Disclaimer: This work is fan based and not for profit, everything belongs to JKR, I simply covet her possessions from afar.
Note: Hey guys, slightly irregular delay, I know, I'm sorry. It seems that while I am the mast of real life awkward situations, writing them is more difficult. Who'd have known? Anyway, hope you enjoy, keep sending those reviews my way! and Moi, I tried to answer all your questions but damn it all the last one simply wouldn't fit in this chapter! I'm sorry to keep you waiting but trust me! It'll all be revealed :)
A wise man will make more opportunities than he finds. - Francis Bacon
If Emmanuel was forced to pick one aspect of his job that he enjoyed most, it was this. Even walking into the reception of St Mungo's at the very early 7.30AM wasn't enough to quash the undeniable feeling of exhilaration he still felt. That said, it was still a rather close call; his job had many upsides, perks you could call them. The joy of the hunt was just one of many.
Emmanuel often wondered if he was so good at his job because he enjoyed it, or rather, if he only truly enjoyed it because he was good at it; either way, the fact remained, he was damned good at it.
He'd risen through five divisions in the ministry in the last four years alone. True, Pius Thicknesses' regime had had a heavy hand in that, but it was still an extraordinary statistic, and one Emmanuel was immensely proud of. After all, it had been his own cunning that delivered him safely from Dolores' Umbridge and Muggle Born registration commission.
He'd had a lot of respect for Dolores- but it hadn't stopped him Obliviating the witch shortly after Undesirable Number 1's break in to Grignotts. He flattered himself on having correctly pinpointed the turning of the war's tide. After that, it was a simply matter of Imperiusing the witch and having himself demoted to the Floo Regulation Centre.
The move hadn't simply saved his career; it had saved his entire public persona. His name never featured on the slate of witches and wizards persecuted for their activities under You-know-who's regime. Any faint recollection of the boy who'd aided Dolores Umbridge, who had spent those endless months (successfully) tracking down the family trees of the witches and wizards who'd tried to avoid the ministries man hunt, well those recollections were easily washed away. Hadn't the boy got himself demoted? Switched himself to a job with minimum pay and no career prospects, just to assuage his conscience? And at such personal risk too. No, how could anyone bring that lad into doubt.
His continued ascent through the ministry had been swift after that; swift, effortless, and so despairingly boring.
Hunting down distraught muggleborn's white faced lies and half arsed family tree's, well, it'd been fun for a while, but there had been no real challenge. Getting the drop on Umbridge before the patronising bitch got herself arrested, now that had been a kick.
But so short-lived. He hadn't even been there when they'd carted her off. One of his only career regrets.
All his 'work' since had been so pathetically simple it barely warranted the title. Running Theodore Burges' errands, keeping tabs on the right people, a few discreet hints to the rabble about Kingsley's extreme policies and threat to the ministry.
He'd been so bored.
But now, finally, he'd been presented with a new challenge: Hermione Granger.
Oh and how he hoped she would prove a challenge. The fools at the ministry, the fools he worked for, didn't believe she would. Oh no, they'd shipped Emmanuel off with an offer they assumed the girl simple couldn't refuse.
Luckily, Emmanuel was no fool. Luckily, his time under Dolores was finally coming in useful. Emmanuel had been the receiver of a thousand and one lectures on the girl. He'd listened, rather reluctantly, as Dolores raved and ranted about the uppity mudblood bitch.
Perfect grades, secret defence organisations; even a S.P.E.W badge had been brandished about and ruthlessly ridiculed in the pink toad's scorn.
Personally, Emmanuel was eager to meet anyone who'd unleashed a hoard of pissed off centaurs on the irritating woman. But this wasn't personal; it was business.
No, Hermione Granger was set to be a challenge. She would be the acquisition of his career. She was basically the figurehead of "Dawlish's" golden new age.
If the muggle born war hero was seen to endorse the new law, to make such a sacrifice, of duty to the greater good, well then how could anyone else be seen to refuse?
The trick was simply making her amenable to said sacrifice, forcing her, if necessary, to see sense. Emmanuel was confident he was up to the task. Brightest witch of her age or not, this was his field.
