Hermione kept the conversation light as they ascended the Moving Staircase, but when they were several floors up Amos’s expression became serious. Hermione’s voice trailed off mid-sentence.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“There were two guys in the Entrance Hall when you came to meet me,” he said, all business now. The change was dramatic enough to make Hermione shiver. “Both were spying on you. I’ve never met the man, but I think the first was Professor Snape – both Jonah and Ron Weasley warned me he had excellent skills in that field. Greasy looking git. He was there when I arrived.”

“And the other?”

“Came in near the end. Not bad at concealment, but nowhere near the skills of the first guy. Thick blonde hair. Good looking.”

“Douglas Nikjoy,” Hermione muttered, annoyed and unsettled. “He teaches Muggle Studies. Used to teach at the Engronelant Institute in–”

“–in Greenland, yes. I know,” Amos interrupted. “That school is a bad place, Hermione, and the only people who go there are bad. That includes the teachers. Why did Dumbledore employ him?”

Hermione frowned. She didn’t like Amos’s assessment of Doug, but not because she liked the man – far from it. She didn’t like it because it reinforced her own unsettled reaction to him.

“No idea,” she said after a moment. She wondered if she should mention the incident to the Headmaster. “Are you sure he was spying? He wasn’t just giving two friends some privacy before crossing the Entrance Hall?”

Amos shook his head. “I’m sure. You’ve got yourself a fan club, girl.”

Hermione grimaced. “Forget about Severus – he’s safe. I trust him with my life.” At Amos’s raised eyebrow, she asked, “Jonah filled you in on my background information?”

“He told me some things,” he said. “But I think I would rather hear the story direct from you, if you don’t mind.”

---

She escorted Amos up to her quarters, mulling over Doug’s presence in the Entrance Hall. She decided not to tell Albus just yet. She knew Severus trusted Doug even less than she did; he would be watching him. She’d leave it at that for now.

Amos made her average sized living room seem much smaller, and the sofa gave out an alarming creak as he settled his bulk.

“Tea?” Hermione asked. “Coffee?” She sighed at his grimace. “Something stronger?”

“Firewhiskey, if you’ve got any?”

Though Hermione wasn’t a great drinker, she did have half a bottle of vodka stashed in the back of her wardrobe. During the height of her problems, she had – on occasion – turned to drink to numb the pain. It had never worked well, or lasted for long.

Amos didn’t need to know any of that, though.

“I’ll see what the kitchen can provide,” she told him, turning to the fireplace.

Ten minutes later a house-elf popped into existence carrying a tray. There was tea for Hermione, a bottle of Firewhiskey and a glass for Amos, and a plate almost overflowing with macaroons.

“Margy is remembering Amos Johnson!” the elf squeaked, beaming up at the big man. “Margy is remembering how he likes his macaroons, yes, she is!”

Amos chuckled and beamed down at the little elf. “Well, I’ll be damned if it isn’t my old friend Margy. Good job, girl! I still love macaroons!”

The house-elf, beside herself with joy, popped out of the room again. Hermione laughed as she sat in a vacant armchair.

“Now who’s got a fan club?” she teased.

Amos reached for the plate. “Old Margy just wants to fill me with food – I was a scrawny kid. What does your fan club want with you?”

Hermione grimaced. “That’s a whole other conversation.”

As Amos stuffed himself on macaroons, Hermione gave him an edited version of the last six years. She described her life before she became an Unspeakable, her brief relationship with Ron Weasley, and her subsequent induction into the Department of Mysteries. She gave a censored account of her relationship with John Gildersome. She didn’t need to say much on that score; she suspected Amos knew more than she was willing to relate. John’s proclivities had been well known.

She detailed her parents’ murder by rogue Death Eaters and how the event had driven her more deeply into her work. She explained her she’d discovered the star-shaped Key and the Ishtar Gate itself, and how the Key had plunged her into nightmares so terrible she’d had little sleep for months.

She described how Severus had helped break her connection to the Key, and how together they’d researched and translated the device. She then recounted the final showdown with John and their pursuit through the Gate, deep into the heart of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

“John was sent to Azkaban for his crimes,” Hermione finished. “But, as we know, he escaped. He’s going to want revenge on the people who put him there.”

Amos hummed as he thought. “He’s been on the run for what, two months now? Nearly two months. We know he’s resourceful and clever. If he didn’t drown in the North Sea during his escape –”

“Not bloody likely,” Hermione muttered.

“Agreed. Vermin like him don’t just die.” The difference between the jovial Amos, and the man who sat talking shop on her sofa now, was pronounced. “He’ll have gone to ground somewhere safe. He’ll have food, shelter, clothes – but more importantly, he’ll have acquired a wand.”

Hermione swallowed. John was a dangerous man, even without his wand; he was both physically and magically strong and could easily perform wandless magic. But Amos was right – he wouldn’t let himself be without a wand for long.

