Interlude C – Red Fire
Ron Weasley walked into the Muggle cafe and paused in the door frame. He quickly saw what he was looking for, a brown-haired young woman sat at a table for two, and marched over. He nodded rather formally, and said, "Hello, Hermione."
She said quietly, "Hello, Ron."
"I'll just get a cup of tea and I'll be right back." He turned quickly, and Hermione watched him move through the Muggle crowd. She was biting her lip when he returned and sat down.
He wrapped his long fingers around the mug and took a sip. Hermione had always wondered how he did not burn his tongue. He relaxed back and said, "How are you, Hermione?"
His voice was rather stiff, and she knew that he had not wanted to come. "I'm okay, Ron. And you?" She frowned to herself; her voice was too weak.
"Never better. Work's good. Life's good. I'm even getting in a bit of Quidditch." His voice was full of vigour and contentment.
Hermione looked away, and tried to inject her own voice with some equivalent cheeriness. "What have you been working on lately?"
Ron looked at her suspiciously. "Is this really what you want to talk about?"
She sighed, feeling like a wrung-out cloth. "No, but humour me for the moment, Ron."
He pursed his lips, and then said, "There's been quite a lot going on lately. Mostly related to werewolves, actually. I was involved in the safeguards over the full moon. One of the scum got through somehow, though. Not on my patch, though. You probably read about it, though."
She nodded, and tried to rouse herself out of her stupor. "It's such a shame. If only the system treated them a bit more fairly, maybe none of them would transform unsafely."
"Maybe? That's a big risk to take."
Ron did not look so friendly at the moment, and Hermione stared at him, and her earlier limpness washed away. "But it's one that we have to take. After all, they're people too. They should have a bit of freedom."
Ron's ear tips turned red, but he was no longer a boy, and his temper was more controlled these days. "Freedom? Rights? What about the people, the children, who get killed, Hermione? What about their rights? Shouldn't they free to live without fear?" He paused and started to tap the table, obviously trying to regain his composure. "How many children have to die for one werewolf to have the right to transform with no controls?"
Hermione tried to respond, but was too shocked by his tone to gather any form of coherent argument. She could only stammer, "But what about Remus?"
"Remus Lupin? He's a good man, I'll grant you that, but he is still a werewolf. He is still a danger to society. All it takes is one slip. I honestly don't know what old Dumbledore was thinking when he hired him. I didn't ever think about it when I was a kid, but now I've seen too many dead bodies to think that the risk is worth it, Hermione. Too many." He turned away, staring blankly at the floor. Hermione reach over to touch his arm. At her touch, his face whipped back to her's. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, Hermione. We all know that. Remus was a good friend, but, I have to say that Snape had the rights of it, and you know that's something I never thought I'd say."
Hermione was shocked into silence.
Ron looked away again, before saying, "But, you didn't ask me here to talk about werewolves, I imagine. What did you want to talk about?" His blue eyes locked onto her own eyes.
Hermione gulped and nervously looked away. Now that it had come to it, this did not seem like a very good idea. "I wanted to ... I wanted to ... warn you about Parkinson." She gabbled out the last few words.
"Pansy?" Ron looked coldly furious. "I should have guessed that you were just jealous." He stood up abruptly and pulled his collar up. "I am engaged to Pansy, not to you. You should see beyond your silly school prejudices sometime, Hermione. We can't all live in the past."
And with that, he walked out.
Interlude D – A Madman in the Ministry
The Ministry of Magic was quiet, as outside it was the middle of the night. One man had remained behind, and was seated behind his desk, scrutinizing some papers. There was a shallow knock on the door. The man at the desk looked up sharply, and stared at the door for a few seconds, before picking up his wand and with a short gesture, opened the door.
A man slipped through, carefully closing the door behind him. He wore the face of a certain Mr. Jason Cartwright, employee in the Department of Magical Creatures.
The man at the desk looked him over and gestured towards a seat. He said, softly, "Proteus. You're late. And put on your real face."
The Metamorphmagus in the chair laughed softly, but obligingly shifted his features to those of a young Greek god with straw blond curls and cornflower blue eyes. "Always ready to serve, sir." His tongue lingered on the last word, turning it into a contemptuous insult.
The man at the desk merely smiled. "I have the rest of your payment for the Dantan case."
"Thank you." The Changeling smiled widely, like a shark. It looked quite out of place on his innocent-looking face.
"And I have other missions for you to perform, Proteus."
"As long as the payment is sufficient, I live to serve, sir." Again the last word was thick with contempt.
The man behind the desk stared again at the Metamorphmagus, as if trying to judge him. "You know why I ask you to do these things. You must do."
"Of course. You are planning to use my missions to whip up feeling against Metamorphmagi. I imagine that you have various plans to control us waiting in the wings." Proteus' tone was light.
"Then why do you do it? Don't you care about your own kind?"
Proteus raised an eyebrow. "How many Metamorphmagi are there in the United Kingdom?"
"Two. You, from Greece, and from the birth records I have, the only other is Nymphadora Tonks, Auror. Before that, the last recorded birth in this country was two hundred years ago."
"Then why do you ask me about my kind? There is no 'my kind'. We have no kinship - I know nothing of this 'Nymphadora Tonks', so why should her life interest me? As long as you can pay me, I will be satisfied. This is really about other non-humans, no?"
The man behind the desk smiled lazily. "You are so ... practical, Proteus. But know this, I do not plan to stop with the United Kingdom. There will be no place to run, no place to hide, for you and your kind, unless you are with me." He paused, and said, "I was very pleased with your work on the Dantan case. It was a big step up from robberies and the like. I would not want you to be having any second thoughts."
When Proteus made no move to say anything, the man pointed to an envelope on the desk, "The key to a temporary Gringotts account is here, with your usual payment inside, and your next set of instructions."
"As generous as ever," murmured Proteus. He stood languidly and padded over to take the key.
The man at the desk said, "I may ask her to lend her talents to my campaign. I have some information that may persuade her. Would the chance to court her be a temptation to you, Proteus? Do you dream of fathering a race of Metamorphmagi?"
Proteus smirked. "I do not dream, sir. As you said, I am a practical man." He left, and hurried out of the Ministry, shifting into Mr. Cartwright's body as he did so. He waited until he was out on the street, in a light rain, before shifting into a non-descript form, and then he started to laugh at the very thought of courting Nymphadora Tonks. When he recovered himself, he set off along the street, bouncing and humming a Muggle song.