand, Theo!”
“Almost,” he said proudly. “Keyword: almost.”
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, but a smile was tugging at her lips now. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Theo said with a flourish, “here we are. Alive. Successful. Dragging cursed artifacts out of the ground and making the Ministry look far more competent than it deserves.”
Hermione’s smile faded a little at that, her gaze dropping back to the circlet under glass. “We do keep them afloat, don’t we? All those speeches, those committees… none of them see the mess underneath.”
Theo tilted his head, studying her. “You sound tired.”
“I am tired,” she admitted softly. “Tired of patching up the mistakes of people who should’ve known better. Tired of pretending everything’s fine for the cameras.”
He leaned back in his chair again, watching her quietly. “Then why stay?”
Hermione’s hand hovered over the glass dome, her fingers brushing the runes through the barrier. The hum of ancient magic vibrated faintly against her skin. “Because,” she said at last, “if people like us don’t… who will?”
Theo nodded slowly, letting the silence settle. After a moment, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wrapped bar of chocolate, breaking it in half and tossing one piece onto her desk.
She looked up, startled, then smiled faintly. “Bribery?”
“Morale boost,” he said lightly. “Besides, you’re insufferable when you’re hungry.”
Hermione took the chocolate, shaking her head. “You really are like an annoying brother sometimes.”
Theo gasped in mock horror. “Brother? Please. A devastatingly attractive partner in crime, perhaps, but I will not be relegated to brother status.”
She laughed then, the sound easing the tension in her shoulders. “Fine. Partner in crime.”
“That’s better.” He took a dramatic bite of his own chocolate, then reclined in his chair, looking smug. “Tell me again how I saved your life in Luxembourg.”
“You didn’t save my life, you tripped over your own robes and accidentally disrupted the curse matrix.”
“Semantics,” Theo said around a mouthful of chocolate. “Either way, we lived. And that, GG, is why you keep me around.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, returning to her parchment. “I keep you around because no one else is stupid enough to volunteer for these missions.”
“Ah, but you would miss me,” Theo said with mock sincerity. “You’d be bored out of your mind cataloguing dusty relics all on your own.”
She gave him a sidelong look, the corners of her mouth lifting despite herself. “Maybe.”
Theo grinned triumphantly, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk. “See? Admittance is the first step. Soon you’ll be writing sonnets about my bravery.”
“I doubt it.”
“You say that now…” He gestured broadly with both hands, as if envisioning a grand stage. “But someday, when the bards sing of your daring escapades, there I’ll be…forever immortalized as your brilliant, dashing companion.”
Hermione snorted, returning to her notes. “You’re lucky I haven’t hexed you yet.”
“I prefer to think of it as charm,” Theo said, leaning back once more, utterly at ease. “Face it, Granger. You’d be lost without me…and I can finally say I’m part of the Golden Girl adventure,” Theo said with a sly grin.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, looking at him sceptically. “Really, Theo?”
“Of course,” he replied smoothly. “If they ever write a book about you, I want to be known as the competent and devastatingly handsome sidekick.”
Hermione gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Devastatingly handsome? You’re insufferable.”
“Insufferable and photogenic,” Theo corrected, tapping his own cheekbone with a flourish. “That’s important for cover art, Granger. You need someone dashing standing beside you when they paint your hero portrait.”
“They’re not painting my hero portrait.”
“They will,” he said confidently. “And I expect to be somewhere in the background, looking rugged and windswept, probably holding your bag of runes while you save the world.”
Hermione shook her head, fighting a smile. “You are not windswept. You are… mostly unkempt.”
Theo gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Unkempt? These curls are deliberate, thank you. I spend minutes in front of a mirror to look this good.”
“Minutes,” she echoed dryly, returning to her parchment. “How exhausting for you.”
“Truly, the sacrifices I make for our partnership,” Theo said, folding his arms behind his head again with a grin. “But someday, when they write that book, everyone will know you never could’ve done it without me.”
