A/N:
As for a small confession that I feel I don't really discuss much online...
I spent many years debating whether or not to attend law school. In the end, I never did, and my career took a very different path. Ironically, Harry Potter officially was the exact reason for this eventual shift — literally, and I mean that word to its full definition. No metaphors or exaggerations, just a very complicated and impossible (but wonderful) tale that maybe I'll someday tell. Yet, here I am, using all my supposedly "wasted" (limited) studying for a fic. I sure hope my parents are proud of me!
This fic is kind of a small ode to that fact.
That being said, I did not actually attend law school, so there are bound to be inaccuracies. And some inaccuracies are actually intentional, since Wizarding law is significantly different. So, let's pretend it's all intentional.
Now, this is the first time I'm posting on FFN for nearly half a decade. I was a very regular writer and user before switching full time to Ao3 in 2017, and, well, my writing from before then is embarassing. I elected to make a new account, but I am romantashas on all other platforms, other than YouTube, where I am SunnyVids, if you want to verify that I am a real person! Instead of commenting that I am plagiarizing myself, please message me on any of my other accounts, or at least tell me how I can "prove" my FFN authentication.
DISCLAIMER: I am not a lawyer because of J.K. Rowling, so I truly hope she doesn't sue me. #transpeoplearepeople
CROSS POSTED ON AO3 & WATTPAD!
06:37pm on Thursday, 1 September 2005
There's been another attack.
This one was against a Muggle office, not too far from the King's Cross Station. Why anyone would target an office of a company that focuses on technological finances, she's sure the Auror office is working overtime to figure out. But it's worrisome, being so close to where there were many children and parents hugging and saying goodbye before a year at Hogwarts.
And the attack is the third one of its kind just in this month, which is definitely an escalation from the every six month pace the Death Eaters held prior.
Because, yeah, Death Eaters still exist.
Hermione isn't sure if it was her own naive thinking, but when she was spending all that time hunting Horcruxes, she never imagined that Death Eaters would still have a hold of fear over the Wizarding world nearly eight years after Voldemort's demise. She wasn't as foolish as to assume that they would all just disappear — she did anticipate a fair number of followers to hunt down — but they have certainly surpassed whatever timelines the Ministry initially proposed.
Death Eaters don't carry the same weight as the ones from her school years. They don't have a figurehead to stand behind, or a clear mission. Instead, they're disorganised, unsure, and, most dangerously, unpredictable. The movement has been an enormous headache for the Ministry, especially for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry and Ron have dedicated their lives to hunting down the remaining Death Eaters.
Hermione, on the other hand, has been on a very different side of the rogish war.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing, Zabini?" she snaps as she walks into the Defender office. She just spent an ungodly amount of time in a meeting with Wizengamot administration, and now Blaise Zabini is precariously standing on a desk in the main common room, holding a ginormous bottle of champagne, surrounded by all the Defenders and Counsellors and Researchers and —
Harry sighs tiredly, looking quite out of place between all the jumping and cheering workers around him. "I just came by to inform him that Scalby was caught red-handed, setting the charges for this morning's attack."
"Which means," Blaise says joyfully, "that there is absolutely no way to win the case, and I'm gonna get a pocket full of Galleons. It's a win-win for me, and a cause for celebration!"
With that, he pops open the bottle of champagne as everyone cheers.
Now, when Hermione had campaigned all those years ago for everyone to get a right to legal representation, this isn't entirely what she had in mind. Certainly not with Blaise Zabini, of all people, who was hired because of his sympathies with the Death Eaters, and supposed vested interest in their well-being.
("I grew up surrounded by these people," Blaise had told her solemnly, during his interview. "They were my friends. My family. Yes, many of them did awful things, and they deserve to spend their time in Azkaban, but so many of them were just trying to survive. They should have a fair chance against the Wizengamot."
She had, foolishly, given him the job on the spot.
Bloody snakes.)
Champagne flutes dance around Blaise as he fills them, before flicking his fingers and letting them distribute to the waiting crowd. Hermione swears hers jiggles tauntingly, but she delicately grabs the stem anyway. She can tell by the magical bubbles that it's the expensive kind — not that she'd expect any less from Blaise.
Harry makes his way next to her, also holding a glass. "I'm sure Scalby would be delighted to see that there's a party in his honour," he deadpans. Hermione hums.
