Author's Note: I know that this one has been a long time coming, and the ff.net downtime didn't help much. Although, I was quite grateful for it. I got my nails done somewhere in the middle of the chapter, and it's kind of hard to type. My piano teacher is going to kill me! Review…please!

Chapter VIII: Interviews

Hermione was up bright and early he morning that the Fitzgerald's were scheduled to arrive at the Ministry. Dumbledore had given me the day off with barely a blink of an eye- I only had one class to teach. I heard the shower running for all of two minutes, heard the door open, and whoosh of Floo powder as she took Jack to kindergarten. I looked at the clock… a new record- ten minutes. Sluggishly, at least compared to Hermione, I managed to drag myself out of bed, shower and dress before she came home, attempting to wake myself up before the interviews that we would have to endure that day. In addition to Trudy Fitzgerald, the man had five children. The oldest was thirty, the youngest seventeen- Charles, Joyce, Margo, Samuel and Andrew. I was not looking forward to this. I heard the door open and close downstairs, and the frantic fussing in the kitchen that I had come to associate with my nervous wife. I walked downstairs, still too tired to keep my eyes fully open. Hermione had bewitched fruit to cut itself as she poured tea with a shaking hand. She left her breakfast half unmade as she nervously strode into her office, sorting through papers and files before collapsing into her chair with her head in her hands. She went through these meltdowns every now and then when she was especially stressed or had too much on her shoulders. I guessed that this was brought on by nervousness. She'd never enjoyed interviews.

"Hey," I said, walking in the room. I startled her a bit but she didn't move from her position. "Are you all right?"

"Everything is such a mess, Ron," she cried. She blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks, and I felt for her. Things had been difficult in the Ministry, her stress level had been high, and she had been falling asleep before I came home.

"I- I just…I can't…" She looked so helpless.

"Come here," I said, softly, as she stood up and leaned against my chest. She always felt so small in my arms, and I rather liked it. From the very first time, it had always made me feel as if I was protecting her from something. She wrapped her arms around me, and nestled her head into my chest, sighing contentedly.

"Why can't I just stay here all day?" she asked me. I smiled, but soon frowned as my hand brushed across a tension knot in her back. Her shoulders were so tight. She looked up at me, as if she could feel my concern, and saw it etched all over my face.

"Turn around," I said, spinning her even as I spoke the words. She flinched as my hands made contact with her shoulders, but soon relaxed.

"What would I do without you?" I didn't have time to think up a witty remark, for she suddenly remembered something ("Oh!") and ran off again.

Emily…

People had been avoiding me all week. They stared at me as if I would blow up at any second. Considering that I was a ticking time bomb, I kept to myself as to keep from severely injuring those who set me off. It was only the considerate thing to do, of course, danger hazard that I am. Even Rachel was wary of speaking to me. Landon, Charlotte and James, on the other hand, were trying their very best to keep my spirits up. I overheard them talking in the Common Room one afternoon:

"Oh, but I do feel bad for her," Charlotte said. "It would be like…say, if Julia Clemmons was chosen for Head Girl instead of me."

Snorts came from James and Landon.

"No, really! It sounds like it would never happen, just like it was insane to think that Emily might not be Seeker."

"Yeah…"

"I guess…"

"Well, what can we do about it? Wood's already chosen Tucker, and he is quite good. Don't look at me like that, man, of course Emily is better… I'm just saying that at least Wood didn't choose some kid who could barely sit on his broom."

"I don't care if he can fly or not. Emily should have been Seeker."

"I wish that we could do something," Charlotte said.

"Like what? We'll not change his mind." James appeared to agree, but was still incredulous about the whole thing. I was thinking along these lines- what could they do for me?

"We could kill Will Tucker." That would work.

"Shut up, Landon."

"I think the best thing that we can do," Charlotte said with new resolution, "is just…be there for her. Even Rachel is avoiding her; the girl hasn't got any friends that will talk to her."

"So you expect us to be her friends until her friends start talking to her?" James asked. Well, it wasn't exactly killing Will, but I figured that I could settle.

"Why not?"

"Wouldn't it be weird, though?" Landon asked. "I mean, I am her brother. Come on, she's not going to want to hang about me."

