Chapter 2

"Were you always such a snake," the child asked, "or did you grow into what you are?" – Dean Koontz

Steam poured out through the open doorway as Hermione exited her bathroom wrapped in a fluffy red towel. The air in her bedroom was frigid compared to the balmy heat of her ensuite, and goosebumps quickly formed on her bare forearms and legs. Hastily throwing the damp towel aside, she rushed to pull on her underwear and bra, barely throwing a glance in the direction of the snoring lump currently taking up residence on her mattress.

Ron hadn't moved a muscle since she had dragged him up the stairs to her apartment. He would probably be sleeping for most of the morning and early afternoon if last night's inebriated state was any indication. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had taken her out for her 20th birthday and the pounding pressure behind her eyes must be a result of all the birthday drinks they had bestowed on her.

Ignoring the drool stain that was slowly growing on her satin pillow case, Hermione continued to dress for work. The slate pant suit and crisp button up shirt she had chosen were the usual uniform of choice for her job at the Ministry; the Department for the Regulation and Control for Magical Creatures was quickly becoming a home away from home for her. Her job usually involved tedious and often frustrating meetings with the creatures that inhabited the Wizarding World. She wouldn't lose hope that things would improve—change would happen eventually, she was sure.

After taming her damp hair into something professional, Hermione left her bedroom and padded into her small kitchen. No sunshine filtered through her wide living room windows as the rain from last night continued to pound against the panes. She was grateful for the bleak lighting as she rubbed at the pressure in her temples. This hangover was more than she had anticipated and the kettle on her stovetop looked more inviting than usual. Maybe the caffeine would help alleviate some of the pain in her head.

Once she had a strong cup of tea in her hand, she sank into the cushions on her floral print sofa and skimmed through that morning's delivery of The Daily Prophet. Like clock work, Crookshanks wove his way between her legs, meowing incessantly in a plea for some breakfast. Ignoring him was futile, especially after he pounced on top of the newspaper in her lap and refused to be dislodged. Sighing heavily, Hermione got up and crossed the living room to the pantry.

"Here you go, you mangy beastie," she said to the grumpy feline as he began devouring his dry tidbits of cat food. "You're lucky Miss Bishop hasn't been here for awhile or she would tell me to skin you."

Susan Bishop was the salty old witch who owned the building Hermione rented from. The white-haired crone was overbearing, intrusive, and worst of all, she had her own key. On more than one occasion, Hermione had walked through her front door to find Miss Bishop examining the floors or counters then tell her how they weren't clean enough. She had a particular seething hatred toward Crookshanks and the amount of hair he left behind in his wake. She hadn't stopped by in weeks, thankfully, and her absence had been a huge relief.

Finishing the last of her tea, Hermione grabbed her umbrella, tucked her wand into her jacket, and headed out the door. She prayed that the caffeine would lift the ache that had taken residence in her bones; hopefully she wasn't coming down with the flu.

The trip was more miserable than usual that morning. Her umbrella almost turned inside out multiple times before she even reached the bus stop, and freezing street water soaked through her shoes, leaving her toes numb. If she hadn't already been coming down with something, she most certainly would be now.

Hermione should have just apparated into the chambers that morning, but she'd wanted to breath some fresh air to clear the mugginess inside her skull before arriving at the Ministry. Plus, she still liked to practice some muggle habits, transportation being one of them. After all her misadventures with Ron and Harry, she realized that most of the time the journey was more important than the actual destination. But today, the journey was chilly and damp.

Finally, she reached Whitehall, ducked down an alley, and apparated into the Ministry of Magic. Folding her soaked umbrella, she hurried through the hordes of witches and wizards that were milling about on their way to and from work, court meetings, and other engagements. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was located on Level 4 and included the Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, the Goblin Liasons Office, and the Pest Advisory Bureau. Hermione worked primarily in the Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions as a translator between species.

She had begun dabbling in languages as she was studying for her NEWTS and never really stopped. Being able to speak up for those creatures that were so often misunderstood included being able to sit down and have an actual conversation with them. Even if it didn't always result in a friendship afterward.

