The witch's lips curled into a sneer as she looked Hermione up and down. Smiling disparagingly, she glanced back down at the piece of parchment. "I am afraid that you would not be a good fit as an assistant at Twilfitt and Tattings, Miss Granger."
Hermione's cheeks reddened. "I can assure you that I have ample experience working directly with clients and with formal procedures, Madam," she said obstinately. "I may not have worked in a clothing store directly, but—."
"Be that as it may, Twilfitt and Tattings is currently looking for different qualities in their assistants," the woman said overly sweetly. Smiling, she handed the parchment back to Hermione. "Perhaps another store?"
She grounded her teeth. "I can understand, Madam. Thank you for your consideration."
Turning away, Hermione opened the door brusquely and headed into the warm afternoon enveloping Diagon Alley. Stopping outside the polished exterior of the high-end clothing store, marred only by a few torn posters bearing the portrait of the old Minister for Magic, she forced herself to breathe in deeply. Her first picks, The Ministry Press and Obscurus Books, had rejected her three days ago. The stores she had applied to afterwards hadn't offered her any change in luck, deeming her as either overqualified or not the right fit.
Scowling, she glanced down at her wristwatch. It was nearly four in the afternoon, the time Mrs Weasley had set for dinner, but she still had time to try to try her luck in at least another shop.
Gripping the strap of her beaded bag, Hermione resumed her way through Diagon Alley, keeping to its less crowded edges until she reached Knockturn Alley. Biting her lip, she only hesitated briefly before stepping into the dim and dour street. Walking briskly, she eyed her surroundings carefully, fingers brushing the wand held within the holster at her wrist.
She had just passed by The Starry Prophesier when she saw a sign reading 'Assistant Required' hanging in Borgin and Burkes' window.
Clenching her fists, Hermione forced herself to walk forwards. She wanted nothing to do with the ill-reputed shop, but she needed to pay her rent. Whatever reaction she received couldn't be any worse than the ones she had already been given.
A bell rang as she pushed the door open. Bookshelves lined the store's walls, stopping short of the narrow staircase at its far back. A number glass cabinets filled the space between them, their insides cluttered with a myriad of labelled objects. The air was stagnant and musty, with the faintest trace of what she knew to be sulphur.
"Excuse me?" Hermione called.
No one answered. Hermione further into the store, ready to call out again when the floorboards of the floor above her creaked. Soon, the steps of the staircase at the far back were groaning under the weight of a wizard Hermione quickly recognized as Eadgar Borgin.
"Miss Granger," he said gruffly, walking deliberately towards her.
He had barely changed since she had last seen him years ago, when he had kicked her out of the shop. His hair, dark and oily, stuck to the sides of his head as he stooped forwards. "I wanted to ask about the job opening," Hermione asked tersely.
"The job opening?" Borgin repeated.
"Yes. I saw the sign and wanted to apply for the position."
"I can imagine you saw it," the old wizard said cuttingly. His mouth twisted downwards. "I remember you, Miss Granger; both you, and what you have done in the past. Why would a witch such as yourself be interested in the position I seek to cover?
Straightening her back, Hermione looked straight at the stooping man. "I didn't know my reasons were important," she bit back. "I am interested in applying. Isn't that enough?"
Borgin's expression twisted further. "I value my employees, Miss Granger."
Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair and looked away from the greying wizard's eyes. "I have recently come to a situation in the Ministry that has forced me to start looking for a secondary job," she explained. "A part-time shop assistant position would be ideal."
"What sort of situation are we talking about?"
"The terms and conditions of my position within the Ministry of Magic have recently been changed. The salary won't be enough to cover my expenses anymore." Breathing in, Hermione opened her beaded bag and reached for the piece of folded parchment she had been carrying since starting her job hunt. "Would I be able to use my curriculum to apply for the job opening?"
Borgin's eyebrows rose. "Curriculum? I have no interest in your job experience or N.E.W.T. Results, Miss Granger. What Borgin and Burkes looks for in employees is different from what the Ministry and other Diagon Alley shops are interested in." He paused and squinted his eyes, regarding her again. "Not since Caractacus Burke has this been a normal establishment. N.E.W.T. Results can only go so far. What can you offer me, Miss Granger?"
