A/N: Wade here—the slacker responsible for such a long wait between chapters. I would like to give a shout out to harmonybites for not only her patience and encouragement, but for being the best damned "reporter" a girl could ask for. And as always, to the lovely Danae, who gave us the climax we've all been waiting for (pun intended?).
Let the games begin.
oOo
About two seconds after her door closed, Hermione collapsed into her chair. Not that her meeting with Mr. Hawke had been particularly taxing, but her head was pounding. The bright light that filtered into her office was waging war on her eyes, and her stomach refused to stop doing somersaults. It was an educated guess that she drank way too much Firewhiskey last night. Well, at least she woke up in her own bed—alone. That was a relief.
What wasn't a relief was the fact that in a half-hour, the Minister, Tonks, and herself would be facing down a roomful of desperate journalists with nothing more than a lick and a promise. Groaning at her own foolishness, Hermione fumbled around her desk drawer for her stash of pain-relieving potions and Pepper-ups. She was going to need all her wits about her to face down that horrible Skeeter woman today.
oOo
Ernie Macmillan easily fell into stride with Hermione as she headed to the green room. It was oddly comforting to her that Ernie looked more frustrated and harassed than she felt.
"What have you got for me today?" came his terse greeting.
"Unfortunately, not much more than yesterday," she sighed. "The Prime Minister is understandably on edge about the whole business. The Muggle public is breathing down his neck wanting answers, and all he can do is recite the spin control we've fed him."
"About how law enforcement is dedicating all available resources to the investigation, the perpetrators will be caught and severely punished, and that any additional information the public might have to please step forward?" Hermione nodded. Ernie had put all that school-age pompousness to good use by becoming the Minister's public relations man. Not only was he extremely confident and had a knack for politics, but he was also far better looking in the Prime Minister's office portrait than that Umbridge look-alike. After a beat, he added, "How are the Muggles cooperating with the investigation?"
"They are doing incredibly well, considering the circumstances. Kingsley and I were able to smooth over most of the ruffled feathers in the police and fire departments, and the Muggle Minister has agreed to let us handle the situation…for now." She waited for his next question. When it didn't come, she pressed on with one of her own. "How is the Wizengamot handling this?" She knew the Wizengamot was going to be tough to deal with and she didn't envy Ernie in the slightest. Most of them remembered VoldWar I, and all of them were present for VoldWarII. Although impossible, the thought of the defeated Dark Lord returning sent them into a blind panic. It was only a matter of time before the witch-hunt began.
The same thought must have weighed heavily on Ernie's mind, as well. "Well, the crusty old farts are a bit cagey, but we all expected that. The real surprise is that Percy Weasley has taken the lead and convinced them all, and the Wizarding public, to let the Ministry do its job and investigate thoroughly before they jump to any conclusions."
"Good ol' Percy," Hermione smiled half-heartedly. "The last thing we need is internal strife within the Ministry." Her voice had a convincing tone to it, but her mind added that the Ministry might already have more internal strife than it needed. She nervously fingered the paper in her robe pocket.
Conversation ended for a minute as they reached the green room door. Inside, Neville and Tonks were already there and waiting. Neville stood as he reached out to shake Ernie's hand, and then turned to take Hermione's. Ten years had been more than kind to Neville. The once pudgy, round-faced boy was now tall and broad-shouldered. Lost was his magical ineptitude and found was his impressive self-confidence. Reflecting, Hermione realized that she couldn't quite pinpoint the change in Neville's demeanor. All she knew was that he entered the war a child and emerged a man. And considering the impending doom waiting through the door behind him, he smiled warmly as he greeted them. Hermione, somehow reassured, smiled back. Ernie quickly took a seat next to Tonks, who had a file open and ready for his perusal. Neville, however, waited for Hermione to take her seat before once again taking his own.
