A/N: Exams have and will continue to lengthen intervals between updates. Part one is nearly half way done and I'm very motivated to finish this during the summer holidays. This chapter (sort of) contains sex ;)
The Flints departed much too early in the morning. Marcus was furious when Hermione told him what happened. He vowed to break the legs of everyone involved in the assault at the next youth death eater meeting, but was persuaded to take out his anger on a bludger instead. She quickly forgave him for not hearing her call, and began to forgive Narcissa as well. But Hermione flatly refused to talk to her parents, and had the house elf bring meals up to her room so she didn't have to look at them.
Marcus taught her fiendfyre in the garden. It was a fun spell and she mastered it quickly, even managing to produce it's extinguishing charm silently. Hermione attempted to write to Miles and Terrence about what had happened, since they had asked if she was ok. The words 'I'm fine' looked wrong on her parchment, and she had amassed a pile of crumpled paper before breaking down and venting exactly what had happened; how powerless she felt- how her own blood had deceived her and put her in danger. The resulting scrawl was messier than her usual cursive, and smudged with tears, but she cast Geminio on it and bade her owl to send them. Hermione stayed in her room, stagnant, only allowing Marcus in to beat him at wizards chess. The sky became greyer as the days wore on. Hermione was back to her previous summer fugue, only now she couldn't even feel joy on the back of her hippogriff.
The ghost of Narcissa's presence was vacuous and sickening. True to her word, she had charmed the department of mysteries, who sent an interview invitation. Hermione donned smart black robes, and stepped into the living room fireplace with a handful of floo powder.
"The ministry of magic."
She was transported there in a haze of soot, and dusted herself off as she stepped out of the hearth onto polished green tiles. Hermione got into the lift alone and descended to level nine. The floor was deserted; black tiles illuminated by ghostly blue torches, with one door at the end of the hall. Her footsteps echoed on her way to the door, and the sort of anxiety she felt before exams bubbled in her gut. The door swung open as Hermione raised her hand to knock, revealing a circular room and twelve more doors.
"Hello?" She spoke nervously, jumping when the door slammed shut behind her and the room began to spin. Couldn't they have put more instructions in the letter?
"It's Hermione Flint, I'm here for an interview!"
Thankfully an unspeakable opened a door to her right and beckoned her.
"Good morning, miss Flint. I'm Saul Croaker, the head of department. If you would come this way…"
She stepped into a cluttered office. Croaker took a seat behind his desk and asked for her NEWT results and wand, which he inspected closely through expressionless eyes. At his prompt, the graduate detailed all of the magical experiments she had conducted, and her interest in wider reading and the lecture she had recently attended on magical artefacts and inventions. The unspeakable asked her a couple of questions about the nature of thought and death, which Hermione answered with enthusiasm, rambling on for so long that Croaker eventually raised a hand to stop her. He rummaged through desk drawers and pulled out a contract.
"Congratulations, miss Flint. You are to be appointed the apprentice of Carlotta Pinkstone. She is based in the brain room, but you will quickly become acquainted with all of the chambers in this department. Shifts are between 7 A.M and 4 P.M weekdays, with an hour's break for lunch. Your wage will begin at ten sickles and one knut per hour, so two galleons sixteen sickles and five knuts per week. If you could just sign here."
The contract stated that discussing anything that happened in the department would result in her tongue swelling and immediate dismissal. And that if she was discharged for any reason, the department reserved the right to wipe her memories. Hermione took the proffered quill and signed. The contract burst into smoke at its completion. Croaker handed her a map and a dark purple cloak with the ministry's signature 'M' embroidered in gold, before conducting a tour of the department.
Level nine was a maze consisting of another office with seven desks, a room overflowing with documents and records, a workshop, an iron-walled room for dangerous experiments, and one isolated room that was always locked. Hermione was given a tour of the five other rooms centered on their main areas of investigation, and the almost empty hall of prophecies. Croaker explained that most of the prophecies had been destroyed last year during an invasion and battle between death eaters and the order of the phoenix. Pinkstone was an eccentric elderly witch who campaigned for the dissolution of the statute of secrecy and had been imprisoned for performing magic in front of muggles. She explained the purpose of the brains suspended in the tank of green liquid, and that their tendrils were the manifestation of thoughts. She got to work manipulating the thoughts of the brains with some complex magic, and recorded their reactions. Hermione was tasked with reading Pinkstone's notes, from which she learnt that brains operated through a sort of magic called neural signalling, but that operations of the mind were more mysterious. One theory argued that the mind, or self, didn't actually exist, and was just an interpretation of the physical brain. Another argued that the mind was the same as the soul and its own distinct substance- and yet another proclaimed that nothing truly existed but thoughts and magic! Hermione thought that the physical and magical were two aspects of the same substance that interacted with each other, which explained why the brain could produce magic, and why magic interacts with the physical realm.