"How will you be able to tell without looking at my past experience?"
"I can imagine perfectly well what your results were, Miss Granger. I even have some idea of what your role at the Ministry entailed. I'm afraid, however, that in hiring individuals I strive to look beyond such official results." Frowning, Borgin gestured at the objects on the tables around them. "I am looking for someone capable of independent thought and reasoning. Someone who is capable of enough focus and dedication to both know the merchandise we trade with and deal with the customers that depend on Borgin and Burkes."
Nodding, Hermione glanced at the area around her. It wasn't anything like the other stores in Diagon Alley. It was strange and cluttered, with the tell-tale, lingering remains of dark magic in the air. Sinister and unusual, it was located in a street that was nothing but dangerous.
Still… she thought, balling her fists, I don't have a choice.
A few seconds went by before she finally replied. "I am excellent at research," she said confidently. "I can memorise and discover just about anything, no matter what it may be. I know for a fact that out of the other employees working at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures I was the one with the best results. The text in the drafts of most of our recent project laws were my work."
The older man rubbed his chin. "I see," he said thoughtfully, after a few moments of silence. "Perhaps you may have what it takes to fulfil the position of an assistant at Borgin and Burkes, Miss Granger, though I still find it surprising that you would be interested in a store such as this over some of the more open ones at Diagon Alley."
Her eyes widened. "You do?" she asked, feeling her grip on the piece of parchment she had taken out of her beaded bag slip. "Why?"
"No matter what our previous encounters may have been like, Miss Granger, or what your previous affiliations to the Ministry may say of you, it is plainly clear that you have what it takes to succeed in a position here."
Borgin frowned. Feeling shocked, Hermione watched as he turned around and walked to the shop counter. Picking up a quill, he leant forwards and scrawled her name near the bottom of a piece of parchment, next to his own.
"What is your reply, Miss Granger," he asked, looking back at her. "Would you be interested in working at Borgin and Burkes?"
o-o-o
The smell of the food Molly had prepared was still filling the air by the time the family broke apart and went their own way, with the matriarch joining Lavender and Ginny at The Burrow's garden. Hermione followed her friends to the sofas set by the fireplace, preparing herself to reveal just where it was that she had managed to find a job.
A pair of eager looks fixed on her as soon as they sat down close together. "So, you managed to find a job already, Hermione?" Ron asked.
"Just before coming here. It's part-time, in a store near Diagon Alley. I'll be working three times a week." Hermione bit her lip. "There's another wizard working full-time, but I don't know who it is yet."
"That's good, at least." The redhead smiled. "You'll be taking the position the ministry offered then?"
"Most likely," Hermione said grimly. "There is more going on than meets the eye. I can't give everything up and ignore it, not now."
Harry leant forwards. "What store is it?" he asked.
"You probably won't like it." Hermione's eyes darted to her friend's nervously. "It's in Knockturn Alley—Borgin and Burkes."
"Borgin and Burkes?" he asked incredulously.
"Out of every store I applied to, Borgin was the only one to take me seriously. The only one," she said angrily.
Harry pressed his lips together, unhappy. "I know, Hermione, but the people that man knows…"
"I am as unhappy about it as you are, believe me," Hermione said. "Every other storeowner just offered apologies or insulted me on account of being muggleborn. Only Borgin—." She breathed in deeply, attempting to calm herself down. "He didn't even allude to the war."
Ron's eyes widened. "They dared?"
"It's unbelievable." Harry exclaimed, dropping himself back onto the sofa. "This entire thing's unbelievable. You're the best student to have come out of Hogwarts in decades. For them to treat you like that is—."
Hermione remained silent as Harry talked on, feeling grateful for her friends' righteous anger. "The amount he offered as pay surprised me," she said, once things had gone quiet. Leaning back into the sofa, she thought back to the storeowner's offer. "It's more than the Ministry; if I were to work full-time it'd amount to more than the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures paid me before."
"There must be a catch," Ron said. He scoffed. "It's hardly believable. If anyone's a worm it's Borgin."
