Monday mornings always come too quickly, and it was with an almighty sigh that I rolled out of bed. Instantly Vermeer dove into the warm cocoon of the spot I had just vacated.

"Damn cat." He flicked his tail at me and smirked. Can cats smirk? Mine can. And then I remembered the day.

"Job interview today, dear," my mirror chirped.

"Thanks, Mrs. Gardiner."

"Don't fret dear, you'll do splendidly!"

With a grimace, I pulled on my nylons and Muggle business suit, a graduation present from my Muggleborn mother. The robe I pulled on next was entirely my father. "That way, Lena, you're prepared for whichever world you get a job in first!" I decided then and there that they didn't need to know about the waitressing job I'd gotten at a small Muggle café around the corner from my flat. Speaking of my flat. Hopping from throw rug to shabby carpet, I made my way from my bed on the far wall through the middle ground which served as both a living room and dining room and into the square of tile that passed as a kitchen. Yes, my flat is one room. I'm 18, just out of school, and not living with my parents, though, so don't judge. A tap on my window made my fingers slip pulling the toast from the toaster.

"Bugger," I muttered, sucking the burnt appendage and leaning over to the window. "Hey, Sis." My mother named the poor bird, I would just like to assert. Sisyphus hopped from the sill to the counter, letting me take the letter from her beak as she helped herself to Vermeer's water. He hissed from the bed, knowing exactly what she was doing, and I flapped my hand at him.

"Oh, share." He settled back, still indignant. Sisy ruffled her feathers and daintily nibbled an owl treat from my fingers.

"Hello, dear!" My mother's overly perky voice emanated from the letter as soon as I tore the envelope. Shaping itself into a passable imitation of my mother's mouth, it hovered in front of me. What would come from its mouth in a matter of seconds was undoubtedly a personal pep talk, laced with undertones of 'get the job or else' that I had no time for, so I let the Howler talk itself to ash as I finished my toast and glared at the pile of ash now on my kitchen floor, utterly unamused. There are, however, benefits to being a witch of age, and so I relished, perhaps more than strictly necessary, in the fact that a flick of my wand could set the broom and dustpan skittering across the floor. Sisy was settling herself on the back of a dilapidated lounger by the time I had finished my tea.

"Want out now or later, Sis? Right, return letter." How could I forget. "Right, behave yourselves," I warned Vermeer and Sisy, slipping my feet into the heels and wrapping my cloak around me.

I live in a somewhat seedy area of London, since that's where rent's affordable. Anyway, there was no one in the hallway as I left, and even the streets were a little emptier than normal, which would have been odd, except that as I stepped out, the cold wind and rain actually sent me spinning on my heel and scurrying right back inside the front door. Today, the wind had evidently decided it was a good day to come out and play, whipping up streets and around corners and driving the cold drizzle that was falling into the faces of anyone unfortunate enough to venture out. By the time I reached the apparation point, my hair and clothes were sufficiently wet and mussed. When I apparated to the Ministry's point, I beelined for the restroom, hoping to repair my appearance as much as possible. Yeah, perfect timing, spring. It's early April, for Merlin's sake. I had just tugged my robes back into place and was smoothing my hair when none but Hermione Weasley strolled in. My mouth went dry and I willed myself- okay, begged myself- not to stare. She too stepped up to the mirror, smiling wryly at my stupefaction.

"Weather's rather nasty today," she remarked, patting at her own curls. I nearly swallowed my hairpins nodding. 'Snap out of it,' I chided myself. It's only your idol.

"And here I was thinking only I was so lucky," I grinned, and she chuckled.

"It targets people with curly, unruly hair," she assured me, surveying my black curls. "I'm Hermione Weasley, by the way."

I barely suppressed and 'I know,' instead returning a "Magdalena Shepard," and offering my hand. Her grip was firm and she eyed me curiously.

"You know, I don't recall having seen you around before. What department do you work in?"

"I hope to work in the Magical Law Enforcement department," I told her as we emerged from the bathroom. "I have an interview today with the Aurors as their new press liaison." Hermione Weasley's eyes sharpened and she smiled.

"I wish you the best of luck, then. And if it doesn't work out, I wish you would send an application to the Justice Department."

"Thanks," I said, ashamedly starstruck. Hermione Weasley liked me. Shaking out of it, I joined the queue to the lifts and awkwardly crammed myself in. The fourth floor could not have come fast enough, but when I reached it, I hung back and let the corridor clear out a bit.

