The Man Who Sold the World
by Meggory

The dust hanging in the chill air tickled Hermione’s nose, but she could no more lift her hand to scratch it than she could to duel the person standing behind her, unknown. She could hear her speak clearly, though she could not identify the voice. “I was told you were dead, Severus. Of all the people I would expect to sneak into the Restricted Section, it would not be you. You, Miss Granger, would be high on my list of suspected offenders.”

Panic at being identified rose in Hermione’s throat. She could not swallow her fear or even clear her throat; instead she stood motionless as the speaker slowly moved into her line of vision. Even in the dim light, Hermione recognized the deep furrows and pinched, papery-skinned face of Irma Pince, Head Librarian of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The recent times had not changed Madam Pince for the better or for the worse. In fact, she looked exactly the same as she had for the seven years of Hermione’s schooling. Under her robes, she sported a thick, flannel night-gown and a pair of worn but comfortable-looking felted slippers. Hermione thought they were purple.

Madam Pince was shaking her head in that disapproving way which she normally used to discourage students from even setting foot in her precious library. “I am going to lift my curse, and we will discuss this as adults. In my office.” She waggled her wand towards the both of them and muttered, “Finite Incantatem.”

As the spell lifted, Hermione blinked a dozen or so times to remoisten her eyeballs. Between blinks, she saw Severus doing the same while watching Pince intently. Pince, however, nodded to herself and motioned for them to follow her out of the Restricted Section. Hermione hurried after her and opened her mouth to speak, but Pince said over her shoulder, “Silence, Miss Granger. In my office.”

Snapping her jaw shut, Hermione glared at the librarian’s back and shot a look at Severus that read, “Can you believe her?” Severus merely returned a quirked eyebrow and a slightly amused, long-suffering face. Once they had exited the Restricted Section, Pince stopped and waved her wand to shut the iron filigree door and lock it. Then, without speaking, she turned on her slippered heel and marched purposefully past the circulation desk and through the door behind it. Hermione and Severus crowded into the small room behind her; Severus took the liberty of sitting in the seat across the desk from Madam Pince, but only after shifting it so he could watch both the librarian and the door. Hermione leaned against the doorjamb with her arms crossed over her breasts, eyeing Pince suspiciously. She also wanted to know exactly why Severus was taking this all so calmly.

Madam Pince sat herself down behind her immaculate desk, which sported nothing but an unlit lantern, an eagle quill and tightly capped ink jar in a small mahogany holder, and a large tape holder containing a clear, fancy-looking roll of tape that Hermione knew was not Spellotape but a special adhesive ribbon for repairing books. Not a speck of dust graced the office surfaces. The walls, however, showed no paint; every inch was covered by a small framed portrait of a former Hogwarts librarian. Most of the frames contained sleeping librarians, but a few figures stirred upon their arrival. Hermione noted that more than a few faces closely resembled Madam Pince in a familial way.

The librarian tapped her wand to the lantern, and the small office bloomed in a soft, yellow light. She folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward in a professional manner. “Well, would you care to explain what you two were doing in my library at this late hour?” Her manner of questioning implied that she did not care that they were supposed to be dead.

“Well, Irma, we were doing a bit of research. What else is there to do in a library?” Severus replied with such a deadpan expression that Hermione bit back a grin.

Madam Pince shook her head slightly, and the loose bun of iron gray hair at the nape of her neck bobbed in time. “Very droll, Severus. By the way, you owe me seventeen Galleons for overdue books.”

“What?” he cried. “Professors never pay dues. That’s one of the few perks to the job.”

“You may not have noticed, but you aren’t a professor anymore. Shall I write you a balance slip?” Her hand moved to the left drawer of her desk until Severus laughed.

“Irma, you jester.” The small smile slipped from his face as he leaned towards her. “You haven’t taken his side.” It was not a question.

