Prologue: Dirk Cresswell
The portraits lining the corridors of the fourth level of the Ministry of Magic were slumbering peacefully. Distinguished faces did not move even as Hermione's high heels clacked against the floor. With distaste, she glanced down at them: shining, smoothly contoured shoes that seemed almost alive as they clung to the curves of her feet. Every step sent waves of clack clack clack into the corridor. She preferred if the lights remained dim; her eyes always hurt after long days. At the end of the corridor, she knew she'd find the Centaur Liaison Office, and close to it, the Goblin Liaison Office.
After the Battle of Hogwarts and the reclamation of the Ministry, Kingsley Shacklebolt had made it a point to honor the deceased Ministry employees- and so, on every level, there were paintings, beautifully painted portraits. In the dim light, Hermione had to walk past every single one. She paused at the very end, peering up at the largest portrait on the wall.
"Lumos," whispered Hermione. Very slowly, the former Head of the Goblin Liaison Office opened his eyes. There was no hint of drowsiness in his eyes. In the dim light of her wand, Dirk Cresswell stretched his neck.
"You found me easily enough," he said. "You can put that light off now, I can see you. Who gave you the message eventually?"
"Amelia Bones," said Hermione, extinguishing her wand. The former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had very quietly slipped in a word as Hermione exited her office. It had seemed that Amelia Bones had initially not appreciated the occupation of her old office, and the message had been gentle and polite in contrast. The need for secrecy struck Hermione as strange, but she listened nonetheless.
"What did you want to speak to me about? And if I may, why me?"
"Why not you? I heard the announcement- congratulations, by the way, Mrs. Granger. Your new post deserves someone as intelligent as you."
Hermione blushed. Dirk Cresswell's surprising charm took her aback. Several days ago, Hermione had formally become the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Effectively, this put her at the helm of a large but rather troublesome segment of the Ministry. She answered to Kingsley, and Kingsley only.
"No, I only meant that I didn't expect the former Head of the Goblin Liaison Office to require my services. What can I do from my department?"
"Well, it is your Department now. You can do great things, can you not?"
In the fading light, Hermione nodded, still fairly puzzled. Dirk Cresswell was a pleasure to speak to, for sure, but was there a good reason for this conversation?
"What do you need, Sir?" she asked, finally.
He regarded her sternly.
"Do you have any idea what happened with my Department before the Battle of Hogwarts?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Do you have any idea who succeeded me after I was killed?"
Hermione shook her head again, feeling rather stunned that she had not tried to find out.
"I was told you were smart. Do you perceive my former job to be simple?"
"No," said Hermione quickly. "I actually think it's incredibly interesting. I remember writing essays for Professor Binns on the Goblin Wars; I had to do plenty of reading up to understand the Wizengamot's decisions and how they enforced the Goblins into..."
"Servitude. A milder word for it must have been used in your History of Magic textbook, and I doubt Binns said it any better."
"No," she said quietly.
"For your information, nobody succeeded me after I was killed. It took a long while for Shacklebolt to find someone. Not that that has resulted in anything good.. Lord Voldemort had no use for the goblins, you see. Under his reign, there would be no separation of departments. Under his reign, laws, creatures, gold, all would be under his thumb. Can you see why that would have eventually destroyed the world he wanted to create?"
"There are lines drawn for a reason. Rules that keep society civil."
"Rules that keep society alive," Cresswell corrected.
"If gold was managed by the Ministry, things would go haywire. Voldemort, I assume, would have redirected all finances to the things he considered important. Keeping half-bloods dead and pure-bloods alive, perhaps. Eventually, there would be no more gold left. He would attempt to ransack the vaults, but none know the secrets of Gringotts save for the oldest Goblins. Goblins that hold secrets older than Salazar Slytherin himself- real treasures that have been hidden away for centuries and centuries.
"And they would refuse to cave in, for they would rather die than betray their kind. And in the process, the Dark Lord would have massacred the creatures that hold the most power in the magic world."
Hermione frowned.
"The goblins are bound by laws to wizards- the power they possess depends on the law, doesn't it? And as per law, goblins and house elves are the same- oppressed communities," she said, remembering her days at the helm of SPEW, or the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.
"Externally, it may seem that goblins are oppressed. Textbooks may tell you that they are entirely subservient to us. But the truth of it is far off, Mrs. Granger. Far off."
Cresswell's soft voice grew softer. Hermione heard the muffled sound of footsteps, far behind her. Cresswell's voice turned urgent.
"We have no time. You cannot be seen here. Listen to me, my child. Come closer."
Hermione edged closer to the frame, turning her ear to his oil-paint mouth.
"When Cornelius Fudge first took office as Minister for Magic, there was a reason he promoted me. I may not be great at combat magic, but the goblins called me Velvet Tongue, and Fudge knew that. When he hired me, things changed. When he hired me, Fudge was not the man he turned into. He had the makings of a great Minister, before fear took hold of him. And he was made Minister for one reason and for one reason only- because he knew he needed to look at the other issues and correct them."
Promptly, Dirk Cresswell sat back in his painting. His eyes were closed, and he was apparently already asleep. His words ringing in her head, Hermione walked out of Level 4 and into the elevator. She had a familiar burning sensation smoldering inside her- a sensation she had felt as a girl at Hogwarts- the urge to know. But for the moment, she sorely needed her bed. Even the pangs of nostalgia could not turn her away from the prospect of a soft, comfortable bed.