Her loafers squeaked against the floor as she walked to her desk in the corner of the main office; one of the many scattered around the large room. The windows depicted clear sky and sunshine, which Hermione thought was a cruel joke as she hung her soggy jacket on the back of her chair

"Hermione! How are you this morning, dear?"

Hermione's head swivelled in Felicity Gibson's direction. Her co-worker's grey hair was pinned in a twist on the back of her head. The half-moon glasses she always wore attached to a chain swayed atop her ample bosom as she strolled up the aisle. Her yellow duck patterned umbrella was folded under her arm.

"I'm doing well, Felicity. How are you?" Hermione replied with a friendly grin. She'd always enjoyed Felicity's unique flair and motherly personality.

"Spectacular! Did you have a good birthday?" Felicity asked, seating herself in the cubicle across from Hermione's, the chair to creaked under her weight as she rummaged around to settle herself.

"It was wonderful! Harry and Ginny met Ron and I at The Leaky Cauldron for some drinks. Although, Ron might've had more than some…I'm sure he'll be sleeping it off for most of the day today." Hermione absently checked her interdepartmental memos.

Felicity clucked her tongue as she conjured a pot of tea. "Well, as long as you had a good time as well, my dear. That's all that matters on your birthday. Every other day of the year your man can drink himself silly, but on your birthday you should be the one carried home!"

The memory of dragging Ron's limp form up the stairs flashed across Hermione's mind and her mouth tightened a little around the edges. The older woman smirked knowingly. She pulled an unfinished quilt out of her desk drawer along with knitting needles and a bunch of tangled yarn. Felicity always started her day with coffee and a bit of sewing.

Placing the older woman's comment into the back of her mind, Hermione focused again on the tiny, violet coloured memo airplanes circling around her work area. Only one of great importance: one from the Head of the Division, Ridgewell Hawke, requesting she see him in his office as soon as she arrived. Rising from her seat, Hermione left Felicity and the clacking of knitting needles and strode toward her boss' office, her leather shoes squeaking with each step. She knocked on the wooden door and politely waited to be summoned inside.

"Come in!"

Hermione let herself in and went to stand in front Mr. Hawke and his boring wooden desk. "You asked me to come see you, sir?" Several memos fluttered overhead and two owls sat cooing impatiently on the bookshelf.

"Yes, I have a job for you today, Ms. Granger. Bit unorthodox, but, you know we're short on staff." Leaning forward in his seat, the pudgy, balding man gestured for Hermione to sit. He dabbed his handkerchief across his sweaty forehead. "I received an owl early this morning from a witch who urgently requested we send someone from our department to take care of a pest problem beneath her home. I'd like you to help take care of it."

Taken aback, Hermione stammered a little before responding. "I..uh, sir, why would you want me to take care of this? I mean, I'm flattered you thought of me at all for this job, but I haven't ever gone out on a pest control inquiry before. I don't know what proper protocol would be or what to do with the creature in question?"

"The owl message stated that she thinks she can hear incoherent voices coming from a hole under her house, and you're the expert in words no one can understand," Ridgewell stated as if this was the most obvious answer. He stared at her with a strained smile, and then huffed out a sigh. "Burge is out sick, Perkins is on holiday, Harold is already handling twice his work load, and you and I both know that Felicity is not up to such a physical task."

Hermione hesitated. "Sir, I…"

Half a dozen memos flew through the door and Ridgewell batted at them, distracted and flustered. "Besides! You won't be going alone Ms. Grange," he pressed, eyeing the memos. "I'll send Hopkins with you to secure the creature or creatures once you've attempted to communicate with them."

Still unsure of this sudden development, Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Where is the witch's house located, sir? Should we just take the Floo Network?"

"The witch's name is Fionnula Goggins. Her house is located on top of Old Friar Rise, and I'll give David the name for the fireplace." Ridgewell exhaled with relief and stood to usher Hermione out. "You two can leave this afternoon and I'll tell him to meet you in front of the Floo Network. Thank you, Miss Granger." He waved her out the door and hurried to tend to the hooting owls.