"Who else is she going to hang about, then?" Charlotte protested. "If you all won't extend yourselves, I will."

"Fine."

"Fine."

I had sunk to a new low. Now my brother and cousin were being forced to hang out with me. I hoped that this wouldn't last long as I returned to my dormitory. As I opened the door, I saw Rachel and Meg, sitting on Meg's four-poster and speaking in whispers. As soon as I walked in and smiled slightly, they stopped talking. Meg became very interested in the view while Rachel fiddled with the comforter.

"If you were going to talk about me," I said to them, "You could at least have the decency not to do it in my own room." I stooped down and began rummaging in my trunk for my camera equipment when I came upon a small box.

"Emily-"

"Oh, you're talking to my face now?" I would have left the room at that point, or responded sarcastically to whatever the hell they were saying but I was very curious about this box. I lifted the lid and saw a note sitting atop tissue paper.

Dear Emily,

Just a little something to fill your idle hours. I remembered being taught 'engorgio' at the end of my third year. Also, I've enclosed a picture of you and your father that I've always loved. Perhaps you could paint it for me? Do well, darling, and don't forget to owl me!

Love You Always,

Mum

P.S.- I hate to nag, but please finish your homework before you paint!

I smiled just visibly- how typical of Mum. I removed the tissue paper, and first found the picture of Dad and I. I had seen it before- it had been blown up and framed on the mantle. Dad was asleep, and I was lying on his chest. I must have been one, or so, I was still wearing a diaper. There was a copy of Quidditch Weekly lying there as well, with a cover story on the Cannons. Dad's arm was resting lightly on my back, and my thumb was in my mouth. I'd always liked the picture.  I set it aside, and continued looking through what Mum had packed. There were two drop cloths, an easel, palate, paint set (with refills for the colours that were running low) brushes, the shirt that I always wore while painting (that had Jack's handprints all over it), and three canvasses.

"- and we really don't know how to-"

"Great, guys," I said, snatching up my wand and treasures. "Bye!" I dashed out of the dormitory and down the stairs. Quickly, I surveyed the room. People were talking in groups, studying, playing chess, reading, snogging…perfect. There was an alcove in part of the room that many people would go to sit and think. At the moment, it was occupied by a snogging couple that was fogging up the bay windows.

"Excuse me," I said to them, rather loudly. Of course, they were rather occupied… "Excuse me!" At this point, they stopped what they were doing to turn to me with rather appraising glances before going right back to the lip-lock. "EXCUSE ME!!! CLEAR OFF!!!" Now, I had not only attracted their attention, but that of the entire common room. The couple, a sixth year girl and seventh year boy, was now looking very embarrassed. You know, this really didn't make any sense to me. They would snog in front of the common room- as if no one would see them- but as soon as people did see them, they were ready to kill me. I ask you, what is the purpose of kissing in the common room if you don't want someone to see you? My point is, the only reason for kissing in the common room is to be noticed, and now that they finally were, I had a feeling that they would soon be leaving for the library. I was wrong, though. They didn't go to the library, but only to another dark corner.

I set a drop cloth on the floor, and another on the window seat before setting everything up. It took a while to find the perfect contingency of Weasley red, but once I had, I quickly wrote down the proportions of paint, water, and how much mixing was necessary. It felt so good to have a brush in my hand again. Every day for the next week I worked on it. I'd set up wards around the area so no one could get in, and made sure that I always placed my extra drop cloth over top of my baby, so no one would see it.

Wednesday was the first Cannons practice during the school year. We had made an agreement with the school. I would spend all morning doing the assignments for the classes that I would miss that day and turn them in as soon as I was finished. Once all of these were done, I was allowed to go to practice, unless they needed revising or fixing (in the case of potions or transfiguration). I had just finished my work with McGonagall, a particularly hard assignment that involved umbrellas and trombones; my trombone ended up more of a rusty colour- the umbrella had been red- and the edges of the bell were scalloped into what had been ruffles when, I was able to change into my orange robes and dash out of the castle to the portkey in the Three Broomsticks. Usually, I was late to these once-a-week practices because Snape would keep me long in potions since, more or less he hates the sight of me. The sight of me on time was enough to send me elder teammates into fits of amazed laughter.