"Apparently, he believes it necessary to ensure employee loyalty and dedication. I imagine it's to do with their business practices."
"Loyalty?" he huffed. "He provided information on collaborators as soon as Voldemort was out of the picture. It's the only reason the Ministry tolerates him."
"I know," Hermione said softly, "but, if it were true, I can see the logic of it. It's far better in order to ensure you have happy employees." Pausing, she regarded the fire burning within the chimney. "I can still remember some of the trials he declared at, though."
"I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that," Harry said, looking down. His expression soured. "On that topic, can you remember Festus Pyrites?" he asked softly, frowning deeply.
Hermione nodded. She didn't think she'd ever be able to forget how Minister Pius Thicknesse had raged at the Death Eater upon his providing evidence at his trial, or how that very same man had acted as a key witness against his own ex-colleagues. He had been offered a handsome deal by the Auror Office in exchange. At least, that was what the Daily Prophet had reported.
Ron leant forwards. "What happened?"
"Robards has declared the entire matter to be classified but…" Harry muttered, looking away. "He was reported missing three days ago. There was no sign of a struggle in his house; no broken furniture, no signs of spell damage, no blood… Nothing. The ministry wards didn't pick up anything. He's nowhere to be seen."
Hermione's eyebrows rose. "Missing?" she repeated. "With Death Eaters still avoiding capture that's—." Unbidden, the image of Dolohov's form flashed through her mind, and she looked away from her friends with a scowl. Could he have…?
"Hermione?" asked Ron worriedly.
"It's nothing, just—." She breathed in. "I hadn't told either of you this yet, but the other day, when I returned to my flat, Antonin Dolohov was waiting for me inside."
"Dolohov?" Ron said incredulously. "Bloody hell, what did he do?"
"How did he break in? Are you sure it's safe?" Harry asked anxiously. "What did he do?"
"Nothing beyond petrifying me," Hermione said breathlessly. "He said that he was there to make an offer to me. A deal. Once he left I casted detection charms and redid my wards—nothing. I'm still not fully sure how he got in."
"Are you sure?"
Hermione nodded. "He also left me this." Reaching to her beaded bag, she rummaged through it and pulled out the book Dolohov had given her. Its title, Full History, Cases, Applications, and Variants of the Memory Charm glistened under the warm light of the room. "I don't know how he got to know about my parents, but it's clean."
Harry drew his wand and cast a series of charms and counter-curses before grabbing hold of the book. "A book. He really just gave you a book." Glancing at it suspiciously, he opened and flicked through the pages quickly. "This doesn't look legal," he muttered. "I wonder where he got it from."
Hermione nodded. She had read the strange book already, though still not in as much detail as she could have. It was a rare volume on memory charms—one of the best she had ever seen. Though more historical than practical, it branched into some lesser-known variations of the charm which had gone unmentioned in other books she had read.
"It's a commentary on memory charms. As far as I can tell it's been out of print for decades," she finally said. "Its ownership is not illegal per se, but its production and sale are a different matter."
"There must be something more to this," Ron said with a scowl. "Dolohov is—. You can't believe this is all there is, Hermione."
"I don't," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I can't understand why he appeared like he did and offered me a deal just like that, but there must be more to this."
Ron nodded. "The bank accounts and Pyrites," he mused, turning to meet Harry's eyes. "Do you think he's involved?"
"He must be, he was one of the most loyal Death Eaters around. He never denied his involvement with Voldemort. He didn't even attempt the Imperius defence," Harry said forcibly. His frown deepened, and he looked at Hermione gravelly. "Did he say what he wanted in exchange?"
"He did; two pieces of information—one for each of my parents," Hermione confirmed. "He didn't specify about what exactly, but he gave me that book after stating his terms."
"What I don't understand," Ron began to say, "is how he knows about your parents. Did someone at St. Mungo's talk about it? Is someone collaborating with Death Eaters?"
"I'm not sure," she said quietly, shaking her head. "I have an appointment with Alix MacMillan again tomorrow. An update, apparently. Perhaps I'll get to discover something then." Judging by the letter the owl had delivered it hadn't seemed too serious, but one could never tell with official communications.
