Chapter 45: Frustration

Hermione huddled beside a stack of foreign newspapers—French, Spanish, and Portuguese. The feather of her quill scratched against her chin as she mulled over the translation for one of the words.

A high pitched whining sound shattered her thoughts, making her jump for the 5th time that hour.

She glanced up at the two student scientists, who were frantically scrambling to make the Remembrall stop screaming. Normally, the lab was a quiet place to work, and Hermione had reasoned that she and Dean could hang out as soon as he was done.

But maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, after all.

"It's two swipes, Dean, two—"

"I'm trying!" cried Dean, waving his hand over it. "You have to give me a second!"

The whining noise continued for five very long seconds.

"Dean, just forget it, I'll do it myself."

Padma wrenched the Remembrall out of his hands, fiddling with it to switch it off.

There was a moment of tense silence as Padma examined the ball for cracks, while Dean stared at her.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said, his face burning red. "I really thought that modification would work."

"It wasn't a bad idea," she said, her voice clipped. "But nothing we've tried so far today has changed a single thing. We've been working for weeks, and this spell still has no concept of gradation whatsoever. Furthermore, we can't figure out if the problem is it's too sensitive to magic, not sensitive enough, or reacting to something completely different.

"Right," said Dean slowly. "I know, we've still got a lot of work to do. I won't mess with the enchantments anymore if that bothers you."

"You are allowed to modify the spells if you want," she said, making notes and pushing her hair out of her eyes. "It's just that nothing is going as I'd planned, and I'd honestly prefer to be working alone right now."

"No, it's…come on, Padma, don't be like that."

They went back and forth for another few rounds. Hermione was starting to feel embarrassed by proxy, watching how petty the argument was becoming. Finally, Padma thrust a finger at Hermione. "Okay, look, she's been waiting for you for half an hour, so why don't you just pack up and go already?"

"She's not waiting," he insisted. "She's got work she's doing."

"Seriously?" Rolling her eyes, she gripped the Remembrall in her palm, shoving it in his face. "Not a chance. She's waiting on you. So stop mucking up my workspace and go spend time with your girlfriend."

Dean flinched like she'd just slapped him. "Fine. I'll go, if that's what you want."

He stormed out of the room, Hermione scrambling to gather her newspapers so she could follow him.

Dean had stopped outside the door. Using his wand, he spelled away his perspiration, but he still looked agitated.

"Sorry you had to see that," he said, sighing in frustration. "She's normally not such a grouch."

"I'll say," responded Hermione. "I understand she's frustrated, but she didn't have to blow up at you like that."

Dean started to reply, but trailed off. "Wait a minute…that's it!"

He shouldered his pack, shoved his wand in his pocket. "I've got to go," he said. "I'll owl you a message later tonight, okay?"

He ran off down the hall, Hermione blinking after him.

Did he forget they had plans for this afternoon?


March 7th

Two days later

In the library, Harry reviewed the translated newspapers, while Hermione poured over her reference book, Une Histoire de Beauxbatons. Every once in a while, he noticed her glance up, as if waiting for his reaction.

"Oh so that's what that phrase means," he commented loudly. "I've been translating it wrong this whole time." His gaze flicked up to hers, and he caught her smile. He couldn't help himself. "Hermione Granger: Auror, scientist, teacher, celebrity, and professional translator. Leave some jobs for the rest of us."

Hermione went back to reading, still with that self-satisfied smile. It was their second official meeting on the Secret of the Ministry. It was going well, though she'd been a bit distracted that afternoon. "I've got a name for you to look up," he said. "Terrence Belmont."

"Belmont, Belmont…" Hermione murmured, flipping through the pages of her book. "He's not listed, but it looks like his brother, Maurice Belmont, graduated from Beauxbatons 15 years ago."

"Interesting," Harry said, rubbing his chin. "That makes the third squib we've identified from France so far who has suffered traumatic brain injuries, which may-or-may-not-but-probably-are Factionist related. He's an expat, emigrated with his entire family to England. I know you translated this report, so you probably remember, but Terrence is currently in critical condition at Mercy Hospital. His family cannot be found."