"Now that we're all assembled, let's talk strategy before we're thrown to the wolves," Neville opened, still smiling like his political life wasn't hanging in the balance.
oOo
"Besides the press packets you all have been given, we are also going to have a short question-and-answer period," Ernie began. Invited to the press conference today were a handful of reporters, from each of the major European journalistic venues. Whoever arranged this must have thought it would be quaint to set the room up all cozy-like, with cushy little tea tables for the reporters to sit at, while the Minister, Tonks, and Hermione sat exposed in hard-backed chairs at the front of the room. Ernie would hide in a shadowy corner, stepping out only to act as emcee, or rather referee, for the impending sideshow. "Please keep your questions brief and on-topic."
A tall lady in tweed immediately raised her hand, and Hermione recognized Tracy Walker, the well-known reporter of the Daily Prophet. "How long can we keep the Muggle public at-large unaware of the real nature of the attacks?" Hermione took a deep breath and stepped to the podium, feeling as if on auto-pilot. "The Muggle Prime Minister," she started calmly, "has absolute confidence in the capabilities of the Ministry of Magic. He promised to do everything in his power to give us the best conditions for investigations, including complete secrecy. I'm sure we can keep Muggles out of this till we find the culprit."
Fortunately, the reporters didn't press that issue any further. The next question came from Alan Finley of the Wizarding Wireless Network, who asked after the victims. "What can you tell us about the children at St Mungo's--can anything really be done for them?" With professional concern written on her face she answered them with the same calm voice and placatory words she mastered during the last six months. When her turn was finally over she sat down exhausted--she was fed up with this disguise and her headache did not make it any better. The questions now focused on the investigation—meaning it was Tonks' turn.
"This is the third attack and we keep hearing the same platitudes," Deborah Robb, the redoubtable investigative journalist from Quibbler, started in her usually brisk style. "What is the department doing to fully investigate this?"
Her stern mask melted when Tonks rose oh-so-slowly. Hermione noticed that a few journalists smiled; it seemed that Mrs. Lupin's belly would be the best distraction today. "Not only do we have the top Aurors on the force working on this, but we are working hand-in-hand with Muggle authorities, as well." Tonks' professional tone made it obvious to everybody that she was not going to rely on her future offspring for pity points. "We have also appealed to the Wizengamot for additional funding to support a full-scale investigation." Hermione, sure of Tonks' competence, settled herself in her seat and for the first time in last few hours and allowed herself to relax a bit. Still listening to the questions and answers ("No, so far no one has taken responsibility for these attacks. However, we do know that we are dealing with a very powerful and very twisted witch or wizard"), she started scanning the people in the room. She saw many familiar faces from the Daily Prophet, the Wizarding Wireless Network, and the Quibbler. She noticed that Luna had chosen not to come herself, as the head of the now popular magazine cherished their friendship too much to use it to her advantage. Plus, she preferred to leave the dirty work to her employees.
Hermione heard Tracy Walker enter the ring again. "The victims are all poor, all Muggles--is that why this investigation isn't high priority?"
Tonks' cool composure was betrayed only by the tapping of her quill. "I assure you, Ms. Walker, this investigation is our highest priority. The fact that the victims are all poor and all Muggles has bearing only on the kind of sick-o we are dealing with, and not the Ministry's level of commitment to justice."
In the front row sat the foreign correspondents from Nouvelles de Enchanteur and Allgemeine Zauberei. And there, at one of the back tables, was Rita Skeeter. Hermione's eyes narrowed and Skeeter smiled innocently at her. The Ministry post-war pardons that somehow included an amnesty program for unregistered Animagi was a very clever and generous act, and Hermione often wondered how many palms Rita had to grease to not only pass said legislation, but keep her "journalistic" advantage a secret protected by law. Hermione knew Skeeter hated her with all of her heart. Under the slippery exterior of an independent reporter was a fierce and enduring enemy, longing to pay back double everything she had suffered during the brief period she was under Hermione's thumb. And pay back Rita did. The past ten years was riddled with personal attacks and insinuations aimed at stalling Hermione's rise through the DIA and her reputation with the Wizarding public at large. She could only imagine what was coming today.
