Disclaimer: Characters, and any other familiar names are owned by JK Rowling.
Summary: "You better begin," Harry muttered as he repeated the words written on the slip of paper. We look at each other with grim faces. We know what that means for the three of us. Voldemort has finally declared war. WIP.
Notes:
Title inspired by Muse's song Supremacy.
Deathly Hallows never happened.
Enjoy!
Chapter One
My heels clacked on the floor as I walk towards the lifts in the Atrium, a disposable cup on my left hand, and a bundle of documents on my right. Mondays were never my favorite day of the week.
Immediately after graduating, Harry and Ron started their Auror training. It was brutal, they told me, as Moody was being extra careful in pushing the boys a little too hard to prepare them for the upcoming battle with Voldemort. There were times when Ron and Harry would come home to our flat at odd times of the night covered in grime and dirt that somehow manages to get their way even in their underwear.
How do I know this?
Even at eighteen years of age, the boys still don't know how to clean their rooms.
Honestly.
I keep telling them that Moody was only pushing them because they need to be pushed. However, I didn't tell them that Moody was giving them a special training compared to normal Auror trainees – Merlin knows Ron has a big enough head to fill Grimauld Place.
I sipped the hot chocolate – sweet and hot enough to wake me up at this god-awful day at this god-awful hour. Why is it that working hours are earlier on Mondays?
I say my Good Mornings to the people I pass by, hoping I don't look rattled so early on in the morning. I pass by Madam Edgecombe and made small talk as we walk towards the lift together.
During the course of Harry and Ron's training, I decided to apply for an internship at the Department of Mysteries. While I knew I wanted to work at the Ministry of Magic, I was unsure of the department I wanted to work in. Molly and Arthur expected me to apply for an internship at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and while I was this close to sending my letter of intent, the mystery that lies behind the doors of the Department of Mysteries piqued my curiosity. Ron, Harry and Ginny questioned me enough times in hopes that I would send the owl at my previous choice. I told them that I wanted to pursue being an Unspeakable even if the events of our fifth year were still rather fresh on my mind. Despite their efforts, I sent in my owl days after chewing the end of my quill off.
While I was an intern, I decided to send an owl to St. Mungos to apply as a part-time Trainee Healer as well. Although Ron and Harry didn't want me to exhaust myself too much, my reasoning was enough for them to sigh and give me a hug of encouragement. I know I'm over exerting myself but who isn't? With the war brewing, Merlin knows someone needs to at least be a trained Healer to aid in our quest. At least, when someone asks me what my job is, I just tell them the latter.
Juggling work is a whole different matter.
Luckily for me, my work in the Department of Mysteries compliments my being a Trainee Healer.
Four years after, Ron and Harry are now fully-fledged Aurors, slowly working their way up the ranks. Harry, not surprising enough, became the Deputy Head of Aurors at twenty-two.
Ginny was offered a spot on the Holyhead Harpies and became their Chaser and occasional Seeker for a few years after Hogwarts. She applied as an intern for the Department of Magical Games and Sports soon after.
Four years after leaving Hogwarts, the battle against Voldemort hasn't settled, the three of us agreeing to postpone our so-called quest to collect the Horcruxes to try and prepare ourselves physically and mentally for the final battle – our current profession being of great advantage.
We haven't touched any of the Horcruxes since Dumbledore's death. Lucky for us, Voldemort hasn't felt the need to create more (or at least, that's what Harry tells us, putting all his trust in his scar to tell him if anything weird happens). However, that doesn't mean the attacks stopped.
I sighed as the lift stopped at level nine of the Ministry of Magic. I walk the long hallway before going in the door that leads to the Department of Mysteries. I waved my wand and the left wall opened to reveal a closet of sorts filled with black cloaks big enough to hide an Unspeakable's identity. It was likewise laced with different charms to mask a wearer's voice and physique. Only the Head of the Department is immune to these charms to avoid break-ins. The entire department was heavily warded as well, so that any curious employees who wanted to go up the department will be confunded, obliviated, and be slowly escorted down, all without having the curious employee step foot in the department. The cloaks help in entering as well, along with our magical signature. I secretly smile at having the opportunity to know the inner workings of the most secretive department in the whole of Wizarding Britain.