She can't deny that Scalby definitely deserves a life sentence in Azkaban. His actions led to countless deaths and torturings over the years, even if the Auror department had lacked such concrete evidence previously. Blaise has been stuck on trial after trial; two years of Scalby jumping back and forth between Azkaban and freedom. Perhaps it was finally time to celebrate. A Death Eater finally can't worm their way out of their reckoning.
Besides, helping true Death Eaters hadn't been what Hermione had founded the Defender Department for. It was to give everyone a fighting chance. To prevent any future Sirius Blacks from false imprisonment and ruination.
"I would like to make a toast," Blaise announces loudly once everyone has gotten their own champagne glass. "I'd first like to thank my mother, for birthing me, and then — allegedly — offing multiple husbands to allow me to afford this champagne today." The crowd laughs. Hermione sighs. "I'd also like to thank Scalby for filling my pockets with many Galleons while being as idiotic to continue commiting acts of terrorism — not once, not twice, but thrice — and I very much look forward to him begging to give up his whole inheritance in the hope I'd be able to get him out of this one."
Laughter roars.
Merlin, if this was the Muggle world, he'd have been disbarred on his first day.
"All in jest," he continues on. "But, more earnestly, I would like to extend my greatest praise to Cho over here, for her support — even if you hexed me that one time." Cho Chang, near the front, rolls her eyes, but a small smile graces her lips as she lifts her flute. ("You deserved it," she boasts, and Hermione can't disagree.) "And to the wonderful Sadie, who spent many weeks working night and day to help me with the paperwork." Sadie Baldock, a dutiful Researcher, blushes wildly, but nods and tips her glass in acknowledgement. Then, Blaise looks right at Hermione.
"And finally," he says, the first serious-sounding words coming out of his mouth that day, "to our golden leader, Hermione Granger, for bringing us all together."
Harry nudges his own shoulder against hers, wearing a proud smile.
"To Hermione!"
Blaise lifts his glass high, signalling the end of his toast.
"To Hermione!" the crowd repeats happily.
Glasses clink all around the room, many reaching for Hermione or Blaise in particular. Harry tips his flute against hers, before downing a generous gulp.
"Flashy, but deserved," he tells her with a chuckle. "Auror office could use some of this excitement."
"Oh? So, you don't have an overzealous Slytherin twat?" she inquires with a quirk of her eyebrow, knowing the answer.
"Malfoy doesn't go scaling furniture and making toasts," Harry laughs. "He just broods and makes everyone miserable. Zabini is a special case."
Well, Hermione certainly can't argue with that.
Blaise jumps down from the desk, bounding over towards her, before clinking his glass against hers. He suddenly frowns at it. "It's like the end of an era."
"How so?"
"Scalby has taken up quite a bit of my time as of late," he tells her. "To think, in just a few short weeks, he will be out of my hair for good. Except for the occasional appeal, of course."
Harry's brow furrows. "D'you really think it'll just be a few weeks? Usually trials — "
"The Wizengamot is itching to send someone to Azkaban," Blaise waves off. "They know it will be an easy case. There is no denying that he's guilty after being caught using an Unforgivable to force that poor Muggle to detonate an explosive in that office. Can't even claim the Imperius on that one. With your testimony, he is done for."
"I look forward to all the additional pro bono cases you'll be able to take with your schedule so freed up," Cho interrupts with a coy smile, Susan Bones just beside her.
Susan Bones had approached Hermione immediately after her grand audience to the Wizengamot and Kingsley to push for magical barristers, — later known in the magical world as a Defender — as no formal or legal version of that truly existed within the Wizarding world. At the time, Susan was working as an assistant to Aldrich Fawley in hopes of pursuing a career similar to her aunt's. Amelia Bones was a great inspiration, and Susan misses her every day. But upon seeing Hermione's plea, Susan had been first in line to apply to be a Defender, focusing on protecting younger witches and wizards — particularly Muggleborns, who are unaware of how the Wizarding world operates.
Cho Chang, on the other hand, had been Hermione's most surprising applicant. The two of them hadn't necessarily ended their time at Hogwarts on the best of terms, and Hermione had thought that Cho was forming a rather formidable career as a social worker of sorts. Helping those in bad situations come to terms with their experiences and emotions had been a fitting path, but Cho insisted that she could do even more by supporting them in a legal sense. Despite Hermione's biases against the situation, Cho's empathy and loyalty to Marietta Edgecombe certainly was a small bit of proof that the Ravenclaw would make a wonderful solicitor — or a Counsellor, in wizarding terms. And, thus, Cho had joined her Department.
Blaise throws an arm around Cho, grinning wildly. "I'll work on whatever cases you want, my beautiful Counsellor."