Hermione nodded. "He was a…military attorney, right?"

"Bingo." Harry made a note in his notebook. "So that makes twelve squib victims who work in professional fields, and twenty who are blue collar." He frowned, examining his list. Something there I'm missing. "I might be able to find more information about the victims after I visit the university library, see what the internet denizens have to say."

Hermione nodded, then went silent as a classmate walked by. She glanced away at the open window, waiting for him to pass.

Harry went right on with his work, ignoring the wandering student. Hermione didn't want to make their meetings too obvious, and so Harry had chosen a secluded corner of the library, partially blocked by a shelf and muted by quieting charms. Aside from that, acting completely normal seemed their best defence. In spite of Hermione's misgivings, experience told him that hiding in plain sight looked much less suspicious than secret meetings in locked rooms did.

The student was gone, but Hermione still stared at the window, lost in thought. Harry cleared his throat.

"So the news reports show that the Factionists are gaining political momentum across Europe," he said. "Eventually, world leaders will be forced to take a stance. Most haven't made official decisions yet, but I read recently that Scandinavia seems bent on declaring neutrality."

"That's how it is in France right now," said Hermione. "There was a debate recently as to whether France will supply aid if Britain goes to war. There were arguments both for and against, but the government doesn't seem to want to involve themselves."

Harry nodded. "The first and foremost thing that most people do is nothing, and that's exactly what might hurt us in the end. Eastern Europe in particular has a lot of Faction sympathizers who might sway things in the wrong direction, politically."

"I think that's where the werewolf and veela conclaves are located," said Hermione. "As well as a few squib communities."

"Hmm…right," said Harry, turning an idea over in his mind. "You know, I've been thinking this whole time that something feels off. The Factionists have nothing against squibs, so why target them? At least among the wizard victims there's a pattern, as most are in positions of influence related to the Ministry. So I'm thinking…either the squib attacks are fear tactics, or maybe…collateral damage?" He paused, frowned. Still didn't seem right. "Also, it's going to be hard to get accurate statistics if all we have to go off of is what makes the news. Incidentally, I bet there's somebody on the internet selling medical records."

Hermione smiled absently, but didn't say anything. She was tapping her quill idly on the paper, her gaze far away.

Harry felt a twinge of something. Jealousy, irritation.

Sooo are we here to talk, or are we here to stare out windows?

Patience, his brain chided. Remember Rule 17.

Yeah, yeah. He set his feelings aside.

"Here's a weird story," said Harry. "Comes from a small Muggle newspaper in Cornwall county. Apparently a man was found dead near a park, coroner's report says he was attacked by wolves."

Rousing herself, Hermione asked, "That's the 5th one in that general area. What's in Cornwall?"

"Godric's Hollow."

She blinked. "That's where your biological parents lived, right?"

Harry nodded. "Nowadays, it's home to a lot of retired wizards. Our victim—an elderly gentleman—was walking in a community park and was discovered by a witness, still alive. He was rambling."

"About what?"

"He kept apologizing for breaking his vows. Then he had a seizure and died." Harry tented his fingers. "So I think the main question is, what were his vows, and do they have anything to do with why he was a target?"

"Hmm," said Hermione, her quill tracing patterns on the page. "Good question. Let me think…"

There were a few moments of silence, where she continued doodling.

"Hermione?"

She looked up, and Harry tried to be Patient and Considerate. "Something wrong?"

She shrugged. "No…I don't know. Guess I'm just waiting."

"For what?"

She stared at the table, biting her lip. His frustration rose. Harry didn't want to be upset about this, that she wasn't nearly as invested as he was. It wasn't like it was her job to listen to him ramble. But it was hard to be putting in so much effort, on something so important to him, and only be meriting half her attention.

"Umm," said Harry. "If you want to leave and meet again later—"

"No, it's fine." Hermione sighed. "I'm really sorry. I know this is important, and I want to work with you, it's just..." She put her head in her hands, burying them in her hair. "Give me a second."

Harry's irritation drained away, leaving him somehow in a worse situation. Harry never knew how to react to her emotions. He wouldn't know if what he said was right or wrong until he saw her response, so he would question everything, second guess every choice, and ultimately just do nothing.

