Outside Maidenhead, Berkshire, Britain, September 6th, 1999, 20.30 hours

"Again: Did the Minister personally order you to have the reports detailing the circumstances under which muggleborn children were taken from their parents falsified?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain that it was the Minister who gave you this order?"

"Yes."

"Was that Minister Lucius Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"Did you see any sign that he might have been under the influence of a spell at the time?"

"No."

"Is it possible you misunderstood him?"

"No."

"Do you remember his exact order?"

"No."

After fifteen minutes of questions, increasingly detailed questions, Wand-Leader Hermione felt a brief surge of hope. If the drooling cretin in front of her had misunderstood the Minister, maybe taken a remark out of context, thinking he was doing what the Minister wanted, without ever checking again… She shook her head. She knew better than to fabricate such excuses, but maybe...

"Was the order implied or clear?"

"Clear."

"But you do not remember it."

"Yes."

How could Fudge not remember the exact order that had destroyed so many lives? Hermione wanted to grab the potioned man and shake him until his sorry excuse for a brain gave her the information she wanted!

"Did you ever tell the Minister how your department executed his order?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"In every personal report."

"Was he pleased?"

"Usually, yes."

"When was he not pleased?"

"When we failed to make the quota."

"The quota?"

"Of mudblood recruits."

"Did he call them that?"

"Yes."

It was no use. She couldn't deny the truth anymore. Part of her still wanted to cling to the slim hope that someone had manipulated Fudge into thinking the Minister had wanted this, and hid the whole conspiracy from the Minister as well. For almost twenty years. But if anyone could have staged this, staged her investigation, controlled the memories of everyone she met, then why wouldn't they have simply dealt with her?

She had to face facts, like she had been trained to. The Minister, Lucius Malfoy, knew what the Obliviators had done. Knew it, wanted it, had ordered it, and had been pleased by the results. Nothing else made any sense. Unless… the Dark Lord could have done this! Kept the Minister as a puppet.

But once again, she had to ask herself why the Dark Lord would have done this. And why, after his death, it had not been stopped. Unless the Dark Lord's death had been faked, and he was still alive, still controlling the Minister… but why? Why would he ruin his own reputation? Portray himself as mad if he wasn't? And why would he let the Fanatics claiming to follow him still run loose?

It did not make any sense. And the Minister hadn't shown any signs of being manipulated. He had always seemed to be, had been in control. A far cry from the known effects of long-term mind control.

Hermione noticed that she was crying, had been crying for a while, when the ink on the parchment in her lap was already smudged by her tears. She wiped her eyes and sniffled.

The Minister was kind. Polite. Generous. She remembered his visits to Hogwarts. He had cared. He always brought a few gifts. A camera for Colin. The broom for Dean. The tome about runes for herself. Just what they had been wishing for. He had never called them mudbloods, and had never let even his son call them that in his presence.

Had that all been a lie? Had she been fooled? Had everyone in the Corps been fooled? Could the Minister be as ruthless as to have them taken from their families, their parents killed, and then raised as if they were his favourites? Make them think he loved them?

"Uhh?"

Fudge moaned. She pointed her wand at him and stunned him without really looking, her training the only reason she confirmed that he was slumped over on the chair she had sat him in.

Hermione shivered, sobbing again. She didn't want to admit it. She longed to forget everything she had found out in this investigation. But she couldn't. She was a Wand-Leader in the Investigative Branch. She couldn't keep lying to herself, no matter how much the truth hurt.

Her entire life was based on lies. She hugged herself, then bent forward, her forehead touching the table's surface. And then she screamed until she collapsed.

An hour later, she had recovered enough to levitate Micklebrock out of the cupboard, arrange a scene with Fudge and a few bottles of wine, and obliviate the couple. If she hadn't planned that cover-up all in advance, she probably would have messed it up - or given in to the temptation to wipe more than the last hour from the man's mind.

She apparated straight to the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley and marched up to room 11. To Antoine.

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London, Diagon Alley, September 6th, 1999, 22.15 hours

Ron Weasley drew his wand when he heard the knock at his door. He knew that people intent on attacking or arresting him wouldn't bother with knocking, but they would know that he knew that, and might hope it would surprise him.

He glanced at the window. He couldn't see anyone there, and the spells he had cast on the wall and roof nearby had not been triggered either. He checked the door with a small device from his brothers. There was a witch outside, maybe Tonks. He wasn't expecting her.

"Yes?" he called out.

"Antoine? It's me."

She sounded like Hermione, but… distressed, as his mum would say. An impostor wouldn't be as… off, he thought, or would look worse to make him lower his guard. He was already opening the door though, wand held at his side.

"Antoine…" She stumbled into his arms, then hugged him, hard. Her hair got into his face while she buried her face in his neck.

