Hermione Granger woke later than usual for a Tuesday. She opened her eyes slowly then took the time for a long, luxurious stretch before sitting up and putting a pillow behind her shoulders, relaxing back into its softness as she looked around her dorm room. The girls with whom she shared her room were all at class already. Crookshanks was awake but couched marble-lion fashion on the dresser across the room. He blinked lazily at her, not bothering to move if Hermione was not going to get out of bed. The girl smiled at her pet and listened to the exquisite quiet of an early-morning deserted dorm.
Hermione was well into her seventh year at Hogwarts. Any other Tuesday would be filled with a long lecture in Charms, an even longer Charms laboratory period, and a mixed class in Transfiguration. This Tuesday, however, Hermione would not be going to class at all. She had followed the proper procedure of getting a pass for the day from Headmistress McGonagall, but since Voldemort had been defeated and the Death Eaters' organization destroyed, it felt almost silly taking the precaution of letting the entire staff know that she would be absent from classes, and making the Headmistress herself issue an off-campus pass. She was sure that by the time the current first-years were attending post-O.W.L. classes, most of them would simply bring a note to class on the next day of regular attendance if they chose to be absent one day. But there was something comfortingly nostalgic about following the old procedures, doing everything in the old Hogwarts way.
For the past six and one-half years, Hermione had loved going to class at Hogwarts. She had loved preparing for class, participating in class, and doing the assignments handed out in class. She had always pursued any available extra credit assignments, had volunteered for any additional work that was offered. But by this point in her seventh year, it was obvious to Hermione (as it had been to her teachers for the past few months) that there was really no point in her continued attendance in any of the classes in which she was currently enrolled. She had already read all of the material that would be assigned for the rest of the year, and had gone on to finish those chapters in each class text that were not part of that year's study. She had turned in all of the work that was due, achieving top-level marks on each assignment. She had even written out most of the assignments that would be due by term end. The parchments were stacked neatly in her dorm room, waiting for their due dates to roll around so that they could be handed to the appropriate professors. She had even done most of the standard extra-credit work and completed her first two independent study projects in Charms, save for the final drafts of her reports. She had demonstrated the results of her first independent study project for Transfiguration, and was well into mastering her second. She was more than ready for her N.E.W.T.s, and each of her teachers assured her that the quality of her writing was higher than that produced by many former students who had successfully completed their Hogwarts schooling and gone on to professional careers.
It was time to move on.
Her only difficulty in deciding how to move on had been a lack of a concrete goal for her life after school. This unfamiliar absence of a clear plan - especially following six years of intense study during which her goals had been very clear - vexed Hermione throughout the first half of her seventh year.
She was confident that, should she decide to do so, she could continue her studies by gaining acceptance to one of the few magical Universities the wizarding world had to offer, although attending any of those prestigious institutions would require living abroad, as there was a complete dearth of post-secondary school magic education available in Britain. Hermione was fairly confident that she could master a foreign language well enough to get by in another country, but she wondered at how comfortable she would be in any of the unfamiliar environments surrounding the available magical campuses. Egypt, with its desert heat and brilliant sunshine, would be quite a change from the cold and damp of Hogwarts, without even considering the striking cultural differences. South Africa might be a better choice. Its veldt would probably be less of a contrast to the Scottish countryside with which Hermione was familiar, and the South Africans did speak English... of a sort. In comparison to either of those locations, Canada would feel almost like home, and she thought that Professor McGonagall had contacts with some of the University staff in Nova Scotia, which might allow her some advantage in being considered for admittance there. Hermione was almost sure that she had heard the Headmistress mention family members who had immigrated to the New World, but she couldn't quite recall any names or other important specifics about the immigrant McGonagall clan - including the potentially significant fact of how many generations ago the Canadians had left their Scots homeland. Not that Hermione really felt she would need the special intervention of her Head of House in order to impress an admissions officer, anyway. If she decided on a specific University, and if she were determined to gain admittance, she was sure that she would be accepted.
But there were other choices for continuing her education beyond the obvious University route. She could apply for an apprenticeship program. This was a much trickier proposition, however, and if she were to be able to profit from an apprenticeship, she would need good, trustworthy advice and a personal recommendation from someone with prestige. An apprenticeship with a well-established witch or wizard could give Hermione an advantage that would last for her entire professional life. Apprenticeships tended to be long-term affairs, though, with a great deal of loyalty and dedication expected from the apprentice. In her current indecisive mood, Hermione wasn't sure that she could promise anyone the kind of long-term devotion that was usually called for.