Which was not at all compliant with Rule 13, but uggh. How was he even supposed to interact with her without the rulebook? It's not like he could follow his instincts and just pull her into a hug, kiss her and tell her not to cry.

Then again…why was she sad? Hope rose as he considered an option. Could it be that—

A letter fluttered in from the window, dropped by an owl into Hermione's lap. Apparently, it was what she was waiting for. She beamed, tore open the letter and read eagerly. As she scanned the page, her face clouded in confusion.

"It's from Alastor Moody," said Hermione. "It's umm…does this look real to you?"

Harry took the offered letter, scanned it.

To Hermione, the first Granger, I hereby challenge you to a duel.


Hermione stood at one end of the duelling room, Mad Eye at the other.

"They eyed each other with murderous intent," said Tonks, snacking on crisps. "Hermione slowly stalks the floor, while her attacker watches and waits."

Tonks would never forget her first fight with Alastor Moody. She'd been a cocky young Auror who thought a few duelling wins meant she could best anyone, even the most volatile Auror in modern history.

She'd been knocked out in less than two seconds.

The Innervate spell brought her back so she could be kicked around the floor until she managed to survive for 10 seconds. She'd learned a lot of valuable lessons that day, including the need for creative use of her morphing ability.

Hermione stood before the mad wizard, her body tense as a bowstring pulled back.

"So, Alicorn Princess," said Mad Eye, readying his wand. "Let's see what you got."

In a split second, Mad Eye wordlessly fired off blasts from his wand, red and purple arcs of raw power that Tonks knew would leave jagged scars.

Hermione sprang into action. She ran, jumped, and dodged every spell, even the attacks that covered an entire section of the floor. It was like watching a ping pong ball in a tennis match. Hermione wasn't just fast, she was light, able to bounce off the floor and walls when necessary.

Or rather, when she was scared. Her abilities always went into overdrive then.

Auror Tonks had found the best way to deal with Hermione was to confuse her, and Tonks' abilities were useful for that. Hermione never knew when an invisible extra hand was going to shoot out of nowhere, with an extra wand.

"Not bad," said Mad Eye, wheezing a little. "But what do you do when you can't dodge?"

Mad Eye kept firing, using an invisibility spell to hide his location, which Hermione broke almost instantly. And that would be Tonks' fault, she overused invisibility. Then, a few seconds later, Mad Eye was tied up and stuck to a wall, his wand flying from his hand and into Hermione's.

Tonks clapped, standing up from her seat as a few crisps fell out of her lap.

"That's my girl!" she cried. "Besting Mad Eye on her first try!"

Her mentor glowered at her, and she knew she'd pay for that later. But Hermione's warm, surprised smile—as if she didn't believe she had it in her—made it worth it.

Mad Eye muttered gruffly, and the trap released him. Tonks was starting to believe that Mad Eye did not require wands, they were just for show.

"That's a fancy trap spell," said Mad Eye. "Where'd you learn that one, kid?"

"Oh, Hermione knows all the traps," said Tonks. "Twine, vines, trap door, freezing, giant ooze, sleep and lethargy charms, sticky fingers. That's how she fights. Although with me, it usually takes a bit longer than 2 minutes to get stuck—"

"Incarcerous!"

Tonks was now trapped against the wall, a second spell silencing her.

"The spell I just used against my insufferable protege normally takes about thirty minutes to naturally release the victim," said Mad Eye, a wand once more in his hand. "Our Researchers on the Ninth Floor have discovered a simple remedy, however. Incarcerite."

The bonds burst, bits of twine biting into Tonks' skin.

"Oww!" she cried, casting an offended look at her mentor.

"It's quite easy to cast a counterspell to any trap," explained Mad Eye. "All you need to do is change the last syllable by one vowel sound. The results might be explosive, but they're effective." He picked up his staff, leaning against it. "It's an advantage the Aurors have for now, but don't expect it to be for long. You've heard the phrase, 'Two people can keep a secret if one of them is dead.' Our enemies will find out, sooner or later."