When she first entered the love chamber, Hermione was shocked to find that it smelled exactly like Narcissa. There was a large opalescent fountain in the middle of the room, emitting the scent of earl grey tea and expensive perfume, as well as base notes of old books and grass. With a gasp the witch realised that the opalescent liquid was love potion; amortentia.
Hermione wasn't stupid. She realised in that moment that she loved Narcissa, but there was no point in dwelling on such frivolous emotions. Narcissa was married, over twice her age, and had a son nearly as old as her. The fact that she had fallen in love with a witch didn't surprise her- nor would it surprise the Beauxbatons girl she had kissed at the Yule ball. But it wasn't something her mother would approve of.
Hermione enjoyed getting into the rhythm of her new life. Her work schedule replaced the rigid routine she had missed at Hogwarts. She began each day by stiffly plaiting her hair, drinking a coffee, getting the floo into the ministry atrium, and weaving through the grimly dressed ministry employees as they bustled through the morning rush crowd. The gold statue in the atrium caught her attention each time she passed it, with it's beautifully crafted witch, centaur and elf. It only took a week to learn how each room operated on level nine. Hermione consumed all the background information on the mysteries they investigated with a speed that impressed her mentor. Her own limited research was self directed, but reports had to be written up and submitted at the end of each day.
One day, Hermione found herself in the space chamber, writing out a research report in solitude. She had nearly finished when a black whirlpool appeared out of thin air, and seemed to snag on the corner of the room. The suspended planets and her desk were suddenly enshrouded in the unnatural darkness. Hermione screamed upon recognising the white snakelike face that emerged from the gloom. The Dark Lord was here- as an apparition- but it was so heart-stopping that he may as well have been there in the flesh. His chilling voice rang in her ears and sent a shiver down her spine.
Hermione Flint, we meet at last. Your father informed me that you have been appointed an apprentice at the department of mysteries. May I offer my congratulations.
The heir of Slytherin seemed to levitate above her as he scrutinised her with red eyes.
Rookwood was my spy here before he was caught. Now you must fill his space, my child. A new era is coming, which you will help to bring into fruition. Now, since you are an unspeakable, I think it safe to entrust you with a secret: The death eaters I have stationed in the ministry will overthrow Scrimgeor's government, and replace it with my own, with Thicknesse as its face. This will happen on the 1st of August. Your responsibility is to apprehend each wizard in this department. If you succeed, I will reward you, and you will become the youngest department head in history. If you fail, you will be punished.
It is an honour to join my ranks. It is an honour to join me in my mission, an honourable burden to pave the path for peace and liberation for our kind. The weak shall fall, and the strong shall rise out of the shadows and rule. Remember what has come to those who disobey me, Hermione Flint.
With that, the white face disappeared and the room was returned to normal. Hermione could hear her heart beating rapidly in her ears. She wasn't ready to be a spy, or to take part in a coup-d'etat! August was less than a fortnight away, which was not enough time to read about spying or to practice duelling. How on earth was she expected to take down her five colleagues? They were much older and more skilled than her. Yaxley was waiting for her in the lift to explain the death eater's plan. At 9 AM on august, each level would be simultaneously incapacitated. With workers immobilised, reinforcements would be let in. Then Scrimgeor was to be assassinated. Hermione had to be ready to support the lower courtrooms and the atrium above.
The next day began with a sense of impending danger. Hermione saw her level differently now. She was mapping routes to the exit, and counting how many people walked down to the old courtrooms. Plans formed, reformed, and developed until Hermione was thinking herself in circles. It was awful to have to betray her new co-workers, but her loyalty was to the Dark Lord now. Hopefully they would surrender so she wouldn't have to murder.