Another choice - one that had been repeatedly suggested by her classmates - was to take some time away from school without diving directly into an intense career path. The way some of the girls in the Gryffindor dorm talked about it, the best thing to do immediately after school was to work at a simple job, become familiar with budgeting by paying the rent and bills from wages, and get used to caring for oneself outside the comfortable womb of the school's dining hall and dormitory - without house elves to pick up the hard domestic work. While doing all of that, one could think about she really wanted to do. To Hermione, that simply sounded immature. As much sophistication as other seventh years tried to put into their voices as they described 'just living' for a year or two, Hermione could hear the subtext beneath the facade. 'Just living' was expected to become 'just partying' in short order. And for many of the girls, the expectation that they would be getting married soon was supposed to provide a solution for the majority of their lives' problems, although few of them could reasonably expect to marry anyone so wealthy as to be able to support them in the manner to which they wished to become accustomed.
None of those choices felt right to Hermione, and she worried that she would pass some crucial date and miss her chance to advance her life in a satisfactory manner if she continued to be unable to decide what she wanted.
She had spoken with Headmistress McGonagall about the availability of opportunities post-Hogwarts, and the Headmistress had been very encouraging. But she had also been very vague. The Headmistress repeatedly assured her finest student that with her intelligence and exemplary work ethic she could do whatever she wished. What the Professor did not offer were any suggestions as to what such an intelligent, hard-working young lady might wish to do with herself once the term ended.
Much to Hermione's surprise, it was the Potions professor, Madame Routhe, who offered her the advice she needed.
Hermione usually did not encounter Professor Routhe in the regular course of her day, since she was not even taking Potions in her seventh year. But Hogwarts' entire staff was quite aware of the identities of the best students in school, whichever House, year or class in which those students may have been found. Madame Routhe had sought out Hermione and given her the name of a professional acquaintance, a man who had been a master potion maker for years. The Professor told Hermione that this particular individual had always been much more interested in improving upon the potions he made than he ever could have been in simply churning out great quantities of those brews with which he was already familiar. He had worked in the potion labs of the Ministry of Magic alongside Madame Routhe (who herself had been quite satisfied with her employment), but he had become bored and frustrated with the Ministry routine, and had sought out a job with a firm that specialized in magical research. He had enjoyed great success and had risen quickly in the company organization.
Madame Routhe had smiled slyly and leaned close to almost whisper into Hermione's ear, "He now has a number of researchers working directly for him."
As soon as Hermione realized that this meant there was a chance she might be able to work in magical research directly after school, she had reacted with enthusiasm, and a great burst of energy. She gathered letters of recommendation from each of her teachers and wrote draft after draft of her letter of introduction. She bundled her recommendations together with the best letter she could compose and sent it off to Webley-Moore-McCall, to the attention of Louis Katraz.
Then she waited.
In so many ways, the directionless languor of the first portion of the year was greatly preferable to the nervousness of that wait. (You must understand that to Hermione, days filled with classes and several hours of homework qualified as languorous.) Every day, when owls would arrive with mail, Hermione would bite her lips and nearly pound the table in impatience only to be disappointed when no communication arrived from Webley-Moore-McCall. If a student delivered a note to one of her teachers during class, Hermione would sit tensely, fists clenched, hoping that the note would be some word for her from the company. As it happened, when she did receive word, it was a complete surprise.
Hermione was walking between Charms and Transfiguration class when Madame Routhe approached her in the hallway, touched her lightly on the arm and smiled.
"I just spoke with Lou by Floo," the Professor said, shaking her head slightly at the unintentional rhyme. "I knew that he hadn't contacted you yet, and I'm afraid I scolded him a bit. But I did learn something. He's quite busy these days - as are all of his associates." Madame Routhe emphasized this last word, adding a quick wink to indicate that she was speaking of those workers who were in the kind of position that Hermione herself would be striving for. "He meant to reply to you. He thought he had done so, in fact. I assured him that this was not the case. And he apologized quite satisfactorily. So, if you would be free Tuesday next, could you visit the W-M-Mc campus? If not, I can convey your regrets. But if you would be able to attend, they will expect you at ten a.m."
Hermione opened her mouth, but she was so excited her voice froze and all that emerged was an inarticulate croak. Embarrassed, she tried to swallow and cough at the same time and choked instead, fighting for air as she drew breath with a horrible wet moaning sound.
