The street upon which the visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic stood was surprisingly empty for ten o'clock in the morning. The dingy-looking offices and pubs lining the narrow street showed little sign of activity. Beth went up to a crooked red telephone booth, squeezed inside, and - as per the instructions from the Head of the Department of Mysteries - dialed 6-2-4-4-2.
"Welcome to the Ministry for Magic. Please state your name and business."
"Elizabeth Parson. I have an interview at the Department of Mysteries."
"Thank you." The female voice was human of timbre but automated in tone. "Visitor, please take the badge and affix it to the front of your robes."
Beth took the silver badge that the telephone spat out at her ("Elizabeth Parson, Interview"), duly noted the speaker's warning that her wand would be checked inside, and tried to keep her balance while the floor jiggled and began to drop like an old, rusty elevator.
Beth had been to the Ministry several times, but she still found herself impressed by the rich hardwood floors, blue-and-gold ceiling, and the opulent décor. Very important-looking witches and wizards moved in and out amid the crowds, busily reading parchments or making impressive small talk with their colleagues. Beth joined the bustle and made her way down the hall to the security booth on the left.
She handed over her wand to the witch on duty. "I'm here for an interview with Mr. Schrowde. He said you could page him for me."
"Right-o!" said the witch, handing back Beth's wand and setting aside the readout from the weighing device. She turned to her right. Upon the wall was mounted a round looking-glass with an interesting frame that seemed to be made of old Knuts. The security witch tapped one of the Knuts, which depressed back to the wall, and said, "Schrowde, you got a visitor."
A face fogged into view in the center of the mirror: a balding man with small, neat glasses. "Name, please?"
"Parson," said the security witch, winking at Beth. "Says you got an interview."
"Yes, of course. I'll come up and meet her." The mirror went milky, then cleared. The depressed Knut popped back into place.
The security witch turned back to Beth. "So you wanna be an Unspeakable, huh?" There was an engaging worldliness in her friendly smile.
"I don't know yet," said Beth. Something about the guard made her want to be honest. "I thought I'd ... see what happened."
"Well, interestin' business, they tell me," said the witch. "Neat place, about the smartest floor of the Ministry. Just don't go pokin' around down there," she advised, wagging a finger. "I tried that once and near lost my job - not to mention a foot."
She brayed out a laugh that was oddly reminiscent of Professor Grubbly-Plank's. Just then, the golden gates at the end of the hall opened and the man from the mirror strode through. He was neatly dressed, of a careful composition, and Beth realized (with a kind of embarrassed horror) that she was easily a head taller than him. However, this did not seem to deter him in the slightest; he came straight up to her and shook her hand, with the composure of a successful man.
"Miss Parson, I presume? I am Mr. Schrowde."
"Yes," said Beth, shaking his hand firmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise, my dear. Every inquiry to our department is an honor. We take it to mean that the public, while it may not understand what we do, recognizes its value to the country and its people."
He turned to the security witch. "Thank you, Liza, I will take her from here."
She gave Beth a crooked grin. "Good luck."
Beth smiled her thanks and followed Mr. Schrowde through the golden gates and into an elevator.
"I think we'll take an office on the fourth floor; I'm afraid there is very little space available on the tenth level, where my department is located."
"Will I have a chance to tour the department?" asked Beth politely, watching the floors pass through the bars of the elevator.
"I'm afraid our policy forbids it," said Mr. Schrowde, smiling at her. "Should you become an employee, I assure you, we have a very thorough indoctrination process." Beth thought that sounded a little ominous; but before she could comment, Mr. Schrowde exclaimed, "Ah! Our floor," and the doors creaked open to the sound of the lift announcer stating, "Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau."
"We find this a convenient place for meetings such as this," Mr. Schrowde explained, leading her into an office marked Centaur Liaison Office. "Certain never to be disturbed. So-" he took a seat behind a polished wooden desk, and gestured Beth to a chair before it, "-why don't you tell me a bit about yourself, Miss Parson?"
Beth had expected this question, and was prepared for it: she spoke briefly about her home life, her favorite classes at Hogwarts, and a few of her hobbies. At Mr. Schrowde's prompting, she went into detail about her final Alchemy project: not only how it had turned out, and the technical details, but how she had handled the workload, unexpected problems and mental stress. "It was the most challenging thing I've ever done," she admitted, "but I enjoyed the work, and it was great to end up with a finished product."
"Well, we certainly have hands-on opportunities in the Department of Mysteries," Mr. Schrowde chuckled. "I can't be specific, of course, but let me give you an idea of the responsibilities of the position for which you have applied. You would be working in a largely research-focused area, probably in a team of five or six, on a cross-disciplinary project, where you would be one of perhaps two or three potions workers. In addition to these major projects, which rotate every few months, you would have a dozen or so minor projects to be completed individually. Grunt work, at first," he acknowledged, "but we are always looking for entry-level workers to show their mettle."