“I’m part of the team of Aurors tasked with tracking him down,” Amos explained. “We’ve had a long conversation with Jonah Jasuit. Thanks to him, we’ve had an in-depth look at his personality type, and we’ve found out about many of the properties he owns. We even know most of his contacts. We’ve posted Aurors – discreetly, of course – at all the locations we think he might emerge.”

“Ha!” Hermione’s scorn was fierce and surprised even herself. “I worked with him closely for six years. Too damn closely.” Her voice was trembling now but she couldn’t seem to stop it. “I bet you a handful of Galleons you don’t know his contacts and hide-outs as well as you’d like to think.”

Amos didn’t appear offended by her derisive tone. “Tell me, then, and I’ll liaise with the others. Help us to help you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Why did no one think to ask me this when he first escaped?” she snapped. “Come to think of it – why did I not even think to volunteer the information?” She slapped her forehead. “Stupid, stupid. We’ve all been stupid.”

“Hermione, please… calm down, girl. Alright, we made a mistake – I’ll admit that. Don’t blame yourself for it.”

“But we could have caught him by now if I’d just…!”

“If is a very big word for just two letters.” He leaned forward and patted her knee. “Given what we know of John Gildersome, I don’t think he would have gone back to any of his properties, whether he thinks we know about them or not. He’s likely to use his contacts network, however, so we’ve still got a chance.”

Hermione took a deep breath and willed herself not to scream. Not volunteering this information at the beginning had been a big mistake; it was an angle she should have covered. She prided herself on thoroughness, so why hadn’t this occurred to her?

Because I was scared out of my mind, a little voice whispered in her head. John promised to do things to me that no one should have to endure. And I know he would enjoy every moment of it.

I’m still scared out of my mind.

“Have you got a quill and parchment ready?” Hermione asked, toneless. “If not, I’ll get you some. This is going to be a long list.”

---

Hermione had an excellent memory, and it was getting late by the time they’d finished listing all John’s contacts and properties that she could remember. After that they talked about Hermione’s upcoming visit to Stack-A-Box Storage over fresh drinks and more macaroons.

“I can clear everything out in one visit,” she explained. “It’s all in boxes, so I can just shrink the boxes down and put them in a bag. Shouldn’t take long.”

“What’s the location of this storage facility like?” Amos asked. “Is it isolated or in a built up area?”

“It’s on an industrial estate. The area around it’s built up – it’s on the outskirts of London – but the site itself is full of buildings, car parks and alleyways. It was quiet. I got the impression there weren’t many staff.”

Amos stroked his chin. “Easy to pick up on suspicious activity, but quiet enough that Gildersome would risk an attack.”

Hermione felt cold. She crossed her arms over her chest. “He would risk an attack whether there were Muggles there to see or not,” she said. “He won’t care. He’s… he’s mad, Amos. The last time I saw him he’d snapped all the way.”

“Damn.” Amos punched his thigh. “We’ll have to make this visit quick, then – I’m not going to risk exposing you to danger for long.”

Hermione offered him a troubled smile. “Has anyone told you Severus and I have been invited to the Babylon Conference just before Christmas?”

“No… but I did read in the Prophet that’d you both been scheduled as key speakers. Don’t worry – I’ve been assigned as your bodyguard until Gildersome is caught. Professor Snape will get a bodyguard, too, if he chooses to go to the Conference.”

A startled laugh escaped her. She clapped a hand over her mouth, surprised and embarrassed, and gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry. It’s just the idea of Severus allowing anyone to act as his bodyguard… you’ll have an uphill struggle there.”

Amos grinned. “We’ll see about that. I’ll owl Dumbledore nearer the time, see what he can do to persuade your surly Potions Master. But hey – here’s hoping this is all academic, and that we catch Gildersome before then.”

“That’s something I’ll drink to!” Hermione said, fervent, raising her teacup for a toast. Amos clinked the edge of his class against the cup.

“I’ll drink to that too.” He downed his Firewhiskey in one huge gulp. “Now, give me a proposed date for the Stack-A-Box job and we’ll call it a night.”

Hermione sipped her tea. “I’d planned to go in about a fortnight,” she explained. “Saturday. That’s the ninth of October. That gives Stack-A-Box plenty of notice that I’m coming.”

“Hmm. Write your letter now, Hermione, and I’ll curse it – if anyone other than a Stack-A-Box employee tries to read it, they’ll wish they hadn’t.”

She gritted her teeth. “You think John would intercept their post?”

“He’s clever enough that the idea might occur to him. There are spells that can detect material that’s come from a magical environment – like your Muggle envelopes, for instance. I’m not saying that’s something he’s done…”

“But it’s a possibility,” Hermione finished, gloomy.