"Doesn't this have all the hallmarks of You Know Who or one of his followers--even you admit his was a magical attack by a powerful wizard--who else would attack Muggles?" The question in a heavy French accent forced Hermione to turn her attention away from Skeeter and back to the front row. The young, pretty witch was obviously the new recruit of Nouvelles de Enchanteur.
"Yes, this does seem like déjà vu," Tonks sighed and threw an I'm-going-out-on-a-limb-here look at Hermione. "However, there are problems with that theory. There have been no sightings of the Dark Mark over any of the crime scenes, and all known Death Eaters are either dead or in Azkaban."
"Except Severus Snape," came a voice from the back of the room. Hermione's heart skipped a beat. This was it.
"Excuse me?" Tonks challenged. Rita simply looked up lazily from her packet.
"Except Severus Snape. He is still wanted for the murder of Albus Dumbledore."
Hermione felt her dislike for the pesky journalist rise to the surface. "Severus Snape is dead," she answered frostily. "I watched him die ten years ago."
"Oh, that's right," Rita drawled, turning to face Hermione like a cat taking interest in her prey. Her leg even twitched like a tail in the air. "Right before his body disappeared," she snapped her clawed fingers, "into thin air."
The dislike turned to anger, and she had to take a deep breath to keep from yelling. "His body didn't disappear. It burned. I watched it burn, absorbing a curse from Voldemort himself."
At the name of the Dark Lord, Rita flinched. Neville, however, did not. Instead, he stepped in the middle of the argument. "Many bodies remain unidentified after the war, hero and criminal alike. Severus Snape is listed as a fugitive for that reason, and that reason alone. But until proven otherwise, he is assumed dead based on multiple eyewitness accounts of his death." Neville's voice meant business. Rita glared at him before she composed herself and with a sweet smile, continued.
"But speaking of Death Eaters past and present, I have to admit that personal politics of the DIA department seems a bit counter-productive to me--especially in this case."
"Could you be a little more specific?" Hermione growled through gritted teeth, though she knew what those words meant.
"Isn't it true," Rita Skeeter purred, "that you have someone in your department who is not only a Slytherin, but also from a family with longstanding Death Eater relations--a woman whose own mother was convicted of murdering her husbands?"
Hermione clenched her fists. "Francoise Zabini herself is not only a competent and absolutely trustworthy member of our team, but has no criminal record of any kind. I do not hold her accountable for the actions of an estranged mother who had nothing to do with Francoise's upbringing, and neither should anybody else. She is a phenomenal individual whose integrity can be hardly questioned by someone like--" she bit her lip and paused for a moment. "--By anyone."
"However," Rita continued easily, "we cannot find another department in the Ministry who would dare to employ a person with these kinds of connections. Could it be that the DIA is allowed to keep such a extraordinary personnel policy because of an extraordinary relationship between the Head of the DIA and the Head of the Ministry of Magic?"
Every head in the room turned towards Rita, half in shock and half in interest. Aware of the attention focused on her, Rita went in for the kill. "Isn't the romantic interest between yourself and the Minister of Magic a conflict of interest?"
Hermione was immediately on her feet and the whole room was silent. The shocked journalists waited for an angry outburst--but what interrupted the silence surprised them all.
Neville burst out laughing. Freely and heartily. It was something so unusual for this distinguished young Minister that the rest of the room remained frozen for a moment, but then smiles appeared on many faces. When his laughter didn't cease and his body started shaking, a few in the room began to chuckle.
"That's a good one, Rita," he said, when he was finally able to catch his breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I must admit, I really needed a good laugh today. Thank you." Taking another deep breath, he turned to look at the rest of the reporters. "Any other important questions?" The room exploded in laughter again and Rita just pursed her lips in angry defeat.
Hermione Granger, however, didn't find any of it funny. The jab went too deep. As soon as Ernie ended the meeting, she speedily left the room.
Pushing her way through the crowded Ministry halls, she passed the elevator and headed for the seldom-used stairwell. When the tears started to fall she broke into a run, and her heart and feet pounded in time up the three flights of stairs to her office.