August arrived. Hermione stowed a freshly brewed sleeping draught into her ministry robes, along with the Weasley's fainting fancies and shield gloves. The crowd in the atrium was so thick it was doubtful that the element of surprise would be enough to overpower everyone. Hermione busied herself over some notes nervously, until the clock in the time room struck ten minutes to nine.
"Would you like a sweet?" She asked Pinkstone. "I'm having one." Hermione took a boiled sweet out of Weasley packaging to induce a false sense of security, and handed a fainting fancy to her mentor.
"Oh, alright, then. Just one."
Hermione waited with bated breath as the elderly woman ate it. The effect was immediate- Pinkstone fainted and Hermione cast spongify on the floor below to soften her fall. She locked the far door to the brain room and headed into the circular room, locking both the door behind her and the one she now recognised as the exit. Hermione pulled on her leather shield gloves, took a deep breath, and burst into Croaker's office.
"Imperio!"
Croaker didn't have time to be shocked. His eyes glazed over and Hermione willed him to stand, conjuring a cup of tea and spiking it with sleeping draught. Croaker took the tea placidly and followed the silent command to offer it to whoever was in the neighbouring office. His clock showed eight minutes to nine. Hermione heard someone fall and begin to snore. She instructed her head of department to stun Macdonald in the space chamber, and stun Shingleton in the death chamber. Five minutes to nine. The Slytherin could feel Croaker cast stupify. He must be making his way to the death chamber now. Four minutes to nine. Abruptly there was a crash and a yell and Hermione sensed Croaker slipping free of her curse. She ran to the death chamber and found Croaker's unconscious body on the floor- with Shingleton nowhere to be seen. He must be trying to escape. Hermione dashed to the circular room to stop him but was immediately hit with flipendo. Her body was flung jarringly into the door frame but she managed to keep hold of her wand, and returned a flurry of silent spells.
They duelled fiercely, Hermione's shield gloves allowing her to attack more than usual. Shingleton was the youngest and strongest unspeakable; a fully grown wizard with prematurely white hair showing his experience and wit. Shouts and explosions on the upper level told that the coup had started in full. Shingleton looked up for a split second in surprise. Seeing the opening, Hermione managed to stun him, and swiftly exited to aid the other floors. There didn't seem to be anyone in the courtrooms so Hermione took the lift up to the atrium. Spells and shouts were flying everywhere between the duelling wizards. One was propelled towards her and Hermione lunged to the side as the wizard hit the back of the lift, his spine cracking loudly. She held her wand at the ready but they were moving around so much she didn't have a clear shot. The golden statue had been blown up in the fray, with water gushing onto the floor and causing a couple of wizards to slip over. Scrimgeour was duelling valiantly with his aurors against Yaxley and masked death eaters. Hermione defended their backs from the ministry employees trying to support the minister, and it wasn't long before Scrimgeour fell to the killing curse.
"THE MINISTER IS DEAD!" Yaxley amplified his voice and everyone stopped fighting to look at him. Thicknesse emerged from behind.
"Welcome, everybody, to a new age."
An indignant wizard fired a spell at him but he was instantly executed. Hermione watched from the sidelines as the defeat was accepted, and as Thicknesse straightened his pin-stripe robes, resuming his speech.
"Do not resist, if you value your lives and careers. You will shortly return to your departments as usual, but first… each muggle born witch and wizard must report to courtroom ten. I would advise you to comply with the changes that will commence shortly."
The headline of the daily prophet and every hallway in the ministry now boasted a wanted poster of Harry Potter's face. Aurors had either been imperiused, like Dawlish, or replaced by death eaters. The shattered golden statue found itself replaced by a large stone ministry 'M' supported by horrifically realistic muggles, with the inscription magic is might on the side. Severus became the new headmaster of Hogwarts. A taboo jinx was set up so that uttering the Dark Lord's name would track the location of anyone foolish enough to say it. A muggle-born registry had been put in place to round them up into azkaban, and their wands would be confiscated and snapped. Many people disappeared into hiding. There was a new division of death eaters called snatchers who were tasked with finding people on the run, and the dementors left Azkaban to join the Dark Lord, resulting in thick portentous clouds smothering any remnants of summer weather.
Hermione was promoted to head of department under the Dark Lord's reign, with a much higher salary. She busied herself with the set up and management of the department to avoid the betrayed faces of her coworkers. But an instruction to produce papers on muggle-borns found her consulting Blenheim Stalk, the department's muggle expert.
