Archive of Our Own

Summary:
Hermione returns to Hogwarts for her 'eighth' year. She finds the war is still being fought, it's just.... more polite.
Rule number seven: Don't piss off the Mudbloods, especially ones named Granger.

A/N: This is an omake to a story I’m nearly done with, about water. Frankly, it’s better than the original story, at least as of now, and commanded my attention, so it’s actually getting submitted first.
Question for the reader. Is it ‘dark Hermione’ when she’s bending the arc of history towards justice? And there’s no way they all didn’t have horrible PTSD in one way or another.
I still own nothing, and still thank JKR for allowing us to play on her beach.
More A/N: I am migrating my works from FFN. This is the first one moved, but my most recent work. My author name on FFN is nargled. Seems to be taken here. More works to follow.....
More A/N: Updated June 2024, because some people seem to be able to read “Muggle-born Registration Commission” in the books and not know what that means….

This is water.
(Which purebloods have no real understanding of…..)

Hermione looked up from her book and plate at the soft chiming of a spoon against a goblet. “Good evening, students,” Headmistress McGonagall announced before the elves started sending up pudding.
“In the next couple of weeks before the Christmas Holidays, we will be having extra Careers Advice meetings, available for those in their Seventh and Eighth years. There have been a great number of changes in our world recently, and many opportunities have opened up in numerous fields. For Seventh-years, sign up sheets to meet with your Head of House will be posted in your common rooms. I will be meeting with the Eighth-year students that are interested, please see me directly. Careers Advice for Fifth-years will be held in the spring as usual.”
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“What are you thinking of doing after graduation?” asked Neville as they sat in the library, pamphlets from the Ministry strewn about them.
“My plan was always to go into the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures and try to help the House Elves. Despite their help in defeating Riddle, they’re still treated like slaves—”
Neville grimaced and took a breath. “—”
“Yes, yes,” she interrupted him before he could start. “I understand they’re symbiotes and need a bond to a magical person or place to survive, but that’s no excuse to treat them so horribly. They’re sentient beings, better than some humans I know, and deserve respect.”
Neville relaxed and nodded.
“Though,” she added thoughtfully, “I’ve really enjoyed Charms this year. Maybe I should talk with Professor Flitwick about pursuing a Mastery first.”
She turned at the quiet noise behind her. Nott was at the next table surrounded by stacks of Potions texts. “Something to say, Theodore?”
He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then set his quill down. “After consideration, I think that I do. You helped expose Riddle for the fraud he was, posing as a Noble wizard, so I can do you this small favour in return.”
He folded his hands together on his desk. “My advice is for you to pursue a Charms Mastery. The best you could do at the Ministry is an Assistant Secretary’s Assistant. Your penmanship and organisational skills are quite good, after all. With a Charms Mastery, there are at least a few shops in Diagon that would hire you, for dusting and cleaning and such. Maybe even bookkeeping.”
Hermione bit back her first choice of words. “I will have a dozen NEWTS, all of them O’s. And not that it matters, an Order of Merlin. I am certain I will be hired for more than my penmanship.”
“Order of Merlin or no, you are a mud— muggleborn, without House, Family, or Sponsor. No collection of NEWTs can circumvent that and get you into the Ministry.”
Her mouth dropped open before she could stop it. “That’s… that’s—” she sputtered.
“The way things work, have always worked, and should work,” he interrupted. “I would have thought someone as smart as yourself would have figured that out by now.”
He continued, “As for myself, my Family is of the Sacred 28. I can, and will, walk into any job in the ministry I want, and when I’m twenty-one I can take my seat on the Wizengamot as well. I would’ve had to wait, but father got himself caught and sent to Azkaban for life. So I have that to thank you for, too.”
“I can even thank you for your contribution in removing, permanently or not, the more… reactionary members of the conservatives, who while ardent in their beliefs and actions were ultimately hurting our cause. Things are rapidly returning to how they should be, and more importantly, to being conducted appropriately.”
He nodded his head at her, apparently in the aforementioned thanks, and returned to his Potions homework.
She turned to Neville in a mix of anger and shock. He had a slightly confused look on his face and shrugged one shoulder. Before he could say anything, she scooped up her materials and rushed out of the library.
Neville hastily gathered his own books and homework, but stopped at Nott’s table. It was a few moments before Nott acknowledged him. “Something, Longbottom?” he asked, not looking up.
“You—,” then he stopped. Nothing he could say would change Nott’s mind or convince him he was wrong. “No, not really. Just wondering how far your head would have flown if I’d had the opportunity to chop it off.”
Nott did look up at that. He grinned. “Excellent, Longbottom. You’ve finally developed your claws. I look forward to decades of debating you in the ‘Mot.”
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Neville found her in a corner of the Gryffindor common room. He’d never seen anyone read angrily before. Like Nott, it was a few moments before she acknowledged him.
“Yes, Neville?”
“Er, you left rather abruptly. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She looked up, some of the anger leaving her face. “Oh, well, thank you.”
They stared at each other. “You can sit, Neville, I won’t hex you.”
He sat. “Right. So, are you okay? Nott….”
“Nott is a consummate Slytherin. He wouldn’t do or say anything without it benefitting him in multiple ways. One of the benefits for him would be to upset me. He did, but I’ll get over it. So yes, I’m okay.”
“Yes, well, he’s still an idiot. You’re a great witch, best of our year.”
The rest of the anger left her face, and she smiled. “Well, thank you again, Neville.” She turned thoughtful. “But that’s not the issue.”
“Huh?”
“He never said I wasn’t a great witch. He said it didn’t matter because I’m a Mudblood.”
Before he could argue the use of that word, she pulled up her sleeve. Neville winced at the sight of the red and jagged letters carved into her arm. Somehow he’d forgotten about them. “Whether I think so or not, whether you think so or not, whether it’s right or not, there are plenty of people who do think that.” She slid her sleeve back down. “If they’re the ones who decide if I get hired or promoted, well….”
Now Neville was scowling in anger. “Don’t be angry at Nott, Neville. As far as I can tell, he was telling the truth, and probably honestly thought he was doing me a favour, or at least now thinks I owe him something. Either of which let him feel virtuous and noble while still riling me up and putting me in my place. So win, win, win, and win for him.”
Neville ‘humphed.’ “It’s still not right.”
Hermione just ‘hmm’d’ to herself, then asked, “So what are the Sacred 28? I assume he didn’t make that up on the spot.”
“Oh, there was a list published like a hundred years ago, called The Pure-Blood Directory. Rumour is that Nott’s grandfather was the author. It lists the twenty-eight families the author considered ‘pure’ at the time. Most people don’t pay it any mind.”
Hermione was scribbling notes. “So who’s on the list?”
“Well, a lot of who’d you expect, like Nott, Malfoy, Black, Greengrass, Carrow, etc. The Longbottoms are on it, much to our shame, so are the Weasleys, the Abbots, the Macmillans, even Minister Shacklebolt.”
Hermione frowned while she was scribbling. “And they all have seats on the Wizengamot?”
“Oh no, not everyone. The Notts do, as do the Longbottoms, and the Blacks, but not say the Malfoys or Weasleys.”
“So it sounds like the seats are hereditary, then?”
“Yeah, well most of them. The Chief Witch or Warlock gets one if they didn’t have one already. Same for the Minister and Department Heads.”
“So no one gets elected, or even appointed on?”
“Just the Chief Witch or Warlock. Though I suppose being ‘appointed’ Department Head comes with the seat, so kind of?” It came out as a question.
Hermione scribbled a few more notes. “Are the Potters on the list?”
Neville chuckled. “No, and proud of it. Harry’s grandfather was way too ‘pro-muggle’ to get on the list.”
“Does Harry have a seat, then? I would’ve assumed he’d know, but maybe not.”
“No, no seat. Same reason as why they’re not on the list.”
She scribbled some more. “So not everyone with money or power is on the list, and not everyone on the list has money and power.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, not at all. Like I said, it was probably Nott’s grandfather who made the list. It was more propaganda than anything else.”
“Hmm. And a sponsor? He said that like it was a formal thing.”
“Dunno. Sounds like a reference. I’ll have to ask Gran.”
“Hmm,” she said again. She put away her quill. “We didn’t get to what you were going to do, Neville.”
His face lit up at the change in topic. “Oh. I’m talking with Professor Sprout about a Herbology Mastery. Gran wants me to start taking over running the estate, and Professor Sprout says that won’t be a problem. She’ll even let me incorporate the management of my greenhouses at home into the Mastery.”
Hermione smiled. “That’s wonderful, Neville. It’s a perfect fit for you.” She thought for a moment. “Though I’m not sure what you mean by ‘running the estate.’ Is your house that big?”
“Oh, you’ve never been over, have you? We’ll have to do that, soon. Well, in this sense it means not just the Hall, which is rather big, especially for just Gran and I, but also the property, the Family vaults, and the rentals, and especially the greenhouses. I’ve been growing lots of potions ingredients for sale, as well as specialty flowers for the flower shop in Diagon Alley.”
“And you said the Longbottoms have a seat on the Wizengamot?
He nodded. “We do. Gran used to go just to stop Malfoy in whatever scheme he was on, and to, ah, ‘make sure Fudge didn’t sell the Ministry to the Goblins for a Galleon out of sheer stupidity.’”
Hermione chuckled at that. “Well, we must owe her more than we know, then. So when do you get to take the seat?”
“Not before I’m 25, as long as Gran is around. Nott can earlier as his father’s been kicked off and is in prison. Or rather kicked off because he’s in prison.”
She ‘hmm’d’ again, then smiled at him. “Thanks for checking in on me, Neville.”
He shrugged awkwardly. “Sure. Just don’t let people like Nott get to you.” With that, he headed off to his room.
Hermione lost her smile, and the anger she suppressed while talking with Neville returned. She looked at her notes. There was a lot of new investigating to do, as apparently she was unaware of how things ‘really worked,’ and didn’t have much time to learn. Neville was a dear, a true friend, but even if he couldn’t see it he was of the same mould as Nott. The complete opposite perhaps, the other side of the coin, but it was a great big shiny gold coin Hermione didn’t and couldn’t ever own. She wasn’t destined for power based on the circumstances of her birth.
She picked up her quill again and made a short list.
~Sacred 28
~Wizengamot
~Ministry positions, Sponsors
It was an uncharitable thought, but while he may not have a large estate, or seat on the Wizengamot, The Sacred 28 might explain how the Head of dealing with muggles was so completely ignorant and terrible at it, yet kept his Ministry job for decades. Well, that and likely no one would care if he dealt with them competently or not, as long as the Statute was kept.
She made another list, this one of new questions to ask Headmistress McGonagall, then yet another, of the new tasks she had for Yule break. She hoped it wasn’t the case, but she might need a plan C.
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“Enter,” said McGonagall at the knock on her door.
She brightened as Hermione came in to her office and sat down. As professors, they weren’t supposed to have favourites, but they all did. So much like her last favourite, Lily. She still held on to her secret wish that another Potter wedding would happen in the near future….
She folded her hands on her desk and assumed her usual brisk manner. “Hermione, welcome. I assume you have everything mapped out and your questions prepared, as per usual?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.” She pulled a roll of parchment from her robe’s pocket. Unrolling it, she continued, “I’m trying to decide between my original goal of joining the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, you may recall my interest in House Elf treatment—”
McGonagall tried to keep her encouraging smile on her face and nodded, but inside worried at the disappointment Hermione might face in such a goal.
“—but, Charms has been so interesting this year, and just, well, fun, I was wondering if I should talk with Professor Flitwick about how to pursue a Mastery.”
McGonagall’s smile broadened and reached her eyes again. “I’m sure he would love such a conversation. He might even consider taking you on himself. Given that he’s a Hogwarts Professor, teaching the lower years would be part of your Mastery in that case, but I assume that would be a positive for you, rather than a negative?”
Hermione nodded.
“I would have you consider that this isn’t necessarily an either/or matter. Not that you’d have to have it, your expected NEWTs will be the best in many years, but a Charms Mastery could serve you well in pursuing a career at the Ministry.”
Hermione looked surprised. “I hadn’t thought about that before. And teaching for a couple of years does sound appealing.” She scribbled a few more notes on her parchment.
“But I do have some questions about working in the Ministry I was hoping you could answer.”
“Of course, that’s what these meetings are for.”
“Right, well.” She looked McGonagall in the eyes. “I guess the first question is what sort of positions could I expect to attain as a muggleborn? I’ve been told my penmanship is quite good, so I would qualify to be an Assistant Secretary’s Assistant, but I was hoping for something a bit more… fulfilling.”
McGonagall's’ smile fell before she could stop it, and she saw Hermione see it. She took a deep breath. Being honest would be key, and the least she could do. “I’ll admit, in the past, your career path would have been… limited. But with all the recent upheavals, and under the current Minister and his administration, and especially with your Order of Merlin, you could aspire to any position in the Ministry you wanted.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “I see. And if this was say, ten years ago, what would your advice have been?”
In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. “I would have recommended the Charms Mastery. As you said, on the whole you would have found it much more fulfilling, and much less frustrating.”
Hermione thought for a moment. “Thank you.” McGonagall wasn’t sure what she was being thanked for. “My second question is what a Sponsor for a Ministry position is, who I could find to be one, and I guess if I still need one?”