Madam Pince sighed and shook her head once. “No,” she said quietly. “Not after all those years working for Albus. Besides,” she said with a wry look, “the new school government, under the close watch of Regent Malfoy, has cut my book acquisition budget. Not to mention they’ve given me this.” She disappeared beneath her desk for a moment, only to return bearing a thick sheaf of parchment bound together with three binding rings along the side. “An exhaustive list of all banned books, to be removed from the shelves of the Hogwarts Library before the students return for the year. Of course, I only received this list a day before term started. The students have been back for a week, but the headmaster has had to restrict library usage until I finish pulling these books.”

“Headmaster?” Hermione could not help herself from asking.

“Colonel George Graving. One of Lord Voldemort’s most trusted officers.” Madam Pince pursed her lips as if she had bitten into a lemon. “He’s less of a headmaster and more of an overseer.”

Hermione looked pointedly at Severus, who inched his shoulders slightly. “I do not know this Graving character. He was not a Death Eater from my time.”

“Then he won’t know you,” replied Madam Pince. She turned her hawkish gaze to Hermione. “You, on the other hand, have your very own parchment posted in the teacher’s lounge. Anyone who recognizes you is to Floo Regent Malfoy’s office immediately.”

“Do you work for the URF?” inquired Hermione quietly. Unexpectedly, a dry cackle arose from Madam Pince’s wrinkled throat.

“Those idiotic, disorganized children? Not a chance. One of them approached me in the Three Broomsticks and I told him to find someone else. I will not give up the running of this library to someone incompetent. Besides, if I leave Hogwarts, I could very well end up in the Edinburgh ghetto.” Upon seeing the dark look on Hermione’s face, Madam Pince nodded. “You see why I would not want to give this up.”

“No, of course, Irma. We both understand. However, we need your help.” Hermione shot him a warning look. She was not entirely certain they could trust Irma Pince. Severus, however, made a soothing motion with two of his fingers. “There is trouble ahead.” A few minutes was all that Severus needed to relay the situation with Emilien Ellory and his upcoming visit to Hogwarts.

Madam Pince tapped her lips with a long, bony finger for a long time after Severus finished speaking. Finally, she slapped her hands on the desk triumphantly. “I have an idea that would keep the two of you in the castle until Ellory’s visit without suspicion. Well, without much suspicion. Colonel Graving would not take it amiss if I were to hire two bodies to help me pull the banned books from the shelves for two or three days. He made it clear in the last staff meeting that he does not want students involved, though Merlin knows it would only take a few hours if I had some detentions sent my way. The only problem is the fact that you are a wanted criminal, Miss Granger, whose appearance has been owled to the far corners of the British Isles. And as for you, Severus, I’m not the only staff member left from Dumbledore’s days. Vector still teaches Arithmancy. You two need new appearances.”

“But Polyjuice would take too long to brew,” Hermione protested. “We don’t have that much time.”

Severus smirked. “There are many benefits to being a Potions Master, Hermione, not the least of which is being privy to potions which are not published in books stocked in a library used by children. I will take care of our appearances. However, I require access to the Potions laboratory, including the stockroom.”

“You mean the one in the dungeon?” Pince inquired in that crumbly dry voice of hers.

“Of course, Irma. Which other classroom houses Potions?” he replied with a long suffering expression.

“Professor Jardine has a bad leg. He moved the Potions classroom to the main floor so he wouldn’t have to go up and down all our bloody annoying stairs. His exact words. Since your--er--disappearance, the dungeon classroom has been sealed off. The stores room was moved as well.” Madam Pince fixed her questioning gaze upon Severus, who appeared thoughtful.

“Have my quarters been sealed up as well? Or have they rid the castle of my belongings?” Severus tapped his long fingers against the simply carved arms of the chair for several moments before he suddenly rose, nearly filling the tiny room with his presence.

The librarian scratched at her long, fleshy earlobe. “As far as I am aware, your quarters are the same as they were the day you left. No one has had the time or inclination to rifle through your possessions.” With a long, deep sigh, she pushed herself out of her high-backed wooden chair and faced Severus. “I think I can get you in there. We’ll need to move quickly and quietly.” She spared a considering glance for Hermione. “I will give you exactly one hour to find whatever you’re looking for in the library. I expect to find everything in order when we return. The both of you will have to get out of the castle as quickly as possible.”

