A/N: Let me say loud and clear: Wade Scott is a senior co-author, gifted plotting brain and supervisor of the style of this story. I am very thankful she encouraged me to join her journey – with my English and writting skills, limited as they are, I would hardly dare post anything here any time soon. It's posted under my author's account only because this is the easiest and most convenient way at the present moment.
Thanks to K8 for the final grammar check of this chapter.
Response to WIKTT "It's Ms. Granger to you!" challenge. HBP spoilers.
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"Would you be so kind and give me back my wand? I have an appointment at 8 a.m. at the Department of Intercultural Affairs and I would really hate to be late."
The plump wizard behind the security desk lifted up his lazy face. "Sorry, but security rules have changed after the recent attacks. I am required to check each wand using a complete set of diagnostic charms. Without exceptions." He bent his head again and continued his work, now using some strange silver ruler, and glancing indolently from time to time at the man in front of him.
Severus' fingers drummed impatiently on the desk. He tried to look calm although he began to feel a little nervous. His instincts told him that this was simply taking too long. He cautiously looked around the hall of the Ministry of Magic but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Fortunately, the hall was empty as usual this early in the morning. The only sounds he could hear were the gurgle of the water from the rebuilt Fountain of Magical Brethren and the low murmur of a small group of wizards huddled in front of the bulletin board, gesturing wildly at today's Daily Prophet. Even from his place at the desk he was able to see the headline: "Worst Attack Against Muggles So Far! Incident Reported by Muggle Newspapers." he read.
"Definitely not good," he thought. "I wonder what story the Ministry spun this time."
He looked back at the Security desk and caught the plump wizard staring at him. He scowled in reply. In the last ten years he has seen many reactions to his appearance, and this certainly wasn't the worst one. He knew that his face was a shock to many people – the nasty crimson scar covering half of his face from forehead to chin made a stark contrast to the rest of his pale skin and short salt-and-pepper hair. He still wasn't used to the stares, but it simply wasn't practical to wear a Halloween mask other than on the 31st of October.
On the other hand, his appearance had its benefits too.
It kept away those who didn't know him. It protected him from those who used to know him. Very useful for a man who had a bounty on his head for the past eleven years.
"Ebony, dragon heart string, and not used very much during the last few months. All right, sir…" Severus jerked from his musings as the fat man returned the wand and then turned on his heel to leave.
"Just a moment!"
Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the desk. "Yes?" he drawled in his most cold and controlled voice.
"Would you kindly show me your left forearm?"
He felt his heart skip a beat. "Excuse me?"
"These days, a thorough security check is required of each visitor to the Ministry. I am deeply sorry, sir," he added, in a tone of voice that convinced Severus that he wasn't really sorry at all.
The blood was pounding in his ears now. Was this really the standard for everyone? Or was he finally recognized…? Well, it would surely be suspicious if he refused. Slowly, he started to roll up his left sleeve for the security wizard. He watched as the plump man recoiled slightly in horror. "This…do you have this on your other arm, too?" he whispered.
Without a word Severus rolled up the sleeve on his right arm. The security wizard flinched.
All too similar to the scar on his face, large and loathsome burns covered his forearms from wrists to elbows.
X X X X
In the empty elevator, he leaned his weary head against the wall and closed his eyes. The constant clanging of chains was interrupted from time to time by a cool female voice announcing the floors and the rustling of a lonely paper aeroplane fluttering around the elevator light. Severus now felt the full weight of his decision – and felt trapped. For ten years he had been avoiding the Wizarding world completely, having The Daily Prophet as his last and only link. And now…
He tried to calm himself. Easy. Don't panic. Just pass on the message and never enter these doors again. And really, there was no backing out now anyway.