Awkwardly, Hermione offered him a seat opposite her new desk, in the office she had only recently been interviewed in. She pushed forward the interdepartmental memo from Thicknesse:
Conduct and publish research proving that magic ability can only be passed down by wizarding parents, and subsequently that muggle-borns have inferior magical skill, since they have forcibly and unnaturally stolen magic. Expected ASAP.
"What research has already been done on this?"
Stalk read the memo wearily.
"Lots. There is no significant discrepancy between magical skill."
"That cant be true!" Hermione frowned.
"Well it is true, not that your kind will ever accept it." Stalk looked at her with disgust for a millisecond before masking it. He seemed to expect her to fire him if he stepped out of line.
Hermione cleared her throat, uncomfortable in her new position, and the dynamic between them.
"I'm sorry for using sleeping draught on you," she lowered her voice. "I'm sorry for everything- but you must understand it was nothing personal. I didn't have a choice."
The older unspeakable just bowed and left her office.
Every relevant document in the filing cabinets supported his judgement. Exam results, even from international wizarding schools, showed no difference between muggle-born and normal student's grades (Hermione had written all the data into a graph to analyse it, and triple checked it). Everything her parents and other slytherins said was untrue- clearly and repeatedly debunked. The evidence was incontrovertible. But her task was to prove the inferiority of muggle-borns. So she made up the data, producing fictitious hypotheses, experiments, and research reports, signing it and stamping it with the department's seal before walking up to Thicknesses office and handing it to him.
Level nine became miserably cold. Hermione carried bluebell flames around in a jar for warmth, and left at four in the evening with her cloak wrapped tightly around her, breath condensing visibly in the corridor. On her way out a shrill voice called from the staircase that led to the lower courtrooms. Unfortunately it's owner was Umbridge, who climbed the last two steps on stubby legs and strode towards her ex-student.
"Hermione Flint, you little inquisitor. Congratulations on your new job." The short woman smiled, eliciting very unpleasant memories of sixth year, not least missing out on proper defence against the dark arts lessons.
"Hello professor. Thank you."
Umbridge straightened her violently pink cardigan. "I have been promoted too- as decreed by the minister himself- to the head of the Wizengamot. It's such a chill in that courtroom. Dementors, of course. We keep them there for use after trials." Hermione felt sick and looked away from Umbridge's sadistic grin, noticing a green locket around her neck, before bidding her farewell and saying she had forgotten a briefcase in her office.
The unspeakable made it her mission to avoid Umbridge at work. She sat in the death chamber until 4:30 every day, waiting until the Wizengamot left.
The archway had begun to whisper to her now. Probably because she had witnessed someone passing to the other side. Hermione scanned her memories to find each person she had seen murdered in the atrium, and three blank dead sets of eyes drifted across her mind. Idly listing all the forms of dead souls provoked a memory of the Dark Lords words: Remember what has come to those who disobey me. They became corpses, portraits, ghosts, inferi... but the means justify the ends. It had to.
One day Hermione was organising filing cabinets- when a wailing alarm went off. She instructed her department to continue working and went to see what the commotion was about. Just as she reached the end of the hallway, Yaxley ran into her, cursing when the three wizards he was chasing gained distance from him. Bemused having been knocked to the floor, Hermione recognised a scarred face among the trio turning back- it was Harry Potter. Yaxley continued to run after them with Hermione behind. When they got to the atrium ministry employees leapt to the side or were pushed violently out of the way. Yaxley shut the closest fireplaces, but the trio lunged into one before it closed. They had nearly escaped when Yaxley grabbed hold of Brown's ankle and followed them through green flames.
Everyone was left stunned in the atrium, the only noise coming from wanted posters which were fluttering around, spreading Potter's black and white face over the floor.
The Dark Lord would be angry about this. Hermione could only be glad that catching Potter was outside of her jurisdiction. The minister arrived and instructed everyone back to their work. Umbridge stood dishevelled in the atrium, a hand on her chest where her locket used to be. Did Potter infiltrate the ministry just to steal it? They didn't seem to be carrying anything bulky, so they must have taken it.
Who puts their life in so much danger for a locket?