Before Hermione could ask any of the questions on the tip of her tongue, Madam Pince swept past both Severus and her. Hermione glanced at Severus, who both rolled his eyes and motioned for her to follow the librarian back into the stacks. In the spacious darkness of the library, Madam Pince’s desiccated figure nearly disappeared as she made a beeline for the main entrance. Without warning, Hermione felt a large hand on her shoulder. She turned to find Severus looming over her. “We will return in one hour. I will announce my presence. If anyone enters before then, make certain you are not found,” he said quietly. At her nod, he squeezed her shoulder gently and caught up with the pyjama-clad librarian.

Alone, Hermione stood at the edge of the stacks, mentally tracing her route to the Daily Prophet archives. Before she could take a step, however, Madam Pince’s thin voice cut through the dark silence. “I am locking you in the library now, Miss Granger.”

“Okay,” replied Hermione, raising her voice just enough to ensure her voice carried to the door. The soft click of the door shutting and locking reached her ears. Setting her shoulders back and taking a steadying breath, Hermione hurried to the far east corner of the library.

A tall, long, oaken bookshelf propped up against the wall was waiting for her. Every shelf was jammed full of thick leather volumes which appeared more square than rectangular. Irritatingly Gothic text was stamped into all the spines. All read “The Daily Prophet,” but beneath the vertical title a year was also present. The first volume at the top left of the shelf had faded gilt lettering which announced the Prophet’s annual from 1883. She scanned the shelves, taking more than a few steps along the length of the wall, until she found the book she was looking for. The annual from 1942 sat squished between 1941 Appendix and 1943 on the bottom shelf. Hermione knelt, her knees creaking in protest against the hardwood floor, and grasped the top edge of the volume. Even with a tug it would not come free. Cursing under her breath, Hermione reached deeper into the shelf with her other hand and grabbed ahold of the other end of the book. Two great heaves later, the annual finally eased out of the vice grip of too many books jammed onto one shelf. A cloud of dust whirled up and attacked Hermione’s nose and eyes; a violent fit of coughing racked her body and caused her to fall from her knees to her hip. The book fell from her precarious grip and landed heavily upon her wrist.

Between errant coughs, Hermione groaned. “Ow. Fuck.” She tried to ignore the pains throbbing in counterpoint to each other as she pushed herself up off the floor and snatched up the book. On second thought, she sank back to the hardwood and leaned back against the shelf. Propping the book on her legs, Hermione drew her lit wand close to the page. She sighed at the daunting task before her then flipped open the heavy leather cover.

The 1 January 1942 edition of the Daily Prophet met her eyes. The annual did not bind actual copies of the newspaper but reprinted the formatted text and wizarding pictures on thin, square folios. The front banner read “Minister of Magic Promises Action.” She skimmed through the introductory paragraph only to find the article discussed the growing atrocities of Grindelwald’s followers. Unlike the more modern editions of the Prophet, the wartime papers were lean; they did not pad out the news with gossip columns or social event listings. This lack of useless information enabled Hermione to search through the papers more quickly than she had anticipated.

Time was still not working in Hermione’s favour. She flipped endlessly through the pages of the annual, scanning articles about missing or murdered wizards and witches, about the progress of the Ministry’s defensive against Grindelwald’s army, and about the growing death toll. She had already skimmed through four months of news when something finally caught her eye. A banner, smaller in text and beneath the main headline, was tucked away in the corner of the front page of the 4 May edition. “Junior Minister of Mysteries Questioned” was written in stark, bold black ink.