Harry's frown deepened. "You must be careful, Hermione, especially with your parents. Dolohov hasn't done anything yet, but if he so much as gets a chance he'll—."
The tell-tale taps of an owl's beak against a window rang across the empty living room. The three of them turned sharply to face it, confused at the abrupt intrusion of the bird.
"An owl?" Ron stood up. "At this time of the day?"
"I've never seen it before."
Neither had Hermione, for that matter; not such a large, brown owl. Yet there it was, perched on the windowsill. "It has a parcel," she said, looking at the wrapped box held between the bird's talons.
"Was your family was expecting mail, Ron?" Harry asked tersely.
"Not that I know. Mum didn't mention anything."
He stood up and walked towards the window. The bird flew into the room as soon as it had been opened and dropped a large box onto his hands. It didn't land on any furniture, and, turning smoothly mid-air, it flew back out.
Ron walked back towards them. "It's quite heavy," he said.
Harry drew his wand and casted a number of spells silently, some unfamiliar to Hermione. A full minute went by. "Nothing," he said. "There are no curses on the box or its contents."
"Should we open it?" Ron asked, looking at the box suspiciously.
"Yes, just to make sure it's safe. If it's a delivery for Mr or Mrs Weasley we can apologize later."
Harry and Hermione leant forwards as Ron tore the coarse brown wrapping paper open, revealing the strange package to be nothing but a simple delivery box. The redhead pulled its lid open in a single, fluid move which stopped at the sight of a pile of feathers.
"They're covering something," Harry said.
Ron tore through the remaining wrapping paper. Slowly, the patchy and prickled skin of what unmistakably was a featherless owl came into view. It was covered in dried splotches of blood.
Hermione's eyes darted towards the carcass of the dead animal. Her heart began to race. Pigwidgeon. That is definitely Pigwidgeon, she thought. "Ron?"
Her friend didn't respond. Standing up abruptly, box in hand, he strode out of the living room. Behind him, Harry followed.
o-o-o-o-o
St Mungo's fourth floor wasn't too different from its foyer. The crowd of wizards filling the bright room was sparse, with only a few sporting disfigurements or obvious spell damage. Around them, healers in lime-green robes walked between groups of people, asking questions and making notes on clipboards.
Readjusting the strap of her bag, Hermione began to walk down the single corridor, directing herself towards Section B of the Janus Thickey Ward. She navigated the different turns automatically, not needing to think about her destination after years of visits. A young witch, slender and with dark, brown hair, was standing outside Alix MacMillan's office by the time she arrived. It was Tracey Davis—the assistant who had, quite by chance, been assigned to the healer in charge of her parent's case.
Her old schoolmate smiled sweetly. "Granger? You're early today."
"I am," Hermione said, nodding stiffly, "Is it alright? I can wait if necessary."
"Don't worry about it. Healer MacMillan's expecting you."
Davis turned and opened the office door. Hermione followed behind her, entering the now-familiar room.
It had changed very little since her first meeting with the healer almost five years prior, upon her return from Australia following the war. Though small, it was deceptively spacious, with its white floor and walls giving the illusion of space that truly didn't exist. A single bookshelf stood at a side, filled with magical periodicals specialised in the healing arts. Besides it, at the room's centre, a birch desk with two small plush chairs in front of it occupied the majority of the space. It was here that Alix MacMillan—the mother of the boy who had been in her year—was sitting. Her hair, as blonde as her year mate's, was kept in a neat knot at the back of her head.
Alix MacMillan smiled as she entered the room, her expression gentle and welcoming despite her tense posture. "Ah, Miss Granger. I was hoping to see you."
Hermione sat in front of the healer. Behind her, Tracey Davis closed the door and moved to stand at one of the room's sides. "I was told you there had been news?"
"Ah, yes. There has been an update in your parent's case."
"An update?"
"Yes, though I'm afraid it isn't good news, Miss Granger." Alix smiled gently. "A review of the long-term cases managed by this department took place recently. There is no easy way to say this, but I am afraid this review included your parents' case."
"Included them?" The palms of her hand began to get clammy. "In what way?"
The healer pursed her lips. "It has been decided that your parents' case is to be discontinued, Miss Granger."