Hermione let out a soft laugh despite herself. “I’ll make sure to mention it in the foreword.”
Outside the enchanted windows, twilight deepened over London, the wards along the Ministry walls glimmering against the night.
For a rare moment, there was peace, parchment, lamplight and the steady hum of two people who had learned how to survive together.
She didn’t know it yet, but that peace was about to end.
***
The Ministry’s marble floors sparked as though nothing catastrophic had ever happened. If you ignored the faint scorch marks in the corners and the way the rebuilt atrium hummed under too many wards.
Five years had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, yet the Ministry of Magic remained a shadow of credibility on the international stage. Foreign representatives declined invitations with polite smiles, then muttered in private about how absurd it was that Britain’s magical government had once allowed a megalomaniac to nearly wipe out its own people. The Ministry had tried, of course. New committees, frantic reforms, glossy speeches about transparency and change but the scars of the war ran deep, and even now the whispers in the corridors spoke of lingering corruption. From the inside, Hermione Granger saw the effort for what it was: a frantic patchwork over a foundation still riddled with cracks.
She set down her quill and flexed her cramped fingers.
The lamp on her desk burned low, casting light over piles of reports stamped HAZARDOUS MATERIAL – DO NOT HANDLE WITHOUT CLEARANCE.
She’d catalogued twelve dark artefacts this week alone, the best ones (rated by Theo) were a brooch that whispered in Parseltongue, a spear that turned wood to ash and a mirror that refused to show its own reflection.
Five years ago, she would have been awed by the challenge. Now, it just felt like Tuesday.
War had burned something into her. Made her sharper, yes, but also tired in a way she rarely admitted. The Ministry lauded her as a “rising star,” trotted her out at banquets to smile for photographs. She’d learned to smile back, even while biting back the truth: that bureaucracy moved slower than blood magic, that the people rebuilding this world were too often the same ones who’d once helped break it.
The door creaked open. “Still alive, GG? Or should I fetch a Healer?”
Theo leaned in, balancing two steaming mugs in one hand and a folder in the other. His tie was already loosened, sleeves rolled up, dark hair just messy enough to look deliberate. He was the only person in the building who walked into her office without knocking and the only one who could get away with it.
“I told you not to sneak up on me,” Hermione said, taking the mug. Black coffee, no sugar. He always remembered.
“You’ve been buried in here since lunch. Do you even eat anymore, or is your body starting to self-eat itself?” Theo dropped into the chair opposite her and stretched out like he owned the place. “Honestly, GG, five years in and you’re still making the rest of us look bad.”
“Someone has to,” she said dryly, skimming the folder he slid toward her. “What is it this time?”
“A cursed ring out of Albania. Nasty stuff. I’ve marked the glyphs that match your translation notes, looked like something you’d sink your teeth into.” He tilted his head, watching her scan the runes. “You’re terrifying when you’re in your element, you know that?”
She didn’t look up, already reaching for a quill to annotate the margins. Her mind ticked through connections, old tomb wards, the way certain sigils mirrored Peverell script.
Theo grinned, as if reading her silence. “And there it is. The Granger Brain, whirring like a cursed clock. Don’t burn the place down.”
Before she could retort, a shimmering blue lynx Patronus padded into the room, its paws silent on the Ministry tiles. Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep, tired voice filled the air: “Hermione please come to my office immediately.”
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling through her teeth. “What now?” she muttered, fingers raking back through her hair.
Theo, still lounging in the chair opposite her, arched an eyebrow. “Maybe he wants to pin yet another medal on you. Or merlin forbid another gala?”
Hermione’s lips curved into a humourless smile. “I don’t need medals. And if there’s another gala, I’ll fake dragon pox on the spot.”
She pushed back her chair and stood, smoothing down her robes as she made for the door. Theo was on his feet in an instant, following her out.
She shot him a suspicious look over her shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“With you, of course.” His tone made it sound obvious.
“The Patronus was for me.”