After all, there was a reason he'd been laid in charge of this task; it was the very same reason that lead him up the stairs and straight past the experimental potions division, without dawdling on the 3rd floor for even a moment.
Emmanuel had no intentions of watching the Granger girl work all day; what could he really learn from that? No. There was a far more revealing avenue he could exploit, and so conveniently located too. After all, the acquisition of his career depended, at least partly, on Ronald Weasley as well. Hermione Granger might be the 'brains' of the couple, but a little emotional leverage never went astray.
Sauntering in to the fourth floor spell damage ward, Emmanuel flashed a smile to the busty brunette nurse, who blushed prettily as she walked past.
Yes. This job definitely had its perks. Maybe being smarter than everybody else wasn't his favourite part after all.
"Now there's my gracious godfather's renowned hospitality once more. Actually uncle, I actually have a bit of a business proposition for you. What do you know about Caligula?"
If the last twenty years of Severus' life had depended on his ability to concentrate and listen to the most trivial of conversations, he would have sworn he'd misheard Draco. As it was, his hearing was perfect, his mind completely sound.
"Caligula?" He drawled, partly out of confusion, and more prominently to buy himself time. God he hadn't heard the blasted thing mentioned for at least thirty odd years. His mind desperately raced to gather everything he knew on the subject. It hadn't even been taught when he was at school, and his Master's training had been quite some time ago.
Between drawing a blank now, and failing to recreate the results of Granger's experiment, Severus was starting to think a refresher course wouldn't go amiss.
What, your mind isn't thriving on self-pity and bottles of Odgens old man? Who'd have thought?
"Yes, Caligula root. I won't bore you with why I need to know, I simply required a potions lesson, as it were Uncle." Draco diplomatically failed to comment on the obvious stalling tactic.
"How foolish to presume I was done with that part of my life." Severus grumbled, the irony not wasted on him. It seemed he was never to be done with ex-students tearing into his life. "Although, if you want information on that particular magical root, Draco, you'd do far better to consult the old family annals." Severus smirked.
"Yes, yes, how droll. I didn't come here for the old wives tales Uncle Severus."
Severus merely grunted at this. "They're not all wives tales boy. Not without a grain of truth at least."
"Uncle, I assure you, whatever my purposes, I don't intend on dosing up any future brides before I bed them." Draco's civil demeanour flickered here for a moment, adopting a tone of colloquialism that betrayed just how close Severus was to the family. "Well perhaps a light lust potion but I've not planned so far ahead."
Severus merely raised an eyebrow at his godson. He was Lucius' son through and through it seemed.
"The effects of Caligula have been long recorded and often disputed. To my knowledge at least, the substance is banned throughout the whole of Wizarding Britain, and most parts of Europe."
"Not all parts of Europe then." Draco added carefully, in what Severus presumed was meant to be a poker face- albeit a highly transparent one.
Why does the little shit want to know where it's grown?
Severus didn't voice that last thought; interrogating the boy would get him nowhere, and he honestly wasn't sure he wanted to know what this was about. The last time he'd involved himself with a Malfoy youth's ventures, he'd come out with far more than a tattoo.
"Wizarding law had never been the most unified of forces. Each country insists on it's own variations. That's not to say the root isn't dangerous. The testing may not be verified but any thorough glance at history, particularly pureblood history, tells us it's not a substance to be meddled lightly with."
Draco's immediate nod and carefully blank expression told Severus all he needed to know. None of this was news to the boy.
"So if your not planning to drug any future fiancés, how else, may I ask, am I supposed to help you Draco? Or do you now consider your lesson now at an end?" Severus continued lethargically. Let the boy spit it out now, or leave him in peace. He was done needling information out of people.
Draco expression slipped for the barest moment as a mask of panic slipped onto his face. Severus hid his smirk by taking a sip of his whiskey, but never taking his eyes of the floundering Malfoy. When the boy finally reined his control in once more and replied, his voice betrayed nothing. Severus was almost proud.
"If one were acquire the drug, legally in another country of course, which Green houses would you recommend? Let's say, theoretically, in the case of large shipments?"
Ahh, theoretically, of course.