"Discontinued?" Hermione cried. "I thought they were making progress after the examination that was done last month!"
"I dislike the decision that has been taken but given the fact that they are muggles and, medically-speaking, functioning perfectly, it has been decided that there is no case to be examined at all." Alix MacMillan shook her head. "The heads of the hospital are all terribly sorry, but the case has been too much of a drain on St. Mungo's resources."
"Is there any way to appeal this decision?"
"I am afraid not, Miss Granger," Alix said softly. Somewhere behind her, Tracey Davis moved to stand beside her. "The decision to examine these cases was undertaken in light of a change in policy owing to the cuts in funding. Only witches and wizards may be treated at St. Mungo's for a period of time exceeding four years."
Hermione leaned back. Blinking rapidly, she looked up at the office's pristine ceiling. Distantly, she noticed her hectic, fast breaths. "Why?" she finally managed to ask, after a few seconds had gone by. "That's hardly—."
"Miss Granger," the healer interrupted, her voice the same modulated and pleasant voice as before. She bent forwards and rested her elbows on the desk. "It isn't a matter of how the case has progressed. Were they were wizards it would be different, but given how nothing has worked until now…"
The older woman stopped. Turning to face Tracey Davis, she gestured something slowly. Her schoolmate nodded and picked up a folder filled with parchment, which she handed to Hermione with a smile.
"I am very sorry, Miss Granger, I truly am, but there is nothing we can do," the healer continued. "Given the situation, I suggest you consider yourself lucky that they can function normally in society. The strength of the memory charm they suffered was considerable."
"I wasn't informed of this. To change the state of the case after so long—." Hermione's hands tensed around the folder. "What am I supposed to do?"
"The folder Tracey has given you contains all of the research we undertook related to your parents, as well as the information pertaining to their case. Protocol dictates we destroy it given the discontinuation of the case, but we thought it would be better for you to have it." Alix MacMillan smiled and gestured at it. "I hope it is of use to you, should you decided to continue investigating the matter by yourself."
Forcing herself to breathe in slowly, Hermione looked back at the healer. "Is there is something that can be done? There must be a way to have the case reinstated."
"Like I said, Miss Granger, I am truly sorry; but the decision has been made." The older woman leaned back into her chair. "I hope that you manage to find a cure for the memory charm you cast during the war, though you should know that, at this point, my professional opinion is that recovery is unlikely."
Hermione rose from her seat. "How dare you?"
Alix raised her hands, as if attempting to pacify her. "I merely stated my professional opinion as a healer, Miss Granger. However much I regret it, there is nothing more to discuss that isn't contained within that folder." Turning her body more fully she looked at Tracey Davis, impassive at her side, and gestured towards the door. "If you could call the next patient in, Miss Davis? Thank you."
Hermione felt her heart drop. "Thank you for your help," she forced herself to say. She wouldn't give up. There was bound to be something she could do.
Pressing her folder against her chest, she began to walk towards the office's door. Besides her, Tracey Davis followed, silent. Stopping abruptly, she turned back towards the healer as a single unbidden thought flashed through her mind.
Dolohov had known about her parent's case.
Alix smiled, but the impatience building underneath was clear. "Yes, Miss Granger? Is there something else you wish to ask?"
Hermione gathered her thoughts enough to ask the question that had tormented her since the Death Eater had appeared in her flat. "Do I have a guarantee that the details concerning the case have been kept secret?"
"Of course, Miss Granger. All details pertaining to the cases St. Mungo's handles are treated with utmost confidentiality," the healer answered drily. "Only Davis and I have had full access to the case."
Hermione's eyes widened. That couldn't be true, or, if it was, it only meant that Dolohov had found a different way to access the information. The only question was how. Did the fugitive Death Eaters have a way to enter St. Mungo's undetected, or were employees passing on information?
Not giving away any of her inner turmoil, she nodded silently and opened the door. She walked back through the corridors absentmindedly, only distantly aware of how the crowds of people going through the fourth floor. Barely noticing the lift's downwards movement, she pressed the folder against her chest and resumed her way out of St. Mungo's in a daze that lasted until she had exited building completely.