Our team was made up of seven very good players. Myself, being Seeker and the youngest; Duncan St. James was about twenty and played Keeper; Amanda Smith, the twenty three year old Beater; Justin Edwards was nearing thirty and completed the dynamic Beating duo. Clinton Livingston, 32, Nick Kraus, 22, and Jane Parker, 25, were our Chasers, and quite good ones at that. Our coach was approaching the team, standing in a cluster under one of the goalposts, and he was looking quite surly.

"Weasley, you're on time. Will pigs be flying with us today?" he said, narrowing his eyes at me. Dan Wilkinson was a tough coach, but a good one. That didn't mean that we liked him, though.

"No, sir," I said, although it really didn't merit an answer. "Unless you'll be on a broom today," I added under my breath. Duncan, who was standing next to me tried his best to keep from laughing, but was fighting a losing battle.

As Coach Wilkinson was demonstrating our strategy on a chalkboard, Duncan leaned in close and said, "Do you think he'd manage to get on a broom without breaking it?" I snorted as I tried to control my laughter. The man was about eighty pounds overweight, and how he ever came to be a Quidditch coach was really beyond me.

There was nothing to take your mind off of something like flying…that is, if flying is what you want to take your mind off of in the first place. I couldn't help thinking, all right, so here I am with a professional Quidditch team and I can't even play for a bloody house team? Surely, the injustice of it all doesn't escape you.

Blue sparks were shot up into the air- a break. As I dove to the ground, I couldn't help but notice a glimpse of red in the stands. Pulling out of the dive, I scanned the arena, trying to figure out where I had caught sight of Weasley red. Sure enough, there was Dad, sitting in the stands and watching me intently. I waved slightly; embarrassed that Daddy came to watch me play. It was bad enough that I was the youngest, now I felt as if I needed to be babysat as well.

"Hey," asked Duncan, handing me a water bottle, "Where are you today?"

"Did I mention that I didn't make Gryffindor? I'm the reserve Seeker." Even as I said it, I didn't want to believe it. The words were dripping with disdain

"Why not?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean," he explained, "Why didn't you make it? Did you mess up the tryouts; was someone better, were you having an off day? What was the reason that kept you off the team? The coach not liking you doesn't count."

"I don't know why!" I burst. "I was the best, I always have been!"

"Well, there's your problem right there!" he cried, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Seeing the seething look on my face, he paused, as if unsure what injury might result of his continuing. He wasn't fazed, though, as he continued, "See, Em, if you go in thinking that you're the best, people can sense it. Especially a coach. A coach, however, would mistake your confidence for arrogance."

"But I wasn't arrogant-"

"You don't think that you were. Em, you also play pro! A bunch of these kids who try out won't get out of Hogwarts with their careers. You've got your made, already. Maybe the guy wanted to give other people a chance."

"Damn him."

Duncan grinned slightly and ran a hand through his brown hair. "You sure are a tough one, aren't you?"

"Shut up."

I took another long gulp of water, and Duncan and I were joined by Amanda Smith, who talked politely with me about school. I was just explaining to her the Transfigs assignment that I had to do earlier, when Duncan left suddenly to greet a pretty blond girl who had just entered the stadium.

"Who's that?" I asked Amanda.

"This week's girlfriend. I can't believe he's dating her; she looks like she's fourteen! No offence, of course."

"None at all." I wondered about what was behind my teammate's comment. True, Duncan did have quite a few girlfriends, but the dejected tone of Amanda's voice spoke for itself.

Ron…

MADD Headquarters was alive and buzzing that Friday morning. Wards were being set up since Muggles would be entering for the first time. Obviously, memory charms would be performed upon their leaving, but just as an extra precaution, they were only going to see what was absolutely necessary. Hermione had calmed down somewhat, but was still on pins and needles for the most part. Harry immediately picked up on it, and managed to stay clear. How I envied him.

My father, who had been head of the Magical/Muggle Relations Department before appointed to Minister, was bringing in the Fitzgeralds. Harry and I would be sitting behind a two-way mirror, of sorts. It was actually a wall a hologram of a wall that Harry and I would be able to see through, but not the Muggles.

We had five minutes to go, and Hermione was shakily drinking a cup of tea while going over her notes, fluttering about in her trembling hand. Harry noticed this, as I did, and looked as concerned as I did.