It pains me to remember why we had to double the security at the department. I told my superiors that we wouldn't want a repeat of what happened in 1995, when Death Eaters broke through the Department, along with several DA and Order members. The memory of Sirius' death still lingers even after all these years.
There have been several attacks throughout the four years that we've been working, all of them scattered, all of them creating a large enough dent in the minds of the wizarding population. Even the neighboring countries have felt it. Even as Auror Trainees, Ron and Harry have been working overtime to capture and question the Death Eaters that were unable to escape. My being a healer became useful as well, helping not only Ron and Harry every time they go home scarred and bruised, but also the innocents injured.
Four years after applying at two of my preferred professions, I am an Unspeakable and a call-in Healer, only donning the Healer robes whenever the hospital pin on my charm bracelet glows a bright red, a sign of emergency.
I walk through the empty halls of the department, going in the circular room, and choosing the right time to go through the right door and muttering the right incantation to go to my office. It was an impressive trick, and one that got me lost during my first few weeks as an intern in the department. But I got the pattern nonetheless and got through the right rooms in order to do the right assignments.
I placed my cup of hot chocolate on my office table and sat heavily on my chair. Merlin, it was only morning and it already feels like I've gone through the whole week.
I muttered a spell and all the documents I had with me turned into three thick envelopes with completely different documents inside of them, another one of the department's tricks, and mine as well, that fooled any of the other employees in the Ministry into thinking otherwise. If any one else got through these documents, they would only read lines and lines of symbols and numbers, a nice play on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, and even if deciphered it would only show lists and statistics of the Wizarding World.
I shuffled through them, inspecting each paper closely to see if all papers are present. Slowly I laid them out on my desk and filtered through them. One of the papers had been dog-eared, but upon checking, was only marked by an Auror in his report.
"Must be Savage," I muttered, and smoothed the document.
The work of an Unspeakable differ for each person, with no Unspeakable working on a similar assignment at the same time. I was charged with inspecting Auror reports that get filtered, making each reports different, only allowing cases unique enough to come through. After further filtering the reports, I check the curses used by the captured wizard (after having his/her wand confiscated, and after casting Priori Incantatem), the list of curses used by every dark wizard filtered as well, so that no listed curse is alike. I then dissect each curse to its most miniscule effect, get its important elements, then creating a curse that works ten times better.
If Bill is a curse breaker, then I'm a curse designer.
Only Ron, Harry and Ginny know this, of course.
See how this compliments my being a Healer? In my dissecting the darkest of curses used by dark wizards, I apply this knowledge in my work as a Healer. While I create some of the worst curses known, I likewise create some of the best spells to counter them – example of which are healing spells.
My work is not perfect however, as there have been several backlashes in the past couple of years that I've been a curse designer. Even with a calculation of 0.0001% mistake, a curse can go towards that miniscule percentage and backfire on you. I've had my share of burns and several other scars and while I have been a call-in healer for only a year, some of my injuries still need healing from the professionals. Fortunately for me, the Healers don't question the origins of the injury.
Why the Ministry need curse designers, I would never know.
Something catches the corner of my eye as I rifle through the documents spread out on my desk. It was the same dog-eared paper. At my touch, the paper started oozing purple colored pus that burned my fingers.
"Shite," I muttered and instantly waved my wand to heal it. Curiously enough, that didn't do the trick. I muttered every common healing spell and none of them work. My eyebrows furrow and my heart starts beating rapidly in panic. What on earth? Deciding on using one of my own spells, I touch the burn that's slowly eating my skin ("Acid!" I hiss as the pain gets worse) with my wand, say an incantation and feel the skin slowly heal itself. When I looked back at the cursed paper, I was surprised enough to find that the surrounding area wasn't damaged.