A lump caught in Hermione's throat. Drawing in a shaky breath, she felt for her bag and placed the folder inside it. Breathing in deeply, she forced herself to think through Healer MacMillan's words. Her parents' case had been discontinued, yes, but she had their file. She only needed to research more. Dedicate more of her time.
Was what Dolohov had said true, though? Had she been going about it wrong?
A rush of anger coursed through her at the thought of the foreign man. Her wards had been untouched, and she hadn't found anything strange inside her flat. Nothing to indicate an ulterior motive of some sort. Worse yet was how his appearance coincided with the dark news Harry had shared and the horrifying state in which Ron's owl had been delivered to his family home.
Tightening her jaw, Hermione opened her bag and searched for the dark volume the Russian wizard had given her. Opening and flicking through it, she scanned the variety of diagrams and theoretical arguments surrounding the Memory Charm before shutting it loudly.
It didn't matter; nothing did. She only had to read through her parent's file again, and later, prepare for her new role within the Ministry. There was no need to rush ahead blindly. Not with a man as dangerous and untrustworthy as Dolohov.
It was impossible for the man not to be involved in some way. Ron was right, there had to be something more going on. Something big.
o-o-o-o-o
Hermione cut through the hallways of the second floor quickly, her heels clacking against the marble floor. It was drastically different from her old department. Its hallways were wider, their flooring set in white marble rather than the dark, polished wood she had grown used to. The doorway that greeted her upon arrival at the archives' sub-department of the Wizengamot Administration Services was no less impressive than the rest of the floor. It was an open arch flanked on each side by a set of columns that rose up at its sides, meeting the ceiling. A granite tablet with the words veritas aequitas—truth and justice—loomed above it, dominating the entrance.
Drawing in a breath, Hermione stopped beneath the archway and allowed herself to contemplate the full breadth of the room. It looked splendorous. The floor plan featured a number of separate offices with embellished wooden doors. Portraits lined the walls, depicting a number of witches and wizards in archaic-looking robes. At the back, a number of windows offered a clear view of the ministry's atrium and its statue of the magical brethren.
"Excuse me, are you Miss Granger?"
Looking to the side, Hermione met the eyes of the middle-aged witch who had addressed her. She was sitting behind a large desk by the room's entrance, wearing some of the most formal black robes she had ever seen.
"I am." She smiled. "I was told to come here in order to start my new position."
"That you were," the witch replied curtly. "Mr Fawley is currently meeting with a member of the public, but he wished to meet you in his office."
"Ricbert Fawley?" she repeated, "the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot?"
"Of course. As the official head of our department, Mr Fawley always welcomes our new employees," the witch said. Turning slightly, she pointed at one of the offices at the front of the room. "He's right ahead. You will have to wait for a few minutes, though I do not think it will take too long."
Hermione nodded her thanks and walked towards the office. Taking off her long brown overcoat, she sat down on one of the plush chairs lined against a wall. She only sprang up when the office's heavy wooden door finally opened, revealing two men. The first was an unfamiliar old wizard, most likely Ricbert Fawley. Behind him followed a young, blond man she hadn't seen since the war
The old wizard spoke with an appeasing, if sad, voice. "I am sorry, Mr Malfoy, but if your request wasn't approved, I am afraid that you cannot search for the information you seek in the archives."
Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "This is outrageous," he said irately. "I should have access to the records."
"I do personally agree with you, Mr Malfoy, but I truly cannot do anything beyond what we already discussed," the old wizard replied. "However, should you get an acceptable signature on your request I will be more than glad to provide you access. As it is, my hands are tied."
"We both know that will never be allowed to happen under the current Minister's aide."
The old wizard grasped his hands together. "Miss Umbridge's review of your case, though unfortunate, is not the end of the road. Mr Malfoy, I can assure you there are still other avenues at your disposition. Don't give up hope."
Draco nodded tersely. "Thank you for your time, Mr Fawley. I appreciate this."
"I am at your disposition should you need any more advice, as you know."
"Of course."