Her eyes raced across the tiny lines of text. The Junior Minister of the Department of Mysteries, Whitman Ellory-Wyggs, was taken for questioning by top Aurors at the Ministry of Magic yesterday. According to the Auror office, Mr. Ellory-Wyggs was being asked for proof of loyalty to the Ministry in its fight against Grindelwald. Mr. Ellory-Wyggs has made incendiary comments in the past, suggesting that the Ministry was not efficiently or effectively fighting the Dark wizard. One Auror who reportedly administered the loyalty test told the Daily Prophet, “The official press release is not until tomorrow, so get out of my office and let me eat my sandwich.” The Department of Mysteries has not issued a statement.

“Hmm,” Hermione said to herself, her interest finally piqued. Flipping to the next newspaper, she found exactly what she was looking for. The main banner screamed “ELLORY-WYGGS TRAITOR!” Underneath, in smaller but still bold type, she read the smaller script: “Jr. Minister flees before press release; family missing.” A large black and white wizarding photograph adorned the front page. A blurry image of wizards clamouring within the main foyer of the Ministry was juxtaposed with a small, crisp inset picture of a dour looking man. Dark circles of sleeplessness ringed his eyes beneath black rimmed glasses. A deep, stressed furrow marred his forehead, and his dark hair stuck up on one side as if he constantly ran his hand through it. Whitman Ellory-Wyggs looked like a desperate man.

Before she could move on to read the article, a sudden creak reached Hermione’s ears. Her head whipped up, and the tip of her wand extinguished itself without hesitation. Severus had said he would announce himself. She stopped breathing for a few moments as she strained to hear any other movement within the library; another sound, this one of feet moving against worn Persian carpet, emanated from a nearby stack. Carefully, quietly, Hermione rose from the floor and moved toward the source of the sound. Her wand did not tremble in her outstretched hand. When she reached the end of the bookshelf filled with Daily Prophet annuals, she paused and listened hard once more. Nothing, nothing--shuffle! Someone was definitely rummaging around in the library, and it was no longer just Hermione.

For a long moment, Hermione debated upon her actions. Should she go after the interloper, she could be overtaken and captured; however, should she try and hide, she might not be successful. Hiding in the vast Hogwarts library could mean she would never come out. Besides, she could not risk Severus and Madam Pince being caught upon their arrival. She steeled herself with a deep, silent breath, and stalked towards the source of the noise.

She hunted her quarry around several rows of stacks, which curled more tightly in a circular pattern the closer she came to the centre of the library. Her feet touched bare wood, carpets, and bare wood again. With her back up against a shelf filled with practical Herbology manuals, Hermione paused and waited for her prey to make some tiny sound for her. It did not take long. Whoever it was sniffled slightly on the other side of the stack; Hermione leapt out and whispered forcefully, “Petrificus Totalus.”

In the darkness of the library, Hermione could not make out the figure she had cursed. With a little flick of her wand, the narrow space between the stacks was illuminated. Hermione stifled an involuntary gasp and knelt down. “Vovo? Is that you?”

The little house-elf could not make any motion or sound. Hastily, Hermione removed the curse but kept the light shining. “Oh, I’m sorry, Vovo, I didn’t know it was you!”

Vovo shook his head and smiled. “Miss Hermione! I am glad to be seeing you.” With a quick eye, Hermione checked the creature for injuries or new scars. “Pazhalysta, Miss Hermione, Vovo is well.”

“Vasiliy is very worried about you, Vovo. We all were. What happened at the house?” she inquired quietly.

“Library is not safe to speak,” Vovo replied, his accent becoming thicker as his rate of speech increased. “Come, Miss Hermione.” He held out his spindly hand for her to grasp. She did so without thinking, and the library disappeared with a loud crack echoing in her ears.

The room they Apparated to was brightly lit and warm. Vovo beamed up at her and did not let go of her hand; Hermione let him lead her further into the low ceilinged Hogwarts kitchens. The room was packed with diminutive house-elves, all of whom had stopped what they were doing to gaze at her fearfully. Vovo called out something in a language Hermione did not understand, but knew was not Russian. Once he shut his mouth, the house-elves sighed collectively with relief and went back to their tasks. One or two, however, continued to eye her warily.