“Ah. A Sponsor is someone who would second you to a position, and it only applies to Under Secretary or Assistant Head positions and above. Anyone that is an Under Secretary or Assistant Head themselves and above, or a Wizengamot member, can be a Sponsor. Consider it like an extra letter of recommendation. It’s mostly a formality.”
“Oh,” she smiled, “and I believe an Order of Merlin holder can be a Sponsor as well. So you could conceivably second yourself. Or Harry. But I’m not sure you would need one. If you felt you did, I’m sure Minister Shacklebolt would be happy to be one for you.”
Hermione just continued taking notes on her parchment. She asked without looking up, “And of those that are currently Under Secretary or Assistant Head or above, how many are muggleborn?”
McGonagall paused. “I really don’t know. There’s been so much turnover that I couldn’t even say for sure who’s in all of those positions currently. And to be frank, I couldn’t have told you for sure about everyone’s, um, heritage, before all the changes.”
Hermione finished her notes, rolled up her parchment and tucked it away. “Thank you for your honesty, Headmistress.” She stood. “I’ll have much to think about over the holidays, and beyond.”
As the door shut after the abrupt ending to their meeting, McGonagall had the odd mix of feeling disappointed and of being a disappointment. It was quite unsettling.
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Hermione retreated to her room in Gryffindor tower. As the only female Eighth-year student in Gryffindor, she had a whole room to herself, and had both a bookcase and desk in addition to her bed. Pulling out a high quality sheet of parchment, she carefully composed her letter.
Dear Minister Shacklebolt,
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On the way out to the carriages to Hogsmeade Station for Yule Holidays, Luna surprised her by tucking her arm in hers and pulling her towards where Neville was waiting.
“Come share a ride with us, Hermione. It’s our last Yule Break Carriage Ride. We should be together.”
Bemused, Hermione didn’t protest. She happened to agree. The thestrals were quiet in their harnesses. It was still strange to see them. No one referred to them as magic carriages any more, as far too many people could see what was pulling them now. She shivered and climbed in.
Once settled for the ride, she watched her carriage mates. No one could figure out if they were dating or not. Not surprising, she thought, with Neville being still quite reserved, and Luna completely circumventing conventional social norms of behaviour. Some days they looked like a devoted if platonic couple, then a week would go by and they wouldn’t be seen together at all. There were times where they were both missing, but no one ever found them in any of the usual spots, and Neville had the handy and often true excuse of being out in the greenhouses. She decided to not pry and enjoy the lack of public displays of affection of say Lavender and Ron, and not focus too long on Neville’s mastery of the Room of Requirement.
“What do you have planned for your break, Hermione?” Luna’s question pulled her from her musings.
“Time with my parents. Time with Harry.” They both smiled a this. “Also I’m hoping for a day at the Ministry. Minister Shacklebolt might be able to show me around, see what kind of jobs might be open after I graduate.”
Luna pursed her lips and just ’hmm’d.’ Hermione internally grumbled again at what all the purebloods seemed to know that she didn’t.
“And you, Luna?”
“Oh, yes. Daddy’s off on another quest, so I’ll be mostly by myself.” She reached over without looking and briefly put her hand on Neville’s knee. “I’ll just have to come up with some things to occupy my time.”
To Hermione’s surprise, Neville wasn’t blushing, nor clueless, but had a small smirk on his face as he looked out the carriage window. Way to go, Neville and Luna. She smiled broadly and looked back to Luna, who had already started to read the latest Quibbler. There was, however, a slight twitch upward of her lips.
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Unlike the rest of the students, Eighth-years were allowed to bypass the Hogwarts Express, and could apparate home directly from the platform, as it was outside the wards. She gave Luna and Neville a final “Happy Christmas,” then disappeared with a quiet ‘pop’ at the same time they did.
She reappeared in the spot in the corner of the garage they kept clear for her coming and going. The car bays were still empty, so her parents weren’t home yet. She went in and upstairs to her room; enlarged, emptied, and reshrunk her trunk in a matter of moments; then to the kitchen for a cuppa.
She was just finishing The Guardian when she heard the automatic garage door open and close, and her mother appeared soon after.
“Hermione, welcome home!”
She returned the hug. “Hi, mum. It’s nice to be home for a bit.”
“Other than your usual reading, any plans for the holiday? We’re not hosting or going out this year, so it should be pretty low key.”
“Um, I’ll want to see Harry of course, so I’ll be at Grimmauld some and he’ll be here some. Neville said something about maybe visiting his Hall. And I’m waiting to hear back from Minister Shacklebolt. I wrote to him regarding positions in the Ministry that might be a good fit for me after graduation.”
“That’s what you’re planning on, then? I know you wanted to work on your… elf… thing.”
“House Elves, mum. I definitely need to see if I can introduce you to one, somehow. Anyway, not for certain. I’ve been enjoying Charms a lot this term, so might apply for a Mastery with Professor Flitwick.”
“And a Mastery is like, what?”
“Like a Tertiary College degree or an apprenticeship I suppose. Not quite like a full degree from a University. More book learning, lots of practical application, some research.”
“What would a Mastery get you?”
“Oh, lots of different things. Employment to do charms privately, or to undo charms like a curse breaker for the Ministry or Gringotts. It could lead to Enchanting, which is just more specialised and permanent Charms work.”
“So which do you want to do?”
“Well, Headmistress McGonagall did suggest that I could do both. A Charms Mastery would be fulfilling to get by itself, but would also possibly aid in getting a job at the Ministry. That’s part of what I want to discuss with the Minister.”
“Well, it must be handy being able to ring up the Minister and ask for a meeting.”
“I want a job on my own merits, mum, not because of who I know.”
“I know dear, and agree. But part of your own merits is how you know the Minister, especially as it was before he became Minister. Don’t avoid using that out of some sense of nobility. It’s called networking, and it’s part of any professional’s life.”
She cringed a bit internally at the word ‘nobility,’ but didn’t let it show. “Another thing to ask the Minister, then.”
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Hermione popped into existence on the porch of 12 Grimmauld Place. Placing her hand on the door handle and waiting until it recognised her and opened, she then hurried to the kitchen, calling out with a loud “Hi, Harry” as she passed the stairs.
Plunking herself down on a bench, she pulled out a small notebook and furiously started transcribing her scribbled notes onto full-sized parchment. In the background she heard Harry coming down the stairs to find her.
“How’d your tour of the Ministry with Shack go?” he asked as he came in.
She didn’t look up. “Good. Sort of. Well, quite horrid, actually. Just don’t distract me yet, I’ve got to get this all down before I forget what all the abbreviations stand for.”
He just nodded and busied himself making tea and toast for the two of them as Hermione started muttering names to herself. He had the day off to make up for a long shift over the weekend. A few minutes later, he looked over her shoulder as he served her hers, then sat down with his own. Her notebook had cryptic initials and words and arrows, and her parchment had an ever growing list of Ministry Departments and names of people who worked in each one. She continued listing names long enough for him to have seconds, and remake hers as they’d gone cold.
“There,” she said finally. “Oh, thanks,” she added, seeing her tea and toast.
“So, how’d it go?” Harry asked again.
Hermione slumped back in her chair with her tea. “I got to see most of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and For the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, some of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and International Co-operation. I skipped Magical Transportation, they don’t offer tours of Department of Mysteries, and only said ‘hi’ to Penelope Clearwater in Magical Games and Sports. I’ll save Magical Education for later, depending on if I pursue a Charms Mastery with Professor Flitwick.”
Harry looked over her parchment as she stopped for a sip of tea. “That’s a lot of names.” Many in the Auror Office were known to him, the rest not so much. Though a couple seemed somehow familiar…
“Mm hmm. Every Head, Under Secretary, Assistant Under Secretary, Division Director or Deputy Director, and as many Executive Officers or Assistants I could meet, or hear of, or read the name plate on the door or desk of.”
She took a bite of toast. “I’m sure they think I’m a bit strange as I was furiously writing down names while they’re trying to give me a tour. The Ministry is odd. There’s no directory for any Department. The vast majority of the public deals only with the reception/secretary person at the front desk, who sometimes takes your complaint or problem or whatever, but most likely gives you a form to fill out, which then gets passed on to whoever deals with that issue, who are mostly low to mid level positions. I have no idea what the Heads and Under Secretaries and Directors actually do.”
She waved her mug at him, nearly spilling her tea. “The only thing I actually saw them do was sit at their desks and drink tea. I’m sure they have meetings and planning sessions and all, but none of them ever described any of that. They all described what ‘we’ or ‘The Department’ did, and a couple even had to ask their assistant or secretary how something worked. It was all very frustrating.”
“Odd, I guess, but I don’t think that rises to the level of horrid.”
“Ah, well the horrid part is that it appeared all the assistants and secretaries with a small ‘a’ and ’s’ were female, and as far as I could tell, first born; all the Assistants and Secretary types with a big ‘A’ and ’S’ were male and at least halfblooded, and all the Heads etc were male and pureblood. I only know the status of a few people, of course, but anyone I do know follows that pattern.”
She took another sip of tea. “The small letter people were either gushing and starstruck to see me, I don’t know how you put up with it by the way, and the capital letter people were at best all polite but standoffish. A couple frowned at my notebook and pen, a couple frowned at me, and one even wiped his hand on his robes after the Minister glared him into finally shaking mine.”
Harry actually stood and drew his wand at this. “Who—”
She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Calm down, Harry. What, you’re going to storm the Ministry and force people to be nice to me and hire me at wandtip?”
“But it’s not right that, that after all we did, all we’ve been through….”
“I’m well aware, Harry, but this is not something we can cast our way through, and it’s not going to get fixed quickly. I just have to decide how to go about it.”
He sat back down. “Hmph. So Umbridge and Yaxley were the norm, not the exception. Now what?”
“Well, no one tried to kill me or accuse me of stealing some poor deserving pureblood’s magic, but the attitude, maybe yes, so Nott likely was telling the truth. And I’m not even sure there is a ‘now what.’ The only real question is the middle management, who seem to be the ones that actually do the work. I didn’t get enough names or meet enough of them to know, but even if a firstborn female can get that high, I don’t want to be stuck there forever. We’ve always said the magical world was a hundred years behind the rest of us, but I had no idea that included women’s rights and class status in the government itself.”
“You could come be an Auror. Hardly anyone there gives a rat’s… patootie about blood status. The fact that you can cast a patronus would make you one of the top dogs right off. We’d be thrilled to have you.”
“Hmm, thanks, no. I’m done with wand battles, and the changes I want to make aren’t going to get done by arresting shoplifters and disorderly drunk wizards.”
“So that brings us back to ‘now what?’ Are you not going to join the Ministry at all?”
“I suppose I could spend the next week and a half that I have left of break finishing the project I’d originally planned. Birth records are public, they’re just ledgers from St. Mungo's listed in chronological order. I can’t look up a particular person, but there’s only at most fifty to a hundred births a year since Grindelwald and then Riddle were terrorising or killing off the magical population, so it won’t take too long to build a recent family tree of Magical Britain. Well, the male family tree, as the maiden names of the mothers aren’t listed if they’re married, and they most often are.”
“Marriage licenses are filed one by one alphabetically, by the groom’s name of course but at least the maiden name of the bride is on there, and go back a couple of centuries, so that’s a good back up. There’s no official record of who Sponsored who except in individual personnel files, and there’s no way I can get access to those.”
She slurped up the last of her tea, and declined a refill. “The last bit is finding a list of first borns, which the Ministry doesn’t keep at all. We’re all born at non-magical hospitals, and only a few get visited by Magical Accidents and Catastrophes or the DMLE before we get our letter and visit from— damn!”
“What?” Harry asked.
“I should have gone to Magical Education after all, I think. The only place all first borns go is Hogwarts. I need a list of Hogwarts graduates. Or better yet, first years, in case they left before graduation.”
Harry thought for a moment. “Talk to McGonagall. She gets the list of Muggleborns and others that need first contact every year. Maybe they’re stored somewhere.”
“That’s brilliant, Harry! I can save that for later then and focus on birth records.”
“I’ll have to write that down, Hermione Granger calling me brilliant.”
She reached out and gave him a hug. “I keep telling you you’re very smart, Harry. You’ve just never had a chance to develop it.”
“Well, in that case,” he said, grabbing her hand an pulling her towards the sitting room with its big sofa, “my next brilliant idea is that we’ve an hour before we’re due at your parents for supper, and I want some Hermione time.”
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Hermione was in her fifth day of copying birth records by hand. It was tedious and boring and yielding only a few matches to the Ministry list per hour. Though she was connecting families together more and more. Frankly she was becoming amazed at how interrelated the families were, and especially in the Ministry. By now nearly half were connected in some fashion or another. And the oddity of some of the names….
Between her growling stomach and cramping hand, she decided it was time for a lunch break. She stuck a scrap of parchment in the ledger she was in to mark her place, put it back on the shelf, and headed off to the cafeteria. Harry was out on training sessions, so couldn’t meet her, so she’d just grab something quick and come back to copying.
Standing in line, she was startled by a “Hermione?” behind her.
“Oh, Penelope, hi, how are you?”
“Penny, please. We didn’t have much time to chat when the Minister was showing you around. Are you thinking of a job at the Ministry?”
