Chapter 98: Monday, May 6, 2002

"Information is the resolution of uncertainty."

-Claude Shannon

"And we're sure this will work?" Remus asked for what Hermione thought was probably the thirtieth time this morning.

"No one knows you're here," she explained again with all the patience of someone who hadn't gone over the plan upwards of a dozen times already. She gave him an encouraging smile as she placed a cup of steaming tea in front of him, "Last it was known, Remus Lupin was killed on May second nineteen ninety eight. Penelope will be your supervisor and, obviously, she knows who you are. She's assured us that no one else will have much contact with you in the archive offices."

"And the cursed scars won't be a dead giveaway?" Remus deadpanned.

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at his sarcastic tone, "You mean like the cursed scar you've probably forgotten I have that takes up the entirety of my left forearm?"

"I haven't forgotten…" he muttered, sounding rather petulant in Hermione's opinion.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took the spot next to him, sipping at her own mug. "I've become rather proficient with glamour charms, thank you."

"You're welcome," a voice called from the kitchen.

Pansy Parkinson sauntered in, a plate of eggs and toast in her hand as she sat across from them. "If it weren't for me, you'd still have that hideous thing taking up your arm and just like I taught her how to hide that monstrosity," she pointed to Hermione's arm with her fork, "I'm going to teach you how to glamour this—" she wiggled her fingers on her free hand, motioning to Remus' face "—away so no one will notice them."

"But, isn't a face quite difficult to glamour so heavily? I know hiding bags under your eyes is one thing, Lily used to do it all the time in school, but it's not like this is just a discolouration from lack of sleep," Remus pointed out.

"Maybe not," Pansy agreed, "But do you honestly think any respectable pureblood witch doesn't know how to glamour away scars?" She raised a pointed eyebrow at him and took a bite of eggs before continuing, "It was practically part of our etiquette training before we even reached Hogwarts age."

"You had etiquette training?" Remus said, poorly hiding a snort of laughter.

Pansy glared at him, "You are not my professor anymore, Remus, which means I will gladly hex that mouth of yours shut."

"If you think you can do it, I happily invite you to try. But, I'd like to remind you that I grew up with Sirius Black and James Potter and my defensive reflexes are quite quick," he responded with a smirk.

Pansy's eyes flashed with something akin to mischief and Hermione caught the movement as she pulled her wand.

"Okay!" Hermione said, placing a hand over Remus' already extended wand arm. "Okay, that's enough. It's a little early in the morning for hexing housemates, isn't it?"

Remus barked out a laugh and dropped his wand, leaning over to press a kiss to the side of Hermione's face, "I suppose you're right."

"You two are disgusting," Pansy grumbled, wrinkling her nose up as she tucked into her eggs again.

"I've caught you and Justin doing far more than kissing a cheek in this very room," Hermione said, eyebrows raised.

Pansy gave a very unabashed shrug and continued to eat as Remus chuckled.

"So, you've picked out a name?" Hermione asked, turning back to Remus. "Bill is coming by soon with the documents you'll need. He'll add the name once he gets here."

"John Hywel," Remus answered.

"Hue-well? What kind of name is that?" Pansy snorted.

"Erm, english pronunciation is closer to Howell," Remus explained.

"Howell? Like, Howl?" Pansy laughed, "You've got to be joking. You're a werewolf named after a wolf and you get to pick a new name and you go with another wolf name? Bit on the mark, isn't it?"

"It was his mother's maiden name." Hermione cut in, "Although now that you mention it.."

"Let's not get too wrapped up in the irony of my name, yeah? Believe me, Sirius and James spent a lot of time taking the piss about it and I'd prefer not to go over it again."

Hermione smiled fondly at him, patting his hand before pressing on. "You don't think anyone at the Ministry will recognize the name, do you?"

"Of my muggle Welsh mother? No, I don't. My dad's been retired for over 25 years in this time and mum's been...well, she's been gone over twenty. I don't see why anyone would look into it. Besides, it's a common enough name."

"If you're sure," Hermione agreed, squeezing his hand lightly. She had not missed the way his eyes brightened slightly or the trail of his speech when he mentioned Hope. She knew it was still raw for him—honestly, it was for her as well.

"Your mum was a muggle with a werewolf son? Must have been difficult for her," Pansy said.

"His mum was a lovely woman with a lovely son, what's difficult about that?" Hermione challenged, pursing her lips.