Draco turned to leave, only to stop abruptly as he saw her. Paling slightly, he looked at her silently for a few seconds before offering a polite, if tense, nod. Startled, Hermione replicated it and observed silently as he started walking away.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione turned away from her ex-classmate and faced the older wizard. "Yes. Mr Fawley, right?" she asked, slowly taking note of his appearance.
He was older than she had initially though, judging by the wrinkles on his skin, and stood not much taller than she herself did. His hair, a silvery white not quite like Dumbledore's own, fell down to his chin in straight, neat lines. A pair of thin spectacles rested on his nose, hiding away his eyes slightly.
The wizard smiled and gestured towards the office. "Yes. I was expecting you, Miss Granger, please do come in."
She nodded and entered the office, taking a moment to observe the grand space as Ricbert Fawley closed the door behind them. Bookshelves lined most of the walls, each overloaded with files. A desk with several piles of parchment and grey folders dominated the centre of the room, with two plush bright-red leather seats set directly in front of it.
"Please have a seat, Miss Granger," the old wizard said with a smile, gesturing at the seats before walking around the table and sitting on a worn-looking armchair.
"Thank you." Taking a few steps forwards, Hermione sat on the right-hand seat and placed her overcoat and bag atop her lap.
It didn't take long for the Chief Warlock to speak. "It is a pleasure to see you here today, Miss Granger. I believe you were the person in charge of the Amendment to the House-Elf Charter of Rights the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures prepared?"
Her face lit up at the memory of the bill she had had the chance to work on. "Yes, I was trusted with its drafting."
"I recently had the chance to read the text, Miss Granger. It was great work. I dare to say that the department has suffered a great loss with your untimely departure." Fawley crossed his arms at his chest. "I'm pleased to have someone of your calibre here with us, I foresee a bright future ahead of you."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Onto the matter at hand, though" Fawley said decisively, leaning forwards. "I presume you read the letter with the offer which was given to you?"
"I did."
"Very well, your position will require little explanation then," he said, smiling. "As you know, you will be working within the archives themselves, sorting new files and entries."
Hermione nodded, recanting the parchment she had been given when she had been fired. "Yes. As well as putting together the requests made by Wizengamot members of private witches and wizards of information they may wish to access."
"Precisely," the Chief Warlock confirmed. "Though it may not sound like much, it is work such as this which is at the very foundation of the Ministry, Miss Granger." He glanced down at the desk and pulled up a sheet of parchment. "Should you need it, here are the details relating to the post once more."
"Thank you," she said, taking the piece of parchment. Quickly reading over it, she folded it and placed it within her bag.
"Now, if you want, I can take you to the office of the witch who'll be your direct supervisor. She should show you around and tell you where everything is," he paused briefly, standing up. "I do believe that she is around your own age. She joined us after the recovery of the Ministry at the end of the war. Very dark days, those."
A few knocks rang within the room, making them both turn around. Before Fawley said a word the door opened, and three men Hermione only knew from Daily Prophet articles and Ministry hearsay came in. First was the man she knew to be Alfred Blishwick, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic; a middle-aged man with dark hair streaked with grey and a clean-shaven face. He was holding a folder of some sort against austere working robes. After him was Hannah Abbot's father, the Senior Court Scribe of the Wizengamot. Tall and stout-looking, he had the same facial features her classmate had once had, greying blond hair merely shades off her own. A bright silver chain, clasped from a button of his inner robes, displaying an elegant pocket watch as it hung by his pocket.
Behind them both was Cormac's uncle—Tiberius McLaggen; a Ministry veteran who had found himself in more positions of departmental authority than she could remember. The tall, greying man with hard eyes was one of Kingsley's advisors, though the job title understated the experience and sheer political prowess he possessed. He had graduated Hogwarts on the year Grindelwald had been defeated, quickly moving on to work at the Ministry. From there he had been the British Representative to the International Confederation of Wizards for decades, as she had discovered during her final year at Hogwarts at the war's end. A position which had been inherited, against all odds and to the outrage of many, by his brother—Cormac's father.
Tiberius entered the office slowly, silent and unreadable by contrast to the two more expressive wizards who had preceded him. Fawley didn't meet his eyes.
Alfred Blishwick, the youngest out of the three, was the first to speak. "I hate bringing this to you again, Ricbert," he said, gesturing widely with his folder, "but Robards has brought up the werewolf issue in the north again."