“Debating it. That or a Charms Mastery. Right now I’m down in Records copying information to help me decide.” She shook her hand out. “It’s day five and slow going.”
“Well, you could just use the version of the Gemini Charm for books and parchment, then you wouldn’t have to camp out here. First charm we learn to use, and use most often.”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “How did I not know that? Just don’t let it get out, or I’ll never get a chance at a Mastery.” She and Penny shared a laugh.
“So what sort of things are you researching?” Penny asked.
Hermione had a sudden idea, something that Penny might both understand and be able to help with. “Can you keep this to yourself?” she asked quietly. Penny nodded. “I’m looking at the family connections involved in Sponsoring and getting positions at the Ministry. I want to know what I can reasonably expect if I decide to work here.”
Penny’s eyes narrowed. They moved up in line and started choosing their food. “Figures you’d know to do that before you signed on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s sit down first.”
Penny led them to a vacant table in a corner of the room and got settled. She took a deep breath. “I’ve never thanked you for saving my life from the basilisk. Several weeks of being petrified is better than dying. And I was able to still get my NEWTs. So thank you.”
She took a bite of her salad. “So I’ll be honest with you. I joined Games and Sports because I love Quidditch. Love it. Not to play necessarily, but everything else about it. I love watching games, keeping stats on the teams and the players. I can’t now that I’m in the Department, but I’d make a killing if I wagered on matches. I got great NEWTs, wrote Quidditch articles, and really, Games and Sports isn’t filled with a bunch of Ravenclaws. So I thought I could get a good job doing something I loved, and be able to work my way up. I’m not like a lot of the women who’re just here looking for a date or a husband.”
Hermione just nodded, not wanting to interrupt.
“So I got an Assistant Secretary’s Assistant job, basically filling out or collecting forms, passing them on, or owling people their responses. If I’m really lucky, I can be in charge of an auto quill during a meeting, and copying the parchment for whoever needs it. Not that they ever read what I send out. My suggestions are ignored, frequently to be re-suggested by someone else later on and found to be a great idea. Any discussion about advancement is met with ‘you need a lot more seasoning,’ followed by ‘you’ll be off getting married or having kids by then anyway.’ It’s gone from infuriating to disheartening, and I’m not sure I can stay here forever. I may start looking for a Quidditch reporting job instead. The pay would be a lot less, but at least I would be doing something.”
“I hate to ask, but are there any witches or wizards in your family tree?”
“No, none. And I know that’s an issue, but I thought in Games and Sports it wouldn’t matter. Or at least not as much. But there’s very few jobs I’ll ever be likely to have. Maybe if I’d stayed with Percy….”
“And how much of this is because you’re female?”
Penny thought for a moment. “Probably half. But it’s the second half. If I were a muggleborn male, I’d be stuck in maintenance as a janitor forever. Unless I wanted to be an Auror. But if I were Pureblood, or even half-blood with connections, I could advance some even though I’m a woman.”
She thought some more. “Though the best connection is by marriage. Like I said, if I’d stayed with Percy, I could’ve had my own office in another year or so. It’d be ‘a favour’ to my spouse, but at least I’d be moving up. Muggleborn men can certainly get ahead depending on who their father-in-law is.”
Hermione decided she could take a gamble. She pulled out her parchment of lists. “Here’s what I’m working on.”
Penny unrolled it on the table. “Oh. It’s all the upper levels, and their blood status.” She studied it some more. “I’m already detecting a pattern. Not that it’s hard to see. Or surprising.”
She pulled out a quill. “Let me help.” She scribbled ‘Pureblood’ by a half dozen names, and ‘married to so and so’ by a few more. ‘Sponsored by’ was next.
She sighed. “This is just getting more depressing. I may start applying for reporting jobs sooner rather than later.”
“Any way we can complete this before you do?”
“Oh, surely, I was just whinging. Can I copy this?”
Hermione hesitated. Penny hurried to reassure her. “Don’t worry. There’s a bunch of us ASAs that have dinner at the Leaky on Thursday nights and complain about our bosses and our jobs, and rank the single hotties. And the not so single. They’d love to gossip and fill in all the blanks, especially if they get a copy when we’re done. They’ll have no idea what you’re really after, especially after the second glass of wine. I’d invite you and give you credit, but everyone knows you’re dating Harry, and the rumours that’d start if you were there, Merlin. That, and they’d be pestering you about Harry, and we’d not get anything done.”
After lunch, she went back to the Hall of Records, discretely copied the ledgers she needed, shrunk them, thanked the clerk, and headed back to Grimmauld.
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She looked up from her scribbling as Harry closed the front door. “Hermione?”
“In the kitchen.”
“You’re home early.” He bent to give her a hug and a kiss.
“It was brought to my attention over lunch that I can copy the records I need and bring them home. I don’t think it’s supposed to mean the entire set of ledgers, but….” She indicated the stack of thick books.
Harry laughed as he started the kettle. “Sometimes better to ask forgiveness than permission. Especially if you don’t get caught and have to ask for forgiveness.”
He pulled mugs from the cabinet and tea from the canister. “That would have been Ms. Clearwater? You’re rumoured to’ve had lunch with her today.”
She looked up in surprise. “Seriously? Who the heck cares who I have lunch with in the Ministry cafeteria?”
Harry shrugged as he set the mugs and some biscuits on the table. “Most everybody, I guess. You’re famous in your own right, but I do apologise for whatever public scrutiny comes your way because of me.”
She shook her head. “How do you put up with it?”
“It was tough at first, but most people in the Auror Office know me by now, so it’s settled down. Outside there, though… That’s why I still pack a lunch every day and hide out at my desk.”
She shook her head again at the ridiculousness of it all. “Well, yes, I had lunch with Penny. And yes, she reminded me of the Gemini Charm as applied to parchment and books. She’s stuck as an ASA in Games and Sports and rather disillusioned about it all.”
“ASA?”
“Assistant Secretary’s Assistant. Basically a secretary with a lower case ’s.’ With no hope of promotion. She’s thinking of quitting and becoming a Quidditch reporter.”
“I thought she did well at Hogwarts? — which is why you’re doing this whole research project to begin with. Right, sorry.”
“Hmm, yes. Well, being someone who did very well at Hogwarts, she cottoned on to what I was doing, commended me for figuring it out before I got hired on, and even offered to help.”
Harry poured the hot water and sat down. “That’s not like going to blow your cover or anything is it?”
“Blow my cover? Look at you all Auror-y and everything.”
Harry just smirked and dunked a biscuit.
“I don’t have a cover to blow. This is all public knowledge, as long as I stay out of the DOM, and it’s perfectly reasonable to write down names of people I might work with soon. Penny’s taking the list to dinner with some of her ASA friends who love to gossip and might be led to believe it’s a ‘shopping list’ for potential dates or husbands. I’ll check in with her on Friday.”
“Look at you, being all Auror-y. Developing local informants and everything.”
She laughed and bumped his shoulder with hers. “You’re silly. And I’m hungry. What do we want tonight, now that you’re finally home?”
“Hmm. I know we had it just a few days ago, but I still have a craving for curry. Indian okay?”
“Yum, yes. But I want parotta today.”
“Sure.”
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Friday morning she got an owl during breakfast. She fed it some scraps and unrolled the parchment. It was her list, with a short note from Penny.
Hermione,
Here’s the first instalment of our little project. I was able to keep them focused long enough to include the rest of the departments outside of the DOM and get a reasonably accurate guess on a good portion of everyone’s blood status. Ignore the numbers and hearts along the margins, it's their 'hotness scale.' We got some of the ‘who’s related to whom,’ and even some of ‘who sponsored whom,’ but by then they had their third glass of wine and got hung up on Phillip Collingswood in International Magical Co-operation no longer being betrothed to Louise Mickelthwaite in Support Staff because he was caught in a supply closet with Bernard Robinson’s second cousin from Magical Transportation… you get the picture.
Anyway, we all agreed to work on it again next week. They’ll be making some discreet enquiries over the week, and they’re looking forward to having their ‘catalogues.’ Betty Peters has a friend over at St. Mungo’s, so they might get a list for there too. If they do, I’ll forward it along.
Once you have the final list(s), and decide what to do, let me know. As I said, I might be leaving the Ministry sooner rather than later.
Penny.
Hermione rolled up the parchment and tapped it on the table in thought. She wondered if she should ask the status of all the ASA’s as well, but decided it didn’t matter. If some ASA’s were Purebloods, they obviously had mobility upwards and the rest didn’t.
Her satisfaction at finding her hunch was right, and completing a project, well almost, was more than cancelled out by the findings themselves. She likely would never be more than an ASA, and if she did advance it wouldn’t be because of respect for her or her ideas and work, but because of her Order of Merlin, or worse because of her relationship with Harry. She was not one to take advantage of that, and didn’t ever want to resent him over it. And even if she did get advancement, it wouldn’t give her the ability to change the things she wanted to change.
She found herself more depressed over the results than she thought she’d be. There didn’t seem to be a way to do what she wanted to do, or even get into a position to try. Curse Nott. She snorted. Well, cursing Nott was tempting, and would relieve some of the depression. But it probably wouldn’t be helpful.
So if the Ministry was out, that left Charms. But while it may be fun, and interesting, and potentially a stepping stone to the Ministry, the Ministry wasn’t in the cards, and it wasn’t a long term goal or way to earn a rewarding living. She wasn’t interested in being a Hogwarts professor or Charmed item creator forever.
And if Charms was out, what was left? She helped win an effing war, and she couldn’t get more than a permanent entry level job. She crushed the rolled up parchment in her hand in frustration and anger. If she couldn’t work from the inside, even after winning an effing war, and faffing about the periphery wasn’t an option, and maybe someday marrying Harry and using his fame wasn’t an option (well, the marrying was, just not the capitalising on his fame), then she’d have to work from the outside. But who was bigger than the Ministry? A random memory of Dumbledore of being reinstated to the ICW popped into her head.
She unwrinkled her parchment, and headed upstairs. She needed to get ready for the day, and had another set of questions to ask Penny over lunch. This time about the Department of International Cooperation.
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Harry was waiting for her in the Atrium, an odd look on his face; hesitant, anxious, and amused all at once, if that was possible.
“What’s up?” she asked as she kissed his cheek.
"Remember me talking about Peter Williams, the old Auror who knew Moody? Well, he’s kind of taken an interest in me a bit. Been giving me some really good tips that aren’t in the training manual, you know?”
“Yeah, and?”
“Well, not only does he know everything about Auroring, he knows lots about everybody, too.”
“Ah. You’re thinking he could help with my research? I’m not sure I want this getting out—” she stopped as Harry was laughing at her.
“What?” she asked testily.
“Like I said, he knows a lot about everybody. A couple of names you’d written down looked familiar, and when I asked him about them, the first thing he said was, ‘This for Granger’s list, then?’”
Her jaw dropped. “How…?”
“He’s plugged into everything. He knows of the single women hanging out at the Leaky. Has for years, like years and years. He’ll ‘adopt’ one every now and then, send flowers on her birthday, write a letter of recommendation, which helps a lot, does the whole ‘protective old uncle’ thing. Says it’s the best source of information he has. So he knows about your list, and sussed out what it’s really for. He really really wants to add his info. Turns out he even tailed you and the Minister on your tour.”
She frowned. “You trust him?”
“I do. He’s half blood, not that it should matter, and has been through everything since the 70’s. He doesn’t know what’ll come of this, but he wants to share what he knows, and help as he can before he retires. I’m kind of his last little project.”
She reached into her bag, fishing for her scroll. “He wants to look at my work, and add to it then?”
He took her arm and led her back to the floos. “More than that, he wants to meet with you directly.”
“What about my lunch with Penny?”
“Ah, he already sent her flowers, and a take-away lunch, and a note apologising for stealing you. Said he wanted to meet the person that gave me such a head start.”
“That’s rather presumptive, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but that’s him. Not much time for social graces. And she knows him already, like I said he’s kind of like all their favourite uncle.”
He stopped at the floo. “He’s meeting us at the Leaky.”
“Alright, I guess.”
A couple of flashes of green and they were gone.
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Hermione stepped out of the floo and cleaned off the soot with a flick of her wand. Harry was already in quiet conversation with who she assumed was Auror Williams. In contrast to Moody, he was entirely unremarkable. Average height but slightly stooped, trim but not skinny, brown hair going grey, brown eyes, clean shaven with some wrinkles, dressed in drab muggle business casual. She’d probably passed him many times in the Ministry and never noticed him. He looked more like an economics professor at a Muggle university than an Auror. No wonder he could tail her on her tour.
He reached out a hand with a kind smile as she approached. She saw his eyes scan the room around them quickly. “Miss Granger. Peter Williams. A pleasure to meet you.” His grip was neither limp nor crushing. “The old timers that are left send their greetings and thanks.”
“Er, thank you. And nice to meet you.”
“Excellent. Come. I made reservations.”
He turned and headed out onto the street. Harry offered her his left arm and they followed.
Auror Williams led them down the street a couple blocks, then right into a small alley that soon opened into a courtyard that had been turned into an open market. Flowers, art, tea, pastries, and several ethnic cafes surrounded the central seating. There wasn’t a souvenir shop in sight. He led them to a table at the edge that had a ‘reserved’ sign on it. Someone from the Indian cafe bustled out to meet them.