Hermione was astonished at her new discovery. The paper circulating in the ghettos had announced all house-elves had fled the British Isles after Regent Malfoy’s display of brutality and murder. She turned her head to look down upon Vovo. “I thought all the house-elves had left England,” she said questioningly.

“These elves belong to castle, not to person,” he replied. “Castle needs elves, so elves do not leave. Vovo came here because Vovo could sense Master Vasiliy close.”

“Do the people know they are here?”

He pointed to one of the house-elves still watching her. The little creature sauntered up to her, puffing out his chest in a fair imitation of Percy Weasley upon his employment with the Ministry. “Headmaster does not know about us,” he said, his squeaky voice at odds with the seriousness of his tone. “Kitchens are locked from the inside. No wizards or witches can enter. Headmaster employed human servants.” He looked as if he was going to spit with contempt, but he twitched his large ears instead. “House-elves stay because castle asked us to. We serve the castle only now.” Suddenly he turned his grim gaze upon Vovo and began chattering in that unfamiliar language. Vovo replied somewhat vehemently. The other elf once again sized her up and down. “Vovo says you good. You were student?”

“Yes. Gryffindor,” she replied with a smile. The elf nodded firmly and beckoned a few others with his long fingers. “I am Svart. You are friend of Vovo, you are friend of Svart.”

“Thank you, Svart.” Before she had finished saying his name, Svart had whirled and gone back to supervising some chore. To fill his place, the elves he had called over were now stuffing Hermione’s pockets with food wrapped in clean handkerchiefs. Vovo suffered them for a few moments before shooing them with curt words.

“We must go, Miss Hermione,” Vovo said gravely. “Master Severus is nearing library.”

Once again, he did not warn her before they Disapparated together.

Vovo brought her back to the spot from which they had first Disapparated. Before Hermione could wrench her hand free from the elf’s grip, his fingers tightened painfully around her wrist. “Miss Hermione must not tell Master Vasiliy about Vovo,” he said forcefully.

“But he’s worried about you, Vovo.”

The little house-elf sighed and shook his head. “If Master knows Vovo in castle, Master will come to find Vovo. Master be caught, or hurt, or killed. Vovo will return to Master when possible.”

“All right, Vovo.” Suddenly the elf’s ears twitched and twisted towards the main entrance.

“Master Severus returns with mistress of library,” he whispered.

Hermione suddenly realized she still had not discovered the identity of Emilien Ellory. “Vovo, can you stall Master Severus and Madam Pince for a few minutes? Without letting them see you?”

He eyed her a bit suspiciously. “Ye-es,” he replied, the answer long and drawn out.

“Please go. There’s one more book I need to find, and I don’t think Madam Pince will give me any more time in here.” Vovo nodded once and disappeared.

Hermione did not bother to think; instead she ran on instinct. First she scooped up the Daily Prophet annual with the article about Ellory-Wyggs and tore out the page she needed. The volume went back to the shelf with a flick of her wand. Her legs took her the rest of the way, through the narrow spaces between stacks and up a rickety ladder to reach the top of a dusty, disused shelf. Her fingers raced along the spines until she found the Muggle Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Without thought or care for the poor volume marked “E-G” she used her wand to levitate the book off the shelf, open it, and rip out a section of twenty pages where the name Ellory should be. She shoved the tome back onto the wooden shelf and nearly fell off the ladder as she descended. The desecrated pages from the books she had abused folded nicely together and fit awkwardly but firmly under the back clasp of her bra. She prayed Madam Pince did not smell the old pages upon her person.

She hurried to the entrance of the library, glad for the darkness to hide the flush of her cheeks, and tried to calm her breathing. As she approached the locked doorway, she heard Severus say, “Hermione, we have returned.”

A sigh of relief nearly escaped her lips as the lock clicked open and Severus appeared on the threshold. “Come, we must get out of the castle as quickly as we can.”



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Author’s Notes:
1) Thank you to all my patient readers and reviewers! You all get hero cookies!