Severus was silent as he contemplated the boy and his proposition. Letting his arm drape over the arm of his chair, Severus swirled his amber drink, watching the light from the fire fill its depths with warmth. Sitting across from the blonde youth, Severus had to vigorously remind himself that this was not Lucius, that for all his own petty faults, his own vanity and search for family redemptions, Draco had become a man far better than his father. If Severus could not trust the boy he'd almost died to protect, well, he consoled himself that he could at least trust his mother. Narcissa was a cunning woman; she wouldn't let Draco involve himself in anything to damning.
Severus let out a sigh, and stared across the room at Draco once more. He would trust him, against his own better judgement.
After all, maybe it's about time you started giving ex-students the benefit of the doubt.
"You've heard of Cornelius Agrippa, I assume" Severus said at last, knowing full well Draco would probably have never heard of him. History of Magic covered him only at NEWT level and sparingly at best.
It was with some surprise than, that Severus noted Draco's look of dawning recognition.
"I think he's on a chocolate frog's card. The muggles locked him up or something." Draco answered, failing to hide the note of misplaced pride in his voice.
Oh how Severus hated those damn chocolate frog cards.
"How accurately explicit. I won't bore you further then." Severus replied pointedly, and continuing only after Draco adopted a more humble expression.
"Cornelius Agrippa was a 15th century German born Wizard who, as you so astutely put it, was 'locked up' for his alchemical writings. What your chocolate frog card fails, to mention, however, is the work he is most renowned for. The work, that legend rather than history tells us, the muggles locked him up for, was 'eclamatio de nobilitate et praecellentia foeminei sexus'. The Declamation on the Nobility and Pre-eminence of the Female Sex."
Severus chose to ignore Draco's interrupting snort at this, instead continuing his lecture. The boy would learn soon enough.
"Agrippa's academic pursuits, while intriguing, were morally ambiguous at best. He wasn't arrested so much for his academic views, as the means to which he tested them. Even in the fifteenth century, holding a mixture of pre-pubescent, menstruating, and pregnant woman captive was frowned upon. His work was based on the principle that it is the mother of a child, who passes down the magic within the family. His experiments were all in an attempt to control that alleged process; testing a variety of potions and ingredients to determine how they reacted with the 'miracle of creation' as it were."
Draco was no longer smirking, indeed, his face was not so much white as a sickly shade of green and Severus knew his words had certainly had some effect on the boy.
"So then," Draco interrupted, his voice devoid of all former swagger, "The wives tales come from his work. People actually believe that ingesting Caligula root prior to conception, and during pregnancy, will guarantee a magical heir?"
Severus drained his glass, before answering, his voice hoarse and throat sore from the long lecture.
"Well, in a manner of speaking, they're right. If the vast number of still-borns throughout pureblood genealogy shows anything, it's that only a magical child will survive."
In the end, it was Ron's old maxim that popped into Hermione head. Caught like a deer in the headlights and unable to think of a single thing to say, it was the utterly British and unforgettable slogan of the Weasley family that found its way out of her mouth.
"Is anyone else dying for a cup of tea, or is that just me? Ron, do you want me to get you one?"
Naturally, it was the one thing Hermione could have said to him at that moment, that he didn't question in the slightest. Someone sick? Cup of tea. Someone upset? Cup of tea. Strange ministry official you don't know is here for no apparent reason?
"Sure I'd love one 'mione- Hermione. Sorry."
It was all Hermione could do to restrain a heavy sigh.
Just lower me into the pits of Tartarus and be done with it.
If the blonde wizard noted the strange slip up he showed no sign of it, and Hermione did her best to keep her shallow smile in place. Just as she went to hang her bag and coat on the back of a stiff visitors chair, the shorter Asian nurse piped up that she would bring the tea over. Judging from the amount of times the girl blushed while declaring 'Oh no, it's not trouble at all miss", she was either part house elf, or incredible star struck.
Thwarted thus, Hermione nervously took a seat besides Ron, at a loss once more of how to fill the uneasy stalemate. Doing her best not to glance at the blonde ministry intruder, Hermione tentatively asked Ron how he'd been.
"How are you doing? Has your dad popped by yet? I know he said he was going to this morning."