When Hermione got back from work, she thought it high time to stop overthinking and use the patented daydream charm purchased in Diagon alley. The dementor's chill had infected her heart, and she needed an escape. Taking off her cloak, she lay on her bed and cast the charm on herself. The only coherent thought in her head, as her eyelids grew heavy and a world assembled itself behind her eyes, was that this was really clever magic. Then she lost all touch with reality and fell willingly into what looked like a grand theatre in France. Narcissa's arm was linked with her own in the daydream, and Hermione felt like an accessory as her dream state walked through an opulent hallway into a booth.
They were at the opera, in a box overlooking the performers singing on stage and the french wizards in the audience below. All that was insignificant compared to Narcissa, who was crossing her legs to close the gap between their chairs, and trailing patterns with her fingertips on Hermione's knee. Her perfectly manicured nails wandered over Hermione's inner thigh, sending sparks right to her core. Hermione tore her eyes away from the opera and pressed their lips together, slipping her hands through blonde hair. The woman licked across her upper lip to gain entry and swirled her tongue around Hermione's, clutching her tight so their bodies were flush against each other. As they shared multifarious kisses, Hermione's moans turned to whimpers and she lost strength, and Narcissa became incensed by desire, covering her pliant companion's neck in kisses and love bites, and nibbling at her ear.
Hermione giggled and reached for her wine- but was intercepted by the older witch, who took a mouthful of the wine herself with a mischievous smile. She beckoned her to lean forward, took hold of her jaw, and prised her mouth open with an insistent thumb tugging down her bottom lip. When Narcissa was sure Hermione would keep still, she let the liquid flow from her lips into the open mouth below. Narcissa watched her neck intently as she swallowed, and wrapped a palm around it to feel the wine go inside.
"So pretty," she sighed and a small groan caught in her throat. Her voice became huskier. "Such a pretty dress I bought you." Narcissa stood over her and brought the younger witch's hand to the apex of her thighs, through the fabric of her dress. Hermione's face burned as Narcissa placed a heeled foot to her abandoned chair to allow greater access. She brought her dress over her knees and jutted into Hermione's palm with commanding rhythm. "How would you like to earn another one?"
The brunette lost the premise to that question as soon as she felt how hot Narcissa was through her lace underwear. But she would have agreed to anything at this point. She bit her lip and nodded.
"Good. Hold the chair, and try not to make too much noise."
Narcissa moved between her legs, leaning over to ghost her fingers over white-knuckled hands before kneeling down and pushing her dress out of the way. With a click of her fingers, Hermione's underwear was removed. Hermione gasped in shock at the cool air, but it quickly turned into a moan when her sex was covered by Narcissa's smirking mouth.
"Shhh," Narcissa's breath ghosted over her. She was gloating, even despite her own arousal, at how wet Hermione was already. "You're too easy... I think I'll make quick work of this."
Hermione blushed harder, attempting to scowl. The older witch stroked up her thighs and pushed them apart slightly.
"Spread yourself for me, darling." With a final wicked look, Narcissa laved her tongue between pink lips. She probed at the entrance before delving inside, tongue flitting against Hermione's slick walls. Narcissa deftly found her clit and sucked, looking up at her in the most obscenely lewd way. Hermione failed to bite back a mewl when the older witch swirled wet circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves. She set a steady pace and reached a hand up to squeeze a breast and toy with a nipple. Opera music swelled in the background as Narcissa pushed two slender fingers inside her, making Hermione inhale sharply and arch her back. Fingers curled deep, then withdrew to ram in again.
Hermione whimpered helplessly, fisting a hand in her dress to ground herself, unable to move her shuddering hips with a vice-like hand still holding her thighs open.
"Cissa," she managed to cry out, "Ah! Fuck, I'm close."
Narcissa hummed against her clit, sending vibrations right to her gut, and made her thrusts tortuously slow, curling her fingers harder and pressing her tongue flat against her clit. A couple of sure thrusts brought Hermione over the edge with a strangled moan. Narcissa coaxed her through the after shocks before standing with a self-satisfied smirk, lipstick smudged, leaning over her to kiss her again. It was more intense this time, laced with heady, desperate passion as Hermione tasted herself on Narcissa's lips.
Hermione awoke from her daydream uttering a real gasp in embarrassed pleasure. It was late. She quickly cleaned herself up and got changed to sleep, hoping her dreams would remove the lingering arousal and guilt of her orgasm.