“Mr. Williams. Nice to see you again. And welcome to your guests.”
He got them seated.
“Today we have our standard chicken tikka, rogan josh if you like lamb, palak paneer, and a malai kofta.”
“What’s that last one?” she asked.
“It’s a dough of potato, paneer, and vegetables cooked in a tomato and onion sauce.”
“That sounds lovely, I’ll try that.”
Harry and Auror Williams added their orders and the waiter sped off.
She looked at the Auror expectantly. A subtle wave of his hand on the table and the sounds of the courtyard were significantly muffled.
She raised a surprised eyebrow.
He smiled and turned his hand back over. She could see the tip of his wand peeking from the cuff of his shirt, just touching his palm. “Harry taught me the muffliato. It wasn’t around when I was at Hogwarts. Brandishing your wand in grand flourishes isn’t necessary.”
She nodded. It was a neat trick, she’d have to ask Harry about it.
“A couple of things before we get to your lists, so you know my interest. First, the Muggle-Born Registration Commission—”
“I thought it’d been disbanded—”
“Oh it was, first thing. But as of now, no one’s been punished for being on it. In fact Umbridge is the only one that’s been arrested.”
“What? That’s—”
Harry took her hand and squeezed it gently, cutting her off. She didn’t have to look down to be reminded what the scars there would look like. She took a deep breath to calm herself.
“A legal mess, is what it is. Yaxley, Runcorn, and Travers are dead, and Umbridge was able to destroy what few records they kept. If there was a formal declaration of war, it would fall under war crimes, but there wasn’t, so it doesn’t. So it’ll have to fall under various ‘conspiracy to commit’ charges and if there’s no records and no one’s talking….”
“Thanks to Umbridge, there’s no list of those missing, captured, kissed or otherwise killed, versus fleeing the country. We freed those that were in Azkaban or Ministry cells, and we think everyone sent to ‘serve’ worthy purebloods have been rescued. If there were internment, or other, camps, we haven’t found them.”
“We also don’t have a list or record of all the thugs and ‘snatchers’ that the Commission used, so we’re having to piece everything together from the victims we do know about. You can imagine how willing they might be to cooperate with an Auror from the Ministry, or how unreliable someone’s memory after months in Azkaban might be. Harry says you’ve compiled basically a genealogy of magical Britain?”
She nodded numbly. Things were worse than she thought. She’d studied WWII in history class, how had she not made the connection? It was either the concentration camps or occupied France all over again, if not both.
“And Harry also mentioned you might be getting a list of muggleborns from Headmistress McGonagall?”
She was still too stunned to even register that Harry’d been talking about her secret project. “Yes, hopefully by the end of the week.”
“If possible, I’d like a copy. It would speed up my investigation immensely. Given how thinly stretched we are, and the pressure that’s being applied….”
“Pressure?”
“Several, actually. Not accusing or investigating people without proof, which is just backwards as investigating is how we get proof. Not making a fuss now that everything is over and people just want things to be normal again. Not depriving the Ministry of valuable personnel and leadership while we’re rebuilding. Keeping the Ministry as scandal free as possible to restore people’s faith. Stupid, as it’s always the coverup that gets them.”
“You mean—”
He nodded. “Anyone that was working on, working with, or just using the Commission to further their own bigotries would still be in the Ministry. There is knowledge, and some conclusions or suspicions, but nothing that anyone would prosecute, at least currently. If you’re not parading around in a white mask or showing off the Mark on your arm, you get a free pass.”
Something unpleasant was burning away the shock. “You’ll have a copy of everything as soon as I get it, or complete it.”
He nodded again. “Thank you, that will be immensely helpful.” He paused. “There’s one other thing.”
“There’s more?”
“Hmm, yes. The Malfoys—”
“Don’t tell me—”
“Yep. All charges dropped.”
“How in the hell did that happen? They’re like number two, three, and however high Draco reached in the Death Eaters’ organisation. I was kidnapped and tortured in their house—”
Auror Williams raised a hand. “Peace. I’m on your side. As to how, they very publicly didn’t fight in the final battle, Narcissa arranged to get Harry in position to fight Riddle, and Lucius has been providing information on lots of people and events from the last few years. The fact that most of the information is on people already dead or captured is merely coincidence or the product of my naturally suspicious mind, I’m sure.”
“But—”
“Miss Granger. You’re off to a great start, but you need to catch up here. Dropped charges can always be reapplied. The Minister is using that threat to keep Lucius in line, and using Lucius and his secrets to keep everyone else in line. The longer he keeps his mouth shut, the less likely someone guilty will try to kill him.” He snorted. “I’d bet my next pay check Lucius is already back to extorting money or favours in exchange for his silence.”
She cut herself off from another tirade.
Williams nodded. “Very good. As far as your personal story, it’s widely known, but you’ve never been asked for a formal statement, have you?”
She shook her head.
“We’ll take care of that this afternoon, then. If the Minister wants proof, I’ll keep gathering proof.”
He gestured with his hand again, and the noise of London returned. “Here comes our food.”
The waiter deftly slid their plates on the table, then bustled off to check on his other customers, and Williams reapplied the muffliato. Hermione found her appetite had disappeared, and she picked at her food, not even tasting it. How could it be so much worse than she’d thought? Why had she never wondered why there were so few trials, especially for the Malfoys?
Because she’d viewed it as war, and thought that they’d won, and blocked it all out since then.
Well, first thing to do was give Auror Williams everything she could.
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She made up her lunch with Penny the next day. It was as depressing as it was informative. Yes, the ICW was ‘above’ the British Ministry of Magic. But no, they couldn’t just mandate changes, and lots of things were exempted based on the original signing documents, and modernising them was a slow process. But they really were the only organisation that had enough power to make any changes, and as far as Penny knew they took muggle degrees as valid qualifications.
She looked at her list of people who worked in The Department of International Cooperation. Not surprisingly it had the highest concentration of purebloods, even down to lower level staff. Now that she was ‘plugged in’ to the gossip, er networking, circle, she knew it was a popular department for purebloods starting at the Ministry, and many were promoted up and out to other departments, but the upper levels were quite stable, and she now knew why it was so difficult for the ICW to make any progress with Britain.
The updated list from Auror Williams was even more depressing and informative. Little red skulls dotted the page of men known to have Marks, black skulls for those only thought to have Marks, and a pound sign for those that were sympathisers or donated money.
Similarly, a red capital ‘C’ by those ‘known’ but not ‘proven’ to be on the Commission, a small red ‘c’ for those suspected of being on or supporting it via their own Ministry departments or functions, and a small black ‘c’ by those that had just supplied names. A small note from Williams at the bottom of his notations suggested she never be alone in the company of anyone with more than one symbol by their name, lest she suffer an ‘accident.’ There were lots of people with more than symbol.
She broke out into a cold sweat and had to sit down when she first read it. Every day she went to the Ministry, she was literally surrounded by people that wanted her dead, several of whom had very likely tried to kill her previously. There wasn’t a department at the Ministry where she could get a job and not have one of them be her superior. And she'd been worried about gossipers and someone who wouldn't shake her had voluntarily.
Harry's quick release wand holster was promptly 'damaged beyond repair' into her possession, and he gladly paid the fee for another one. She adjusted it so the tip of her wand just reached her palm. She already wore long sleeves every day, even when it was hot. She practiced casting silently, and with her wand still in its holster.
She continued her lunches at the Ministry cafeteria, there were only a few days of break left, but now only floo’d when Harry could meet her as she appeared, and sat at the edge of the room with her back against the wall. It wasn't paranoia when you knew for a fact they were out to get you.
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The main building for the British Department for Education was only a half mile from the Ministry of Magic, and it wasn’t raining, so she walked. Unfortunately, while they could, eventually once she found the right office, give her information on the rules and regulations for her to get her A levels, then apply to University, they didn’t have the actual forms at the main Department building, she’d have to fill out a form and send it in to request the packet. Normally secondary school counsellors handled such things. Suddenly the Ministry of Magic didn’t seem quite so backwards. However, any College or University would have the forms in their admissions office, so a short walk to Westminster station and equally short ride to King’s College later she had the packet she needed.
It looked like a long road to get her A levels, then University, then Law, then ICW. But if that’s what it would take, that’s what it would take. Auror William’s efforts from inside the Ministry wouldn’t be quick or easy either.
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Hermione grabbed an owl treat from the top of the fridge and untied her latest letter. It was the promised list from their contact at St. Mungo's. She scanned it quickly, but there weren’t any surprises. Healers, Master Healers, and Managers of Wards were Pureblood, everyone else wasn’t. She let the parchment roll up on the table. She wasn’t even going to bother sending it to Harry to go over with his Auror friend. His extensive additions to the Ministry list were depressing enough.
Her mum looked up from her tea and newspaper, and saw her face. “Bad news, dear?”
Hermione sighed. “You remember the basic premise of the little civil war that just ended?”
Her mum frowned at being reminded of all that they’d been through. “The whole class status/heritage thing?”
“Yeah, that. Well, it turns out that winning the war didn’t mean actually overturning the ‘whole class status/heritage thing.’
“Not surprising. What?” she asked at the look on her daughter’s face. “Ingrained beliefs take generations to change. Look at the States, and us, on issues of gender and race. Pardon the horrible cliches, but if Riddle and his followers were bad seeds, they still needed fertile ground to grow in. And not everyone would have been fighting for the same things you were fighting for. Some people fighting on your side might still be quite invested in the status quo. Riddle was a threat to that, but now that he’s gone, they’re happy that things are back to the way they should be, whatever that is for them.”
“That’s it, that’s exactly it. No one sees the bigger picture, that Riddle was a product of the status quo, and the status quo has to change for the better, for lots of reasons.”
“Hmm. I think you’ll find that everyone’s ‘status quo,’ ‘bigger picture,’ and ‘better’ are different dear. There’s a lot of people who will see the changes a muggle born witch wants to make as a threat, perhaps even as big as Riddle wanted to make, and exposing him as something less than a pureblood won’t help your cause either.”
“Who’s side are you on, mum?”
“Yours, of course dear. I’m just pointing out things about the situation that you may not have considered yet.”
“Yeah, well, they’ve been pointed out quite well over the last couple of weeks.” She gave a big sigh. “So we need to go to Waterstone’s.”
Her mother just raised an eyebrow.
“I know, I know, I always want a trip to Waterstone’s. But I need study materials to prep for my GCSEs and then A levels.”
“You’re quitting magic?”
“No, not at all. Just magical Britain, for now. The International Confederation of Wizards, kind of like the United Nations for the magical world, accepts regular law degrees. And they’re much more liberal and up to date than the British Ministry and all the stuff they grandfathered in. If I can’t change things from the inside, maybe I can from above.”
Her mum opened her mouth, then shut it.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. And a law degree that’s valid out here in the real world is a great backup plan C all by itself. So can we go?”
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“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Harry asked.
She sighed, and snuggled into his side a bit more. “Not at all. But it’s what I have to do to have any hope of doing what I want to do.”
“I know you like studying and everything, but this is a really long road.”
“It’s actually okay. There’s a lot that I’ve missed learning about anyway, now I just have a good reason to do it. And it’s a lot less life threatening.”
She tilted her head up and kissed him on the neck. “Besides, it’ll give me more flexibility in my schedule, so we can spend more time together for a few more years.”
“Well, who am I to argue with that?” He leaned down for a better kiss.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said a few minutes later.
“What?”
“When you head to France to work for the ICW, I’ll come with you.”
“What, Harry, you can’t give up your career—”
He put a finger on her lips. “One, yes I can, and for you I would, easily. Two, it’s not forever, if I wanted to be an Auror when we get back, I could. Three, it’s not a career, it’s just kind of what was expected. And four, the more I learn, the more I don’t like it. As things settle down more and more, I’m just a cog in the machine enforcing the rules and laws that you and I want to change. So maybe there’s something there I would like to do too.”
This earned him a big smile and another kiss.
A few minutes later she sighed again. “C’mon, we should go. It’s Italian tonight, then I need to get to bed early so the ride with my parents to the platform in the morning won’t be so hideously sleep deprived.”
“We could just apparate to the station, you know.”
“I know we could, but my parents can’t, and they want to see me off this one last time.”
“No, I mean we could side-along them, and they could catch a train back home. Don’t have to be up so early, and could have time for a nice breakfast together.”
Hermione smiled. “Brilliant. I keep forgetting it’s legal for us to do that. I knew you were worth keeping around.”
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The new term started without any real changes. Her courses were the same, NEWTs were still coming up, the Slytherins still watched her wherever she went and whispered things not so quietly. What was different was that she didn’t care about her NEWTs much any more. She knew she’d do well, and knew as well that doing really well didn’t really matter anymore. Her class participation was way down, and her study time in the library was spent mostly on her GCSEs.
Which of course did not escape the Slytherins’ notice for very long at all. Now the whispers, just loud enough for to overhear as per usual, included ‘good, going back where she belongs’ and the like. Nott didn’t say anything, either ignoring her or giving the occasional smug smile, which was even more grating than the overheard mutterings.
