When Ginevra Weasley-Potter slapped her open palm down on the table in front of her, it took everyone by surprise, including the trainee barman who was still quite nervous and visibly jumped onto the balls of his feet.
"Can't we for once," she began, voice dangerously low, "Just decide on something as a family? Hmm? It's not rocket science."
"Well, we aren't all here," her brother George piped up helpfully, causing Ginny to close her eyes wearily for a moment. "So really, we can't make decisions 'as a family'. We should wait until everyone is here."
"We can't wait. Under the terms, we need to appoint someone and submit their name to the funding board. Tomorrow."
This from Ginevra's husband Harry whose thoroughly raked-through hair showed how little he enjoyed Weasley family meetings.
"Harry's right," his wife replied gratefully, laying her hand on top of his. "This happens now or this money disappears in a puff of smoke."
Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw her brother Percy sitting a little more upright and she braced herself for the inevitable.
"I agree," he began and she marvelled that, despite all of them receiving the same upbringing and education, Percy was the only one of the seven children who sometimes spoke with that posh accent.
Where had it come from?
"…. You won't find a better choice," he concluded, and she shook her head.
"Sorry Perce, what was that?"
"He was giving two thumbs up to his old crony Michael again," George sighed, clearly bored but never one to miss an opportunity to wind his big brother up.
"He isn't a crony. I've known of Michael's work for years. We all have. He helped set up the archives at Finchley and he's done some extremely good work with the National Trust recently. He's the only choice, really."
Ginny wondered uneasily if Percy was right. Michael Carter was well known in curatorship circles and had held some prestigious posts. Percy had always been an admirer and had gotten to know him through various connections they shared. He had been delighted when Michael had submitted his name for consideration for the job at Ottery.
But on the two occasions Ginny had actually come into contact with Michael Carter she had disliked him; there was nothing discernibly wrong with him, he just seemed a little jaded and somewhat supercilious.
Plus, Ginny had her own ideas about the type of person the job would suit. Ottery was special, it operated to the beat of a drum all of its own. She didn't want someone who thought they had seen it all before and knew exactly what needed to be done. She envisioned something…else. The problem was, she wasn't sure what that looked like in real life.
"No. Friggin'. Way." Charlie's voice echoed over the hall from the conference speaker. "Michael Carter is so up himself."
Clearly not the only one who has strong feelings on the subject.
"You have met him once Charlie. And he isn't arrogant. He's incredibly knowledgeable and experienced."
"He's arrogant and he's dull Percy. We don't want someone like that in the castle. And I don't like the way he has your ear. I might be half way across the world but I attend enough of these things to know that. 'Michael said this', 'Michael thinks that'. He probably thinks he has this job in the bag. You being such a fan-boy."
George hooted in response, Percy sat back in his chair, a pink spot high on each cheek and Ginny wondered if there was any wine that could be got to easily. Her eyes slid to where the barman was stacking glasses on a trestle table near the door.
"Harry," she said, skirting ruefully away from the thought of alcohol, "You did most of the research into this. What do you think? Honestly?"
"Truthfully, I liked this one." Harry gestured to the lime green folder between them.
"The woman?" George lifted the folder and flicked through the laminated pages, skimming the details. "She's never worked on anything as big as this before. Why her?"
Harry shrugged. "Not sure, really. A combination of a well written application and video presentation and… I dunno. A good feeling?"
George nodded as he browsed the pages. Harry's 'good feelings' had been right about so many things round here. It was prudent to take note.
"The way she spoke… She's very passionate. Extremely knowledgeable. References from everywhere you'd possibly want."
"Annd single! Yep, she gets my vote," George grinned.
Ginny leant over and snatched the folder from her brother's hands. "Irrelevant, surely."
"Not at all, dear sister," George sing-songed, getting to his feet and pulling on his jacket. "No kids, no commitments, no distractions from the job at hand. Perfect."
"Uh, we haven't finished debating this yet George," Percy frowned, leaning back to scold his brother as he circled around the table to the door.