She was leaning against the enchanted window when she heard a quiet knock on the door. There was another knock when she didn't respond.
"Hermione, I know you're in there," came Neville's voice. The glass was cool on her cheek as she turned her back to the door. Behind her the lock clicked and she heard the door open. Quiet footsteps crossed the room and a hand rested on her shoulder.
"I probably should have thought twice when making my enemies in the past," Hermione choked out. "I'm really sorry about what that...that cow said about…" A lump caught in her throat. "I mean…I just…"
The hand on her shoulder gently turned her around to face him and then lifted her chin. "Listen," he said, his concerned blue eyes sternly holding her gaze, "Rita Skeeter is a cow, no matter who you are or what your past happens to be. And if Ernie is to be believed, every reporter is your enemy." A slow smile crossed his face as his eyes turned away in thought. "Unless, of course, that reporter is Luna Lovegood."
Hermione smiled in spite of herself. Neville knew he had won and continued, standing straighter and imitating Ernie's pompousness with uncanny accuracy. "'Luna isn't a reporter, she's the Editor-in-Chief. There's a difference.' I swear, that boy…" he said, shaking his head.
Hermione felt a giggle escape through her tears. "I know. You should hear what she has to say about politicians and their conspiracies," she admitted. "Unless, of course, if it's the honest and noble Ernie McMillian…"
"Those two are absolutely clueless, aren't they?" he conceded. His smile faded into concern again as he tucked an errant strand of Hermione's hair behind her ear before realizing how close he was and stepping back slightly. "But seriously, Hermione, how are you doing? I'm sorry I haven't been more communicative lately, but as I'm sure you know, it's been absolutely crazy around here…" he said as if he really needed to explain the stress Hermione had been feeling herself.
She tried to shrug off his concern with a non-committal "I'm fine," but Neville just crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against her desk. "Don't lie to me, Hermione. I haven't seen Rita Skeeter reduce you to tears since our fourth year." His voice dropped into a whisper as he added, "What's going on?"
Not knowing where to even begin, she leaned against the window again and let the cool pane caress her cheek. She focused on the snow swirling and let herself believe for a moment it was real. "It's just…" she took a deep, shaking breath before she could continue. "It's happening again, Neville."
"I know," came the quiet voice behind her.
The tears started to fall again. "It's like--like a nightmare that I can't wake up from. I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see cloaks and masks. Every constellation looks like a Dark Mark in the sky. But they're not there, and that's the problem…" She knew she was starting to ramble, but once she started she couldn't stop. "There is no face to this enemy. At least back then, we knew who we were facing. We knew what evil looked like. Now all I see are burned children and twisted metal and…and…nothing." She paused for a moment and felt the anger at her helplessness grow. "Merlin's balls, Neville, we were kids. Kids! And we were asked to face the most evil, twisted Wizard this country has ever seen. And we did it, we defeated him. We defeated evil. And what do we have to show for it? Where is our peace?" She turned to look at Neville, who was still leaning against the desk, arms crossed and looking down at the floor. She could tell he had no answers, either, and if anything, was feeling just as helpless as she was.
"Ten years ago," he began, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again, "we sacrificed our childhood to give other kids the chance to grow up in a better world. We didn't know it then, but we weren't just fighting so that little witches and wizards could have a better future, but we were protecting Muggle children, too."
He shook his head before looking up at Hermione. She was slightly taken back at the pain she saw in his eyes. "And sometimes, I can't help but feel like we failed." He looked away again and lifted himself off her desk. When he spoke again, the pain was gone and resolve had settled across his shoulders like a mantle. "Then I remember what Professor Snape said in Defense. He said that fighting the Dark is like fighting a many headed monster, and that each time one neck is severed, it sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. Evil is indestructible." He stepped closer to Hermione and once again laid a hand on her shoulder. "We won once, Hermione. And we'll win again."
"Do you really believe we'll win?" Hermione whispered.
"I have to. Or else there's no use in fighting, is there?"