She scoffs, pushing his arm off her with a bark of laughter. "Stop being such a flirt, Blaise."
"What'd the Wizengamot say?" Susan asks quietly, out of hearing from the rest of the room.
Hermione grits her teeth unhappily before taking a significant sip out of her glass. She swishes it in her mouth for a moment as she debates the level of honesty in her answer. "Could've been better," she replies. "They've agreed to consider a meeting to consider an audience."
"Step up from outright denying it, I suppose."
She surveys the crowd, watching as all her employees drink and chat and laugh blissfully. It's a far cry from their day-to-day life, which typically doesn't allow for many smiles, and instead opts for blood, sweat, tears, and existential anxiety. Everyone in this room has seen each other cry — even Blaise Zabini, probably more than most. Their job is difficult, and the Ministry doesn't ever aim to make it any easier.
"I suppose," she echoes quietly.
12:04pm on Wednesday, 7 September 2005
Upon being invited into the Wizarding world as a young girl, the ins and outs of the Ministry had always eluded Hermione. Even with her obsessive need of knowledge on everything magical, legal matters were not readily available with the resources she had; instead, those were reserved for carefully archived parchments within the deeps of the Ministry of Magic itself. Helping out Hagrid with Buckbeak's case in third year had been a wake up call in how little she truly knew about the Wizarding world and its laws. She scoured Law & Literature, Magical Misdemeanours and the Modern Law, International Laws of Apparition and Travel, and many other titles, but everything just seemed so...vast. Everyone she talked to just simply knew, but couldn't quite list everything out. Ron would look at her with wide eyes whenever she did something that wasn't quite so lawful, asking her if she was out of her bloody mind, and then that's when she'd realise. And others — like Harry — just simply hadn't cared for the longest time. Until his trial (or lack thereof), at least. Luckily, she had little to deal with in her youth, but she frets to think about what would have happened if she unwittingly had broken some obscure law (or, at least, got caught doing it, for the ones she did intentionally). Harry had the benefit of being The Chosen One, as well as the sudden appearance of Dumbledore as a "witness".
By the time she graduated from Hogwarts, she had fell into an easy groove with what was legal and what wasn't. It was just a different language, a different culture. The only way to truly learn was through experience, even though she hated the thought of a lack of preparation. But, along with the knowledge, came with a deep-seeded root of unhappiness.
Magical law wasn't fair. It wasn't ethical.
Death Eaters could simply claim that they were under the Imperius Curse, and leave the grasp of Azkaban in droves, laying low until Voldemort's return. And others, like Sirius Black, were chucked into a cold, dark cell without even an audience. Due process wasn't a thing in the Wizarding world. An arrest was an immediate loss of rights, and only Galleons would wriggle offenders (or innocents) out of a sentence.
Because that was another thing — the Ministry was heavily corrupt.
Hermione had been in Hogwarts for a majority of the Death Eater trials after the Second Wizarding War, but she had seen the ones during the summer. At that point, Ministry greed wasn't even an option — they were out for blood. They would dose the accused with Veritaserum and ask one singular question, one they know would give them a guilty verdict.
(Tracey Davis had been brought before the Wizengamot, shortly after her parents were given a life sentence. The singular question she was asked was: "Have you ever used an Unforgivable?"
She whimpered. "Yes, but — "
"Tracey Davis is hereby sentenced to — "
"NO!" someone in the audience had screamed. It was Ginny Weasley. "You can't! Not for that!"
Aldrich Fawley, the Head of the Wizengamot, and the one determined to fill Azkaban with everyone who passed his court, inclined his head. "We are not open — "
"We all were forced to use Unforgivables during our last year of Hogwarts. If you sentence Tracey, you'll have to sentence me as well!"
"And I!" another student had stood. It was Neville Longbottom.
Slowly, many in the courtroom had stood up for Tracey. Hermione had never used an Unforgivable, as she was not in Hogwarts during the horrific year, but she had grown up with Tracey Davis. Not the prettiest girl, and not the nicest, but not one to torture for pleasure. Once, Ginny had gotten detention with the Carrows, and Tracey had cried the entire time she was cursing her. It hadn't even hurt, there was so little passion in it, Ginny had claimed.
The Wizengamot had no choice but to revise their attack system.)
When Hermione had graduated Hogwarts, most of the trials had been concluded, and the vote for a new Minister for Magic had begun. Blood had flown red for a year, and the lust for revenge had dampered significantly. Kingsley Shacklebolt won with flying colours — he stood for justice and fairness. He provided a strong, but calming presence. He stood for peace.