Hermione bid him farewell and headed back to her desk. Pest control was uncharted territory for her and she was both nervous and excited to be embarking on something new. She'd never officially met David Hopkins before today, but she had heard from Felicity that the office considered him the golden boy of the pest control division. At least there would be one person on this job who had experience with the proper disposal of creatures.

The rest of the morning passed without much excitement. She spent the time finishing some reports from past meetings, and researching the guidelines from the Pest Control rule book. It was less of a book and more of a brochure that stated, "Don't touch!", as the fundamental rule for all the calls and complaints received. It left her feeling unprepared and agitated as she headed toward the fireplaces that made up the Floo Network. She did take some comfort in the fact that her loafers had finally stopped their incessant squeaking.

David was already waiting by the designated fireplace for her when she arrived. His uniform—a drab, tan jumpsuit with steel-toed boots—coupled with his dark skin and muscled build made him stand out amongst the crowd. There had been too many incidents where the pests being contained had taken a bite out of a witch or wizard, so the uniform had been altered to require such footwear.

His handsome face broke out in a good-natured grin when he spotted her coming towards him and her cheeks flushed without her even being properly aware of it. She was really not herself today.

"Miss Granger, I hear we are going on an adventure today," David greeted, still smirking.

"Yes, although I have to be honest with you, Mr. Hopkins. I feel a little unprepared for this particular adventure. Please bear with me this afternoon." Admitting to own inexperience was a blow to Hermione's pride, but it was better to be humble than a liability in this circumstance.

"Miss Granger, I can assure you that I have complete faith in your ability to adapt to the situation," he said. "I've only heard a few snippets of your past adventures but it sounds like you are more than capable of thinking on your feet."

David's warm expression and kind words helped to alleviate a portion of the tension in her shoulders. She entered the fireplace feeling a little more confident and capable. Maybe this job wouldn't be so horrific after all.

Her sight was overtaken by emerald fire, and gravity evaporated as the Floo Network sucked them away; the disorientation lasted for only a moment once they arrived unscathed in the fireplace of Mrs. Goggins's home. As Hermione stepped across the brick threshold and onto the scratched up hardwood of the living room, the stench was the first thing that registered. The space reeked of burnt hair and Hermione noticed scorch marks on the otherwise white walls of the room.

Also strange was the lack of furniture—just a largenumber of empty bird cages scattered about. The entirety of it gave her the impression of negligence, but upon closer inspection Hermione noticed that despite the perplexing nature of the room, it was clean as a whistle. Not a speck of dust on anything she could see, which made the burn marks on the wall stand out that much more.

"I've been doing this job for a while and I can honestly say this is one of the oddest things I've come across on a work call," David said, stepping out of the fireplace.

Hermione didn't have a chance to respond as a tall, regal looking woman glided into the room. Her auburn hair was pulled into a tight bun at the base of her head and frown lines took up most of the lower half of her narrow face. She appeared to be around sixty years of age, if Hermione was guessing correctly.

"Thank the heavens you've arrived! I sent that owl hours ago—I was about to go to the Minister of Magic himself if you had waited any longer to show up," Fionnula spouted in disapproval before they could even introduce themselves. "I'm about to go mad with all the racket those creatures are making down there!"

She beckoned them to follow her as headed out of the room and down the hallway to the back door. Along the way, Hermione noticed bird cages taking up most of the space in the rest of the home as well. The hallway was clear of anything curious (unless you considered excess cleanliness abnormal) but the kitchen didn't even have a table and chairs because of all the various sized cages taking up residence in the space.

"I'm very sorry for the delay, Mrs. Goggins," David said. "I was held up at a different call this morning and couldn't get here until I'd taken care of some nasty Mandrakes that had been repotted too late." He and Hermione followed the older woman as she descended the steps leading out her back door.

"I don't want to hear the excuses you have prepared, I just want you to do your job and get rid of these things," Fionnula snapped. She pointed at a small opening between the exterior of her brick house and the ground.

