AN: Good day to you all! Quick couple of things to address – It has been brought to my attention that Hermione's wardrobe last chapter wasn't totally time period accurate. I tried to research pretty well – the shorts, at least, were correct, but I think that true, she probably wouldn't have worn just a tank top. My mistake. Also, there have been some concerns about her dress for the wedding not matching up to Mary GrandPre's version of it in the book. Well, as for that, I do not picture it the same way that specific illustrator does, and she does not picture it exactly the way J.K. Rowling did, or any of the other illustrators for other editions. I stayed true to the description in the novel, and time period accuracy. But thank you very much for reviewing and being honest about what you think – I appreciate it. Kindly KEEP REVIEWING!
This scene takes place on September 2, 1997 – Ron, Harry and Hermione are carrying out their plans for infiltrating the ministry. Cheers
"And now we put on the cloak again – "
Ron was smirking as he finished for Hermione, "-and we wait." In a gesture that was bizarrely sweet, he threw the cloak over her head as though tucking her in. She watched anxiously from beneath it as the two boys ducked behind various bits of rubbish, checking to make sure that no part of them could be seen by an outsider.
When Hermione's target appeared, she was tempted to close her eyes while stunning the little old lady, guilty as she felt about it. She looked on in concern as, after being hit square in the chest, the witch thudded to the ground.
"Nicely done, Hermione."
She dropped the cloak and flashed a thankful smile at Ron, then assisted them in heaving the woman into the alleyway.
As she completed the polyjuice potion with some sprinkled hairs, Hermione listened intently as Ron listed whatever random trivia he could come up with about the witch – Mafalda Hopkirk, an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office. She hurriedly tucked away the Ministry coins Ron passed her, put on the spectacles (which were a dramatic improvement to the obviously nearly blind woman's eyesight) and waited.
The next part was a great deal trickier, for it required actual association with other Ministry workers. As she struck up conversation with the seemingly agitated little wizard that Ron was to become, she grew desperate for him to stop talking and eat one of the puking pastilles.
"I insist!" she demanded in a tone that she hoped was formidable and, to her relief and chagrin, the wizard finally (somewhat fearfully) popped one into his mouth.
Losing no time, Hermione yanked his hair out, something he didn't notice due to his suddenly violent vomiting. Growing more alarmed by the moment at his odd insistence on going into work, Hermione finally argued him into going home, trying to keep a sympathetic expression plastered on her face as the man, covered in sick, clung to her to pull himself into a standing position. Hermione was perfectly happy to see him disappear.
After Hermione as Mafalda and Ron as the ferrety Reg Cattermole conned their large and angry looking coworker into a nosebleed nougat (something Hermione didn't feel nearly so guilty about), and Harry had transformed into the man, they each took a token and moved towards the separate doors to the toilets.
"See you in a moment, then," Hermione stammered, eyes wide. Trying to get a good view of how the women in front of her were entering the ministry, she picked up a low murmur of conversation.
"…vile how they have us flush in. Everything about the Ministry is vile these days."
Flush in? As Hermione's turn came, she held onto both sides of the wall to stand on the seat of the toilet before gingerly dipping the tip of her toe into the water below. When it came out completely dry, she knew immediately what to do, stepped fully into the bowl, and promptly yanked the chain to her right.
Feeling a tug in her gut, Hermione was suddenly sucked into a tunnel and shot out of a fireplace at the other end in a moment so quick that she barely had time to process it. She nearly hit the fidgety Magical Maintenance worker and stopped herself from exclaiming his name out loud.
They made their way together over to the large statue in the middle of the room, Hermione gazing on in revulsion. The first thing she noticed was the stern faces of the giant witch and wizard sitting on extravagant thrones side by side. Next she saw the familiar phrase that now gave her a bad taste in her mouth – "Magic is Might" – and finally, as she peered closer, she saw the demented bodies that made up the vast chairs.
Ron interrupted the horrific moment with a "Psst!" and Hermione turned to see the huge, intimidating Harry moving towards them.
"You got in all right then?" she asked him worriedly.
"No, he's still stuck in the bog."
Hermione scowled briefly at Ron's sarcastic remark – an outlet that Hermione knew he used when he was just as nervous as she was.
"Oh very funny." She noticed Harry gaping at the statue. "It's horrible, isn't it? Have you seen what they're sitting on?" Not knowing why, her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "Muggles. In their rightful place. Come on, let's get going."
A moment later, just as they had almost reached the row of golden lifts that would take them hopefully to wherever Umbridge's office was, Hermione stiffened as she heard the sudden shout of, "Cattermole!" behind her.