And even in the face of so much hopelessness, Hermione felt oddly comforted by his words. She thought of the little boy who blocked the exit to the common room and stood up to his friends' rule-breaking, and realized that Neville had somehow grown up into the man he was always meant to be. Most had regarded him as a child with no promise, overshadowed by his parents' sacrifice and his overbearing grandmother. Now look at him—the most important person in Wizarding Britain.
She wondered where that left her. The hopelessness returned.
"How are your parents?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.
Neville understood what she was trying to do, but let it slide. "They're fine. I'm planning on seeing them tomorrow when I stop by the burn unit at St. Mungo's. The Weasley twins donated a bunch of, well, entertainment for the Muggle children and asked if I would join them in the delivery. They even have a Muggle clown costume for me and all." He smiled as he shook his head in mock disbelief. "I refused to let that tidbit slip at the press conference today because I don't want any pictures taken of the event. Could you imagine what that would do to my approval ratings?" he joked. "Ernie would murder me!"
Hermione laughed with him. He was right—Ernie would be mortified if he saw the Minister of Magic in a clown get-up. Knowing the Twins as she did, she knew it was going to include a lot of make-up and a huge wig, as well. They loved taking the mickey out of political figures, and Neville was not exempt.
Neville looked at his watch and started for the door. "Sorry to cut this short, but I have a meeting with the French Minister of Magic at three and I still have some things to get together. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I am…really," she said, but then amended it. "Well, I'm feeling better now. Thanks."
"Not a problem," he said over his shoulder. "What are friends for?"
He was at the door with one hand on the doorknob when he stopped. "Wait a minute." Hermione looked up from the papers she had begun to shuffle through and looked at him quizzically. Not taking his hand from the knob, he turned back. "I know this is probably the worst time, but the Anniversary Gala is only a month away, and…" he cracked a lopsided smile. "…And I wanted to know if you would come with me."
Surprised, Hermione set her papers down again. He was right. It wasn't a good time, but here he was, asking all the same. She was quiet for a bit as she tried to gather her thoughts. "I don't think that's a very good idea, Neville. I mean, hell, you were there. You heard what Rita was saying downstairs. It is a conflict of interest, and I don't know…" She let that thought go unsaid. She wasn't sure she wanted to date the Minister of Magic, even if it was Neville Longbottom. "And it's over a month away," she added, as if that had any bearing in the situation.
Neville held his hands up defensively. "I know, I know. I just wanted to ask you before some foreign, over-aged, terribly handsome international Quiddich star beat me to it." He stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. "Some foreign, over-aged, terribly handsome international Quiddich star hasn't beaten me to it again, has he?"
Hermione laughed. "No, nobody has asked me."
"Good," Neville said with a boyish grin. "Looks like I've got a date."
Hermione tried not to let her smile turn into a grimace as a stone fell into the pit of her stomach. Her knees felt like someone just hit her with a Jelly-Legs and she set her hands on the desk to steady herself. "Yup. Looks like you do. Now get, before the French send the Aurors out looking for you."
Two seconds after Neville closed the door behind him, Hermione sank into her chair. Her headache was back and she felt sicker than ever. What was her problem?
Come on, Hermione, who are you kidding? She knew what it was. It was the fact that the Anniversary was a month away. Ten long years. Every year, she spent March 17th at home with only dear old Uncle Ogden for company, drinking herself into a stupor while the rest of her world celebrated around her. For most it was a day of happiness, but for her…And Neville had just made sure that this year she couldn't hide from it. She would have to rejoice with the rest of them, pretending that it was an event to celebrate.
The hope she had found in Neville's confidence was quickly fading away. Gathering her purse and leaving any trace of work behind her, she decided to leave work early today. She had had enough and just wanted to escape.
Permanently, if she could. She was starting to wonder: if evil was as ever-present as Snape had said, what was the point in fighting?
A/N cont'd: Give me a few days, but responses to reviews from chapter three (from a Wade perspective) and other fun, behind-the-scenes tidbits will be posted on my livejournal: wade-scott.