David and Hermione came to a stop next to her and examined the hole, taking a moment to embrace the silence after the old woman's tirade. But in that silence, there was a distinct buzzing that made the ache behind Hermione's eyes increase to a stabbing pain. Squinting against the unexpected torment, she tried to keep her breathing calm and even.

"What noise is it making, Mrs. Goggins? Is it constant or only occasionally?" David asked. He squatted to get a closer look.

Without taking her attention away from the hole, Hermione murmured, "You mean you don't hear that? That buzzing?"

David stood and looked at Hermione curiously, "No... Is that what you hear?"

"Enough chattering! Take care of this. Now!" Fionnula exclaimed, growing angrier by the second. Her face had gone ashen, sweat formed on her upper lip, and hair had escaped from her otherwise immaculate bun.

"Right away, Mrs. Goggins." Sighing, David drew his wand and redirected his attention to the opening once more.

"Miss Granger, I'm going towiden the hole so we can get a closer look at the beastie inside. Are you ready?" he asked. "You might want to step back a bit."

Barely aware of herself nodding in response, Hermione tried to focus on the situation at hand. The buzzing grew more persistent as they stood there and it began to morph into a harsh whistle blasting through her skull, so loud that she couldn't hear anything else over the drone in her ears. Sweat poured down her back and her heartbeat was like a hummingbird as she watched David raise his wand and point it at the opening.

She couldn't decipher what spell he'd used over the din, but she watched his mouth form the words and dirt flew in every direction as a blast shattered the ground before them. Shielding her face with her arms, Hermione had the fleeting thought that the spell he used was not part of protocol for peaceful pest removal and suddenly she wasn't thinking anything at all as vociferous hissing erupted all around them.

Hundreds of snakes dispersed in every direction, twining through their ankles and escaping into the grass. Hermione got back to her feet and David yelped in surprise. A few moments seemed like eternity as Hermione stood frozen in horror while the serpents evacuated what must have been a hibernation den under Mrs. Goggins house. Finally, the last snake disappeared from sight and the yard fell silent—actually silent. No hissing and no buzzing in her ears. Her knees almost buckled beneath her in relief.

"What do you think you're doing, you bumbling idiot!" Fionnula shrieked at David, breaking the shocked quiet around them. Rubble littered the ground all around them and a large portion of the outside wall of the house was blown apart. "The Ministry will be hearing about what you've done to my home! Wretched fools!"

"Mrs. Goggins, my sincerest apologies on the state of your house," David said quickly and calmly. "I assure you the Ministry will send someone to fix this right away."

He tucked his wand away in his front pocket and finally noticed Hermione's dazed expression and sweat-soaked shirt. Her hands shook and she stared at the empty hole with focusing. The pain in her head tormented her brutally and a thick pressure pushed behind her eyes.

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

Barely able to maintain a neutral expression, she looked up at David who watched her curiously.

"Sorry?" she said, fighting the thumping in her skull.

"Are you alright, Miss Granger? I apologize for the brute force of my actions—I did not anticipate the strength of my spell." He scratched his ear and frowned at the hole. "Something went wrong…"

Swallowing, Hermione said, "I'm fine Mr. Hopkins. Thank you for your concern, but I think we should be more worried about getting back to the Department so we can report about the state of Mrs. Goggins house."

"Yes, you should! I expect someone here in the next hour to clean up the mess you two have made. " Fionnula pivoted on her heel and marched back into the partially destroyed building, ranting under her breath about incompetence.

Hermione took the lead and apparated to the Ministry first, David quickly following. They landed side by side in the main chambers and she wasted no time in rushing ahead to Level 4. The throbbing in her skull had extended to her jaw and even her teeth were painfully pounding with each hasty step she took.

"Ms. Granger... Hermione! Will you please slow down?" David asked, panting as he attempted to keep up with her pace. "I'm really sorry that wasn't the expedition you had been hoping for—it normally isn't like that. I promise that nothing like that will be required of you again. You shouldn't have had to be there."

Unexpected rage took root in her at that moment and she whirled to face David, even though she only came up to his shoulder.