"Fair enough," Pansy placated, patting a napkin to her lips. "My mum was a horrid woman with a blood-traitor daughter, I can feel the earth move from her rolling in her grave just sitting at the table with you two." She smirked, "It's quite satisfying, honestly."

Remus snorted a laugh and shook his head at the mischievous grin Pansy shot him.

"Anyway," she continued, "When you're ready to fix that face of yours, come find me. I think I'm going to go wake Justin and go over some of the charms I've been working on."

With that, Pansy picked up her plate, only half eaten, and headed back into the kitchen before jogging up the stairs.

In the years since the battle at Hogwarts, Hermione had grown fond of Pansy. Sure, she had made the suggestion to turn Harry over to Voldemort but she had been scared. They all had been terrified. She wasted no time in following Draco's footsteps and coming to The Order for help. She had proven herself exceptionally skilled in transfiguration, something Hermione chalked up to the extensive knowledge of human transfiguration through glamour charms.

A year after they had established this new version of The Order, Pansy and Justin had declared they were an item. And, together, they became animagi. In her younger years, Hermione shuddered at the thought of housing two wanted, un-registered animagi. But, having Pansy as a raven and Justin as a red squirrel had proven to be incredibly useful in gathering information and confirming locations of Death Eater camps without getting any more of their already small numbers killed.

"I like her," Remus hummed.

Hermione let out a puff of laughter, "I do too, it took some time to warm her up to the thought of being surrounded by Gryffindors, but she gets along nicely with everyone for the most part."

A comfortable silence settled between them and Hermione found herself feeling nervous. When she and Harry had made the realization that they could utilize Remus within the Ministry, she had been so certain it was the right decision. But, now, as they waited for Bill to arrive with the falsified documents proving Remus' lineage, she wondered if it was as solid a plan as originally thought. She knew he was happy to be helping, doing something other than reading through books he'd surely read before and listening to others be sent out on assignments but knowing he wouldn't be here with her, where she knew he was safe…

"I'll be fine," he whispered, as if reading her mind.

"Who said you wouldn't?"

He raised his eyebrows as he turned to look at her, "It's not the first time I've seen that look on your face, love. I'll be okay. This isn't going into a den of hostile werewolves."

"I know," she sighed.

"But?"

Hermione laced her fingers through Remus' and laid her head on his shoulder, pressing a light kiss into the material of the button down shirt he had borrowed from George.

"But...I knew then that no matter what, you would be okay. Maybe not necessarily unharmed, but that you would make it out alive. Because I had already met you years before, so I knew you had to have lived through all of that. Now it's all...well, it's all unknown isn't it? The Ministry is crawling with Death Eaters and sympathizers—I just don't want you to get hurt."

He buried his face into her hair, his lips kissing her scalp a few times as he dropped her hand in favour of wrapping her into a tight hug. "I'll be okay. You trust Penelope, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"And you trust me?"

"Yes, of course, but—"

"Then there's nothing to worry about. I'd rather be doing something useful to help and Merlin only knows what kind of information I could scrape up in the archives of the Ministry."

"You're right," Hermione said.

"Of course I am, I'm incredibly clever."

Hermione laughed, her head falling back a bit. When her giggles died down, she was met with Remus' lips pressing to her own. She sighed into the kiss, feeling some of the nervous energy leave her body. She had missed this side of him—this playful, fun side. She had rarely seen it before but every moment she spent in its company, she adored.

"What's gotten into you?" she asked, the question swallowed by his lips.

"Screaming at the top of my voice in the woods with Luna apparently put some shit into perspective for me," he whispered, punctuating each word with a small kiss. "I don't think James and Lily and Sirius would be happy with me if I came to find you only to be moping about pissing on and on about how they're dead. It's better to be useful, I think."

Remus had never been to this level of the Ministry. Once a year he was required by Wizarding Law to visit the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on level four to complete his yearly registration as a werewolf. If he were being honest, he didn't even realize there was a level ten. Although, that wasn't entirely his fault seeing as he couldn't take the elevator straight to the level.

Penelope met him in the Atrium when he arrived through the telephone box in London. Thankfully, Madam Rosmerta had agreed to allow him to use the floo in the back room of The Three Broomsticks to get to The Leaky Cauldron, and from there, he apparated to the sketchy back alley of a run down shop he knew to be located across from the entrance. While the commute wasn't desirable, it was better than risking a nasty splinching from apparating from Scotland to London every day.