"Yes," she whispered. "Tuesday. Ten a.m. Thank you. Thank you so much."
Madame Routhe stood beside Hermione, put her arm across the girl's shoulders and drew her out of the path of most of the between-class traffic travelling through the corridor. "Easy," she coaxed. "There is no need to get exercised about any of this. You are an exceptional young lady and any firm that is interested in its own good fortune in the future will be interested in you. Louis is a very nice man, though he does tend to get lost in his own world now and again. One might as well presume that researchers tend to be that way and accept it in him. There's no reason to believe that he will be anything but honest and gentlemanly with you, however. Simply present yourself at your best and find out as much as you possibly can while you are there. This is only your first job interview, after all. You may have to go through many more of them before your career gets properly underway. Now. Can you breathe? Speak?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Hermione replied quietly, but with a clear voice. "Thank you."
Madame Routhe had walked off without a further word, leaving Hermione to stare after, wondering what would happen the following Tuesday morning.
It was a good thing, she thought later, that her appointment had not been for the very next day. She had time to get very nervous, then to calm down, then to wonder if she had gotten the time and the day correctly, then to wonder if she had imagined her meeting with Madame Routhe. She was very relieved when a card came via owl post confirming her appointment, signed by Louis Katraz himself. She chose clothing for her interview. (A simple robe with sleeves rather short and not too voluminous, which a potion maker would recognize as a practical garment.) She made arrangements to miss class and to be off-campus.
And she waited.
This morning - finally - the waiting was over. There would be time for a hot bath, time to get dressed and plenty of time to make it to the Floo. Hermione snuggled back into her pillow and thought about that simple convenience. She could Floo to her appointment. Directly from Hogwarts. Teachers could Apparate onto the Hogwarts grounds, even into the very building itself. There were still wards left protecting the school - decades of reinforcement made them extremely hard to remove. But the powerful sorceries that had acted as an impenetrable wall against magical transportation around the campus were no more. That simple change had noticeably reduced the stress on the staff. And it had increased the frequency of parental visits. Hermione wasn't sure that Headmistress McGonagall was particularly pleased about the parade of parents that showed up to see her once the school's Floo connections were fully operational. It was certainly unlike anything that Professor Dumbledore had ever had to contend with. But the simple fact of the old castle's connection to the rest of the wizarding world more than made up for any inconvenience, so far as Hermione was concerned. She smiled dreamily, thinking about it. Like the situation regarding permission for being off-campus, or alerting the staff when you were going to be absent from even a single class, the current first years would grow up taking full Floo service and Apparators' access to Hogwarts grounds for granted, and would be hard-pressed to imagine the isolation in which the school had existed for so many years.
Soon, bathed and dressed, Hermione breakfasted lightly. She was too tense to eat more than a piece of toast and some pumpkin juice. She was nearly ready to leave, but she felt as though something were missing. She knew she wasn't an experienced adult. She couldn't bring along a work history or magical patents to show her abilities. But she felt stupid showing up for an interview empty-handed. She settled on carrying a small case with her school grade record and copies of her letters of recommendation. Not that Mister Katraz would want to see them, but she wanted something in hand just so she wouldn't be standing there without anything to show for herself, feeling naked.
She snapped her case closed, walked to the Floo, sprinkled some powder, and - trying not to stutter - pronounced, "Webley-Moore-McCall." She disappeared.
She appeared in a white-brick hearth tall enough that Hagrid could have stood straight within it, and wide enough for several people to stand comfortably shoulder-to-shoulder without crowding. The view from the hearth was a bit disorienting at first. The carpets were eggshell, the walls were off-white, the trim was taupe, the reception desk was cream. Hermione blinked to dispel the illusion that she had fallen into a pail of milk. A pale-skinned, blonde receptionist in an ivory robe stood and smiled at her, pink lips parting to reveal gleaming teeth. "Ms. Granger? This way, please."
Hermione followed, watching her own feet carefully to keep from tripping at the junction of white brick with light carpet. She felt a rush of resentment as she hurried to catch up with the retreating receptionist. 'How does she know that I'm Ms. Granger?' Hermione thought, irritated. 'This woman didn't even wait for me to answer her. I could be the wrong person going to the wrong meeting right now. What does she think she is, a mind reader?'
"Yes," said the receptionist in the casual tone of someone continuing a conversation. "It saves a lot of time." She then looked over her shoulder with a slight scowl. "No, nothing like your Professor Trelawney. I wouldn't dream of predicting what people might think."