"The werewolf issue—." Fawley's expression dropped. "I already made my position on the proposed solution known."
Oeric Abbott shook his head. "Ricbert, I'm sorry, but you know something needs to be done. The Prophet has been eating us alive."
The old wizard narrowed his eyes. "You all know my position on this matter."
Blishwick's eyes widened. "Ricbert, innocents are—."
Abbot placed a hand on Blishwick's arm, quieting the man. "Did you read the interviews that were published this weekend?"
Fawley's expression twisted into something resembling anger. Before he could reply, however, Tiberius stepped forwards. "Gentlemen," he said in a surprisingly soft voice. "Though we all agree that this is a most pressing matter, perhaps we should remember that there is an employee who is getting held up in our discussion."
Fawley's eyes widened comically. "I am very sorry, Miss Granger," he said apologetically, "but it seems I will be getting held up in a meeting."
"It isn't a problem," Hermione said gently. "I can go to meet my new supervisor alone. Where can I find her office?"
"I wish I could introduce you myself, but I suspect this will be lasting quite some time." The older wizard sighed and glanced at the door. "You will find the office at the end of the first corridor you will see when leaving this office, to the left."
Alfred Blishwick smiled at her politely. "I am sorry for interrupting your meeting like this, Miss Granger; urgent ministry business, as it were."
Hermione forced herself to smile at the Senior Undersecretary. He had been the one approve the decision to fire her from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. "It's not a problem."
Still smiling, she thanked Fawley before walking out of the office and through the corridor he had mentioned, keeping an eye out for the office the older wizard had indicated. It didn't take her long to reach the office. Knocking on its polished wooden surface, Hermione waited patiently. A few seconds went by before she heard the scraping of a chair.
"Come in," a feminine voice said.
The office was tinier than Fawley's. Its walls were mostly bare, with only a few bookshelves hiding the room's polished walls. At a side of the room an oak desk occupied most of the space. Sitting behind it, with the same distinctive curly, reddish-blonde hair she could remember, was Marietta Edgecombe.
The young woman's expression soured as soon as their eyes met. "Ah. Granger," Marietta said, looking back down at a piece of parchment on her desk. "I was told you would come."
Hermione's eyes were quickly drawn to the jagged scars spelling 'SNEAK' across her face, badly hidden beneath a layer of makeup thick enough to make the otherwise near-transparent hairs of her cheeks visible. Flattening her lips, she stepped forwards. Just how unlucky could she be?
"Mr Fawley told me to come here for the job," she only said.
"Yes," Marietta spat. "You'll be working under me, it seems. Funny coincidence, isn't it?"
"I'm sorry if I am late. Mr Fawley—."
Marietta waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, that doesn't matter. You can go start immediately in the archives."
"Pardon?"
The witch's eyebrows pressed into a deep frown. "Start, Granger. At the archives. You can understand that, right?"
Hermione forced herself to breathe in deeply. Losing her temper wouldn't be of any help. "What will I have to do?"
Marietta waved at the door. "Go to the main archives floor and sort the new arrivals. Once you finish, return to me."
"Main archives floor?" she said indignantly. "I don't know where it is. How it is organised?"
"None of that attitude here, Granger," the other witch said with a sneer. No matter what the unfortunate events between us in Hogwarts were this is a serious working place."
Gritting her teeth together, Hermione forced herself to nod. "Could I have some directions, at least?"
Looking back at her desk, Marietta waved her hand again. "I'm sure that someone as bright as you will have no trouble finding its location. Don't disappoint me."
Hermione nodded again and turned to leave the room; fists clenched tightly. Closing the door behind her, she stormed down the hallway.
A/N: I'd like to thank everyone that has followed, favourited, and reviewed this story so far. I wasn't expecting quite the reaction the first chapter got, but it's been great to see that it was enjoyed. Once again, all the errors are my own and thank you for reading!
Chapter three will be up in a week, with more plot developments to add to what happened in this chapter. No Dolohov in this one, but he may appear again fairly soon.
Update #1: Text revised and edited as of 29/12/2020.