"You might want to sit here and wax lyrical for another hour or so Perce, but I have better things to do. My vote is the woman. We could do with some more eye candy around the place. Later."
George saluted and slammed the door, causing the trainee barman to wince.
Ginny turned towards the triangular speaker on the table.
"Charlie? Thoughts?"
There was a scuffle on the line. "Have none, except I really don't like Michael Carter. If Haz says the woman is a go-er then give it to her. The chances of us crossing paths are slim to none. You're the one who'll have to deal with her on a day-to day-basis."
"Helpful. And no, it won't be me, it'll be…"
"I vote for Michael," Percy interrupted, "Not that my opinion seems to matter."
"Sure it matters, Perce. But George is right- Michael Carter isn't the right fit."
"So we're just going to hand our ancestral home over to someone who hasn't the faintest idea what she's doing, is that it?"
Screw the wine. Whiskey.
Ginny opened the front cover of the lime green folder and looked at the headshot neatly clipped to the CV.
Harry was right, there was something reassuring about the woman in the photograph: she looked capable. And she would need to be. The task ahead of her was nothing short of gargantuan.
"Honestly," Percy wittered on, "Sometimes I think my say counts for nothing in this family."
His face was practically purple and, for a moment, Ginevra felt a tinge of regret that Percy always seemed to be at odds with the rest of the family. But then his lip curled in that way she hated and the tinge dissipated.
"Your say counts but unfortunately, you've been outvoted. Let's give her a shot."
Harry beamed. "Stare decisis?"
Taking one final glance at the photograph, Ginevra Weasley-Potter slapped the cover shut and beckoned to the trainee barman, nodding to her husband.
"Stare decisis. Hermione Granger. Welcome to Ottery Castle."
OOO
Hermione Granger pulled at the stiff, starched collar of the white shirt she had elected to wear for this, the introduction to her new job. She had agonized over the decision, unsure what the first day would entail. Would they expect her to get right to it? Roll up the sleeves and start today? If so, Hugo Boss cotton was surely a poor choice.
But she was desperate to make a good impression and, as she stood waiting outside the office door, she couldn't quite believe she was here.
Since she had first visited as a small girl, curating at Ottery Castle had been high on Hermione's list of dream jobs. Not only beautiful, it was saturated in legend- it had been the temporary residence of many British and foreign monarchs and had a small but fascinating set of collections.
Her mother had seen the advertisement first, goading her into applying for it, though they both knew she probably didn't have the level of experience necessary to oversee the curation of antiquities on this scale.
Yet, here she was. A man with a tool belt slung low under his stomach sauntered by with a nod and she felt herself smile shyly back.
No, wrong attitude. Not shy.
She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She'd got this job fair and square and she would be brilliant at it.
Confidence is key.
Suddenly the door in front of her opened with a sharp whine and a bespectacled man with a beard and unruly black hair ambled out, clutching a sheaf of paper.
Hermione straightened just a little more and he looked up.
"Gosh, sorry to have kept you waiting Miss Granger," he said affably, offering her his hand. "Harry Potter. We meet in the flesh at last. Some slates fell off the roof last week and I've been trying to organise a suitable replacement before the weather changes."
They shook and Hermione felt instantly at ease. "I imagine that must be challenging."
"Yes," he replied, gesturing for her to follow him. "It's surprising how few people want to clamber about on the roof of a Norman castle in January. You'll come to be intimately acquainted with our roof. It continuously makes its presence known, one way or the other. Through here."
They walked together up the corridor and through a heavy door with a keypad lock. As she stepped through, Hermione found herself in one of the state rooms. The castle's collection of suits of armour lined one wall, gleaming in their glass boxes, and the first, early visitors milled around examining the information panels.
"The Great Hall has been closed today while the drapes and carpets are seen to. I thought we could go in there. It's the best we can do for privacy in an open house."
