A/N: Again, the Potterverse belongs to JKR. Sorry for another short chapter, but I have a very busy week ahead and wanted to at least leave you with something. This might be a good point to note that this is very much a WIP: I will update as often as I'm able, but I cannot promise a regular schedule. As to this chapter in particular, it should answer some questions and raise more.

Chapter 1 - the next morning.

Hermione sat in a hard wooden chair in a spartan waiting room. This was a part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement she certainly hadn't encountered in her visits with Harry and Ron. Though the aesthetic was stark, the room was well cared-for, the furniture in good repair and well-crafted. She'd been waiting over thirty minutes, and she hadn't brought a book. Frankly, she'd thought - or rather desperately hoped - that the entire meeting couldn't possibly take more than the thirty minutes she'd already been sitting there.

She briefly fretted that her lengthier-than-expected absence from work would land her in any trouble. Then she recalled the degree to which her current task organizing the Gilderoy Lockhart juvenilia, field notes, and recent finger paintings for a special exhibition was not an improvement over Zeuler's oeuvre and scowled, determinedly settling herself more firmly in the unyielding seat. The root of the problem was that Hermione Granger did not understand what was going on, and what little she did understand she did not particularly like.

When she had accepted her job almost a month prior, it was not without significant hesitation. Though as close as ever with Ron and Harry, she had not wanted to follow them into Auror training, nor had she felt inclined to pursue an overtly political career in the Department of Magical Creatures or become a figurehead in a (these days largely unnecessary) campaign for muggle-born rights. It had been difficult to balance the expectations of friends and the public with her own competing desires both to be of use in post-Voldemort magical Britain and to lead a life not determined by her prominent role in the war. Harry and Ron had found that the three-year Auror training program allowed them to both fulfill society's expectations and remain busy and largely out of the spotlight. Surprisingly, she had found one of her strongest sources of support in Minister Shacklebolt who, in addition to always making a point to engage her on the subject of her studies, at the victory ball several months prior had approached her and not only congratulated her on the near completion of her studies but also offered to put in a good word for her should she apply to any Ministry jobs and mentioned a specific research post he thought her particularly suited for. When she had been accepted for that very job, the Minister had sent her a personal note of congratulations which included a statement that "a strong government never undervalues intelligence" and a recommendation, or perhaps a polite request, that she make herself available should one Everett Bindler ever ask her for a special favor.

Hermione had not so much as been officially introduced to Bindler, a high-ranking public image coordinator who worked with the Library on many of their exhibitions, until she was called into his office the very morning of the magical inventions soirée. He had praised her work on Zeuler, used more flattery to stick her with the Lockhart assignment, and informed her that he'd secured her an invitation to that evening's festivities as the Library's Contemporary Archives representative. Hermione, remembering Shacklebolt's missive, readily agreed, even though she wasn't particularly fond of Ministry parties and would have to transfigure her outfit significantly if she wished to be properly attired for the occasion. Bindler then, barely altering his somewhat over-congenial tone, asked, "One final thing, Miss Granger? Your old Potions Professor, Severus Snape, will be in attendance this evening. You're both war heroes: we think he might actually talk to you, and we need a clearer sense of his current activities. See what you can find out."

The request immediately struck Hermione as wrong. Not simply incongruous, it signaled a radical paradigm shift. She needed to think, but it felt as if all her blood had rushed to pound in her ears, and she had to respond with something, preferably something that sounded neutral and confused rather than suspicious. An inelegant "Wait - what does Professor Snape have to do with the Library?" was, she hoped, suitably genuine to convince and vague enough not to betray her deeper misgivings.

Bindler took his time in responding and stared at Hermione critically, letting her feel the weight of the power differential. "My friends led me to believe that you wish to be of service to your government, Miss Granger. I am calling on your patriotic duty. Do I have your cooperation?"

And there were too many unknown elements of the equation for her to respond with anything other than, "Well, it certainly won't be easy: you see, Professor Snape doesn't actually like me very much. I'll try though, of course. Can you tell me a little bit more about what exactly you need from me?"

The soirée had been on a Thursday night, and Hermione received an owl the following morning informing her of an eleven o'clock appointment. One August Gelley would receive her report. She had tried to reason the situation through but quickly concluded that no amount of thinking would help. There simply wasn't enough information. The brief high she'd felt in successfully manipulating Snape into something like a genuine conversation had faded quickly once she arrived at her tiny flat and had only Crookshanks for company and reassurance. She'd gathered more information about her professor than she had dared to hope, but she was aware that it was probably far less than Bindler - and whoever else - expected of her.

The evidence implied that Bindler was suspicious of Snape, but as far as Hermione was aware, no one had seriously questioned his war hero status since Harry had revealed his allegiances at the Battle of Hogwarts and submitted an official statement to the Wizengamot while he was recovering in St Mungo's. The man was largely reclusive and remained highly unpleasant when he did rear his greasy head, but Hermione certainly didn't doubt his allegiances; in fact, the very possibility of someone else doubting him nearly thrust her into "house elf crusade mode." What right did Bindler, to all appearances another self-important Ministry stooge, have to question someone who had given so much in the war? That was what gave Hermione pause. If she was reading the situation correctly, Bindler was implying that his authority came from the Minister himself, and if that was the case, both of the most logical scenarios were terrifying: either the Minister had manipulated her, or he was himself the victim of an underhanded plot.

Such were Hermione's thoughts when she was finally called in at a quarter to noon.