He quietly cursed himself for the curiosity and suspicion that led him to the piece of parchment tucked away in his pocket. For one whole week he fought his conscience and nagging feelings of responsibility. For one whole week he couldn't sleep for wondering if he should pass the parchment on to somebody at the Ministry of Magic. He hoped he would never again be forced to enter the Wizarding world – his life was now more peaceful and content than ever and he really didn't want anything to change. It wasn't until he read the advert in the Daily Prophet three days ago, announcing interviews for a vacant position at the Department of Intercultural Affairs, that he finally decided. He had no intention of actually applying for this position, but it was a unique opportunity to enter the Ministry legally and give his memo to the one and only person he felt that he could trust. The one person too intelligent, too daring, to throw it right into the waste basket.
"Level Three," announced the voice. "Department of Intercultural Affairs."
Severus opened his eyes and stepped out of the lift and into the long corridor. He looked around with interest – although the entrance hall of the Ministry was still the same, here on level three everything had changed. The walls of the corridor were snow-white and almost gleaming. There wasn't a single broken chair or wad of discarded parchment anywhere, certainly a welcome change of scene compared to the other departments of the building. Even the paper aeroplane exiting the elevator with him flew straighter than before and landed properly in front of the door on the left. Each of the doors had a little golden nameplate announcing the occupant, rather than the hastily scribbled labels adorning other floors. He found door number eight towards the end of the corridor. Putting his hand on the doorknob, he stopped for a second. Again he felt his heart pounding and took a deep breath. Calm down. Just pass on the message and leave. He knocked.
"Come in," a voice answered.
Opening the door, he was forced to close his eyes immediately. The pale misty fog of February London was very unlike the bright winter sunshine filling the room. Enchanted windows, of course. He could hardly see the person sitting behind the desk, a bare, dark contour drowned in the flood of light.
"You're late," she reminded him.
"I'm very sorry. I didn't expect such a…thorough security check."
Once his eyes got used to the light he could see the person behind the desk. However, he still wasn't sure who he was looking at. Sure, he recognized the voice, but he could hardly connect it with the woman in front of him. Her head was bent over some parchments and reflexes of the winter sun danced across her bun of smooth, nut-brown hair. The slim fingers with their perfectly manicured nails wrote something very quickly, using a very expensive quill.
"Ah yes, the new security rules. A bit tough, aren't they?" she asked, as she laid down the quill and stood to greet him. She winced only slightly when her eyes met his deformed face. He was impressed at her extraordinary self-control.
"Please tell me that 'probe' is required for everyone?"
He was rewarded with an appreciative chuckle as she stood and walked around the table to greet him.
"Mr. Samuel Hawke, I presume? How nice to meet you." Despite any initial shock in his appearance, she now smiled warmly at him and proffered her hand.
He shook it and took a moment to appreciate the woman before him. Now he was sure it was her. He couldn't say she has changed, necessarily, it was more like she has become what she was always meant to be. She held herself with grace and poise, and seemed taller to him. "Probably from the lack of a heavy bookbag," Severus mused to himself. Also gone was her aura of frumpiness. Her robes were tailored and sharp and her heels were well polished and absolutely scuff-free. And her face… When he last saw her, her face was only a draft, a promise. Now it was a complete and perfect painting. The artist working on her for the past ten years did a wonderful job. Still, there was something untouched by time on her face. Something…imperfect.
If she noticed him staring, she didn't react to it. "Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable," she said as she gestured to the chair beside him. "I just have a few questions for you about your suitability for our department. Her voice was calm and businesslike but he didn't miss that the perfect make-up was covering dark circles under her eyes. Miss Granger probably spent last night at the Ministry due to the last attack.
With a slight wave of his wand, he summoned the chair and sat, his eyes never leaving her face.
She returned to her desk and shuffled her papers briefly. "What do you know about this department and its tasks?"
Severus paused for a moment. His first intention was just to hand over the parchment and leave. But now he was interested, in spite of himself. Her face woke too many memories in his head and besides, he wanted to linger for a while.
"As far as I know," he started slowly, trying to recall what he had read over the years, "the Department of Intercultural Affairs was developed ten years ago from the consolidation of Obliviator Headquarters, Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee and part of Improper Use of Magic Office."