He kicked the door closed while he wrapped his arms around the witch. She was tense, trembling even. Close to crying, he guessed.

He rubbed her back, and her head, using the opportunity to pull her mane out of his face until she seemed to calm down, at least a bit.

"Hermione… what happened?"

She shook her head. "Nothing… I can't tell you."

"Did a mission go bad? Did you lose a friend?" What else could have shocked the confident, strong witch like that?

"No… " She started to cry.

He held her, mumbling consoling words in English and French, and gently led her away from the door so they could sit down on the bed. He doubted she was listening, but she didn't lose her grip on him.

Did… he remembered the talk with Luna, and felt as if someone had driven an ice spear into his belly. Was it possible?

He knew he shouldn't ask, if she couldn't tell him, but he had to know. "Was it Malfoy?"

He felt her jerk, then she pulled her head back, staring at him with wide eyes. "How did you know?"

He ground his teeth. Malfoy would die for this! "Luna told me about Malfoy," he spat out.

She blinked. "Luna? But would she… oh, Draco Malfoy! No, no." She shook her head again. "He didn't do anything."

What? Draco hadn't done anything? Hermione wasn't lying, he could tell, but if it hadn't been Draco, then… "What has the Minister done?"

The young witch shook her head. "I can't tell you!" She bit her lower lip until he could see blood drops appear. "I can't tell you!"

"Why not?" He said. He shouldn't push. But she had come to him. That meant she couldn't tell anyone else. Didn't trust anyone else.

She simply shook her head, tears in her eyes.

"Hermione!" He grabbed her shoulders and stared straight into her eyes. "Trust me! Please. I want to help you!" Anyway he could.

"No. It's too… no." She tried to get up. For a moment, he didn't let her, then he pulled his hands away and she shot up, chest heaving.

"I'll find out. I'll investigate myself, you know," he said before she reached the door. He would, too.

She turned around, looking as if he had struck her.

He smiled weakly, shaking his head. "Not telling me won't protect me. I'm just that dumb."

She stared at him, licking her bleeding lip, crying silently. He stood up, and walked over to her, gathering her in his arms again. After holding her for a while, he tried again: "What happened?"

She whispered: "I found out my whole life is a lie. I wasn't saved from abusive parents. My parents were murdered." She sobbed, shuddering. "On the orders of the M-Minister."

He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

"And it's not just m-me. It's everyone from the Corps. It's all lies. Lies and murders."

He listened as she told him about her private investigation of the Obliviators, and the conspiracy she had uncovered. She was calming down as she focused on her story. When she finished, she wasn't a wreck anymore. Still shaken, but he could see the strong, stubborn witch again he had come to know and love during his time in Britain.

Part of him was happy that Hermione knew the Minister was a murderous piece of scum. But part of him wished she hadn't had to suffer through a shock like this.

"So… what are we going to do about this?" he asked after she had healed her torn lip with a quick Episkey.

Hermione looked surprised, then sighed. "We could go to France. Sneak out of Britain. Be safe."

He smiled, even though he already knew she wouldn't do this. Not his Hermione. Too stubborn and brave for her own good. "We could. But you won't, will you?"

She looked away. "I can't leave my friends believing, fighting for him." She spat out the last word with venom.

"I guess we'll have to take down the Minister then," he said, as nonchalantly as he could.

She snorted. "I guess so."

Ron would never get a better opportunity to tell her. He cleared his throat and said: "I have to tell you something as well. Something important."

She blinked.

"My name's not Antoine Dupont. I'm Ron Weasley, and I'm working for Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione stared at her lover, gaping. He was not Antoine Dupont, but Ronald Weasley? Working for Albus Dumbledore? The leader of the Blood-Traitors, hiding in exile in France?

The witch quickly took a step back and drew her wand, aiming it at him. "You are…" she trailed off. What was she doing, trying to arrest an enemy of Britain, no, the Minister, after what that man had done to her? Her wand wavered.

Antoine - no, Ron - had raised his hands, in an apparent attempt to placate her. "I'm not your enemy," he said, his eyes moving from the tip of her wand to her.

"You… you lied to me!" she spat out. First the Minister, and now him. She gripped her wand tightly. Then she remembered what they had been talking about, in the last few weeks, what she had told him, naive as she had been, and rage filled her. "You used me! You used me to spy on the Ministry!" She felt the urge to curse him. A Bludgeoning Curse, to his face. And another to his groin. That would...

He shook his head almost frantically. "I didn't lie to you about my feelings. I love you!"

"You're lying!"

"I'm not! I'm a spy, yes, but I never wanted to lie to you."

"But you did!" she snarled.

"I didn't lie about loving you!"