Her arm itched again, and she rubbed it through her sleeve, where she knew the scars would still be fresh and jagged and red and occasionally oozing. Nothing Madam Pomfrey came up with did any lasting good, and using three different creams four times a day just to make it slightly better wasn’t worth it, especially since a quick ferula over some Nivea lotion on bad mornings helped just as much.
The whispering of the Slytherins got to be too much, so she packed up her books and headed back to the desk in her room.
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Her anger over winning an effing war and the ongoing comments from the Slytherins released other emotions of being in an effing war, Auror William’s revelations and her official witness statement to him, and being away from Harry again, restarted the nightmares. Fear, anger, helplessness, knife against her throat… pinned to the floor… pain pain pain carving into her arm… where was Harry?… how to get out of this… where was Harry?... I don’t want to die… a single hair floating down oh so slowly… where was Harry… WHERE WAS HARRY?
She shot up in bed, covered in sweat, breathing hard, heart racing, arm throbbing, and cast a lumos with her wand. Even behind the gates and walls and under the wards of Hogwarts, behind the password protected portrait of the Fat Lady, behind the stairs alarm of the tower and the locked and the officially ignored wards she put on her door, she slept with it in her hand under her pillow. She was reassured by the curtains of her bed, but was afraid to open them, just in case the bed really wasn’t in her room.
Chilled from the sweat, pounding of her heart subsiding, she debated only a little before reaching under the other pillow for the small mirror. She tapped it. “Harry Potter.”
A moment later, Harry’s face appeared, crease from his pillow down his left cheek, hair more wild than usual. He too had a lumos on his wand tip. He relaxed visibly on seeing her bed curtains. “Nightmare again?” he asked gently.
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At breakfast, Luna saw the dark circles under her eyes and that she hadn’t turned her page in several minutes.
“Nightmares?” she asked simply.
Surprised, Hermione could only nod.
Luna nodded back. “I get them too, sometimes. Mostly about Ollivander, or others, dying in my arms like my mother did, and not being able to do anything about it. I find that if I cast my patronus before I fall asleep, she can appear in my dreams and make things better.”
She spread some marmalade on her toast. “I also find that if she appears in a particularly bad nightmare, she becomes twelve feet tall with sharp fangs, razor claws, armour plating, and the worst case of monthlies rage ever. My favourite is when she lets Lucius die slowly trying to stuff his intestines back in while missing his hands, instead of ending him quickly by decapitation. Then I can sit and watch him bleed out in agony. Sometimes he begs me for mercy. It’s almost tempting to use a piercing hex to the middle of his forehead. But I never do.”
She glanced over at the Slytherin table for a long moment. “There are some days now I look forward to my nightmares.”
She took a bite of her toast, chewed it slowly, and swallowed. “Is that wrong, do you think?”
Hermione closed her mouth with an audible ‘click.’ She felt so many things. Shock, awe, a bit of jealousy, sudden understanding and deepening camaraderie. Even a sense of gratitude as she understood all the different things Luna was telling her. But no revulsion, no disapproval.
“No Luna. That’s not what’s wrong.” She managed a weak and watery smile. “I may try it myself.” It came out as a whisper. “Thank you.”
Luna’s smile mirrored hers as she focused on her breakfast once again.
That night Hermione, alone in her locked room and behind closed curtains, thought of Harry and cast her patronus and revelled in the uplift she got as it gambolled and swam through the air about her. She should have been doing this all along. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.
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She was studying in the library again, this time biology. The Slytherins had given up, or at least paused, their quiet taunting. They still sat where they could see her, though, quietly watching.
Always watching.
Always.
She wondered how she didn’t notice it before the war, but regardless there was a large and thorough spy network in Hogwarts. She wondered how big a ‘file’ there was on her, and how many people that would read a Ministry job application from her would have a copy.
She opened her book to where she’d left off on human physiology.
An hour before curfew she was surprised by the presence of Headmistress McGonagall. She didn’t recall ever seeing her in the Library before. Nor seeing the pensive look on her face. She stood at Hermione’s table without speaking for a long moment.
“Ma’am?”
“May I sit?”
Hermione just nodded, still surprised.
After a pause, she did. It was another long moment before she spoke. “I see you’re studying mu—, non-magical coursework.”
“Yes ma’am.” Her anger threatened to flare and she gathered it in around her like a cloak. “After exploring my options, I feel that a normal law degree, then applying to the ICW might be the best and most fulfilling route for me. Opportunities otherwise here in England are still… limited.”
“I’m sure with your Order of Merlin—” she stopped as Hermione put down her pen and closed her notebook.
“May I be frank?” McGonagall could only nod. She cast a silent muffliato, causing McGonagall to raise an eyebrow. “Getting the position because I’m a muggleborn with a medal is just as bad as being denied a position because I’m a muggleborn without one. I should get the job because I’m smart and magically powerful and driven and can cast circles around ninety percent of anyone else in seventh or eighth year without trying hard. It may take me a dozen extra years, but when I come back I’m going to drag magical England into the twenty-first century even if have to stick my wand up it’s ass and cast a bombarda. I’ll just have the authority and legal protection to do it.”
She caught herself breathing hard, and closed her mouth before she said anything more inappropriate. She was then surprised by the small smile on McGonagall’s face.
“I can’t say enough how proud I am of you. And when you do come back, if you need another wand by your side, just let me know.”
“Thank you ma’am. That means a lot. But—”
“Yes?”
“Well, continuing on with my being frank, if you really wanted to help, when you visit the new first borns, tell them they’ll need summer school in normal subjects every year so they can keep up and have the hope of a career after they leave Hogwarts, instead of having no chance in either world. Or better yet, teach those subjects here like an actual school would so they can take their GCSEs and A levels with their OWLs and NEWTs. Why you deny everyone basic knowledge of how the world works is beyond me. And if you’re really willing to work at it, pressure Shacklebolt into breaking the stranglehold the purebloods have on hiring and promoting within the Ministry.”
“Is it truly as bad as all that?”
Hermione fished in her bag for a minute, then dropped three rolls of parchment, the ones without the notations from Auror Williams, in front of McGonagall. “I’d already decided on the non-magical then ICW route, but finished the project out of sheer stubbornness. The first scroll is the genealogy of magical England over the last 50 years, at least those with birth records at the Ministry.”
“The second shows the direct correlation between being first born or otherwise non-magically raised and doing better on NEWTs, outside of Potions of course, over the last 20 years. I would assume because of the formal education we have from ages five to eleven. Thanks for the lists of firstborns, by the way.”
“The third shows the correlation between blood status and position at the Ministry. OWLs and NEWTs are completely irrelevant; who you married, chose as a parent, or had Sponsor you was vitally important. First borns rise to ASA status on their own, and that’s it, full stop. Half- or purebloods with a Sponsor waltz in to upper management regardless of their incompetence. The first scroll basically explains the third.”
McGonagall looked at the scrolls like they might jump up and bite her. “Is— is it all right if I show these to the Minister or some people in the WEA?”
“Sure, no reason not too. But I’m not sure it’ll make any difference, or even be a surprise to anyone. Though the Records Department might like the genealogy one as no one had ever done one before. I started this because Mr. Nott was amused at my ignorance of ‘how things worked.’ So, now I’m no longer ignorant of how things work. I’ll have to thank him for saving me some time. Though given the not so subtle whispering of all the Slytherins,” she waved vaguely to where they were clearly trying to eavesdrop, “about me going back to where I belong, I’m sure he knows.”
McGonagall scowled over Hermione’s shoulder at the Slytherin table, all of whom suddenly became very diligent in their studies. “Has it really been that bad for you here?”
Hermione turned thoughtful. “In the beginning, it was just Malfoy and his clique of arses being bigoted arses, and magic was so new and wonderful, and we were so ignorant of anything beyond our classes or the Gryffindor common room. Our adventures because of Dumbledore and Riddle kept us pretty busy and focused elsewhere. So we never really had any exposure to the upper years, and most Slytherins keep things to themselves. And there’s nothing in Hogwarts, even the regular Careers counselling sessions, that really prepare us for what comes after we graduate.”
For only the second time, she pulled up her sleeve and vanished her bandages to show someone who wasn’t a Healer her scars.
McGonagall stared in shock. “Have you seen—?”
“Of course. Many people. A simple ferula each morning does as much good as anything else that’s been tried, so that’s what I do. Bellatrix used a cursed knife, so it won’t ever heal. Dolohov tried to boil my internal organs. Harry likes to point out that every single Death Eater who tried to kill us, every person at the Ministry who won’t give my application a second glance, every person we were fighting on the castle grounds, were all once students here at Hogwarts. So in the end, yes, it has been that bad for me here. The irony of course being that I was just so busy trying to keep Harry and myself alive that I didn’t notice until now just how many other people want me dead.” She recast a silent ferula and pulled her sleeve back down.
McGonagall sat in silence and shock for a few moments, gathering herself. “Would you reconsider taking a Charms Mastery with Filius? We could have you supervise, or even teach some of the mug-, non-magical courses you think would be most helpful.”
Hermione was surprised at the offer, that McGonagall would change things so quickly. It was tempting… but ultimately not enough. Maybe. “I’ll have to think about it, Ma’am.”
Headmistress McGonagall nodded. “Thank you, Hermione. I too will think more on what you said.” She got up, looking tired, and left.
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Hermione returned to her studies, but struggled to focus. Headmistress McGonagall’s words and offer made her doubt her new plan. Perhaps if she stayed…. No, her plan was good, and would offer her the most options, and have the potential for the most good. And even if it took twelve to fifteen years it was still faster than teaching the next generation of firstborns and waiting for them to filter upwards in the Ministry. She adjusted her text and notebook again.
Chapter 7. Carbonate buffering system. Enzymatic action of carbonic anhydrase, splitting water and CO2 into bicarbonate and hydrogen. Maintains homeostasis of pH and CO2 balance in the blood.
Water.
A neuron in her brain connected with another tied to her Charms homework in a very unexpected way. All those Hs and Os. She flipped through her book.
Krebs cycle, glucose cycle, protein synthesis, DNA assembly and repair, lipid metabolism. Looking at all the little H’s and OH’s in all the stages of all the cycles, water and carbon dioxide coming into or out of all the processes. If they were the main focus, and not just there to balance the equations….
Sudden inspiration as the connected neurons fully explained their idea, horror at the implications.
Turning to the master diagram of the Krebs cycle, she pulled out her pink highlighter, which normally annoyed her so greatly she never used it, and ignoring the usual quiet tittering of the Slytherins over her ‘muggle ways,’ started highlighting everywhere water or hydrogen or oxygen or carbon dioxide or a hydroxyl came into or out of the process. When she was done it looked like a pink firework had gone off on her book. She did it again for amino acid synthesis and DNA replication, with the same results.
So, it should work, appallingly simply and well; the question was could she do it?
She rubbed her arm again, feeling the roughness under the fabric, and remembered the quiet whispers of the Slytherins, and being forced to spend ten or more years away just so she could come back and have a voice and to not have to work under them her whole life. Slytherins, and their parents, who yet again had no consequences for their actions and beliefs, and were yet again, or still, in power.
She remembered being captured, and being tortured, and fully expecting to die. She remembered fighting, and killing, in the courtyard and halls of this very castle. She remembered all her friends who died in the final battle, who were hunted down and put on a show trial or outright murdered just for being firstborn. She felt the simmering anger of the past several weeks, the fear and desperate rage from her nightmares. She remembered that everything just settled down to like it was before, with very few being held accountable. The war had had no declared start, and no declared ending. Riddle was just a symptom, and the disease didn't end with his death.
People just stopped casting spells at each other in public, and maybe didn't wear their masks out and about. They still had them, still believed the same b.s., and she remembered the red and black skulls and ‘c’s’on her parchment by the names of those who were still in power and the halls of government, still made the rules and the laws. No arrests, no tribunals, at least for the upper echelons. People who had sat around polished solid cherry tables, drinking liquor that cost more than her starting Ministry monthly salary would be, saying how threatened they were by the muggleborn, later gathering around a muggleborn's house in the dark of night behind their masks, to burn the house down with the occupants still inside. Instead there were promotions in the Ministry, free dinners in the Wizengamot private chamber, while first borns were stifled, or forced out of the magical world entirely, to have a similar entry level job in the real world due to their lack of Muggle education, or to be on government handouts.
Her hand gripped the highlighter so tightly it creaked. Yes. Yes she could. She was a witch, blessed by magic. A better witch than all of them. She belonged here. She may have won the battle, but apparently the war wasn’t over. It was just now dressed in formal robes, waged via parchment and rules and inertia.
If this newest plan worked, she could skip the law degree and ICW. If she wanted to anyway; they did have an appeal on their own, but then it would be a choice, not the only way. If it didn’t work, well it still might be personally satisfying. But it should work, as it just counted on Slytherin snobs acting like Slytherin snobs, and magicals not knowing anything about pretty much anything outside of their homes and the three magical places they might visit. If not justice, then maybe karma.
In the back of her mind, the glowing form of her patronus Harriet P. Otter stood and lifted her goggles before saluting, then returned to welding the power run to the plasma cannon on the arm of the giant ghostly mecha they were building. She smirked, looking forward to her next nightmare. Bellatrix didn’t stand a chance. Thank you, Luna. Thank you, anime.