She spun around in time to see a livid, cruel looking man wearing exquisite robes of mauve and gold.
"Morning, Yaxley," someone from the crowd mercifully spoke up, identifying the man. It was a small comfort, as Hermione's stomach went cold, recognizing the name as belonging to a known death eater.
"I requested somebody from Magical Maintenance to sort out my office, Cattermole. It's still raining in there."
Hermione's immediate reaction was to begin processing every possible way to stop water that Yaxley might not have tried yet. She tried to focus on that rather than the tempting urge to step between this horrible man and the clearly petrified Ron who was, true to character, making a wild stab at humor.
"You realize that I am on my way downstairs to interrogate your wife, Cattermole? In fact, I'm quite surprised you're not down there holding her hand while she waits. Already given her up as a bad job, have you? Probably wise. Be sure and marry a pureblood next time."
Though Hermione's indignant squeak was a reaction that paled in comparison to the one she was sure the real Reg Cattermole would have given had he been there, it still earned a suspicious glare from Yaxley, so she quickly turned it into a cough. Helplessly she listened as Ron stammered and Yaxley continued bitterly on about filth and mudbloods.
"If my office is not completely dry within an hour, your wife's Blood Status will be in even graver doubt than it is now."
Then, finally, he was gone. Once safely alone, Ron began immediately, "What am I going to do? My wife – I mean, Cattermole's wife – "
"We'll come with you, we should stick together – "
Hermione was already nodding at Harry's words.
"That's mental, we haven't got much time. You two find Umbridge, I'll go and sort out Yaxley's office – but how do I stop it raining?"
"Try Finite Incantatem," Hermione supplied. "That should stop the rain if it's a hex or curse. If it doesn't, something's gone wrong with an atmospheric charm, which will be more difficult to fix, so as an interim measure try Impervius to protect his belongings."
"Say it again, slowly." Ron was patting himself down in search of a quill and parchment. Hermione paused, remembering that he had to memorize everything she was saying. Then, suddenly, the lift was stopping again, allowing two men and two purple paper airplanes to enter.
"I can't find a bloody quill," Ron muttered under his breath. Instinctively, so that they could whisper, the two moved closer together.
"All right, just listen then. Finite Incantatem. If that doesn't work, it's more complicated, and you'll need a reversal jinx or charm to stop it – you'll need to find someone who knows one. Regardless, use Impervius for his things to protect them. You shouldn't have trouble with that particular spell."
Her lame attempt at humor worked, and she was rewarded with a weak smile.
"You'll be fine, Ro – er, Reg. I promise." The look he gave her was familiar, even on the older, different face.
But, much too soon, an eerie woman's voice was echoing, "Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."
Ron looked as though he had processed none of this and was as white as a ghost. Feeling like his expression matched her feelings exactly, Hermione placed a hand on his back and nudged him forward. Ignoring the odd looks from the other two wizards, Hermione stared after his retreating, defeated form.
"Actually, Harry, I think I'd better go after him I don't think he knows what he's doing and if he gets caught, the whole thing – "
"Level One, Minister of Magic and Support Staff."
As the lift doors opened again, Hermione's eyes zeroed in on one figure, clad in all pink, that stuck out like a sore thumb – one she had hoped never to see again.
"Ah Mafalda!" The beady eyes of Delores Umbridge were piercing, and Hermione felt herself freezing up. "Travers sent you, did he?"
Realizing that she was expected to say something, Hermione managed to stammer, "Y-yes."
"Good, you'll do perfectly well. That's that problem solved, Minister."
Hermione looked at the man – Pius Thicknesse, she now realized – with new eyes. So this was the Minister of Magic.
"… we shall be able to start straightaway. Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut … even here, in the heart of the Ministry!"
Hermione moved numbly aside to let the unpleasant woman and her escort enter "We'll go straight down, Mafalda, you'll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good morning, Albert, aren't you getting out?"
Hermione's eyes widened and she stared pleadingly at Harry, begging him silently to come up with some brilliant excuse as to why she couldn't follow Umbridge or why he had to come with them.
"Yes, of course," he said instead, and Harry was gone.
"I'm very glad you're here, Mafalda," Umbridge started up the moment he was gone. "I was beginning to worry that we'd have to spend all day interrogating these ridiculous mudbloods. It's a pity the lengths they will go to in order to keep up a silly lie."
Hermione, terrified and furious, could only nod. The lift descended lower and lower, and they sat in near silence – Umbridge was humming cheerfully to herself.
