It had taken nearly 15 minutes until Hermione had managed to extract herself from the unwanted attention her arrival had created. She had rushed to the elevator, endured even more staring from its occupants, and finally arrived at Level 1. Unlike the Portland branch, this office was orderly. The rows of desks were meticulously spaced, reminding Hermione of the Great Hall during her O.W.L examinations. She kept her head down as she walked towards the secretary's desk located in front of a large set of double doors at the far end of the room.
"Hi, I have an appointment with the Minister." Hermione tried to emulate Professor McGonagall's confident cadence, but felt that she had come up spectacularly short.
"One moment please Ms. Granger." The woman, a serious looking 40 year old, replied as she stood.
A nearby worker who until that point had been sedulously working, looked up, only to hastily drop his gaze back to his papers at the stern glare the secretary had given him. Hermione immediately liked the woman.
The secretary walked the short distance to the doors and gave two curt knocks. A moment later, they were opened to reveal Kingsley Shacklebolt looking almost exactly as he had a decade earlier.
"Hermione! Come, come." He motioned for her to join him inside. They settled in two comfortable chairs that faced each other at the front of the office.
"Welcome home Hermione. I must say, I wish it were under different circumstances, but it's important to consider the silver linings in times like these, don't you think?"
Even Hermione's curiosity to his word choice couldn't distract her from the vehement reaction she felt at the word "home." She wondered when she had stopped associating England with the word. She couldn't remember.
"What circumstances are they exactly? Your letter was exceptionally vague."
"Apologies for that. I wasn't completely sure where you were, and I couldn't risk the letter getting intercepted."
Hermione was thankful he didn't ask where she had been. It felt private somehow, like it was an embarrassing story from her childhood she had never told anyone before.
"What do you know of Pictish Ruins?" He continued.
"It's been a few years since I've conducted my research, but nearly all of them have clear indications of a magical influence. It's probable that the Pictish people coexisted with the magical community. Their non-magical people, unlike the Brittonic people's, likely did not consider those of magic to be a higher power, and thus did not ostracize the magical community as was the case in ancient England. Due to this, virtually all of their communities were more prosperous than Britania's."
"Have you any experience with reading their runes?"
"Some. I haven't done any in person, but I did review many while writing Ancient Runes and their Modern Implications."
"I'll be honest, Hermione: we're out of our depth here. What I'm about to tell you is completely confidential and I ask you to not discuss this with anyone not directly involved." He paused until Hermione gave a nod of agreement. "Three days ago a group of Unspeakables were investigating magical ruins inside Arthur's Seat, when they inadvertently triggered some type of defensive mechanism. It caused a small army of inferi to rise and attack the researchers. While we were preoccupied with this attack, another group of inferi were unleashed in Canongate Kirkyard. Over 40 muggles were attacked: 23 dead, 17 injured and treated at St. Mungos. It was the largest attack since the war."
Hermione drew in a sharp breath. Of all reasons she had imagined Kingsley to write her, she never considered this.
"Why haven't I heard about the attack?"
While she may not have returned to the UK, Hermione Granger was not one to be purposefully ignorant. She still had subscriptions to The Daily Prophet, The Quibbler, and The Times. Part of her had always feared that one day she'd see one of her friend's faces strewn across the front-page with an accompanying obituary on pages 2, 3, and 4. It was a fear that, while certainly diminishing as the years passed, never completely went away.
"We've put pressure on the Prophet to wait to release the official account while we figure this out. It's been a complete disaster. 217 muggles needed memory altering, and the muggle Prime Minister had been breathing down my neck to solve this. I believe the muggles spun it as a pipe explosion of sorts."
She remembered seeing something similar the other day in The Times, but the absence of any mention of a disruption in either of the english magical subscriptions she had, led her to believe it truly was a muggle tragedy brought on by the rapidly warming weather.
"I suppose you can't tell me about the particulars of the runes?"
"Not until you agree to a silencing vow, no."
She hummed, a thoughtful look on her face.
"I can't tell you any more, but if you agree to work with us, you'll have complete access to the entirety of the Unspeakable team's research. They've been working in similar sites for a little over two decades."
"Surely I can't provide any information they don't already have?"
"Hermione, you're not called the brightest witch of your age for nothing." He said with a gentle smile. "Besides, your research into the indigenous people of Newfoundland's territorial warding has some astonishing similarities to our case. At least, that's what I'm told by our expert. I won't pretend to understand half of what you do."
Well that was interesting. What would cause the similarities? And why would the Unspeakables only now be experiencing difficulties with the ruins if they've been working with them for decades?
Minister Shaklebolt looked on with a pleased expression as Hermione thought. If there was one thing he knew about her, it was that she could never let a mystery remain a mystery if she could help it. It had, admittedly, been one of the reasons he remained so vague. He hadn't been lying when he had told her he couldn't discuss everything, but he neglected to mention certain aspects of the case that he, as the Minister, certainly could divulge.
Hermione was so wrapped up in her own thoughts she started slightly at the sound of Kingsley's deep voice.
"Take the day to think it over. Harry mentioned lunch at the Burrow when he asked for the day yesterday. Floo me tomorrow, I'll have Department of Magical Transportation set up a connection for, shall we say, 2 pm English time? I'd just need the name of the fireplace to connect to."
"That would be great. Connect the Treehouse in Quebec."
He gave her a curious look at the name, but chose to not mention it.
"I'll let them know right away. I'm afraid I have another meeting, otherwise I'd walk you out. Do you remember your way to the atrium?"
Hermione nodded dumbly. How could she forget. It was moments like this that Hermione had a difficult time reconciling her past with her present. Sneaking into the ministry to steal Umbridge's locket simultaneously felt like just the other week and a lifetime away. Sometimes it felt as though her experiences in the war had happened to a completely different person, and Hermione had unknowingly been given the memories.
The stood and walked to the door. Kingsley opened his arms slightly as though to offer a hug to Hermione, before thinking better of it and letting them swing limply by his side.
"I'll let you know. Thank you, Minister."
"It'll always be Kingsley to you Hermione."
She retraced her steps to the elevator and rode it down to the atrium. To avoid the prying stares, she pulled out a small book from her magically expanded bag and stuck her nose in it. She hardly absorbed the content, a rather dry discussion of the practical applications of wiggentree bark, instead using the book as an excuse to avoid any and all interactions with others.
Soon enough, she was deposited to the main atrium. She walked past the guards. She was shocked to find a fountain that was eerily similar to the Fountain of Magical Brethren standing tall in the middle. There were minor changes, of course: the elves and goblins no longer looked up adoringly at the witch and wizard, but now stood proudly on either side. The humans were, however, standing on an elevated platform that placed them much higher than even the centaur. It seemed the English magical community had not made much progress in acceptance to magical beings as Hermione had hoped.
Unwilling to stare at the fountain any longer, she quickly turned on her heel and disappeared with a loud pop.