She gathered up her books and supplies. One final question to ask, just to be sure. The Slytherins made no effort to conceal their contempt or their surveillance. She was sure one would be getting up soon to follow her. Yes, she was certainly able and perfectly willing to continue fighting the war being waged on her and those like her.
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Professor Flitwick looked up at the knock on his door frame.
“Miss Granger, how wonderful. Do come in.”
“Thank you, Professor. I have a question about Aguamenti, for my NEWTs.”
“Of course, please have a seat.”
“Thank you. I was just wondering, where does the water actually come from? Is it pulled from the air? Truly conjured? Is it actually H2O?” She hoped he’d know what the last question meant.
Flitwick nodded excitedly. “Excellent questions. It’s a charm that causes a focused conjuration. There was a long debate in the beginning on whether it was to be in the Transfiguration text or the Charms text, but since it didn’t fit in a category of other Transfiguration spells but was unique, and we use it more for it’s effect, ie the water itself, it came to Charms with a few of the other conjurations. And as water molecules are very simple, it is indeed ‘real’ water, two hydrogens and one oxygen. A muggleborn several years ago proved this down by the lake with a battery and a process called, um— trolly something.”
“Electrolysis, we did that experiment in primary school.”
“Yes, electrolysis. The small explosion as they combusted the hydrogen and oxygen back together was most satisfying.”
She smiled at his enthusiasm, and almost asked another question but stopped herself. “Thank you, professor. That’s most helpful.”
“Of course, Miss Granger, always happy to help.”
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That night she cast aguamenti in a goblet on her bedside table. She checked it every night thereafter before casting her patronus. It lowered a tiny bit each day due to evaporation but on the 11th day it was suddenly all gone. She did an honest estimation of her magical power compared to those in Slytherin. Perfect. There was just enough time.
She pulled out her mirror. “Harry Potter.”
Her mirror wavered then cleared to show Harry propped up in bed. She wished she was there with him. “Hermione Granger. What’s up, love?”
She hesitated. “You know how even though we ‘won’ the war, the Purebloods are still in charge and nothing really has changed, except everyone’s just more polite about it all, and I have to go away for ten years or more before I can come back and make things right?”
“I’ve not heard you put it exactly like that before, but now that you did, and it’s a good summary, I’ll have to say… yes?”
“Well, I have a new idea.”
Harry smiled and shook his head. “Two plans to take over the world not enough, Brain?”
She laughed, then sobered. “This one’s not so… benign, Pinky. I need you to listen, and not judge.”
“Of course,” he said instantly.
And that was the reason she loved him. Well, one of the reasons.
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Harry met Hermione for the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, as there were only three weeks left before OWLs and NEWTs. Harry easily picked up the various Slytherins tailing them about the village, and by now Hermione could too. Neville and Luna had a couple, and anyone not in Slytherin with a relative in the Ministry had one as well. At the Three Broomsticks, they picked a table close but not next to three Slytherins and ordered their lunch. After it had been delivered, Harry sloppily and obviously cast a muffliato. Halfway through their meal and while in earnest conversation, he surreptitiously cancelled it. The Slytherins soon noticed and not so subtly started listening in.
“I haven’t lost a duel for months, and this happens. I’m getting razzed everywhere I go. It’s embarrassing.”
“You haven’t been drinking your water, have you?”
“I didn’t think I still needed to.”
“Well obviously you do. We’ve been over this. You need to drink at least two glasses of conjured water daily. The magic from the conjuration gets absorbed into your system with the water, giving you a boost. But if you don’t drink it every day, it won’t build up and you just end up pissing it all out. I still do it every day and I’m running circles around everyone else.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll drink my conjured water. But I don’t like water with every meal.”
“Oh suck it up. Literally. It’s water or your career.”
“Are you sure—“
“Yes, we’ve reviewed Gamp’s laws thoroughly, so no, you can’t conjure and eat treacle tart for the same effect.”
“Fine, fine.”
“Then after a week or so, challenge him to another duel. You’ll wipe the floor with him. Just be sure no one else finds out what we’re doing.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Their conversation turned to Hermione’s ongoing studies and upcoming exams.
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At the Slytherin table, they somehow managed to keep the shock then the smugness off their faces. “Knew there was no way they could be better than us,” Alexander whispered. “We need to tell the House.”
Elizabeth put her hand on his arm as he made to rise. “Stay down, Gryffindor. We wait calmly until after they leave. While we wait, we quietly discuss if we really should tell the House, and if we do, what we get out of it.”
Alexander nearly grimaced in embarrassment, but caught himself. “Yes. Right.”
“This explains Potter’s loss to Darius’ uncle, doesn’t it?” added Louise. “He might be especially…grateful for the explanation.”
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Hermione spotted her watcher on the main stairs on the way to the Great Hall. It appeared to be Louise’s turn today. The trio from the Three Broomsticks seemed to have been assigned as her permanent shadows. She sat and served up her breakfast, waiting until Louise was walking down the far side of the Ravenclaw table behind her before muttering a bit then clearly casting a poison detection charm over her goblet. She could hear soft whispers as she drank. Not long after, Mandy Brocklehurst leaned back and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hmm?” she asked, turning.
“How come you cast over your goblet every meal?”
“Oh just breakfast and dinner, and I’m practicing my poison detection charms. Constant vigilance and all that. Besides, it’ll likely be on either the Charms or Potions NEWT, so no harm reviewing.”
Mandy hesitated. Hermione was now known for a little paranoia and shell shock as well as her excessive studying. “You do remember that it wasn’t really Mad Eye Moody yelling ‘Constant vigilance’ at us?”
“Kind of proves my point, don’t you think? ”
Mandy thought for a second and then shrugged and nodded, conceding the point. By the next meal, the Ravenclaws were practicing their poison detection spells as well. At the Slytherin table, a different conversation took place among her three watchers. Given her known skills at silent casting, and the muttering before the obvious detection charm, they knew better. Why else would she practice the same spell twice a day, day after day? True, they hadn’t noticed before now, but it was clear what she was doing now that they were watching for it.
After discussion, the embarrassment and just plain wrongness of Granger cheating her way better than any Slytherin easily outweighed any leverage gained by keeping the secret, so they informed the House. A few started doing it, after verifying for themselves that Granger indeed continued to mutter over her goblet breakfast and dinner then drink quickly.
The rest remained skeptical. There was no way a Mudblood like Granger figured out something so important on her own, and a flurry of searching in the library by nearly the whole House over a weekend failed to reveal any confirmatory information. The debate in the common room went on daily, with no resolution, but Granger finding something in an obscure book was more palatable than her discovering something.
Then a week later, Darius got an owl in the breakfast swarm. A few seconds after opening his letter, he hurriedly, but with great decorum of course, got up and went down to where Nott was sitting to report that his uncle had been defeated in a rematch with Potter. Easily, in a matter of just a few minutes. Soon a wave of whispers went down the table, rapidly followed by another wave of hissed ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ followed by a near universal silent or whispered ‘aguamenti’ by those that could cast it. Most of the Slytherins were able to keep the smugness off their faces. It was very hard for Hermione to keep the grim smile off her own face and she focused on her Transfiguration text all the harder.
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Madam Pomfrey looked up at the infirmary door opening. Right on time, she thought, as it was the Saturday before exam week. She sighed quietly as she saw Greg Goyle being helped in by two other Slytherins. Odds were highly in favour of either overeating or botched potions.
“Bring him over here, please,” she said, pointing to the bed nearest her potions locker. Who knew how many she’d need?
He’d barely gotten sat before the heaves began, and she deftly conjured a large bucket. “Overeating again?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” said Alexander. “He hardly had anything last night, and nothing this morning.”
“Hmph. Then what potions has he been working on?”
“Dunno ma’am.”
As if any of them would say, even if they did know.
“Has he complained of anything other than the nausea and vomiting?”
“Well, he’s been tired for the last week or so, but it is NEWTs, and he’s had um, increasing trips to the loo.”
She waved her wand in the first sequence of diagnostic charms. “Anyone else with similar symptoms?” Maybe it was just a simple GI bug. Though a poorly made pepper up or some of the less ‘legal’ stimulant and memory enhancing potions could do the same.
“No ma’am. Well just the tiredness, but like I said, NEWTs.”
“I’m well aware of what happens during exam season, Mr. Robinson.” She waved her wand again as Goyle heaved again, frowning at the negative scans for most common potions. “If you have knowledge of any potions you may have observed others using for studying purposes, now would the time to tell me.”
“Um, there was talk of a batch of pepper up a week ago, but we in Slytherin don’t have need for any such things, ma’am.”
“Mm hmm.” Her scans confirmed this. Looking down at Goyle as he bent over the bucket heaved yet again, she noticed the rash on the back of his neck, which did go with a GI bug, but the bald patch on the back of his head most certainly did not.
She grabbed a basic stomach calming potion from her cabinet and thrust it at Goyle. “Here, drink this, it will stop the vomiting and… other symptoms. Then get changed and climb into bed. You’re going to be here a while.”
She handed him pyjamas, then moved the privacy screens into place. “Gentlemen,” she said before they could leave.
“Ma’am?”
“Hands out, please.”
She cast a cleaning charm over their hands. “Just in case it’s a viral illness. You will let Professor Vector know Mr. Goyle will be here for a while? I will talk with her once I’m done with my assessment.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said and hurried out.
Pomfrey cast a bubblehead and an air freshening charm, then conjured another bucket for Goyle, though it looked like the potion had kicked in and he was nearly asleep. She took the used bucket back to her office to start another set of charms.
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Over the weekend, the infirmary slowly filled with Slytherin students. The symptoms were all the same; fatigue, nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, rash, hair loss. Not everyone had every symptom, but everyone had some of them and no others. Pomfrey’s spells all came back negative, as did the Master Healer’s when she called her in for a consultation. It was chalked up to a gastrointestinal virus, as everyone seemed to respond to rest, general potions, and a bland diet, and were able to be discharged after a few days. A few had to have an exam or two rescheduled, but nothing more serious.
In the halls and classrooms, Slytherins were given a wide berth, as if they had the plague, which if the rumours were true they kind of did. In the other common rooms, it was noted with an occasional snicker that it must have been a potion botched so bad that it became undetectable as a potion, as it was only those that were quietly acknowledged as being at the lower end of the magical and academic scale that were effected. It was only in the Ravenclaw common room that someone, maybe Luna, noted that it was odd that it also effected students that weren’t taking NEWTs or OWLs, so maybe it was a contagion after all.
In the Main Hall, the symptom free Slytherins were now drinking conjured water at every meal, sometimes two goblets’ worth. Those rejoining them after their stay with Madam Pomfrey promptly increased their consumption as well, and as they continued to get better, gave the water full credit.
Hermione was noted to be unusually quiet the last few weeks of the term. Some attributed this to her decision to return to the muggle world, or just the end of her time at Hogwarts in general. All agreed it was better than her usual end of year anxiety and post exam hysteria.
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Hermione was late floo’ing to lunch with Harry and Penny. Harry met her as she arrived as usual, giving her a quick hug and a kiss and they hurried to the cafeteria. She laughed as Penny arrived at a near run. Apparently everyone was behind schedule today.
“Hey, you two. Busy days today?” Penny asked.
“Just more studying.”
Harry shrugged. “Same old. Learning how to fill out incident forms today. Who knew being an Auror was mostly parchmentwork?”
Penny laughed. “Everything in the Ministry is mostly parchmentwork.”
They got into line. “Did you hear the news?” Penny asked. “It’s why I was almost late. Everyone in the office was talking about it.”
Hermione sighed. The Ministry seemed to run on gossip more than even parchment and ink. “What now, an invasion of were-rabbits?”
Penny elbowed her. “Scoff if you like, but the gossip network is how you find out the important stuff. You just have to sort it out from the rubbish.”
They moved up in the line. “Anyway, the news is there’s an outbreak of a new Wizard’s flu. Seems to have been brought home from Hogwarts, and students are ending up in St. Mungo’s. Enough numbers of high profile kids that The Prophet caught wind of it. Made the front page.”
They grabbed their sandwiches and chips. “You were there at end of term, what was it like?”
Hermione thought fast as they sat down, noticing everyone nearby not only unsuccessfully trying not to stare as usual, but obviously trying to listen in. This was the first news that she’d had that plan C was still working. “No different than any end-of-year exam week. Some students worked themselves into a tizzy as usual, but Madam Pomfrey sorted them out right quick.”
She ate a chip. Time to plant a red herring. “Though now that you mention it, there were more Slytherins in the hospital wing than any other house, and curiously not all of them were taking OWLs or NEWTs. I heard it was just a stomach flu, and that would explain the spread.”
She ate another chip. “Though given that Slytherin House was under the control of the Carrows and the other Death Eaters for nearly a full year, who knows what curses or booby traps they left behind. It’d be just like them to ‘test the worthiness’ of their students, weeding out the ‘inferior’ and the ‘blood traitors.’ And they’re not around to ask any more, are they?”
Whispered conversations started up around them, and two people got up and hurried out of the cafeteria.
The next morning, Hermione made a special trip to Diagon to get a copy of the Prophet. The headline read “Slytherin House Cursed?” with a photo of Ministry curse breakers heading in through the Hogwarts gates, and the article expressed outrage at what possible horrors the Death Eaters may have left in the school. A list of the students admitted to St. Mungo's was below the fold, and they were all identified as Slytherins. She shook her head and decided to sign up for a subscription for the summer.