The magnificence of Ottery Castle's Great Hall snatched Hermione's breath every time. The timber hammerbeam ceiling, which gave the room the air of a cathedral, coupled with the lavishly upholstered furnishings and scarlet carpeted steps. The oil portraits hung imposingly in gilt frames. It was history, waiting patiently at every turn for you to find it; people had been walking these floors for hundreds of years. Part of the original castle was almost a thousand years old, a fact that just blew Hermione's mind and probably why she couldn't keep the grin from her cheeks as they walked to a group of chairs that had been arranged in a semi-circle.
Harry ushered her into a seat. "We had a school group here last week. Might as well take advantage of the fact that we haven't got round to shifting these yet."
Wordlessly behind them, two women worked at the heavy fringed curtains. A platform ladder had been erected in front of the window; one woman carefully unfurled the fabric at the bottom, manipulating it back and forth as the other operated a hand steamer.
"You look inexplicably delighted Miss Granger." Harry's voice broke her thought pattern. "I don't think I've seen that before on someone's first day here."
Hermione felt herself colour. "It's nerdy isn't it? It's just… seeing behind the scenes like this. It's like I'm part of it."
Harry smiled. "You are part of it. A very big part actually. The Ottery family."
"I'm so pleased to hear you say that." Hermione felt her heart swell. "And please, call me Hermione."
"Hermione it is," Harry agreed, sifting pointlessly through the jumble of pages in his hand. "So," he went on, finally setting them at his feet, "I could give you the whole history spiel but I get the feeling you might not need it."
"No," Hermione shook her head, "Although I'd be happy to hear it." On seeing Harry's weary expression, she added quickly, "But no. I don't need it. Please feel free to tell me the things you think I need to know."
He smiled gratefully. "Brilliant. So, what do you need to know?"
He leant back in the chair, scootching a bit lower to make himself comfortable.
"The Prewetts have owned Ottery Castle since the 1800's. Passed down through the generations and currently owned by Molly and Arthur, my parents-in-law. Wonderful people; I'm sure you'll get to meet them one day soon. The castle passed from Molly's father directly to her after her brothers died young. She married Arthur. There is a title apparently but they never use it. You'll come to realise that none of the Weasleys are 'title' people."
The door opened into the hall and a slim, elegantly dressed man with a beautifully fashioned moustache entered, followed by a couple holding hands. They spoke in hushed tones, the man in the suit evidently showing them the features of the room.
"That's Sylvain, our Visitor Welcome manager. We have just received our licence and in a couple of months, Steve and Mariam are going to get married here. Our first Ottery wedding."
He waved pleasantly and the woman called, "Hey Harry."
"That must be exciting."
"And painful. So much to think about."
Suddenly the chunky yellow radio attached to Harry's belt crackled to life and a voice said, "If anyone knows anything about getting gloss paint out of carpet, I'm in conference room one."
Harry lifted the radio to his mouth but another voice cut in first.
"En route, dickhead."
Harry switched the radio off with a decisive click and rolled his eyes.
"Sorry about that Hermione. That was… well we'll get to them. Anyway where was I? Oh yeah, Weasleys, speak of the devils. There's seven children, six boys and Ginny. Originally the family were housed in the living apartments. Nowadays they don't live together, obviously, but they all meet fairly regularly, either in person or via teleconference, depending on where they are in the world. They make the decisions on what happens in the castle."
"Will I be required to attend these meetings?"
"Let's hope not!" Harry said cheerfully, adjusting his glasses. "Weasley family meetings are rowdy and best avoided. Takes ages for anything to be decided. You're better off out of it Hermione."
She nodded again. "Understood."
"Anyway, long story short, the castle is old, crumbly and needs money poured into it from every angle. Despite everything we do there never seems to be enough cash. By some miracle, we were eligible to apply for a huge heritage grant, which- by another miracle- we were awarded. We have a few team members who look after the collections and arrange upkeep but no single person to over-see all of this. One of the nuances of the funding agreement was the hiring of a head curator for two years. Someone to manage the funding appropriately, as well as contributing to the care of the antiquities. Also, and probably a bit unusually for a curator, we'd like you to help us with cataloguing and organising repairs to the actual building."