Mad Eye pointed his staff at Hermione. "What are you going to do, Ms. Alicorn, if your traps don't work and you can't dodge?"

Hermione considered it carefully. "Well…I'd use a shield, of course, until I can find an exit—"

Mad Eye laughed, loud and riotous. "So you're that scared to hurt people, huh? It does not even cross your mind to attempt an offensive spell."

She blinked. "But…why should I, if I don't need to? Isn't the point of being an Auror to protect people?"

Mad Eye surveyed her a moment. "Fire an offensive spell at me right now."

She blinked. "What…sort of spell?"

"Surprise me," he said. "Don't worry, I can take it. And not some piddling Bat Bogey like we're 1st years."

Hermione still hesitated. Oh come on, thought Tonks. You've hit me with hexes loads of times.

While Hermione wracked her brain for a spell, Mad Eye's cane thumped the floor. "What's the incantation and wand movement for the Blasting Curse?"

She blinked. "Confrigo. The movement is pointing one's wand at the target."

"What does the Expulso curse do?"

"It causes explosions," replied Hermione. "Enough to knock a wizard into a wall."

"Name a medical spell that can be used offensively."

"The Entrail-expelling curse," she said, a slight tremor to her voice. "It can be used to deal with constipation, but also…can eviscerate someone."

Mad Eye clapped slowly.

"So, all the knowledge is up there," he said, pointing to her temple. "But you don't ever use it."

She shook her head. "I would, if I ever needed to."

Mad Eye pulled a crumpled paper from the pocket of his duster, along with a quill. He jotted a few things down, muttering as he did so. "Practice these spells," he said, handing it to her. "I want to see you performing them perfectly against a target. None of them will kill a wizard, so I don't want to see you flinch. Show me you're more than the "bowl of wet grapes" that the papers make you out to be."

Hermione nodded, restraining herself from protesting. She left a few minutes later, claiming she had somewhere to be. Mad Eye turned to Tonks.

"As for you," he said, glaring. "I don't know if I should hex you or give you a medal."

"Huh?" said Tonks.

"She's not a fighter, not by any sense of the definition. In fact, her amount of restraint is appalling. And yet, she never would have bested me if it wasn't for your training…though I was holding back, of course."

Tonks shrugged, admitting honestly. "I didn't really do anything, we were just trying to be a little creative in our battles."

"Exactly," he said nodding. "And to be honest, she'll be thanking you for that soon." He took a swig of his drink, wiped with the back of his hand. "I suspect we won't be training for much longer."


Hermione walked to her guard duty. In spite of her win against Mad Eye, she felt a familiar sense of being Bad.

She'd once been told by Dumbledore that she should be "happy to be a sidekick," and not a day later she'd gathered up a group of girls to picket outside his office. Being female didn't make you a second rate hero, nor did it make you any less courageous or intelligent. Ever since then, she'd tried her best to prove that, out of stubbornness if nothing else.

And then, today happened.

She'd promised Harry to help him with his research into the Ministry. His name was being slandered by terrorists, their nation was on the brink of war, and it definitely was the sort of puzzle that a heroine should be trying to unravel. Instead, she'd spent the entire session mooning over a boy, of all things, proving herself to be a terrible friend and a worse heroine.

She was acting like the ditzy sidekick, existing soley for comic relief. Or worse, the girl who only matters because she falls in love with the hero.

And maybe Dean was a hero. After all, he'd felt compelled to solve a grand quest against impossible odds, and was probably holed up in a cave somewhere with heroic music playing in the background. Nevermind the longsuffering love interest he'd left behind, she'd wait until he returned victorious. Hermione hadn't seen or heard from Dean for the last two days, and it was all feeling so appallingly familiar that she was starting to get really, really upset about it. She hated feeling so weak and emotional, but even now all she wanted was to see him.

At least she'd put up a good fight against Alaster Moody, that was a win for the heroine side of her.

So when her night watch was over, and Hermione did get the letter she'd been waiting for, it made her feel a whole bunch of things in addition to relief.

Come meet me in the lab, Hermione. I want to see you.