CHAPTER ONE
When you break a magical curse, there's a transfer of energy. Sometimes, it's visible with a spark or a flash, but almost always, you can hear a fizzle or pop. Hermione, however, knew the entry's hold broke by the sudden scent of ash filling her nose.
At least Fiendfyre burns out with enough time.
Or when there's nothing left to burn.
"Yes!"
Either way, the thought was quickly forgotten in the sudden rush of pride that shot through Hermione Granger. Not an easy feat by any means, both the curse breaking and Hermione feeling satisfied with herself. Sweat beaded and distorted the soot that settled on her skin. Contented pants filled her lungs and tasted like char. For the last nine and a half hours she'd been stationed in the seventh floor corridor after her meeting with Headmistress McGonagall earlier that day.
Minerva had written to her on Monday to ask how she'd adjusted to her new job as an Unspeakable and to catch up over tea this weekend. She had naturally dove head first into her new responsibilities and had yet to have taken a decent day off to see family or friends since. Of course, there were many valiant attempts to pull Hermione away from tearing through the fresh paperwork and research reports required for the job. Even using their sneakiest methods to steal her away, the group never amounted to anything more than a few drinks one Friday night with Ginny and the boys and a couple extended lunches at the office with Draco.
Her friends were ultimately disappointed, but not surprised, that Hermione had successfully dodged every social gathering for the past 6 weeks. No one could call her out on her excuses either since Hermione always seemed to have a sea of work to wade through instead. Now, whether the work was directly assigned to her or if she had somehow managed to find more to do didn't matter, her job was priority number one and everyone knew it.
However, when Hermione returned to her flat in the early hours of Tuesday morning to an incredibly peeved but familiar grey Eastern Screech Owl, she knew she was in real shit.
She shoved the small, muggle key into her lock to deactivate her wards after an eighteen hour shift at the Ministry when a ruckus of animal screams crashed against her ears. Between the owl trash talking her from her ceiling fan, a bratty looking Crookshanks directly below, and the manila envelope bearing a mossy green seal that had fallen forgotten to the floor, Hermione felt the black hole of dread swallow up her insides. Shit, sweat formed coldly at the small of her back, I should've been home at a more reasonable hour. She'd always take the time to immediately write back to Minerva whenever she wrote, so it'd be clear to her old friend that she just spent a stupid amount of extra hours at the office that day.
Or, technically yesterday. Guilt creased Hermione's brows. Fuck. Fuck! I'm in so much trouble.
Dropping her cloak and bag in her deep seated reading chair, she shooed the ornery half-Kneazle away from the traumatized bird. Once Crooks sauntered away, Hermione shuffled a few stacks of notes and project details aside to clear a spot on the kitchen counter. While not exactly a hoarder, she certainly made room for a great deal of things in a very tiny flat.
Mercifully, Crooks hopped out the open window allowing the owl to swoop down from its ridiculous perch and land on the cream countertop. Preening and swatting out his wings erratically, Hermione turned back to the angry owl and fed it a generous handful of Owl treats.
"Sorry, Menace. Looks like we've both had a long night," The owl gave a bitter hoot in reply, but allowed Hermione's tired strokes on top of his head.
Hermione gave out a world weary sigh and looked around her apartment for the first time in what felt like weeks. It was a cramped one room flat with a small connecting kitchen. A thin, maroon curtain hung limply over the only window in the room, across from the cheap kitchenette. Just a rugged armchair for reading to mark the 'living room' and a simple wooden chair next to the slightly unbalanced side table tucked under the window. Hermione ate all her meals next to a smoggy, bleak London skyline.
She remembered the first time she saw the place. It was almost dusk outside displaying a rare spectrum of colour that night. Thick, dying sunlight poured in from the glass which warmed the empty flat. It was the most attractive part of the place. Maybe the only attractive part about it.
The walls were still the same soft eggshell colour but now dark bookshelves boxed in the main room, each filled tightly with books. Papers and texts littered the entire flat. Stacks next to the armchair that she often tripped over, then organized back in place after getting up from a long read. Small piles of paper on her little window table for her morning perusal. There was probably a sporadically filled notepad on the tub in the bathroom, too.
She'd bought the place after the War. Despite reuniting with her parents, she wanted a place of her own. There was so much grief on the run with the boys that Hermione quietly thought that she earned her solitude. She decided somewhere muggle would be best and as close to the Ministry as reasonably possible. Money was no problem after being awarded her Heroes' Bursary from Kingsley's new political Administration - not that money was ever an issue. However, with the fame and fortune came the attention. If life was hard before being one of Harry Potter's best friends, it was nothing compared to the media's blatant intrusions of the present. Thankfully, Hermione was connected with a magical agency that specializes in private real estate.
Actually, it was Draco Malfoy himself who set up the contact for her.
Things were incredible tense for the Malfoy family when Voldemort was vanquished. Immediately after the fall, many purebloods and sympathizers were thrown into social and political exile. Some of the public grew vicious of anyone of old Blood and new tensions brewed against them. Personally, Hermione was too busy burying friends and family to give a rats ass about the swift change in the political climate. Between grieving, healing, and reestablishing support and care for her own, Hermione was essentially oblivious.
She gave herself a half hearted smirk revisiting those difficult times.
Funny, how often I get consumed by myself... Not that much different from now, I think.
"WHOO, WHOOT," Menace startled Hermione out of the past with a quick flutter of his wings and a hard shove of his dusty grey head against her hand.
Blinking away the dark memories, Hermione straightened and summoned the letter from the wood floor. Taking a deep breath, she broke the McGonagall family seal.
Dear Hermione,
How are you, dear? I've recently heard about your new position at the Ministry from Harry and I'd like to congratulate you on your success. I'm truly happy for you, my dear. Although, I was surprised that I didn't hear about this grand promotion from you personally.
Ah. shit. I'm in so much trouble.
This must explain your suspicious lack of communication. And here I was thinking that you might have fallen in love and eloped from the country without a word. The only comfort I have in now knowing the truth is that your distance wasn't aimed for me directly, but instead towards everyone - and that is a small comfort, indeed.
Hermione cringed.
We shall meet soon. I will be available this week for tea and knowing you, you're already spending your evenings at your office, neck deep in paperwork. So, I will relieve you of the opportunity to cancel yet another lunch: you will be on the School Grounds by 2:00pm sharp this Saturday. I expect your punctual arrival.
Your friend,
MM
P.S. I also have a little proposition for you and I think you'll find this puzzle particularly challenging.
Hermione let the letter fall to the counter and gave Menace a strained look.
"Oh, boy. I'm going to get it." The owl stared back with its dark orange orbs in the way the only pets can do. The innocent animal look of 'what else did you expect?'.