Hermione was shocked by the reference to her old Divination professor until she realized that she had thought of Trelawney the moment she believed the receptionist was claiming to acknowledge being a mind reader. And she had thought of the teacher in a very unflattering way: as someone whose inflated claims could not be supported by her actual performance. A bit abashed, Hermione muttered, "Pardon me," certain that she had already gotten off on the wrong foot at this company.
But the receptionist seemed to have followed her train of thought, or at least felt that her apology was genuine, because she replied with, "Pardoned and forgotten. Sometimes I think they ought to warn people who are coming here for the first time - or at least post a sign."
Before she could help herself, Hermione visualized the brilliant reception area supporting a huge, dark wooden sign carved with "Beware of the Telepathic Receptionist." She caught her breath as her fingers rose to cover her lips, but the blonde simply laughed and nodded.
"Yes. Something like that. Here we are." She knocked twice and opened a broad door. "Mister Katraz? Your ten o'clock is here." As she stepped back to allow Hermione entry, she murmured, "You'll do fine," in a reassuring tone, then walked back the way they had come.
Hermione had tried to guess where she would be received. She imagined that the interview would take place in something like Headmistress McGonagall's office, but she had hoped that she might be able to see some of the actual workings of the researchers while she was there, so she had wondered whether she might have been able to talk to Mister Katraz in one of the laboratories. The place she walked into was like a combination of both office and lab, with enough apparently random things stacked and piled throughout the area to have filled several more rooms in a more orderly fashion. The riot of items seemed to have been gathered for the sake of sheer confusion. There was a bank of cauldrons against one wall, with a stone-topped table covered in glassware immediately in front of it. Half of one side of the room was taken up by a glass-covered alcove with a huge fan blade in place of a ceiling. The opposite wall held what appeared to be a carnival-style shooting gallery. It featured a thick, wooden counter facing the room with a broad opening above it leading into a deep, dark space with a narrow lighted area at the far end. Various objects were arrayed there as though placed as targets. Scattered around the room there were rolling blackboards with chalk, easels with huge pads of paper, shelves covered in books... and before she could take in any more, there was a large, fat man, gleamingly pink-faced, clean-shaven and short-haired, dressed in Muggle fashion with a heavy cotton work shirt, work boots and jeans, pulling off a huge leather glove and shoving his hand out for her to shake.
"Lou Katraz," he announced enthusiastically. "Welcome. Let's try to get closer to what passes for my desk these days... I think I can find a chair... or two... Here we go!" Pulling off the other glove, he threw the pair onto a desktop several layers thick with papers of all sorts: drawings, charts and written material. He grabbed two chairs, dragged them into a space on the floor that was clear of the tubes, cables and boxes that were nearly everywhere in the huge room, and nearly dropped into one of the chairs before he caught himself at the last second and gestured toward the other chair. "Have a seat, will you?"
"Certainly. Thank you." Hermione sat and waited for a question, but the magical researcher just sat and looked at her for a long moment. Hermione began to feel uncomfortable. Was she supposed to start the process? Offer something about herself?
Just as she was about to say something to break the silence, Lou Katraz offered, "You certainly know how to compose a letter of introduction." Before Hermione could even offer thanks for that compliment, he went on, "Every teacher who worked for your school in the last several decades contributed a recommendation. And there were a few in there who must be new, 'cause I've never heard of 'em, and Hogwarts was my school, too. Madame Routhe, of course, I knew her from before. I'm glad to hear she's teaching, now. I hated to think of her sitting around the Ministry, brewing up hangover remedies week after week." The man started slightly, as though suddenly remembering Hermione's age. "And other things, of course. She was a good brewer, Pennyroyal, always reliable. But Merlin! When I was there... Fudge was the Minister, You-Know-Who was still out there, and everybody was still denying it... Well, I made a vat of hangover juice for every Monday, rain or shine." He laughed, a one-note chuckle trying to depreciate the comment he had just made. "Not that I'm saying that the Ministry are a bunch of drunks, you know. There are a lot of good people there, straight as a beam of light. But that place - most places where people work, if you ask me - are all about 'By-The-Book.' Do the same thing the same way. I couldn't stand any of 'em. So I came here. And every single day is different. I love it. It's a little hard to keep things orderly." He waved a hand around the room, indicating particular conglomerations of clutter. "But it is exciting. But back to your letter. You aced your classes. You breezed through your O.W.L.s. Everyone on the Hogwarts staff expects you to knock your N.E.W.T.s senseless. So I can skip the part of the interview I usually have to start with when talking to young applicants. The 'What-Have-You-Done' part. I know what you've done. You've done school as much as it can be done. Now, for the good part of the interview. Ms. Granger, what would you expect to get from your employment if you were to be employed at Webley-Moore-McCall?" He sat back, waiting.