"Is she always like this before interviews?" he asked me. It had been awhile since we had done this, and apparently he thought that she was merely nervous from lack of practice.

"I don't think so. She's been very strange lately."

Harry opened his mouth, no doubt to comment that this was, after all, Hermione, who was always a bit strange to 'common folk' like the two of us, but he was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. My father walked into the room, and through the wall we saw that as we were talking, the Fitzgeralds had entered and began to get as comfortable as possible. Hermione looked up and swallowed hard. It seemed as if she mustered every bit of courage that she had in her just to make the short walk from one room to another. I didn't know what was wrong with her. She never lost her cool in situations like these. She almost never lost her cool at all, for that matter.

"Good morning," we heard her say to the family as she entered. Brilliant, she was. From the instant that she entered the room, she was so calm and composed, nothing like the wreck that she had been just minutes ago. "Let the record show that I, Hermione Granger-Weasley, am here with the wife and children of the late Justice Beecher Fitzgerald." The magical quill next to me began scratching away everything that Hermione had just said. "Could I offer you some tea, coffee, anything?"

A round of 'no thank yous' was being written down on the transcript.

"Excuse me, then," Hermione continued. "I'm not feeling my best and I hope that you don't mind." She poured herself a glass of water. "I'd like to talk to you first, Mrs. Fitzgerald."

"You can call me Trudy," the older, blue-haired woman said.

"Then I insist that you call me Hermione." She took a sip of water and continued, "Could you tell me, Trudy, a little bit about how you and your husband met and how much you knew about him at the time?"

Trudy smiled and sniffed as tears began to well up in her eyes. Hermione obligingly handed her a handkerchief as she began to speak:

"I first met my husband when I was ten years old. I thought that he was terribly dashing, but I was too shy to even talk to him. He was my older brother's best friend, you see. I knew that he went away to a special boarding school, so he and Frank, my brother, they would spend as much time together as they could during the summer. I got to see him a lot, but…well, let's just say that he never saw me." The older woman had to stop to blow her nose, smiling apologetically at Hermione, who smiled back and nodded reassuringly. Joyce, the oldest daughter, wrapper her arm around her mother's shoulder.

"You'll have to excuse my mother," Joyce said. "This is very hard for her."

"I understand, take-"

"Do you?" one of the men asked in a very challenging manner that I certainly didn't like. Nobody can talk to my wife that way and get away with it- at least not when I'm visible. "Do you know what it's like for your husband to be murdered?"

Those words cut like a knife. Hermione attempted to remain impassive; the struggle was evident on her face, but she didn't succeed. She pursed her lips together, as if attempting to rein emotions as her eyes clouded. "No," she said, barely above a whisper.

"I didn't think so."

The tension that hung in the air permeated even to the room that Harry and I were in. We remained silent, even as the quill was scratching away in hopes to take down everything that had just happened.

"Why don't we take a break," Hermione said after a prolonged pause. "I'll give you all a chance to compose yourselves. Excuse me." She picked up her files and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Harry stopped the quill and looked at me.

"That was…interesting," he said. "There's something bothering her; you did see what I did, didn't you?"

"So, you think I'm the one that got her upset?"

"No, but I want to know if you know why she's upset."

I sat down, very frustrated. "Do I ever know?"

"Good point." I knew what he was going to tell me- he had been saying it since we were fifteen. I could shock him and do it without him telling me, but that would ruin all the fun.

"Why don't you go find out, then?" You know that you've been friends with somebody too long when you can predict what they're going to say. But, of course, I listened to him and went off in search of my wife. Juliet directed me to the bathroom, and when I knocked on the door, I was greeted with the sound of muffled sobs.

"Come in, Ron," Hermione said. She was leaning on the sink, in a complete mess. I walked inside, and within three seconds, she was sobbing in my arms. This was a position that we had been in many times, but that didn't mean that I was any more comfortable with it. I always felt as if I needed to do something to make her stop crying, when in reality, she just wanted me to hold her and be there.

"Are you all right?" I couldn't stop myself from asking. She didn't answer, but I could feel her shake her head 'no'.