"Required of me? Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with that debacle you caused back there?!" Spurred on by her current torture she ignored the shocked expression on his face and let her emotions reign in the moment. "My only 'requirement', as you so dutifully pointed out, was to translate any unknown dialogue between the said creature and you, so that we could extract them without blowing anything up!"

"Miss Granger—"

"But not only did you cause an explosion, but who knows how many of those poor, helpless snakes were crushed or injured by your rash spell casting." Hermione glared and continued, "Now my only job is to report back to Mr. Hawke about the extensive damage done to Mrs. Goggins's home, and probably her sanity. So yes, nothing like this better ever be required of me again!"

Without waiting for a response from her stunned co-worker, Hermione turned on her heel and marched to the elevator, ignoring the gawkers that had collected during her outburst. Once inside the tiny compartment she sighed heavily and leaned her back against the frigid metal of the wall. She shouldn't have chewed David out so publically, but she hadn't been able to stop herself.

Today was turning into one of the worst days of her adult life—not including the time she ran out of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion. Tears fell in hot trails down her freckled cheeks and a hiccupping sob broke through the composure she'd tried to construct around herself. The pain was proving to be too much and she feared the anticipated conversation with Mr. Hawke. What if he punished her because of how the call had gone this afternoon? She hadn't exactly stopped David, had she? Or tried to understand what was going on before he cast his mistaken spell? What if Mrs. Goggins demanded she be fired?

On the coat tails of that dreaded thought, the elevator doors openedand she was suddenly standing face to face with Felicity. The plump woman had her arms full of confiscated Demiguise pelts. The silky, silvery hair was illegal to own and sell in the Wizarding World; their Department confiscated any and all that they discovered.

"Hermione! Darling, what ever is the matter?" Felicity inquired, seeing Hermione's disheveled appearance.

Taking a steadying breath, she endeavoured to look nonplussed and normal. "Oh, nothing! I just had an…interesting time out on my call this afternoon. Nothing to worry about. I'm just on my way to see Mr. Hawke to report on it."

She tried squeezing past her friend to escape but only made it halfway out of the elevator before the old woman elbowed her back inside. She pressed herself into the small space alongside Hermione and pressed the down button. As the elevator descended, Felicity gently placed the furs in the corner and then wrapped Hermione into a loving, motherly embrace.

"You are not going anywhere looking the way you do, my dear," she murmured, running her soft hands over Hermione's back in a comforting fashion. "You're in a right state. You will be going straight home and leaving the explanations to that Hopkins fellow. He's more than capable of explaining whatever happened to his superiors, especially since it looks like it can't have been good."

Unable to hold back the flood of tears already escaping her eyes, Hermione latched her arms as far as she could around Felicity's torso. Her warm-hearted friend's gentle perfume filled her nose with a faint rose scent and the knitted material of her cardigan rubbed against Hermione's cheek.

"I will explain to Mr. Hawke myself why you needed to go home. That man nearly wets his britches every time I come a knockin' anyways," Felicity joked as she broke their embrace to wipe the tears from Hermione's eyes with a gentle smile.

"Thank you, Felicity. You always know how to make me feel better," was all Hermione could say in response to this woman's immense kindness.

The elevator doors parted once more and Felicity gave Hermione a nudge towards the main chambers.

"You take care of yourself, pet," she said as the doors began to close and Hermione was alone once again.

She took a moment to regain some composure before embarking on the journey home. The events of the afternoon had left her rattled and depleted of all emotional resources, and the headache continued to torment her. Maybe if she could get home without any other draining encounters, there would be some hope in salvaging what little spirit she had left. All she had to do was disapparate out of the Ministry and make it up her apartment stairs. Then she could kick Ron out of her bed and snuggle into the covers of her dark room to try and sleep this pain away.

She apparated to her front door, thinking it was better to just eliminate the whole stairs bit in case she happened to add clumsiness to her symptoms today. She reached into her pocket for keys and went to unlock the door before she realized it was already open. Listening, she heard someone rummaging through her pantry, mumbling incoherently.

Miss Bishop was here.