Hermione took a step forward. The Minister had used her. Antoine - Ron - had used her. Everyone had been using her, lying to her, abusing her trust and loyalty and love! She pushed the tip of her wand into his throat. One Piercing Curse, and he'd die. He knew it too. He didn't move a muscle, but his eyes never left hers. A moment passed. Both were breathing heavily. She was crying again, she noticed. When had she started?

"Give me Veritaserum!" he said suddenly.

"What?" She blinked, then wiped the tears from her eyes with her free hand.

"You think I'm lying, I'll prove that I'm not."

She could see sweatdrops on his face. "Veritaserum is not perfect," she said. As a spy, he'd be protected against it. Albus Dumbledore was an alchemist, he'd know how to counter it.

"You'd notice that."

She would, she knew that. She had interrogated enough suspects with Veritaserum to know the signs. She had been trained to notice the signs. But did he know that?

"If I was a callous spy, abusing your trust and manipulating you, would I have been as stupid as to blurt this out right now?" His head was cocked slightly to the side now, the tip of her wand forcing his chin up.

He had a point there. That hadn't been the action of an experienced spy. "What would you have done then?"

"Tried to make you stay in the Ministry so you could take your revenge. Kept you isolated, dependent on me. Offered to serve as a contact to Dumbledore, and made you think it was your idea, and… I'm not helping my case, am I?"

Despite herself, she had to snort. He smiled weakly, hopefully, and she shook her head. He wasn't lying, she didn't think so. He'd have been prepared with a better story. She snorted again, shaking her head. It would be almost funny, the whole situation she was in, if it didn't hurt so damn much.

She lowered her wand, letting her hand drop to her side, and started to sob. She didn't stop crying until she was too exhausted, too drained, to stay awake.

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London, Diagon Alley, September 7th, 1999, 06.30 hours

When Ron Weasley woke up, he was alone in his bed. For a moment, he thought and feared that Hermione had left already. Then he saw her sitting in a conjured armchair, watching him with a guarded expression.

He cleared his throat. "Good morning."

"Good morning."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. Though after last night, that's not saying much," she added in a dry voice.

He didn't comment, or grin. He was certain he was on thin ice still.

The witch stood up and walked towards him. He swallowed when he saw how intense her expression was. She stared at him. "So. Tell me who you are."

"Ron Weasley. Ronald Bilius Weasley. Sixth son in my family. I've got five older brothers, and a little sister." And if he introduced Ginny like that, he'd pay for it dearly.

"You're not from Québec."

He shook his head. "I've visited. Briefly. I was born in England, but I grew up in France and went to Beauxbatons, then joined the Gendarmérie Magique, after graduation." With a quick smile, he added. "The Gendarmes are not quite the joke the British Aurors are."

She frowned. "France is sending spies to Britain?"

"No!" He should have said that right away. "I quit so I could go on this mission."

"And what is your mission, exactly? Apart from seducing Wands?"

He opened his mouth to protest, then saw the faint grin. She wasn't quite over his deception, but she was getting there. And she believed him - he was certain she'd not be here if she didn't. Huffing, he said: "To spy on Britain's two most dangerous enemies: Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort."

She frowned at him. "The Dark Lord was…" She stopped, snarling. "Was that a lie as well?"

"Partially. He lost his body, but with the help of the Dark Arts, he didn't die. Which Malfoy knew. He took a long time to get a new body, but…"

"The half-naga!" she interrupted him.

"Yes. He's not exactly a half-naga."

She sat down on the bed next to him, though not as close as she would have, a day ago. "So. The Dark Lord returns, bent on revenge against Malfoy. And Dumbledore sees an opportunity to have them weaken each other, to destroy them both?"

He nodded. "Essentially, yes." It wasn't exactly a secret if anyone could deduce it.

"Are you planning to have the Wands and the Fanatics fight each other until barely anyone is left?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.

"The plan was to let the Death Eaters following the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters following Lucius kill each other." He saw her take a deep breath, and reached out to grab her thigh. "Listen. That changed. Things are different now. Because of you."

She scoffed and stood up. "Because of me? Are you trying to tell me that Dumbledore would change his plans to wipe out my friends just because you love me?"

"No! He'd do it because if you can accept the truth about Malfoy, then your friends, all the Wands, can do so as well." He looked at her. Logic. He knew he had to appeal to her mind, not her heart, to regain at least part of the trust that had been destroyed.

She nodded, slowly.

"If we can enlighten the Wands about the Minister's crimes, then Malfoy is done for. And Dumbledore can defeat Voldemort," Ron said. The Aurors would stand no chance, and Malfoy had no one else to stand up to the Wands.

"He couldn't defeat him in 1981…" Hermione started to say, then blinked when she saw him grin. "The Boy-Who-Lived was real?"

"He's my best friend."

Hermione stared at him. He hoped he'd be able to tease her about this one day, and make her laugh.