"That sounds like what I'm looking for," said Beth, surprised to find the job so attractive. "Is the learning all hands-on, or is there a chance for study?"
"We can arrange for study, if you like," said Mr. Schrowde, steepling his fingers. "I think you will find the job rigorous in its own right. Are you aware of basic laboratory procedure?"
She was, thanks to her job with Professor Snape, and offered a few examples. The longer they talked, the more interested she was in the job. But there was the one aspect of the job which had not been broached, the biggest deterrent of all... Choosing her words carefully, Beth asked, "Your letter mentioned Obliviation as a security measure. To what extent is that in place?"
"All but the most senior employees of the Department of Mysteries are required to submit to a full mind wipe of working hours," Schrowde said placidly.
His calm tone made the words more ominous. "So I'm not allowed to tell my family anything about it?" Beth pressed, wondering if protocol allowed her to question her interviewer like this.
Schrowde did not seem to mind. "You wouldn't be able to even if you wanted it," he answered gravely. "Our secrets are valuable. We have a great deal invested in protecting them."
So all of the Unspeakables were under the same restrictions as Bode and Croaker. "I see," said Beth.
"Many of our employees adjust very quickly," said Mr. Schrowde. "Some of my colleagues in the other departments envy us, in fact - they tell me they should very much like to forget their own working hours." He laughed; Beth took the cue and laughed along. "The policy can be liberating," he added. "We need never take our work home with us."
He leaned back in his chair. "Before we move on in the process, Miss Parson, I would like to approach one more subject, if I may."
"Of course."
"We have taken the liberty of running a background check on you, Miss Parson."
Beth nodded compliantly; she supposed this was an ordinary thing to expect for government work.
"You lived for several years in America, is that correct?"
"Yes, but I'm a British citizen," Beth clarified.
"So we discovered." Schrowde chuckled suddenly. "Though you certainly don't sound it. Father is a Muggle, served in their armed forces."
"Royal Air Force," Beth corrected again. "Decorated."
"I see. And then...there is the matter of your other relations."
Beth's mouth went dry. "Yes," she said stupidly, just for something to say.
"We have it on record that your mother and one brother are serving life sentences in Azkaban prison, and that a second brother escaped during the January breakouts."
"That's true." Beth forced herself to hold on to her nerves. "All three of them were imprisoned before I turned four. I never knew any of them until Lycaeon's parole last year."
Mr. Schrowde folded his hands. "It would be pointless, I expect, to ask whether you have seen your brother since his escape."
There was something interesting in his tone; none of the accusation that she would expect. This was, of course, a man familiar with the keeping of secrets. "Yes," said Beth, surprised and emboldened into simple speech. "It would be."
"I am pleased to hear it," said Schrowde, and Beth felt with a rush of relief that she had passed some strange test. "Come with me," he said, getting up from his chair. "I'll take you to Wizard Resources on the first floor to handle some formalities."
Beth stood and followed him out into the hall. They had gone only a few paces when a small, wiry figure stopped in front of them, barring the way.
"I say! Parson, what are you doing in my neck of the woods?"
It was Professor Grubbly-Plank. Her cropped graying hair was tousled, her clothes more casual than she had worn as a teacher. She stuck out her hand in greeting.
"Professor Grubbly-Plank!" Beth shook the proffered hand. "I have an interview today. I didn't know you worked at the Ministry."
"Temp work with the Pest Control Department. Got to keep busy, eh?" She jerked her thumb down the hall, where an interesting assortment of brays, bird-calls, and hoofbeats originated. "Got a toad pukin' gold back there. Thing looks damn uncomfortable but we can't bring ourselves to stop 'im." She laughed; it echoed around the halls like machine-gun fire.
Mr. Schrowde winced almost imperceptibly. "I beg your pardon, Wilhelmina. Our schedule is pressing..."
"Right, right, go on," said Grubbly-Plank cheerily, waving a hand. "Just don't ask for funding from our golden toad." She leaned up to Beth's ear conspiratorially. "Probably leprechaun gold anyway. Still, better rich than sorry..."
Beth waved a cheerful goodbye and followed Mr. Schrowde onto the elevator at the end of the hall. "Quite an enthusiastic woman," he murmured, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. "We have research linking laughter to the life spans of faeries, but I daresay hers would knock them dead."
Mr. Schrowde took her upstairs to a witch who described the pay and benefits of the position, and Beth, who had had a hand in her father's finances for a few years, had to admit that they were generous. Moreover, everyone she had spoken to - from the security witch to the Wizard Resources lady who was now describing the Ministry's pension plan - seemed very nice; they would be good coworkers. Even Schrowde, while reserved, was genial enough. She thought that, given the chance, she might be very happy here.
"Are you interested in our flex-time option?" smiled the Wizard Resources lady.
Beth, broken out of her reverie, met her kind eyes and smiled back. "Can you tell me about it?"