Hermione wasn't sure where to begin. The warm-up questions she had expected, the easy conversational queries about school life and grades, had been passed by and left in the dust. She was facing the meat of the interview and she hadn't said more than three words yet. She looked at the man opposite her, thought about the opportunity he represented. Then she recalled what Madame Routhe had said to her in the corridor between classes. This was only the first of what would likely be many job interviews. She decided to risk telling the truth - and telling it in her own way.
"Mister Katraz, do you know what Hogwarts students are really good at after six and a half years of study in a school for witchcraft and wizardry?"
Lou smiled. This was entertaining. The interviewee had turned the questioning around. "Six and a... let's see, in my seventh year, what was I... You know, the things I think I was best at involved pulling rather complicated pranks. My vic... well. My Targets were always other students. But that maintenance man that used to prowl the halls; he hated me. But I doubt that silly games were the point of your question. Let's just say I told you that I thought 'Casting Spells' was the answer, and we'll get back to your idea. What did you have in mind as the best skill of senior students?"
Hermione held up a hand, not willing to let the man dismiss his own comment. "No, please. Your answer is more apt than you may expect. Students do learn to play lots of silly games - and sometimes some of those games turn really nasty, and even dangerous. But there is one thing that first year students are exposed to, second year students practice, third year students are expected to be proficient at, and which - in one way or another - follows every student throughout his educational career, until he leaves school - successfully or not." Lou raised his eyebrows and nodded at Hermione to encourage her to go on. Whatever else she might have accomplished, she wasn't boring her audience yet. "What Hogwarts students spend seven years learning, practicing, polishing, and finally becoming absolute masters of is: turning hedgehogs into snuffboxes!"
Mister Katraz sat back in his chair and stared into space for a moment. Then he laughed out loud. "By Golpalott, Granger!" he guffawed, apparently unaware, or at least unconcerned, that he had called Hermione's last name without a 'Ms.' before it. "You're right! Why, if I had a hedgehog here and now, I bet I could turn 'im into a snuffbox with hardly a thought. It's funny. I haven't thought of that in years. But you've hit the point precisely. We turned a hedgerow full of hedgehogs into a warehouse full of snuffboxes practically from the moment we arrived at school. Extraordinary. But how does this impact on what you expect from working here?"
Hermione took a breath, not rushing to answer. This was her most important point, and she was determined to make it in as clear a fashion as possible. "Like a lot of students - girls, mostly - I followed a particular curve in my relationship with the hedgehog-to-snuffbox spell. At first, I thought it was cruel and unfair. No one ever asked the hedgehogs whether they would like to be snuffboxes instead. So I spent a lot of time after class, working for extra credit, turning snuffboxes back into the hedgehogs they once had been. I didn't tell my Transfiguration teacher - Professor McGonagall, you may remember her?" Hermione waited for the nod of agreement and the expected nostalgic smile before continuing. "But I would have done the work even if I had gotten no credit at all. I learned several other 'Undo' types of Transfigurations while I was at it: goblet back into rat; slippers back into bunnies; jewel back into toad; clock back into bird - just because I thought it was so mean that all of these living things would be forced into such inanimate shapes.
"But then, once I had learned to free the animals from their transfigured forms, I started to look at what we were creating when we trapped these animals this way. Personally, I drink most of my beverages from a tumbler. What use to me is a goblet? Or any eating utensil that retains fur or a tail from its original animal body?"
Mister Katraz chuckled and waved toward Hermione to encourage her to continue.
"It was the same for every Transfiguration we were expected to master. The value of a jewel lies in its rarity. Turning a pondful of frogs into emeralds defeats the purpose. They may be pretty, but they're valueless. Bunny slippers may be warm, but they're silly - slippers with long ears are for little children. And what little child would feel good wearing his pet rabbits once they had been turned into footwear? I can't think of a single one who would want to wear them. And every clock that has ever been made from a bird is at least a little bit 'flighty.' They run fast or slow - and they do so at random. They can't be counted on. They're not consistent. And consistency is the sole quality one expects from a timepiece. Snuffboxes may be the worst example of all. Snuff is simply unpleasant, and as I tried to make some sense of what we were being taught, I could find no one who used it. That's when I realized that we weren't simply abusing animals to learn to cast spells. The things we were turning the animals into were stupid and useless."