He noted Hermione's alarm.
"Don't panic," Harry soothed, raising a hand, "I know you don't know anything about ancient castles. Truthfully, not my specialist subject either. It would just be helpful to have another pair of eyes on the subject."
Hermione nodded, determined not to be deterred and anxious to impress. "And I'm pleased to be given the opportunity."
Harry's wary grin surprised her. "Maybe temper the excitement until you see the scale of the project ahead of you."
She felt her chin jut slightly at the challenge. "I'm not scared of hard work. I'm ready for anything."
Harry paused for a moment before replying, "You know, I don't doubt it. Look," he waggled his fingers at the wodge of paper at his feet, "There is a bit of paperwork to go through. We used to have an HR manager who dealt with all this but she left and we haven't gotten round to replacing her yet. We could go through it now or we could have a walk round the castle and I'll show you what you are actually interested in. Save the paperwork for later?"
OOO
Lying back in bed that evening, Hermione pulled up a foot and massaged it gently, wincing at the tender spots. The heeled, suede boots had been a smart choice but not a practical one for the day she had just undergone.
As she pulled the blanket to her chin, her mind spun. Harry had been right, the volume of the work that needed done at Ottery Castle was nothing short of overwhelming. They had completed a full tour of the main building, the keep, the dungeon and the grounds, walking miles in windy paths and knobbly stone staircases, and at every turn there was more to add to the To-Do list.
Before applying for the job, Hermione had visited Ottery, just to assure herself it would be a good career move and to see if it was as picturesque as she remembered it. It had been everything she'd remembered and more; the thought of being responsible for all this opulence seemed like a wonderful gift.
That was then. Today, she had been given the gift- it was hers now- and suddenly it was as though the scales had fallen from her eyes. Every crack in the wall that had seemed rustic, now made her wonder about subsidence. Dust on a window ledge made her cringe with the thought of the biological matter that would be, at that very moment, being eaten by insects, along with the wood.
Every dark spot in a corner could be damp, every ruck or pull in the upholstery would need examined and the piece removed to be worked on. They hadn't even seen the archive; Harry felt that was for another day. Perhaps he had sensed her growing horror.
She rolled over and tucked her head further under the covers.
OOO
The first week passed at such alarming speed that by the time Hermione lowered herself into the bath late on Friday evening, she was quite unable to formulate any coherent thoughts whatsoever. It took all her strength and mental cognition to run said bath and add bath salts.
The water rose and cradled her tired body and she sunk into it up to her ears. Her hair fanned gracefully in the water and she found she was only mildly annoyed at herself for not remembering to clip it back. She didn't have the energy for anything stronger than mild.
Closing her eyes, she allowed the week's events and personalities to wave over her.
From the moment she had stepped out of the car on Tuesday morning, to the moment she had started the engine this evening to drive home, her brain had been continually processing names, places, account numbers and supplier addresses.
On her second day, Hermione had been introduced to the curating team and, much to her relief, her primary colleague was senior collections technician Haroon, a vibrant, apparently competent man about her age, with a thatch of blue-black hair he constantly pushed from his eyes.
Haroon had been juggling more responsibility than his job should ever have entailed, heaped onto him as the collection had grown and various staff members left their positions for new jobs. He was very forthcoming in his joy at Hermione's appointment. "Fucking delighted" was how he had put it unselfconsciously, pumping her hand vigorously.
Helene was the seamstress and had recently reduced her working week to three days since having a baby. Hermione recognised her as the woman operating the hand steamer on her first day.
"You take care of textiles then?" she had asked, as Helene wrestled with a footstool upholstered in pink silk.
"And the rest!" Helene had responded cheerfully and Harry grimaced. "Mostly textiles but also silverware and occasionally prints and artwork."
This had surprised Hermione, who was accustomed to everyone within a curatorial team having their own specific functions.
"You'll find it's all hands on deck here Hermione. Anyway, you won't see me much," she added, carefully unclipping a brass stud, "I spend most of my time in the archive. But," and her voice took on a more serious note, "I would like to talk to you about the grant. There are a few things we really need to consider."