"Maybe it only worked on skin," I muttered to myself and placed that information at the back of my head for storage. Whoever created this must be curse designer as well, but not an Unspeakable. One of the Death Eaters then. I frowned. This could be bad. If they have a talented enough curse designer then the Order is in deep trouble.
I muttered several spells that would clear my desk save for the dog-eared paper, set it on the floor and encase it in an environment-proof glass to avoid it contaminating the air should it have any airborne side-effects. The paper soon turned to black and words written in green ink appeared.
You will soon know your place.
The bottom left corner of the paper started denting, slowly shaping itself into the Dark Mark. My eyes widen.
Shite indeed.
I had lunch that afternoon with Harry in some semi-fast, semi-fancy restaurant just outside the Ministry, Ron having been assigned some work out in an abandoned home, so he couldn't be with us.
"He's been grumbling all day," Harry said across from me, forking his salad and sipping his tea. Even at twenty-two Harry still looks like he's been out of Hogwarts a couple of months ago save for a couple of slightly visible scars. "Says that Su keeps hanging off his neck for not telling her of his recent escapades."
I sigh. "They'll get through it, Harry. Su and Ron have been having fights about who's clingier since they met in the halls of St. Mungos years ago." We both cringed, not wanting to recall that particular memory at the moment.
"I know," Harry leaned to the table and looked at me straight in the eyes. "So how's being a Healer treating you?" Harry can't seriously stress Healer enough to know that that's not what he was talking about. I mentally rolled my eyes.
"I chanced upon an interesting document awhile ago," I started and explained to him how I got the black letter. Harry's frown couldn't have deepened enough. I'm glad we started this habit of casting the Muffliato every time we eat out. "What do you make of it?"
"I think we're old enough to know that we shouldn't be touching anything that looks funny, even if it's work related. This thing with Voldemort may not be as big as we think it would be at this point, and I hate to admit it but majority of the people are starting to become complacent because of it. The Order, on the other hand, are starting to get jittery by the second. We know this will explode into something bigger. Voldemort was never this patient." Sadly, I agreed with Harry. He ran his hands through his hair and sipped the last of his tea, internally cussing at Voldemort for making Harry carry this much weight on his shoulder. "Just be careful, Hermione. I won't tell you to double check everything because you're smart enough to know that."
"I know. I'm just worried about what this means for the three of us," I meant our impending journey, the 'reopening' of our quest to find the rest of the Horcruxes. I would think that we're ready now. I know we're ready.
But while we're spending our life preparing for the battle, Voldemort would no doubt be preparing for the battle of his life as well.
While Harry and I were walking back towards the Ministry, a man dressed in grimy robes bumped into me, causing me to stumble and have my take-out and the rest of my things fall to the floor.
"I'm sorry, Miss." His voice was hoarse. He was kind enough to help me pick up my paper bag.
"It's alright," I sighed. Really, what is it with Mondays?
"Are you alright, Hermione?" I don't have to look up to Harry to see him frowning at the man (I can practically hear him frown) but turned back to helping me pick up my things.
"Yes, I a—where did he go?" I frowned as I look up. The man who was helping me awhile ago was gone, but my paper bag and my things were in my hands.
"Must be some wizard who chanced upon marijuana," I shrugged at Harry and accept his hands as he pulled me up.
And true enough as I sit back at my desk moments later, there inside my paper bag was a plastic bag full of muggle weed.
"Seriously, you would think that—"
But I never finished my sentence for as soon as I touched the mini-plastic bag full of marijuana, I was suddenly transported a dark, windowless room.
Shite indeed.
Author's Notes:
Ahh! I finally had the guts to go back to my story and re-edit everything. I am so excited! Yet anxious at the same time 'cause my last year in college is only three weeks away.
We can do this guys!
As always, hoped you enjoyed!