There were more meetings and brief interviews, but they went quickly; Beth left the ministry at eleven o'clock, with an armful of official documents and the buoyant feeling that she had done a good job. However, as she walked through London to Diagon Alley, it didn't take long for her to start recalling and amplifying in her mind the things she had done wrong, until she had to force herself to stop. There was nothing she could do now, just send Mr. Schrowde a polite thank-you owl and hope for the best.
...but did she really want to hope for it?
Beth paused before the Leaky Cauldron, biting her lip. There was that question again. Was it worth the cost? What would she have to give up?
There was time to think of that, she told herself firmly, entering the tavern. She hadn't even been offered an actual job yet. Although, she admitted, despite her cruel self-analysis, she thought the event was likely.
She had lunch in a cute cafe called Le Petit Fromage. After she had finished, she pulled out a rolled-up sheet of parchment from her pocket and spent a few minutes familiarizing herself with the contents.
Nitroglycerin (3 p.)
Sodium carbonate
Time fuse, consisting of the following...
She grinned to herself. She hadn't known until the previous week that Dave Gudgeon had a working knowledge of Muggle explosives; but then, she really wasn't surprised. According to Dave, dynamite was three times as powerful as gunpowder. If anything was going to bring down the walls of the Society crypt, this would do it.
She spent some time strolling up and down Diagon Alley, poking into the potions shops that Melissa was never interested in seeing. Finally she located the Weasley twins' new premises. Numbers 90 through 92, Diagon Alley, were stacked on each other in a building no wider than the front door. Number 94 was a billowing tent as vast and gilded as an ancient mosque. The storefront in between was painted in Gryffindor gold-and-crimson with a glass window bearing a flashing marquee: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
Beth stood on the sidewalk opposite for some time, watching curious shoppers come and go, the list of components burning a metaphorical hole in her pocket. When the shop was finally empty, she crossed the street, laid a hand on the knob and stepped through the door.
"SLYTHERIN!" shrieked a gleeful voice. With no further warning, a torrent of water cascaded from the ceiling and soaked Beth from head to foot.
An empty pail clattered to the floor. Beth kicked out furiously and the bucket went skittering across the floor, still calling "Slytherin ... Slytherin..." in a fading, tinny voice.
At the sound of the crash, twin redheads emerged from behind the counter. They grinned broadly at the sight of her.
"Discriminating Douser," said one of the Weasleys proudly. "Only falls for the intended target. You can set it for anyone you like. Siblings, trespassers, Hogwarts High Inquisitors -"
"Paying customers?" said Beth, though gritted teeth.
The Weasleys exchanged a glance. "It's just our sample piece," said the other. "We didn't reckon we'd get a lot of Slytherin business."
Beth fought the urge to tell them that if they left that thing up, they wouldn't get any. Instead, she pulled out the advertisement she had clipped from the Prophet. "Your adverts said you sell explodables."
"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is, unfortunately, clean out of fireworks," one said. "Used the last one in the fifth-floor toilet, I believe. Now, if you'd like to be on our wait list-"
"I don't want fireworks," said Beth, "I want bombs."
The twins' jaws dropped identically.
"The Muggle kind," Beth clarified.
"We don't-" began one twin uneasily, but the other broke in excitedly:
"How powerful?"
"Enough to blow up a stone wall."
She watched them wordlessly, giving the idea time to germinate. The twins had their eyes fixed on each other; some kind of conversation was going on, silent and unspecific but indubitably understood on both ends. Finally one of them spoke.
"I think," he said slowly, "that if we had a week or so we could procure some..."
"Provided we knew what you'd be using them on," the other added.
"Professor Umbridge," Beth said instantly, lying through her teeth. "You can give me Veritaserum and ask me again. We don't want a dictator any more than you do. We're going to implode her office on the last day before summer holidays."
There was a beat of pure silence.
"Wicked," breathed one of the twins.
"We thought the swamp was good," said the other, "but for sheer destructiveness, Parson-"
"Then do us a favor," said Beth, holding out the list that Dave Gudgeon had sent, "and get us the supplies."
The twins hesitated again; but at last, one of them reached out and took the list from her hand. They put their heads together over it, absorbing the words. Finally, they looked up at her in (slightly creepy) syncopation.
"We'll do it."
It didn't take long to arrange for pickup and payment. (Both to be carried out by Professor Grubbly-Plank, Polyjuice-disguised as Beth, although the Weasleys would never know it.) They sealed it with a handshake apiece - something Beth thought she would never bestow upon any Weasley, these two in particular. For possibly the first time, they parted company on good terms.
A curious voice stopped her at the door. "Say," said one, "how's the swamp?"
Beth couldn't keep back a smile. "Filch has to ferry us across to class."
"Wicked," they said together.
"Heck of a testimonial," Beth agreed. "Thanks again."
Beth stepped out onto the crowded street, feeling the satisfaction of a job well done and a certain peace with the world - at least until the Discriminating Douser, which had reactivated itself in the meantime, came crashing down onto her head again and soaked her from head to toe.