Hermione sensed that being in charge of the mystical pot of gold was either going to make her very popular or much loathed. Her schedule was quickly filling up with meetings, most of which were centred around the grant.
She also met Becky and Will who worked as general collection technicians while writing their PhDs and seemed to come as a pair. They appeared to be jacks-of-all-trades and had a youthful enthusiasm Hermione sensed she would be glad of in the coming months.
Haroon had been the one to introduce Hermione to her office on her third day. Or rather, the space that would become her office. At that moment it was a wedge-shaped hovel filled with boxes, cartons of glue and tins of paint and a large oil painting of a formidable woman on horseback.
"MayBeth fell off the wall last week," Haroon said, pushing an ancient Phone Book off a chair so Hermione could sit. "I need to have her restrung. Well?"
Hermione looked up and he gestured at the room.
"I know it isn't much. I should have used it more than I did but I hate working in an office. I like being out and about. It did used to be a functioning office, somewhere under all this is a desk and a nice wheely chair. I'm just not the office type. Did I mention how glad I am you're here?"
He grinned and Hermione tried to reciprocate.
Haroon blew out his cheeks. "Look, I know it must seem like a challenge. But things are only a bit messy because we hadn't any money. This grant is going to breathe new life into the place."
She felt her shoulders relax a little.
"Have you any ideas then? About how we can spend this money?"
He nodded excitedly. "Oh definitely. There are a million things we can do." He reached into the pocket of his purple fleece, the Ottery Castle crest proud upon the breast, and pulled out a scrappy piece of paper.
"I made a list. Once I knew you were coming. Would you like to take a look?"
Hermione felt her heart soar. "I'd love to."
OOO
Hermione had thought that Harry's tour of the castle was all-encompassing and was therefore completely unprepared for Haroon's.
When she mentioned it Haroon smiled ruefully. "Yeah, Harry only really knows about the stuff I tell him. The big stuff that's going to break or fall over in the next week or two. But you're the Head Curator so you get it all." He grimaced before finishing, "Sorry about that."
Haroon's list was extensive and difficult to envision so they had spent the rest of the day viewing the items scrawled on the paper: the crack in the bell tower, evidence of moths on a tapestry in one of the bedrooms, a loose balustrade, three newly acquired pieces of furniture that needed examined, reupholstered and catalogued.
Hermione was grateful she had thought to bring a hard-backed notebook and busily scribbled thoughts and impressions as Haroon gestured casually at things that sent her mind reeling. By the time she had returned to the safety of the office- Haroon off somewhere making coffee- she wasn't sure if she was frightened or furious.
There was no doubt in her mind that Ottery required serious work but how the hell had it been allowed to get like this in the first place? It was clear there was a money problem, the entire curating team couldn't have been any more enthusiastic about the grant funds. But the sheer amount of tasks that had been overlooked- some of which she felt were incredibly serious- surely couldn't be accounted for through poverty alone. It seemed negligent.
When Haroon returned with two strong coffees and half a packet of Garibaldis, Hermione asked him how things had ended up this way.
At first he was defensive and she realised that perhaps, in her frustration, she had voiced her opinion a little strongly. Having apologised and made it clear it was no reflection on how hard he was working, Hermione felt Haroon relax.
"Honestly, I can't remember a time when it wasn't like this." He bit into a biscuit and chewed thoughtfully. "I mean, it's what we're used to."
"It's not what I'm used to," Hermione murmured, taking a sip from her cup and instantly regretting it. It was a mortal sin to call the grey liquid she had just consumed coffee.
"Where was your last post then?"
Hermione bit back profanity in response to her beverage and instead spoke warmly of the National Trust antiquities collection she had curated for the past three years, as part of a knowledgeable, well-trained team.
Haroon cocked his head. "There you are then. No shortage of money."
"We weren't exactly loaded…"
"But you had a regular source of funding. Ottery is privately owned. The Weasleys do everything with family money and donations. I think there's a bit of land rent too, maybe."