"Well, here goes nothing."

Consuela Banks, the receptionist's nameplate read, and I approached the motherly looking witch.

"Hello, I'm Magdalena Shepard, here for . . ." my words were curtailed by a loud bang, raucous laughter, and the yelling of an impending argument. Alarmed, I peered around the wall that stood behind Consuela Banks's desk, as did the other five hopefuls seated in the lobby of the Auror office. Before my eyes, Consuela Banks stood from her desk, leaned around the wall, and hollered, "Weasley! Levitt! Behave!" Then, sweet as can be, she returned to her seat, smiling in a friendly way.

"Magdalena Shepard here for your interview?" she inquired sweetly. "Have a seat, love, they'll be out in a minute."

"Thanks," I mumbled, joining the other applicants on the far side of the lobby and observing with amusement their uneasy looks. I was leaning against a wall in the corner when a lean, tall man with ruffled hair stumbled out, catching himself on the corner of Ms. Banks's desk.

"First victim- I mean applicant," he grinned, dodging Ms. Banks's half-hearted swat and taking a stack of files from her hand, "is Ashby, Larry."

"Levitt," Consuela Banks sighed with the weary air of someone who has done the same thing many times.

"Yes, mother, I'll play nice," Levitt sighed right back at her. He was disappearing around the corner with Ashby, Larry trailing his gangly form after him when Levitt's head reappeared. "But I can't promise for the others."

The lobby was quiet again, and from where I was leaning against the wall, I took the opportunity to survey my fellow applicants. No one I recognized, though two of the other guys seemed like recent Hogwarts grads, and the older man and woman may have been in their late thirties to forties.

Five minutes later, a thoroughly terrified looking Larry Ashby sprinted out of the office as though the hounds of hell were chasing him. Our heads all tracked his path out the door and straight onto the lift, then turned slowly back to where Levitt was casually sauntering back into the lobby.

"Next."

Twenty minutes later, both the older woman and one of the recent grads had come and gone, albeit far more sedately than Larry Ashby. I was tapping my fingers in time to the Cauldron Bums' latest song.

"Shepard, Magdalena." Steeling myself, I followed Levitt through the door behind Consuela Banks's desk. She gave me an encouraging smile as I passed.

The aurors each had a small cubicle, the walls of each of which were plastered in newspaper clippings, photos and other memorabilia in varying states of gruesomeness.

"Through here, Miss Shepard." Levitt held the door open, and I flashed him what I sincerely hoped was my most charming smile. It was something of a conference room, though I was positive it had been used as an interrogation room just as often. On one side of the long table sat Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and a strict woman that I didn't recognize. Levitt took a seat next to her as I sat on the opposite side of the table.

"Good morning, Miss Shepard." Levitt passed my file down to Harry Potter, and he flipped it open before looking up again. "Harry Potter." He extended his hand, and I stood to shake it. "Ron Weasley, Archana Price, and you probably know George Levitt."

"Pleasure." I sat back down, and Potter once again perused my file.

"Ravenclaw?" Weasley was reading over Potter's shoulder. "Funny," he remarked to Harry. "I thought Hogwarts used to make them tougher than that Ashby bloke." Harry elbowed him, but that didn't deter him. "I hope you last longer than the other three." He grinned wolfishly.

"You know," I studied his hair critically, "Scaring them off probably had something to do with the mess on your head. Is it a requirement for the men here not to own combs?"

Okay. So maybe not my best decision ever, insulting not only the people I wanted a job from, but also two of the most important people in the wizarding world. But I had done it, irked by their slight on my house, and I kept my chin up. And what I saw almost made my jaw drop. Ron Weasley was grinning at me. Levitt was chuckling, smoothing his hair. Harry Potter and Archana Price were fighting their amusement, and when he looked up from the file again, Potter's eyes were twinkling.

"Ouch, it bites," Levitt muttered, wincing at Archana's elbow.

"Very good," Potter approved. "Because that fancy title of Press Liason? It basically boils down to being Ron's brain to mouth filter. And well, the other stuff too."

"Awesome. If you'll have me, I'm in."

The rest of the interview was focused on what the aurors considered my qualifications, things like could I out-talk Weasley and Levitt, beat Price in arm wrestling, and help Potter pick out an anniversary present for his wife. They were satisfied that I had graduated Hogwarts and that my references were in order, and finally Potter grinned at me.

"We'll be in contact."