“Yes, but I was here too, so I’m inviting myself.” He winked as if that settled the matter.
Hermione didn’t bother replying, only rolled her eyes and kept walking.
Together they strode through the maze of Ministry corridors, past noticeboards cluttered with memos and halfpeeled posters about Reconstruction Initiatives that no one seemed to believe in anymore.
When they reached Kingsley’s office, Hermione pushed open the heavy door and stopped.
The Minister’s study was a disaster. Stacks of parchment teetered in precarious towers, entire sections of wall had been overtaken by pinned maps, glowing threads linking one region to another. A magical sandstorm swirled faintly in a containment globe in the corner, scattering quills and sending scrolls rustling to the floor.
“Hermione, thank you for coming,” Kingsley said, rising from behind a desk that looked ready to collapse under the weight of reports. Then his eyes flicked to Theo. “Mr. Nott?”
Hermione sighed, already anticipating the conversation. “I’m sorry, Kings, he was with me when your Patronus arrived.”
Kingsley studied Theo for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Well, I suppose that’s not too bad. You might need his expertise too.”
“Oh, thank you, Kings,” Theo said with a theatrical flourish, as if receiving a knighthood.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but before she could scold, Kingsley’s mouth twitched into an amused smile.
“It’s Minister to you.”
“Of course, Your Royal Highness, Minister Shacklebolt.”
Theo bowed low with exaggerated solemnity, one arm sweeping across his chest like a courtier.
Hermione groaned softly and pressed her hands to her face. “I regret bringing him already,” she muttered through her fingers.
Kingsley smoothed a hand over his robes, reclaiming his composure despite Theo’s theatrics.
“I’ve just received an urgent communiqué from the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” he said, reaching for a heavy parchment envelope on his desk. He slid it across to Hermione.
Theo let out a low whistle as she took it. “Oh, that’s never good.”
Hermione broke the seal with steady fingers, but her heart had already quickened. Her eyes darted across the neat, black script, each line landing like a blow:
Ongoing magical fallout reported near the site of Hamunaptra, Egypt.
Local containment unsuccessful.
International assistance requested immediately.
Her lips parted on a whisper.
“Hamunaptra…”
Theo tilted his head, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.
“That sounds… unpleasant. Tell me they’re not sending us.”
She didn’t answer. Her gaze caught on the final line, underlined in dark ink:
Field expertise in curse-breaking and ancient wards required.
Slowly, she lifted her eyes to Kingsley, searching his face for confirmation.
The Minister sighed, leaning back in his chair, shoulders heavy under the weight of the words.
“We need to fix this, Hermione. Our reputation is already on the edge, shaky at best. But this…” He gestured to the parchment, his voice dropping. “This is big. If you can resolve it, if we handle this right, it could be the first step to restoring some of our credibility on the world stage.”
Hermione didn’t speak at once. She let the weight of Kingsley’s words settle, staring down at the parchment as though the ink itself might rearrange into something less dangerous.
A shiver of old curiosity sparked in her chest, fighting with the knot of apprehension. Five years ago she might have leapt at the chance without hesitation. Now she knew better. Ancient tombs were never just ancient tombs. They were puzzles with teeth.
Beside her, Theo shifted, breaking the silence with a low whistle. “Well,” he said lightly, though his eyes were narrowing on the piece of parchment in her hand, “I always wanted a holiday somewhere warm. Sun, sand, ancient death curses…it’s practically the relaxing getaway I was hoping for.”
Hermione shot him a look, but his humour only made her shoulders unknot by a fraction. Kingsley’s gaze softened, sensing her turmoil.
“Hermione,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t necessary. But I trust you.”
Hermione folded the parchment carefully, fingers lingering on the edge.
She glanced at Theo, who looked like a child waiting for permission to climb onto a dangerously fast rollercoaster.
A corner of her mouth lifted. “How bad do you want to be in that book you mentioned Theo?”
Theo’s grin widened, bright and reckless. “I’ll start packing my sunscreen.”