Miss Granger nodded. He realised what was missing from her face. It was her eyes..
Their surface was peaceful, but almost fathomless, and in their depth there was the same sense of dusk he saw ten years ago. Dark despair without a single beam of light.
"It's no secret," Severus continued, "that the brilliant new system saved the Wizarding world from certain exposure during the Second War. As the terror of Voldemort escalated, it became more and more difficult to hide the truth from the Muggle population. The creation of the D.I.A. eliminated the confusion and lack of communication between the previous Departments and saved us from our looming exposure. Later, after the war, one purpose of this department was giving the Wizarding world accurate information about Muggles to allow them to be as inconspicuous as possible in any possible confrontation. But in my opinion, the main purpose is to monitor Wizard/Muggle relations and punish severely anyone who would be so careless to put the Wizarding world in danger of revelation again."
Hermione's lips twitched in amusement. "Very perceptive, Mr. Hawke." Severus could tell she was impressed. "Now, would you possibly remember who was the first head of this department?"
"Arthur Weasley," Severus said, and added smoothly, "but word on the street is that the credit for the ingenious reorganization was a certain young muggleborn witch. Brightest of her generation, they say."
Miss Granger lifted an eyebrow but left the compliment without comment, simply lowering her eyes to jot down few notes. Severus found that any nervousness he had was gone. He was quite amused by this situation. When was the last time his intellect was tested like this? And by an ex-student?
She leaned forward in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her and leaning on the desk with her elbows. "Now, what experience and skills make you a candidate for this position?"
Severus shrugged casually and leaned back in his chair. "Besides having a Muggle father, I have lived among Muggles for the past ten years. I dare say I am quite acquainted with their life and customs. I got to know many places and many people in my line of work, which makes me an asset to the department as well as to certain… clients." He hoped that she was savvy enough to pick up on the undertones of his answer.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What exactly was your last job?" she asked.
"I have been a taxi driver in London for the last six years."
"And before?" Severus could tell she was fishing for something. He was sure he knew what, but he wasn't going to give it to her.
"I used to work in an old folk's home," he replied lightly.
Hermione gave him a surprised look. He smiled and gently touched his nasty scar.
"It doesn't seem appropriate, does it? But believe me, these old fellows don't mind how one looks. The only things they long for are kindness and carefulness."
For the first time of their interview she seemed to be taken a little aback. "I certainly didn't mean…" she stammered.
He interrupted her with a wave of his hand. "Of course not. Any other questions?"
"Oh yes, yes indeed," she said as she nervously shuffled her papers. "I need to see some kind of proof of education. Ministry policy."
Severus winced. The game was over. There would be no better moment than this. He would pass the message, look for the last time at the beautiful face and desperate eyes of Miss Granger and then leave her forever.
He reached into his pocket and gave her the tattered parchment.
"This is not a…" she said, then paused. Her eyes raced back and forth as she read it and her cheeks went pale.
"Where did you get this?" she demanded, her voice hoarse.
"Never mind where I got it. I just have it and give it."
"If this is a real, how come the Auror department hasn't heard of this?" She challenged, eyeing him skeptically.
He snorted. "Let's say that I have less scruples and more contacts than any Auror you know."
Was it just him, or did he see a glimpse of hope in her eyes?
"Less scruples, you say?"
He sneered. "Almost zero."
He was surprised to see her stern mask melt into a genuine smile.
"I do believe you are hired, Mr. Hawke," she said, standing and extending her hand.
He stared at her in disbelief.
"You do want this job, do you not?"
He swallowed hard. This wouldn't work. He simply couldn't risk… But his body seemed to have a mind of its own as he stood. Hermione shook his hand firmly.
"Tomorrow morning at eight, then. I am looking forward to working with you, Mr. Hawke."
"So am I, Hermione." Her name slipped from his lips. He inwardly cursed his carelessness.
Her smile disappeared at once, and whatever brief warmth her eyes held was quickly replaced with a deep sadness.
"It's Ms. Granger to you, Mr. Hawke."