Groaning audibly, Hermione squeezed the bridge of her nose, but it did little to extinguish the pressure she was experiencing. She could be civil, she thought. But perhaps that was futile, as she remembered the furious eruption she'd dished out on David earlier. This day couldn't possibly get any worse.

Pushing the door open, she found Susan Bishop's rear end protruding from the doorway of her pantry. The nosy landlady was cursing under her breath angrily as she swept crud into a dustpan with the broom. Her black hair had streaks of grey layered throughout and she was taller than the average woman, but it was the large unibrow above her eyes that really drew the typical observer in.

"I see you let yourself in, Miss Bishop," Hermione stated, probably with more venom than she should have.

Barely glancing in her direction, Susan straightened and threw the dirt from the dustpan into the garbage bin. "Of course, I own the apartment. Why wouldn't I? You're only renting and I'm protecting my investment. And besides, you obviously don't know how to clean this place to my standards, so someone has to do it."

Clenching her fists together to keep from reaching for her wand, Hermione grasped desperately at whatever patience she had left. "Is that the only reason you're here today, Susan? Because if it is, I would really appreciate it if you came back another day. I'm not feeling very well and would like some quiet time to unwind."

"Working too hard with all those animals you vouch for?" Susan sniffed with disapproval. "Sometimes I think that boyfriend of yours is a troll with all the dirt he leaves behind. Is that him snoring in the bedroom?"

Grinding her teeth, Hermione gestured to the front door. "Please leave, Miss Bishop. I've had a really long day."

Scoffing, Susan gawked at Hermione's bluntness. "I own this place, you little wench and I will leave whenever I see fit." She stalked menacingly toward Hermione, looming nearly a foot above her. "And if you don't like it, you can take your shitty disgusting cat and move out immediately."

Susan stood uncomfortably close to Hermione and the smell of coffee and unwashed teeth invaded her senses. She was so close that Hermione could see all the individual black hairs on her upper lip as she stared down at her.

"Actually, I don't think your stupid feline will be moving anytime soon anyways." Susan continued, a smug grin on her face, "I might've accidentally slammed his paw in the door when I first arrived, now it'll match his ugly, little face."

The implied loss of Crookshanks tipped Hermione over the edge of rationality. In an instant, the agony behind her eyes reached a breaking point and boiled over into something she'd never experienced. Wrath coursed through her, searing and consuming. Rage like squall destroying a boat swelled in her chest and she could only focus on the pain she wanted to cause her landlady.

The sensation erupted from her veins like a molten inferno and her vision was replaced with a blazing sheet of green. Her surroundings lost all depth and clarity, the ground fell beneath her. She couldn't tell up from down but she knew exactly where Susan Bishop stood. She only perceived a ferocious hissing sound that filled the room and then—

There was nothing. It was over.

The sheet of green evaporated to reveal her entryway once again and Hermione collapsed hard onto her knees. She gasped for air as she stared down at her trembling hands. What had just happened? The torment she'd experienced all day had subsided to a dull throbbing and she could finally think past the torture.

Had she done something? All she could remember was wanting to hurt Miss Bishop...

Finally looking around, her eyes fell upon the limp body of her landlady on the floor in front of her. Scrambling frantically to her feet, Hermione lunged forward.

"Miss Bishop?! Susan, are you okay?!" she demanded futilely to the unmoving form.

Miss Bishop's eyes were open but unseeing toward the ceiling. The look of terror frozen on her face said more than enough on what she'd experienced before falling to the floor. For a horrible moment, Hermione thought Susan was dead. But thankfully, there was shallow breath escaping Susan's lips, though Hermione could barely feel a pulse.

What had she done?

"Hermione? What's going on?" Ron called from the bedroom. "You're making a lot of racket out here."

The door to her bedroom opened and closed as Ron emerged, his eyes still half closed with sleep, wearing only a pair of jeans. He yawned and then he saw Hermione crouched in front of the seemingly dead body of the landlady. His mouth remained open, shocked and disbelieving.

Panic welled within Hermione's chest and tears fell down her face. She'd never felt so confused and hopeless as she did in this moment.

Why had she ever thought that this day couldn't get any worse?