And things got better. Reparations were being made, the Wizengamot was more balanced, and it seemed like orderwas settling in. Hermione joined the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which seemed like the right path at the time. Harry and Ginny had a beautiful wedding, and Ron was debating leaving his Aurorship behind and joining George in running the joke shop.
Then, the Death Eaters re-emerged and began their attacks.
Harry and Ron delve deeper into their Auror life. Fear of a Third Wizarding War began to take hold in the public. The bloodlust reigned again, and everyone was the enemy.
Hermione had quickly learned that whatever decorum her Department had shown to magical creatures had been a smoke-screen, and soon, every werewolf, giant, and vampire was assessed as a threat to be taken care of. Hermione's campaign to the Head to provide a more neutral enforcement was met with a sacking.
In her unemployment, she delved further into the injustices of magical law. The frustration had gotten the better of her. Lawyers barely existed. There was some vague administrative help if you had the means, but rarely was there a barrister to defend the accused in court, or even a readily-available solicitor to let people know their rights. No due process. Hermione had to fix this, somehow. But it was like S.P.E.W. all over again.
("It's just how it is, Hermione," Ron had told her, unaffected. "Yeah, it's not fair. But it's how it's always been. They're not going to change it.")
But, at least, she had the Minister for Magic on her side. Kingsley had granted her an audience with the Wizengamot, and what had begun as a plea for equal rights between all blood statuses and races had turned into everyone to be given the right of legal representation. With the push of the highest ranking Ministry official, the Wizengamot had reluctantly granted her wish.
Hermione was given a sub Department within the DMLE, and the rest was history.
Now, she gets to fight all the uphill battles on a daily basis, but she feels a sense of satisfaction at all the lives she's been able to help. It's not quite the level of Muggle law. It lacks finesse, and government approval. The Wizengamot serves as the prosecution times fifty, which definitely leads to a bias in the sentencing. And the rights after arrest are still shot — even if Aurors now inform every new accused of their right to a Counsellor or a Defender. But, it's a significant improvement to the days where Sirius Black never even saw a courtroom. Just today, she got to witness Susan absolutely demolish the Wizengamot in a case about a teenager who had accidentally created a new spell that had displaced half a city block's worth of Muggles.
And after such a case, she has the solace of a lunch break with her two closest friends.
She knows something's up with Harry the minute she steps into the room.
Every day, at noon, Hermione makes her way down to her favourite part of the Ministry — a small conservatory, set with flourishing plants and blooming flowers, with several tables and benches lined out, hidden away from most of the workers' knowledge — to have lunch with Ron and Harry.
The latter was buzzing with a nervous energy, which surprised Hermione.
Harry, for the most part, settled into adulthood rather well. The removal of Voldemort's soul hadn't changed him as a person, but it did wonders to settle him. The angry outbursts of his adolescence became a rare occurrence, and he stayed calm and collected in even the most intense situations. Instead, he relies on dramatic sighs and speeches about disappointment. The only times she really sees him riled up these days is if he worries after his family — he had one particular explosion once when James Sirius Potter had ended up in St Mungo's after falling off a "borrowed" broomstick — or if he has prolonged exposure to one infuriating blond ferret.
"What's going on?" Hermione asks bluntly.
"Just a difficult day," he replies absently, reaching to give her some lunch. Ginny tends to pack her and Ron each a delicious sandwich in Harry's go-bag. "Close call."
She looks at Ron for confirmation, but he only shrugs, uncaring. "Malfoy's in St Mungos."
"Malfoy?"
After the war and his exoneration from his part in it, Draco Malfoy had thrown himself into the side of the light in full force. After being exonerated, he excelled in his NEWTs, all while helping with the restoration of Hogwarts, then got a special acceptance into the Auror office due to his experience with the Death Eaters. This was all common knowledge to her, as is the fact that Harry and Ron never see him. Robards, the Head of the Auror Office, keeps Malfoy and his missions under wraps. As far as she can tell, his check-ins are once in a blue moon, and he does his best to be as quick as one can be.
Hermione suspects he works akin to a handler, dealing with the spies within Death Eater ranks — but she has no evidence to support this fact apart from common sense and theoretical hypotheses.
Hermione also suspects that Harry knows much more than he's ever told her, not that she'd blame him. She keeps her own secrets when it comes to her work. Some things simply aren't meant to be shared.
Harry grimaces slightly. "He just came back from a mission. He almost...didn't," Harry explains delicately, which really doesn't explain anything.