He took the phone box to level eight, where Penelope was noticeable amongst the bustle of employees. She stood, straight backed, with a book in hand and her glasses perched on her nose. There wasn't a blonde strand out of place from her perfectly sculpted bun and having only met Percy as an adult a handful of times, he could see that they were clearly well suited.

"I'll get your measurements for your Ministry robes as soon as we get to my office," she said, approaching him with her hand outstretched. "Penelope Clearwater."

"Re-John Hywel," Remus returned, internally cursing his slip up. "Thanks."

"You're to be here Monday through Thursday by nine sharp. Please don't be late. I've been begging for an assistant for months, if you're tardy, they'll never trust me to hire anyone again."

"Yeah, of course," he nodded.

"You'll need to take your paperwork confirming your blood status—"

"Oh, I have that."

She gave him a severe look for his interruption and he quickly closed his mouth.

"As I was saying, you'll need to take your paperwork confirming your blood status to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on level two. From there you'll go to the Muggleborn and Blood Purity Registration Commission in office six."

She led him to a door that opened to a stairwell on the far side of the Atrium. Once the heavy oak slammed shut behind him, she rounded, crowding into his space and quickly casting a muffling charm.

"Listen, we can not break cover here, do you understand? Percy assured me you are intelligent, so I need to make sure you understand—The Ministry is completely on their side. We will not stand a chance if they know there are even a handful of us within these walls. They will hunt us down and kill us one by one. You need to be on your guard at all times when you are here. You are not Remus, you are John. You are a halfblood from Wales who spent your school years being homeschooled and then worked abroad as a researcher. You will not under any circumstances slip up to anyone while you are here. If that means that you eat lunch alone at your desk every day, then that is what you will do. Furthermore, you will not speak of the resistance or the members that we are in contact with at all. Do I make myself clear?"

For a woman who was at least a head shorter than him while wearing very sharp looking heels, she was terrifying in the fierceness with which she spoke. Under the urgency and demand in her tone, he could see it, however, the fear that festered beneath the layers of carefully thought out phrases.

Remus swallowed and nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, crystal clear."

"Good," with a flourish, she cancelled the muffling charm and continued down the stairs as if nothing had happened at all.

The Muggleborn and Blood Purity Registration Commission was disgusting.

Remus sat in a chair that was made for a much smaller man, and stared in disbelief around the office. The walls were plastered with pamphlets and posters that held so much anti-muggleborn propaganda, he felt nauseous. A large, violently purple brochure was open on the table next to him that read: How To Tell If A Muggle Has Stolen Your Magic and Other Helpful Tips to Protect Your Blood Purity. He found it difficult to tear his eyes away from a suspiciously familiar caricature of a muggleborn girl with large, brown hair and he swallowed back the urge to rip the bloody thing to shreds.

"Highwull, John."

Remus tore his eyes away from the pamphlet and looked up, "It's Howell," he grabbed the pamphlet from the table, "Can I take this?"

The old witch behind the desk gave a sickening smile, "Of course, dear. Always smart to stay well informed."

"Yeah, thanks."

"You have your registration forms ready or are you here to get blank forms?"

"I have them," Remus said, digging the papers from the inside pocket of his cloak. He stood and crossed the space, handing the slightly wrinkled pages to the woman.

"Okay, just a few charms to check them over, and we'll need to see your wand of course."

"M-my wand?" Remus stammered.

"Yes, dear. All standard procedure, you understand. Do you know the dimensions off hand?"

"Yeah, of-of course," Remus tried to get his breathing under control as he pulled his wand from the holster on his forearm. He had not been prepared to turn his wand over. Could they tell that it belonged to a dead man? With a deep breath, he pushed on, "Cypress, ten and one quarter inch, unicorn hair, pliant."

"Unicorn hair? That's interesting."

"Is it?" Remus asked, a bubble of nervous laughter escaping him.

"We don't see many in here that are your age with Unicorn hair these days. Dragon Heartstring seems to be all the rage! Although, I suppose it comes and goes. I remember a time when Thestral hair was popular, but to hear of that now is most rare!"

"Oh, right."