Ron's look of confusion basically sealed Hermione's coffin, while his next question nailed it shut.
"When did you get a chance to speak to dad? I mean yeah he popped in this morning before work. Brought grapes, chatted for about five minutes then said he'd got some raid or other that he had to pop off and see." Ron answered, sounding confused at this last point. "Although whoever schedules a raid for 8 in the morning is a bit barmy if you ask me."
The Blonde wizard sniggered to the side, and Hermione was shocked to see Ron grin along without comment. Tossing caution to the wind, Hermione let her confusion (or perhaps more accurately irritation) show.
"I'm sorry, did I miss something?" she asked, looking at the blonde wizard pointedly.
"No not at all Miss Granger. I don't think I introduced myself either; I'm Emmanuel. It's simply that I was telling Ron after Arthur, how I almost interned underneath him at the ministry."
Ron chuckled from the bed, content it seemed to let his new sickbed chum tell the tale.
Since when is Ron able to laugh about his dad's job?
"I was just about signed up when Teddy Burges, asked me how I fared with early starts. When I just about blanched he spared my fate. Arthur Weasley is easily one of the most respected members of the ministry- especially since the final battle and Ron's own special part there, eh? But his work ethic definitely isn't for everyone."
Hermione glanced at Ron, expecting him to have finally taken exception, only to find his ears bearing their tell-tale red hue, not out of rage or anger, but an undeniable blush. He was mollified.
It took everything Hermione was made of to refrain from rolling her eyes right then and there. Good lord. Really? Was it really that easy to get her now ex-boyfriend on side? Mysterious stranger from the ministry voluntarily spends most of the day with him, and no alarm bells go off. Not if he throws in the occasional compliment, and brings in the pretty nurses.
Why on earth are you so irrationally angry Granger?
Are you really this fired up about Ron jumping for attention? He's in here bored out his brain; this isn't some act of betrayal. He'd probably talk to anyone.
Still the fact remained, with Ron oblivious to his new friend's ulterior motives; and Hermione was beyond sure that he had ulterior motives, there was no polite way to ask him to leave. That, coupled with Ron's obvious lack of discretion and Arthurs probably interrupted attempt to relay the previous nights plan, meant Hermione could hardly ask for some 'alone time'. Not without Ron giving the entire game away.
This entire situation was beyond salvaging and Hermione wasn't sure what annoyed her more: The imposition the ministry git was posing, or Ron's own failure to grasp the subtleties at play. Honestly. He had been there when they'd learnt about the marriage law; he'd known the ministry were interfering at St Mungos. Why was it Hermione was always required to do his thinking for him?
Hermione stood, still seething with rage and, somewhat paradoxically, finally filled with an unshakable sense of conviction. Forget the ministry, forget her job, and forget the rest of the Weasleys. Hermione was doing the right thing. There was no way she could ever be prevailed upon to marry Ron.
"Look Ron, I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Work is flat chat at the moment, we're swamped and I'm actually really tired now. I'm going home. But you're obviously in good company here. Tell that nurse girl sorry about the tea, and Emmanuel, it was lovely to meet you, I'll just be goi-" Hermione didn't manage to finish he sentence before the ministry idiot interrupted.
"No, please, I'm afraid I must be off as well, let me escort you downstairs, since your young Mr Weasley here is currently unable."
Hermione couldn't quite discern what made his smile then so predatory; His offer was perfectly gentlemanly, his tone had been light and free from any ominous overtures, yet as he waited for her to collect her bags and held the door open for her, Hermione had the distinct feeling she was being lead out for a quiet stroll over a field of landmines.
Hope you enjoyed, and that some light has finally been shed on the last ingredient as it were; Please read and review and let me know what you think :) Also, I may, or may not, have a christmas fic in the works, so excuse any delays while my plot bunnies run away with me!
A/N: Also, to acknowledge my sources, I used the Harry Potter Wiki page here ( wiki/Cornelius_Agrippa ) to find and re-create a historical figure that's mentioned in cannon, so no, Cornelius Agrippia isn't an original character, he's mentioned on a chocolate frog card in Philosophers Stone :)