Hermione's heart beat a little faster. Her points were being made! Her arguments were getting through. Lou Katraz sat, head tilted to one side, considering what he had heard. Before he gathered his thoughts sufficiently to reply, Hermione gave him some more to think about.
"The other classes were no better. Charms? What good is a magical door lock when every first year student knows the counterspell to unlock it once again? I realize that many wizards don't want to be bothered to carry a key or remember a combination. But a good, metal padlock is more useful than any dozen hold-portal spells cast by any dozen members of the Wizengamot! And there are so many trivial, useless potions. Love potions. All right, they're not strictly legal, but that doesn't stop a dozen or more girls from brewing them every single year at school. Polyjuice. Hair restorative."
Lou had to interrupt when he heard this. "Wait just a moment, Ms. Granger. Ask a bald man about that last one and I'm sure you'll hear that hair restorer is neither trivial nor useless."
Hermione conceded the point gracefully, meeting the man's eyes with a direct look and returning to her topic. "So I'll grant you the last one. But seriously: did any of the potions you brewed in school have anything to do with what you did in your professional life? Or what you're doing in your researches here?"
"Not directly," Mister Katraz admitted. "But people often misinterpret what school does teach. Procedure. Method. Technique. If I didn't know how to get a cauldron going without burning the first ingredients I put into it, I would hardly be able to start working on a professional level, let alone travel the unexplored territory we like to work in here."
For a frightening moment, Hermione thought she had gone too far, and would be shut down. But the interviewer sat back, apparently returning the floor to her. She returned to her explanation without breaking eye contact.
"When I first went to school... no. No, that isn't right. When I first realized there was something like Hogwarts. When I got my letter, by owl. When I cross-examined my parents until they convinced me it was not some kind of trick they had played on me. When I was reassured by an actual wizard that there was magic and that I had the potential to perform magic and that there was a school that could teach magic. When we began to make plans for me to go away from home, to stay at school, to begin first year. I was thrilled. Thrilled in a way that I don't think anyone can understand who was not brought up Muggle. Who was raised believing that there was no real magic - that there could be no real magic. I was thrilled in a way that said my world had changed completely - forever. When I first went to school. When I felt the - literal - enchantment of the place. I said to myself, 'This will be what defines my life. This will be my life at the deepest level.' I felt that with magic - with this power that we are so fortunate to wield - I could do truly great things. I set myself to learn as much as I possibly could, because with the beauty and wonder and power that filled Hogwarts, and that ran through each and every one of my classmates, I was certain that I could change the world. End world hunger. Banish poverty. Eliminate disease. Promote the general welfare, advance education, prevent war and - in short - make the world into a place that was not horrible.
"But from the moment I got on the train that would take me to school, I saw people who had been scarred by war. I met people who were filled with hatred and bigotry. I had to attend my wonderful, magical school with people who felt that the only way they could advance was by pushing someone else back. And more than six years into my class work there, I'm still asking whether any of us might ever be taught to cast any spells that are actually useful!
"So that's what I expect from working here. I expect to do research in order to find ways in which to use magic that are actually useful."
There was a moment of silence as the interviewer waited to be sure that Hermione had finished her statement. "One cannot accuse you of biting off too little," Mister Katraz said with a warm smile. "One is tempted to point out, however, that your stated goals are end results - not the incremental steps that one must take in order to achieve such grand accomplishments. But those ideals do provide you with a guideline, and guidelines can provide clues toward formulating an outline of necessary results which can give you a list of necessary conditions which you might consider bringing about through magical means. A research director, reviewing your proposal, might assign you to work on a spell - or a charm, or a potion - that affects one tiny corner of one part of one step of your plan to address one of your big concerns. My question to such an idealistic young lady as yourself is: could you be content to work very hard over a long period of time on such a miniscule portion of the solution you crave to see?"
"So long as I was working toward something, and not... hedgehogs to snuffboxes."
Mister Katraz held her eyes for a long moment, searching. Then he smiled and waved a hand around the cluttered room. "This, as you have no doubt gathered, is my office. I come here to let my mind wander; to play, to get back some of the freedom that led to my early successes. That's why it's such a mess. Would you like to see some of our actual working areas?"
"I'd love it."
"Follow me. Watch your feet. These cords jump out and grab you."