She examined the wand for a moment before pulling out her own and casting a series of spells over it. Seemingly satisfied, she handed it back to Remus and began casting charms over the documents. Remus watched, his heart beating so loud he felt deafened by it. The parchment glowed bright blue, then purple, then red and Remus thought he would pass out. Red was bad, wasn't it? Surely, red glowing documents meant they were false and he would be arrested. He began to check over his shoulder, looking to see how many strides it would take for him to flee from the office when the woman confirmed that he was a fraud.

"Oh, well that is peculiar…"

"W-what is?" Remus coughed, trying like hell to remain calm.

The woman looked up from papers and smiled at him, "No formal schooling! How interesting. Do you find that you fare well?"

The breath of relief that escaped him was strong enough to be classified as a gale force wind, he was sure of it. "My father was a bit of a traditionalist," Remus mumbled, trying to reel in his racing breaths. "He's from America and wanted me to attend Ilvermorny or nothing at all. So, I learned from home."

"Ah well, everyone thinks their school is the best, don't they? I went to Hogwarts, of course, but that was many moons ago. I have a cousin that attended Durmstrang, though. He sent all of his children there as well."

He listened to the woman prattle on as she copied the documents, scanning her wand over the parchment and transferring the information to a crisp, clean sheet. Finally, after about ten minutes, she finished and handed the original document back to Remus.

"There you are, dear. All done! Good luck on your new job!"

"Thanks," Remus murmured, snatching the parchments from her hand before making his way back to the main lobby of level two.

He walked with quick steps toward the elevator, his heart still pounding furiously in his chest. He could not believe the documents passed the test, that his wand hadn't been a dead give away. He needed to remember to thank Bill and figure out whatever spells he used to falsify that information. That knowledge seemed like it would certainly come in handy one day.

He crowded into the back of the lift and gripped the strap that hung from the ceiling. He had long ago discovered that being as tall as he was would garner him some unwanted attention, but standing in a lift full of people where he seemed to take up the entire space, was most unwelcome. Not to mention the leather straps smacked against his head and the paper planes that housed interdepartmental memos were making it their personal duty to attack him.

Remus made the mental note to ask Hermione about one of those special muscle strengthening solutions. If it would help his knees not creak and grind with every step, he would take that every day and just take the stairs. He could do with a bit of exercise as it was, anyway.

He stepped out of the lift when it reached level nine, and he was the last one inside. Level nine was dark, and casted with a strange blue light that came from the sconces on the walls. To the left of the door that led to the department of Mysteries was a narrow door labeled "Level Ten". Remus pushed through it and took the stairs down into the bowels of the Ministry, where he was to spend four days a week at a desk sorting through old files.

The archives office was okay, he had decided. He hadn't much opportunity to really look around before Penelope sent him up to level two to handle his registration, but he liked what he had seen so far. He was given his very own office, which was little more than a broom cupboard with a desk shoved into it, but it had his name on the door and that brought with it some strange sort of pride he didn't know he harboured.

He knocked on the door to Penelope's office to find it silent on the other side. She seemed to be constantly moving and busy, so this wasn't much a surprise to Remus. He'd known the woman for four hours and could tell that she was absolutely a perfectionist when it came to her job and she left no stone unturned and cut no corners.

He sat behind his desk and picked up the note that was waiting for him in the center of it.

John,

Went to lunch a bit early. Please work on sorting and filing Archives 1036-1087. You will find that there is some interesting information that may require your expertise.

Penelope.

Remus read the note several times over, confused to what expertise he could offer an expert archivist, but got up and made his way to the file room. Inside, it was lined with hundreds of cabinets all labeled with numbers going into the thousands. There didn't seem to be much of a system and Remus idly wondered if he should do more research on the Muggle library system to organize a bit more. The Dewey Decimal System seemed to serve muggles well and if he could implement something along those lines here, it would only make his life a little easier.

After fifteen minutes of searching, Remus found the correct cabinet and pulled the files that Penelope had indicated. She had explained earlier that much of his job would simply just be data checking. Making sure that the files were in good condition, that any documents that were supposed to be signed were, in fact, signed and overall maintenance of the archives.

He lugged the files back to his desk and began flipping through the pages. After an hour or so, he finally recognized the pattern.

Files containing registration of naturally born metamorphmagi had been signed out daily for the last thirty days. Each file contained the birth record—and if applicable, a death record—of every metamorphmagus born in the last century.

Interesting, indeed.

.

.

a/n: *dramatic music* the plot thickens

I hope you liked this one!

xo

mimi