Hermione must have looked despondent because Haroon grinned, slid her the Garibaldis and added, "Relax. You'll figure it out. You seem like the type of person who enjoys a challenge."
Although she hadn't said so at the time and despite knowing her for just two days, Haroon had correctly identified a very important element of her character, which made Hermione re-evaluate the way she was looking at her current situation.
If she was honest, hadn't she spent the last few months of her National Trust job feeling stifled and un-exercised? Hadn't she longed for a big, juicy project to sink her teeth into? She wanted to be the one in charge, making the decisions, being responsible for the budget and having her choices made real.
She was meant to be here. When she pushed past her fear and her self-doubt, she knew. This was right.
The following morning, she was first into the castle, a bucket of cleaning supplies dangling from one arm and her coffee machine tucked under the other. Despite barely sleeping the night before, she was bright with energy, finally prepared to take on the task ahead.
And if she was going to deal with Ottery Castle then she was damn well going to have a presentable office to do it in. And bloody decent coffee.
When Haroon sloped through the door two hours later he did a visible double-take before emitting a long, slow whistle of appreciation.
Hermione nodded graciously. "I will take that as approval. Coffee?"
Ten minutes later, Haroon sat back, thoroughly sated.
"Those are massive headphones," he noted, gesturing towards where she had hooked them to the side of the monitor.
"They're noise cancelling. I like to listen to music when I'm working. It helps me think."
Haroon nodded and looked so mellow that Hermione risked a question.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You've just made me the most perfect caramel latte. Right now, you could have my first born."
She beamed. "Duly noted. What are your thoughts on the Weasley family? Do you know them well?"
Haroon scrunched his nose. "Some of them. Didn't they interview you?"
"No, it was all done through Harry and the board. I get the impression he takes a lot to do with the running of the business. The actual Weasleys, I have no idea about. I expected them to be here but I have yet to meet anyone."
"Didn't you Google them before you got the job?" Haroon replied, smirking. "Be honest."
"A little," she conceded, "But there was less than I had hoped."
"Well…." Haroon leant back in his chair and nonchalantly dumped a dusty-booted foot onto the corner of the desk, hastily removing it on seeing Hermione's sharply raised eyebrow.
"Well," he began again, slightly less confident-sounding, "Harry's married to Ginny who is decent. She's a solicitor so she deals with all the legal stuff but she isn't here all that much. Harry you'll see more of. He's like a general manager. Bill and Charlie are overseas, can't remember where. Charlie is involved in conservation, I think and Bill is the family accountant. Never met them."
"And there's twin brothers I think?"
"Fred and George. They own an events business so they do the setting up for anything that happens here. At Christmas they organise the lights and the trees and when people have conferences they set up the audio-visual stuff."
Hermione sipped her expresso. "I have seen Percy Weasley's name a lot. He seems to be very involved."
"Hardly know him," Haroon shrugged. "Has some high up civil service job. He's very much out front as far as press goes but I haven't seen him ever getting his hands dirty. Not like Harry. Definitely not like Ron."
Hermione sat up. "Ronald Weasley? The youngest son? What's he like?"
For the first time Haroon grinned. "Now that's a Weasley who's involved. Ron's great. Like, he's your employer but there's nothing he would ask you to do that he wouldn't do himself. You really feel that he loves this place you know? Plus, he actually lives here."
This was news to Hermione and it was strangely uncomfortable. In her eyes, Ottery was a business. The castle was one huge antiquity in a way, that needed work and preservation. It was odd to think about it as someone's home. How had Harry forgotten to mention this?
In her mind she searched through the castle, wondering why she hadn't yet seen any traces of this mysterious Weasley.
"Where does he live?"
"Apartments in the West Wing," Haroon replied distractedly, growing bored with the topic of discussion. "Anyway he's away at the moment. Skiing. Dunno when he'll be back."
At that, he pulled his phone out of his fleece pocket and stood up. "I'm off. Got a date with MayBeth. Thanks for the coffee."