"I-I…I just…I can't help but put myself in their position. What would I do, Ron, if you were killed? How would I go on? What would I do? And then, I can't stop myself from thinking about my father. What if he was killed? I wouldn't be able to- I just couldn't- I mean, I-"

"Shhh… shhh, it's all right," I told her. When she started crying over possible scenarios, I had to quiet her or else she wouldn't be able to get over it, and we needed her to finish this interview. "I'm not going to die, Hermione. Well, not soon anyway, we're all going to die- what I mean to say is that I won't be killed. You need to-"

"I've got no right to talk to those people," she said. "No right at all. I'm trying to empathize, but nothing like that has happened to me, and I-"

"Hermione, you have to go in there. There's no way around it. Come on, now, you can cry at home. Clean yourself up, love, and finish what you've started." I figured that it was time for some tough love. She nodded and glanced in the mirror.

"I am a mess," she said, pointing her wand at her face to fix it. "Reparo."

"Come on," I held my hand out to her, which she took willingly, and we walked back to the interview room.

"Where were we?" she said, sitting down in her chair. Harry glanced at me as I walked in.

"What did they say about her?" I asked him. Harry grinned.

"Everything." I turned my attention back to Hermione.

*

"Trudy, I don't think that it's necessary for you to tell us your entire story with your husband, as it appears to be quite painful for you. Tell me, if you will, about when you first found out about your husband being a wizard," Hermione asked.

"He told me that the night before he proposed," Trudy answered.

"And do you remember your reaction?"

Mrs. Fitzgerald thought for a bit, her eyes clouding over again. "I think," she said, "That I fainted or something. I do remember, though, being quite shocked, naturally. I loved him, though, and that was all that mattered."

"And your children? Were they brought up with the knowledge of their father's…lifestyle?"

"Oh, yes. He did magic for them and their friends all the time. Of course, it was the typical card tricks for the friends, but in the house he would summon things, fix them, oh all sorts of things."

Hermione looked down, scribbling a few things down. She had a habit of taking her own notes, even when the transcript was being taken.

"Trudy, I'm going to cut to the chase here so I don't waste any more of your time. Are you aware that your husband was keeping three bank accounts?"

The news came as a shock to most of the family, except the son named Samuel.

"That one," Harry said, pointing to him. "He knows something." I raced to write this down without missing any more of the interrogation.

"No," Trudy said, "I didn't know that."

"Which accounts did you know about?"

"The…the goblin one, and the normal one," the woman answered, trying to piece everything together. "I- I don't understand. What's going on?"

"Did your husband ever tell you anything about an offshore account that he holds in Switzerland?"

"No.  Ma'am, I really would like to know what's going on. First you drag us out here, and now you're accusing my husband of embezzlement?"

*

"Daddy's little secret," Harry whispered. "Do you know if we got anything on Tucker?"

"No."

"That worries me," Harry said. "Maybe I'm overreacting, but…Rachel's friends with Will…I don't know what to think of it."

"Me neither. Emily seems quite fond of him."

"Hmmm. Do you think he knows anything about this?"

"No. But it wouldn't hurt to ask."

"You're right. We should also work on getting his ex-wife in here, somehow."

"That should be interesting."

*

"Are you familiar with anybody by the name of Richard Tucker?" Hermione was now asking.

"Now you see here," said Samuel his temper rising. I reached for my wand, ready to burst through the door at a moment's notice.

"Excuse me, sir, could you please sit down until this interrogation is over. Are you, ma'am, or are you not familiar with Richard Tucker?"

"I will not stand idly by and let you harass my mother like this!" Samuel was shouting. The other two men stood up and were glaring down at Hermione.

"And I will not let this man get away with murder!" Hermione shouted right back. "Rich Tucker, ma'am, do you know him or don't you?"

"No, I don't," said Trudy softly.

"Thank you, that's all I need to know. She nodded to Harry and I, and we were in the other room in a flash.

"I'd like to introduce you to my associates," she said to the Fitzgeralds, motioning towards us. "Mr. Potter, would you please escort Samuel here to my office? I need to have a word with him."

"Now," I said, "If the rest of you would just look up here for a second…"

"On three?" Hermione whispered.

"One…Two…Three…"

"Obliviate!" we shouted in unison.