The doors opened a moment later and Hermione was overwhelmed by the familiar sight before her. There was the dark corridor, and, farther down, the door that lead to the Department of Mysteries. Her relief when Umbridge turned instead to a door on the left was short lived, however. As they made their way down the stairs, Hermione felt a creeping sense of hopelessness and a chill that filled her, choked her, overwhelmed her – she knew this feeling all too well, and she wanted to cry or give up or stop and let it possess her.
Dementors.
With a voice that had lost none of its perkiness, Umbridge cleared her throat and said nonchalantly, "Expecto Patronum."
A long, silver cat sprung gracefully from the tip of her wand, dissipating the feeling immediately and leading the four of them passed the foot of the stairs and around the corner. However, the scene awaiting them was no better than the dementor induced depression. A small crowd of shivering, pale muggle-borns and their families hovered on benches, all of them squinting and blinking as the patronus approached, as though they'd been in a cellar and were only now being exposed again to the light of the sun.
One woman who had been weeping into her hands the moment before moved instinctively closer to the feline patronus, but a dementor immediately stood between them, and the woman shrunk away again with a squeak of alarm. A man in the corner shot a fierce glare at them, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to admit the truth to this poor crowd of people that, had circumstances been different, she could have been one of.
They continued walking until Umbridge finally came to a halt before a heavy looking door on her left. The two wizards accompanying them moved at once to open it for her, and she walked through with a sickening skip to her step. Hermione followed with considerably less excitement and a great deal of trepidation into the
dungeon cell.
In horror, she stared around – the walls felt as though they were closing in on her, and the high ceiling gave Hermione the distinct impression that she was very trapped. The dark crowd of dementors did nothing to ease that feeling.
A single chair was located in the center of the room beneath a balustrade on a raised platform at the front of the room. Behind the balustrade sat Yaxley, as he'd promised Ron earlier. As they entered, he shot an oily smile in Umbridge's direction, greeting her with a nod.
"Ah – Miss Hopkirk, a record keeper. We can start, then." His words were spoken with an unmasked air of anticipation. Nauseated, Hermione followed Umbridge onto the platform, taking the seat next to the toad-like woman.
"Here you are Mafalda," Umbridge was saying, sliding a quill, ink, parchment and a bound book full of names and records towards Hermione. It opened magically to the first page with space. Glancing at the top of the page, Hermione read silently, with a sinking feeling a list of convicted "magic thieves" and their fates – all Azkaban.
"Right, thank you Dolores," Hermione murmured. This reply obviously sufficed, because in the next moment Umbridge had turned her full attention to the door with an eager, amphibian smile. After magically magnifying her voice so that it would carry through the door, she called, "Now … to start us off, Robert Everstall."
The door swung open to reveal the glaring man from before, escorted on either side by dementors, making his way stiffly into the room.
"Sit down."
The man complied without breaking eye contact, and didn't flinch when chains suddenly sprung up around his legs and arms.
"You are Robert Thomas Everstall?"
He nodded once, sharply.
"Married to Joan Lynch Everstall?"
Hermione noticed the first hint of emotion as he winced, but nodded again without speaking a word.
"Father to Eva Everstall?"
The pain was evident in his eyes, but still, he said nothing, only jerked his head in a nod.
"Today a wand was taken from your possession. Eleven inches – oak, dragon heart-string core. Does that description sound familiar to you?"
Robert nodded again, and Hermione wondered how long it would take him to break.
"And from whom did you steal that wand from?"
His jaw clenched in apparent fury, but all he said was, "I did not."
"Do you know that it is a crime to lie on trial, Mr. Everstall?"
He nodded.
"Then do not lie to me. From what witch or wizard did you take that wand?"
"I did not."
Umbridge's face was flushed, and twisting into an unpleasant expression that was truly frightening. She and Yaxley were both looking agitated, and judging by the reactions of the rest of the muggle-borns, Hermione figured that were this man to grovel and cower, they would be gleeful.
"You filthy mudblood!" Yaxley finally spat. "Where did you get your wand?"
"You know as well as I do, Yaxley, that I bought my wand at Ollivander's when I was eleven-years-old," Robert replied evenly.
"I've had enough. Get this lying filth out of my sight."
The chains fell away, and the dementors looked all too willing as they swooped down on him, grabbing his arms as he swept proudly from the room. As Hermione watched him go, she felt like crying again, but this time for a reason quite different than that of endless despair – this time, it was because in that man, she had seen hope.