The next day the Prophet had a long list of all the cursed objects, curse residue, and illegal potions ingredients that had been stashed then forgotten about the castle, most often in and around the Slytherin dormitory. There was an impressively strong bad luck jinx on the dragon skeleton in the Defense room that resisted removal for a whole day, which seemed to explain the “DADA curse;” and several of the suits of armour were charmed to animate and run up and down the longest classroom hallway, yelling “Curse those meddling kids” whenever they were hit with a diagnostic charm. Hermione wondered when Fred and George had ever been exposed to Scooby Doo. Several of the curse breakers in the pictures could be seen smirking and laughing.
But there was nothing found that could explain the symptoms in the ever growing list of patients at St. Mungo’s, and the Prophet had promptly named it the “Pureblood Plague.”
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Purebloods continued to cycle in and out of St Mungo’s. Whatever it was seemed to have spread to the family members of the Slytherin students. On her next weekly visit to the Ministry for lunch with Harry and Penny, Hermione saw the occasional covert conjuring of water. The newest trend was increasingly ornate conjured goblets to drink it from. She shook her head, and in the back of her mind, her patronus saluted again, this time returning to polish the main view screen.
She hadn’t had nightmares for weeks, not since Harriet had appeared, transformed into her giant robot form, and a decapitated Bellatrix, the plasma’d Malfoys, and the entire Malfoy manor had been reduced to smoking rubble to be ground down to ash and dust by her mecha’s adamantium boots.
She flipped open her copy of the Daily Prophet, which had been jokingly dubbed the Daily Panic. Previous suppositions were rehashed, and the healers at St. Mungo's pilloried for their inability to find the cause and provide a cure. Hermione felt a little bad for them, until she remembered her list from Betty Peter’s friend and exactly how many certified Healers were firstborn.
Time to stir the pot again. “That’s odd,” she said as she scanned the updated list of Plague victims.
“What’s that?” asked Harry.
“Well, it looks like the sickest, or most frequent, patients at St. Mungo's are family members of those known to have Dark Marks. I mean I know the Marks were all applied unwillingly while under the Imperious curse, of course, but maybe that’s the problem, an unfortunate interaction between the Imperious and the Mark, and it’s spreading from those with the Mark to those around them. There’s no way a contagious illness causes relapsing symptoms like this, so it has to be a curse or something like that.”
As per usual, there were the whispered conversations that started up around them, and a few people hurrying out the doors. It was hard for her not to laugh or otherwise react. She still didn’t know how Harry put up with it.
By the next day, curse breakers were trying to analyse and remove the Mark from those few willing to admit they had one. But as none of them spoke parseltongue, they made no progress at all. When eventually asked, Harry said the parseltongue ability given to him when Voldemort hit him with the first AK had been removed by the second one. No, he was not interested in the 'careful testing' of a third.
After some intense debate, they admitted defeat and a call reluctantly went out to speakers from Egypt, South Africa, Australia, or India, but it would take some time to arrange. In the meantime, anyone known or even suspected to have a Mark, or had been admitted to St. Mungo's, now found themselves inside an invisible six foot social bubble. No one wanted to have them in close proximity at all.
The highlight of her week was a letter from Luna, and a copy of the Quibbler. She had been running a series of articles on the Pureblood Plague, from her own unique perspective of course, and sales were up. It had been hotter than normal the past couple of weeks, so the heliopaths were currently top of the suspect list. Best of all, her recipe for Plague Preventing Pungent Pureed Pickled Purple Radish Tonic was becoming incredibly popular, and she had included a pair of radish earrings with a tag that said “In thanks.” Hermione just shook her head and smiled, and on days she was in the magical world she wore them in support.
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Hermione hurried out of the floo, she’d been so wrapped up in her studies she was late again.
Surprisingly Penny was waiting with Harry. She gave him a kiss. “Sorry I was late, I was studying History today and got engrossed… what?” she asked at the weird looks on their faces. Penny looked distraught, Harry grim. He led them off through the Atrium to the cafeteria.
“You haven’t seen the Prophet today, then?” asked Penny.
“No, I went to the library at Kings’ Cross early today, just for a change of….” she broke off, finally sensing the unusual quietness of the Ministry. She glanced around. People looked sad, or worried, or were looking at the Prophet, and were as usual whispering amongst themselves, but for once not staring at her or Harry. "What is it?"
“Not here. Let’s get our usual seat.”
The oddness continued in the cafeteria, but here people at least looked up to stare, however briefly at them. “What is it?” she asked again before either her or Harry were fully seated.
Harry pulled a copy of the Prophet out of his robes’ pocket and put it on the table in front of her.
“What…oh.”
The headline said it all. “Pureblood Plague Fatal!”
She skimmed the article past the sensationalism to the actual names. Isaac Parkinson, the father of Pansy Parkinson, had succumbed to the Pureblood Plague. Apparently he wasn’t the first, either, as the Prophet’s reporters had found three other deaths in the last two weeks, but as the victims were not yet of age, it had been kept out of the press until they went digging. Cassius Warrington and Graham Montague she vaguely remembered from the Inquisitorial Squad. The third name very unexpectedly hit her like a punch to the gut. Louise Wright, fifth-year Slytherin.
She had a hard time breathing. The first three names hadn’t bothered her much. Isaac Parkinson, well he was kind of the point. The next two were as deserving in her mind. But Louise. She was younger than herself by three years. On the path, sure, but still, just a child…. She felt a tightness in her throat, followed by a taste of bile.
“I—” she gulped. “I— I gotta go. I—”
“Hermione?” asked Penny and Harry at the same time.
“I gotta go,” she repeated. “I can’t… I just can’t.” She got up from the table and rushed from the room. She heard Harry calling from behind her but didn’t stop. She wove her way through the crowd to the floos and disappeared in a ‘whoosh’ of flame.
Arriving at Grimmauld, she paced back and forth agitatedly in the foyer before another wave of bile and nausea made her run for the loo, and she heaved up what little breakfast remained, and stayed over the toilet, alternating between heaves and sobs.
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Harry just heard the words ‘Grimmauld Place’ before Hermione disappeared, and brought himself up before he jumped in the floo behind her. This could take a while, and needed some explanation.
Her hurried back to the cafeteria, where Penny was still waiting, an anxious look on her face. “Is Hermione all right?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, she flooed home before I could stop her, so I assume she’s safe there. I’m going to take the rest of the day off then join her. It’s Louise’s death, I think. She knew her from this last year at Hogwarts.”
“Of course, of course, that must have hit her hard.”
Harry could see the whispers starting around them yet again. His coming back turned out to be an even better idea than he thought. “Yeah, must have. I’m going to head to the Auror office, then home. I’ll let you know what I can soonest.”
“Thanks, Harry. Let her know I’m thinking of her.”
“Will do.”
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Harry slid out of the floo at Grimmauld in a puff of soot, forgetting all the tricks to stay upright and clean in his haste. He paused and listened, and heard a soft noise from upstairs. He relaxed, at least he didn’t have to track her down. Standing, he scourgify’d the soot off, and headed up to their room. She was in the loo, wedged between the toilet and the bath, head down on her drawn-up knees, quietly shaking. He sat cross legged just inside the doorway.
“Hey.”
She just kept shaking.
“I’m just going to jump to the end, and say it’s all right.”
“Do I look like I’m all right? Do Louise’s family think it’s all right?” came the muffled reply a moment later.
“No, you look a mess.”
Neither said anything for a long while.
He started again. “One of the many tips Auror Williams gave me was that I should see a friend of his and talk out some of my ‘issues.’”
Her head came up. “You never told me this.” It wasn’t quite accusatory.
“Well, I’m telling you now, and it’s incredibly difficult for me to do so. One of the biggest issues is that aside from yourself I’ve never had anyone not crap out on me, especially adults, from day one, and I have this pathologic need to do everything myself.”
She just grunted. He took it as acknowledgement. “Anyway, he knows a muggleborn who went on to be a psychologist. I didn’t want to go, and was told it wasn’t really optional. He drug me there himself for my first session, listed out all the things I needed to work on. That's what one of my 'training sessions' is each week. I have to admit it’s been really helpful. At least now I know how messed up my muggle childhood was, and my magical childhood as well, and how big and numerous my issues are.”
Her shaking had stopped, and she was looking at him now. Her face was all blotchy.
“I can share a few things he’s said, if you’re interested.”
After a moment, she nodded.
He released a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. “Good. But not here.”
Her eyes widened and she drew a breath to protest. “No, no,” he interrupted. “I’m not taking you to see him, or anyone. It’s just somewhere I go sometimes when I need to think.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Standing, he helped her up. She rinsed her mouth out, and disillusioning them both, he side-alonged her from the front step.
They appeared in the middle of a cemetery. He felt her tense up again while he scanned the area for any muggles. Seeing none, he cancelled the disillusionment.
“A cemetery, Harry? This is supposed to make me feel better? Could you be any more emotionally manipulative?”
He just took a deep breath and pointed down. She glared at him a long moment before she looked. The stone said “Colin Creevey.”
She glared at him again. “Explain.”
“I’ve been coming here since he’s been buried.” Her eyes softened a little. “In the beginning, it was to apologise, over and over. He shouldn’t have died, shouldn’t have even been fighting, and if I’d had any clue what I was doing, had done any number of things right instead of the complete mess I made of everything, he’d be alive.”
He raised a hand to stop her from interrupting. “I know, I know. That’s one of the many things the psychologist is helping me with. I can feel regret without it being my fault. I only have control over my own actions. Bad things can happen to me or around me without me being the cause. We do the best we can with what we have. The world is seldom a just place. The complete and total incompetudeness of all the adults on our side doesn’t mean all adults are incompetent. I can recite those things. A couple I can almost believe. Sometimes.”
“Now that I’m a bit better, I just come to talk. Mostly to hash out things the psychologist wants me to work on. Colin was just so happy all the time, often annoyingly so. Even now, I can hear him trying to make me feel better. Or at least I usually feel better after coming here.”
He took her hands. “So, for you. I’ve known this day was coming ever since you mirror called me. It was built into the plan. People were going to die. Most clearly deserving. Like you said, the war is still on, just more… polite. But someone was going to die who didn’t clearly ‘deserve’ to. And it was going to distress you greatly, because you’re a good person.”
She started to protest.
“You are a good person, Hermione, and I love you. We’ve both killed people before, and we’re still good people, and I still love you. Somehow killing 'the enemy' with a wand in a pitched battle gets us nominated for an Order of Merlin. I'm a lot less bothered by letting them basically off themselves." He looked down at the headstone between them. "No one we’re fighting would feel bad at all that Colin is here, that dozens of our friends are dead and buried. They’d be satisfied, thrilled even. War is terrible, and this is one of the main reasons why.”
Something clicked in her mind. She knew she’d killed people. But she’d boxed it away in the back of her mind and treated it like it was just one of those things, like she didn’t like coffee, or had been to Brighton Beach once. But facing it squarely, it hurt like hell, and she knew deep down she hated herself for it, had been hating herself ever since…then. Harry acknowledging it but still loving her was more wonderful than she could say. Tears streamed down her face again.
He put his hands on her shoulders and put his forehead against hers. His voice lowered. “War is terrible, but we’re still fighting one. I believe we’re doing the right thing, and we can try to limit the damage as much as we can, and stop fighting the moment we can. But it’s important that we do fight, and that we win, otherwise we waste the sacrifice Colin, that all our dead have made. We owe it to them to see it through, quitting would be a betrayal. There are days where I think that maybe Riddle died too soon, it let far too many people off the hook.”
Another layer ripped painfully open. She had been viewing this fight only as it pertained to her. Yes she was trying to help other first- and second-borns, but mostly because it was important to her to help, her fight, her reasons, her career at the Ministry. It was SPEW all over again. Sort of.
She looked down at Colin's gravestone. Colin wished ill on no one, Louise wished ill on everyone not like herself. Colin was a terrible fighter. He shouldn’t have been fighting. He shouldn’t’ve had a need to fight. But people like Louise forced that need on him, and were still doing it.
So, yes, she would keep fighting. But for better reasons. Because she could. Because she’d been forced to become good at it. Because others shouldn’t have to, weren’t good at it, and shouldn’t be forced to become good at it like her. Shouldn’t have to hate themselves for defending themselves. She needed to be worthy of the sacrifice her dead had made, and their sacrifice shouldn't have been made in vain.
Quitting now would mean even Louise’s death was for nothing. Colin had died so that others could live, and in a very weird and backwards way, so had Louise.
She relaxed in to him. “Thank you Harry. You’re painfully obvious, and blunt, but it was…right.”
“You all right, then?”
“Not even close. And I won’t be for a long time. But I can see that I will be. And I know we do have to see it through. Thank you.”
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There was an opening in the Department For the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Lots of openings in fact, given the number of people off basically permanently with the plague. Enough that no one objected to her being appointed Temporary Deputy Assistant Head. The Sponsorships from Harry Potter and Minister Shacklebolt probably helped, along with the Order of Merlin. So did the Minister himself escorting her in on her first day. That and there were hardly any purebloods left to object. It was the only department without someone with two notations on her list. As long as her appointment was clearly temporary and she could keep things running smoothly while they were repeatedly… indisposed, it was, well, not fine, but acceptable.
The Head, who did have two notations on her list, was indefinitely out ill with The Plague, or The Curse, depending on the headline of the day, so on paper Hermione would have to assume some of his duties occasionally. In truth he’d not been seen for several weeks, and even his correspondence was tapering off.
She looked at her administrative staff, well her remaining staff, and mentally checked off their blood status in her head. First-born, first-born, second-born, first-born, pureblood— hmm. They would bear watching.
She smiled at them. “Thank you so much for your kind welcome. I’m sure we can carry on in these trying times. I will endeavour to be a good liaison between ourselves and Head Wilkerson as he recuperates.” Looking over the empty desks and offices, she asked Shacklebolt, “As Temporary Deputy Assistant Head, can I fill vacant administrative positions?”
“They’ll all be provisional or temporary as well of course, but yes you can.”
Her smile grew. “That’s a relief. We appear to have lots to do.”
In her office, after the door closed, she turned to the file cabinet. In the very bottom, in the very back, not even labeled or alphabetised, were the rejected application files. Well, at least they hadn’t just been binned. Probably some esoteric rule against it. Or more likely if they were sent back out into circulation, someone might actually get hired. A quick perusal of the first three showed they were all first-born, with a big red ‘rejected’ stamped over the ‘muggleborn’ status box. The fact that there was a 'muggleborn' status box on the first page, or indeed at all, hardened her resolve yet again.
She pulled out the files and stacked them on her desk. There were lots of admin and support positions to fill in all her new Divisions and Offices, and if Shacklebolt mistook her intent to fill only the positions on her personal staff, well that was on him. As soon as that blew over, she’d be pressing him to fill, even just ‘temporarily,’ mid- and then upper-level positions.
“Time for phase 2.”
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Hermione, newly appointed as Temporary Interim Head (she was mildly amused yet again at the redundancy) of her department, snuggled with Harry in bed. He was reading the paper, and holding it so she could see, but she just closed her eyes and let him read her the highlights. The Pureblood Plague, the alliteration had won out over ‘Curse,’ was still causing major panic among the magical public. Though first-borns were steadily becoming more calm about it all.
“Let’s see here. Ah. ‘A representative from the Unspeakables had no comment when asked if they were continuing to investigate the Dark Mark, though a few ‘ex’ Death Eaters were seen entering or leaving Level 9.’ Not that there’s many people with the Mark still around.”
The few remaining bearers of the Mark continued to have a now ten foot bubble of isolation around them, and no invitations to dinner or other Houses or meetings for business or pleasure. Every time another one died, the bubble got bigger. Sure, they were officially innocent, but still…. Legislation to ban them from the Wizengamot and force them to select proxies barely failed, but many ended up picking proxies voluntarily anyway. Coming to the Ministry was just that unbearable, on the rare occasions they felt well enough to make it possible.
“Oh, and here. The Auror Department declined to investigate it as a ‘muggleborn plot’ for a third time.” She just snorted at this, and felt a small sense of satisfaction over the death of Umbridge a month previously. She’d been home under house arrest, still awaiting trial. The day her death had been announced, a large bouquet of flowers had arrived at Grimmauld, from Auror Williams. As a half blood, he’d not been on the team investigating the muggleborn plot theories. Which was good.
“And here’s an advert from St. Mungo's for home care aides, apparently there’s a booming business in home visits and in-home care.”
Harry then checked the obits. Not everyone was willing to have their family member’s deaths attributed with the Plague/Curse, but deaths were still reported. “Oh look, Elizabeth Avery died. Apparently of dragon pox.”
At this she opened her eyes and sat up. Summoning her list and a quill, she added the name under the Avery family and crossed her off. There weren’t a lot of names left on the ‘need to go’ list. She tried hard not to feel joy at the crossed-off name of Theodore Nott. But she did look at it every time she added or scratched out a name. Goyle was still hanging in there.
Harry gave her a kiss. “Tell my why the weaker ones are the ones that survived so long?”
She yawned. “If you have weaker magic, your conjured water doesn’t last as long, and can’t get absorbed and then incorporated into your cellular structures as much. So only the rapidly dividing cells, like skin and intestinal, are effected. And your symptoms show up sooner. Unpleasant, but not fatal. At least not quickly. Eggs and sperm would be effected as well, so I’m anticipating a drop in Pureblood births soon.”
“The stronger you are, the longer your water lasts, and the more widespread the hydrogen and oxygen atoms get incorporated. When they finally disappear, the damage is huge and widespread. DNA is fractured, cell membranes, basic cell structure, proteins, nerves, muscle, bone, organs, everything basically trashed. In muggles it would cause either instant death or lots of different cancers, which I haven’t seen yet. Magicals don’t seem to get cancer. But it’s enough to overwhelm whatever boost to health magicals get and whatever the potions and charms from the Healers can do.”
“I still wonder why no one’s figured it out on their own.”
She shrugged. “Lots of reasons. The delay between drinking the water and the onset of symptoms. The wide variety and non-specificity of symptoms. The fact that it’s the oxygen and hydrogen atoms disappearing that’s the problem. The totally benign and common nature of water makes it fly under the radar. There's no spell to detect the difference between conjured and natural water. And magicals are devoid of logic, common sense, and knowledge of the basic sciences. They can diagnose liver failure, not that the enzymatic pathway is broken because hydrogen and oxygen disappeared destroying the molecules. Any non-magical grad student would have figured this out ages ago.”
“How long before you ‘notice’ someone drinking conjured water and comment on it?” They were still both simultaneously committed to fighting this battle, and wishing they didn’t have to. Hopefully they could end it soon.
“I’ve already warned off a couple firstborns I caught doing it, explaining why in great detail, and they promptly told all their friends. Purebloods seem not to understand what they’re saying, and wouldn’t believe them even if they did, being all smug and convinced they’re right and all. Mary’s friend over at St Mungo’s hasn’t noted any firstborn as patients of the plague, and any halfbloods haven’t died or came back for a second visit after she educated them.”
Mary’s friend had been ‘caught’ in her educational efforts on dissuading first- and second-borns from drinking conjured water, but ironically was not reprimanded because ‘such things should be kept to those of magical heritage.’ The irony deepened as she was assigned to care for first- and second-borns because of her own heritage, and so that others didn’t have to.
She checked her list. “Alexander is still alive, and he’s the last witness from the Three Broomsticks. There’s still a few on the list that need to go, but overall numbers are down enough that it might not matter much. As long as there’s no collateral damage I’ll let it go a little longer. Might only need a few more weeks, then another ‘discussion’ at lunch should be all it takes.”
“How's phase two going?”
“Our department is 80% muggle-born or halfbloods, and we’ve been top of the efficiency and productivity charts five of the last six months. Sports and Games is second, as they really do care about Quidditch more than blood status, so have lots of ‘Plague-free’ employees. Penny Clearwater got another promotion, by the way.”
“Other departments are starting to take notice, and since hires are still ’temporary’ under the Plague Emergency Status, muggle-born and half-bloods are filling in more and more positions.”
“At current rate of growth, the Ministry will tip majority non-pureblood in a few more months, and comfortably super-majority in less than a year. It’s accelerating as there are fewer pureblood applicants and even fewer purebloods left to complain. We’re filling all the lower level positions first of course, but starting in on the middle level positions too. After that, it won’t be long until people start working their way up. Or being hired directly into leadership positions.”
“Frankly, the mid-level positions are the more important ones. They’re the people who actually write and then enforce the policies and procedures. My group has been working furiously on revisions we hope to get enacted. We just have to wait for the right time.”
“Look at you, winning the war single handedly.” He kissed her again. “I’m so proud of you, General Granger.”
She poked him in the ribs. “Don’t you forget it.” She poked him again. “And General Granger demands French toast.”
Harry laughed and mock saluted. “Yes, ma’am,” he said and headed off to the kitchen, as Hermione read through the rest of the paper.
Bringing the tray in, he asked. “So, you’ll be Minister for Magic in a couple years then, yeah?”
She settled the tray over her legs, then sipped her cocoa with an appreciative sigh. Her French toast had strawberries and whipped cream. “This looks scrumptious. And no, I’ll leave it to Shacklebolt for a while, let him clean up all the messes. Besides, I have specific projects I want to work on. Travel. Maybe a Mastery or two. Still might get a law degree. Get married, hint, hint.”
Harry laughed.
“Have kids. Maybe by the time I’m 40 or so.”
Harry sat cross legged on the bed to join her. She took a bite. “Yum.”
“Glad you like it.” Between bites of his own, he glanced at his bedside table, with the surprise in the small box in the drawer. Maybe tonight would be the time.
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Newly-appointed, no-longer-interim or temporary, Head of The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, one of the youngest Heads in Ministry history, Hermione Granger, sat in her new purple robes in her seat in her first session as an official member of the Wizengamot. She had a very thick stack of parchment on her lap, as she had numerous proposals for changes and updates to the rules, regulations, policies, and procedures for her department, and laws of the Ministry in general. Her Department had been very efficient in researching and preparing them in a remarkably short period of time. Officially, anyway.
She looked around the circular room, mentally tallying votes.
Next to her was Neville, proxy for the Longbottom seat, as his gran was the Chief Witch. Oddly, he wasn’t old enough to hold the seat himself, but somehow he only had to be ‘of age’ to be a proxy. One of those quirks of the ancient and byzantine rules of the Wizengamot.
On her other side was Arthur Weasley, nominated to a seat with the rest of the surviving Sacred 28. Someone had apparently overheard the idea in the cafeteria, and it was the Purebloods’ last gasp to fill the vacancies left by the horribly disastrous attempt by some Slytherin students to boost their magical power. An attempt that most unfortunately caught on in their families and friends before the Department of Mysteries figured it out and put a stop to it. That this was soon after their first appointment of a muggleborn assistant clerk was of course totally coincidental.
During the investigation her name had come up quickly, but she had plenty of witnesses to corroborate the fact that she told people that drinking conjured water was a terrible idea, including a Healer at St. Mungos, and no witnesses at all to support the children's story that it was all her idea to begin with. She demonstrated her poison detection charms, some of which were indeed on the NEWTs. She couldn't be faulted for practicing charms, and her perfect Os might explain any student's jealousy and accusations.
Not linking the witnessed conjured water consumption, which she emphasised again she told people was a bad idea, with the vague and numerous symptoms of the Pureblood Plague was a missed opportunity for sure, but she had come up with more and better ideas than the Ministry and St. Mungos combined, and not solving a national crisis wasn't a crime. There were several people who ate lunch regularly in the Ministry Cafeteria that independently and unsolicited offered testimony to this effect, and her obvious distress over a friend of hers from Slytherin passing. Her investigation was closed quickly. She also declined an offer to work in the Department of Mysteries.
Bill Weasley sat for the Prewetts, Hannah’s father Zachariah for the Abbotts, Andromeda for the Blacks, Daphne for the Greengrasses, Ernie as proxy for the Macmillans.
Narcissa, the last of the Malfoys, had surprisingly given her proxy to Daphne, despite there not being a marriage alliance with the Greengrass family. Slughorn now actually attended sessions. Ollivander was attending this session, his first.
Of the Department Heads, just under half were now first-born.
It was a couple shy of enough votes, though she didn’t know which way Daphne would go. She did know that Daphne hadn’t been sad at all that her sister no longer had to marry Draco. She wore black robes out of respect, but looked more relaxed and happy in them than any time Hermione could remember. Regardless, that was why Neville was going to table his proposal first, nominating that the Potters, specifically Harry Potter, be elevated to the Wizengamot.
In the unlikely event that that didn’t work, he had a plan B, having genealogical evidence that Harry was the closest living relative of the Gaunt family and was in fact entitled to the seat as a member of the Sacred 28 and it was high time they stopped denying him his rightful due. They had been hoping to save that seat for a future Potter son, but they were willing to do it today if necessary.
Plan C, to be used only if really needed, was to push for Harry to become Head of the Blacks, though with Andromeda there as it was, it wouldn’t change the hard tally of the votes any. Sirius’ will should make it easy, but they wanted the Potter and Gaunt seats if they could get them.
With Harry’s vote, and more importantly influence, she was confident most if not all of her proposals would be accepted today.
She rose with the others as the Chief Witch entered and was seated.
As she sat back down, she said quietly, “Time for phase three.”
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A/N: Harry Potter wiki states the Aguamenti spell ‘conjures clean, drinkable water.’
It also says: ‘However, as J. K. Rowling said conjured items from thin air tend not to last long, it can be assumed that the water conjured from the charm is not a permanent solution to thirst.’
And as someone who actually really really liked biochem class, I remembered what happens to water when you drink it, other than just quenching thirst.
So, Hermione gives the Darwin award to the Purebloods. Not that they would know who Darwin was….
Salut.
More A/N: I of course have no ownership of Pinky and the Brain, which some internet sources say would have been broadcast in the UK at about this time.
And: Anyone who thinks Purebloods wouldn’t be smug-gullible enough to basically commit slow mass suicide, or that epidemics gain political overtones and while simple in biology and fact are difficult to manage hasn’t been paying attention. I will reference the first few years of the HIV and COVID epidemics.
And: Yes, This is Water is a reference to that speech.