"Bloodied to a pulp, I heard," Ron pushes. "It was Padma's shift in the Emergency Ward. Said she's never had a more difficult case of reassembling a shoulder."
"It wasn't that bad, luckily," Harry says with a heavy sigh. He tiredly stuffs a fallen onion in his mouth. There's an awkward moment of silence, before he continues, "I got there just in time. He's cleared to get back to work first thing Monday. But whatever went down spooked Robards, because he scheduled Malfoy for office duty. Step up from full on desk duty, but I'm sure he's not thrilled about it."
(The main reason Hermione suspects that Harry knows more than he lets on is because of this easy defence of Malfoy. It's nothing outright, but he ignores Ron's jokes or Hermione's scowls, and instead just carries on with his reluctant praises. She can't imagine how they'd form such a truce with limited interactions — something that may even be teetering on the edge of respect — except if he knew what Malfoy was up to, and if it were admirable. Even if they still hate each other's guts.)
Despite Hermione's curiosity, she can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the topic. "So, he's alive. Good for him. Are you worried he's gonna bother you to death being stuck in the office with you?"
Ron stifles a chuckle, before a horrified look comes over his face. "Oh, we're going to be stuck actually working with Malfoy."
"Well spotted, Ronald," Hermione quips back.
He looks at her almost desperately. "Hermione, I can't spend more than two hours in a room with that ferret." He looks at Harry. "And you — you're the desk opposite of him!"
"He's never in it," Harry replies boredly.
"He will be now," Hermione points out.
Harry's eyes widen as it hits him. "Bugger," he breathes. The five stages of grief flicker through his expression until, finally, he reaches acceptance. "I suppose I've been meaning to pester him about the Scalby case."
She glances up. "Has he got evidence for the trial next week? I thought Ron was the one who arrested him."
Harry glances downward, suddenly very interested in his sandwich. "It kind of tastes like Ginny put pickle juice in it," he ponders. "There's no actual pickle, though."
Hermione looks at Ron pointedly, eyebrow raised. He shrugs. "He doesn't tell me these things either," he answers. "But he and Malfoy usually house all the evidence in their office. Dunno. Makes sense he'd have something."
Hermione's relationship with Ron hadn't survived the distance of her eight year at Hogwarts. Ron was busy living out his dream of being an important Auror, and she had wanted to focus on her NEWTs. Despite the initial awkwardness of the aftermath of their breakup, they had quickly settled back in their friendship, which had grown even stronger as the years passed. The hotheadedness of his youth had grown into the admiring quality of standing up for his beliefs, and she learned to appreciate his bluntness.
Harry continues to pick apart his sandwich. "Seriously, what in here is pickled?"
"I'd reckon it's the onions," Ron answers, taking a large bite.
"Gin hates anything pickled," Harry frowns. "She threatens me every time I even talk about buying some for myself."
"That's not true," Ron mumbles, his mouth full of food. "She was obsessed with pickled onions that one time."
"When?"
"I can't remember. But she was eating them non-stop a couple years ago." Ron chews thoughtfully. "Oh! It was when she was pregnant!"
Harry drops his sandwich.
04:19pm on Monday, 19 September 2005
The next two weeks go by quickly. Hermione prepares for her audience with the Wizengamot, the Scalby case comes and goes, and Death Eater activity is relatively quiet. She has her lunches with Ron and Harry, who grumble about their officemate. Only a week is enough to get them back to their childish schoolday rivalries — the only difference is now, they're on the same side.
(Oh, and Ginny is most definitely pregnant. Harry hasn't confirmed, but there is a new glow to him.)
She's going over a case with Blaise when her assistant dashes in.
"Auror office just Floo'd for us," Nathaniel rushes, a little breathless. "They want you up there as soon as possible — they just brought someone in."
Hermione nods in understanding. "Blaise — "
"Already on it," he calls out. She peers over and sees he's already pushing out of his chair.
"Actually," Nathaniel interrupts, "Auror Potter asked for you specifically."
Blaise pauses, his brow immediately scrunching in confusion. Hermione's surprise is less outward, but her heart skips a beat. She's not the one who takes on cases herself; she focuses on petitioning the courts to create a new order. Perhaps it's just a consultation on lawful rights. She's done that before — but it usually is prefaced with a casual owl, not an urgent message.
(She desperately hopes this isn't some pathetic birthday surprise. Harry knows her better than that.)
Hermione grabs her essentials, sharing a look with Blaise. He raises an eyebrow, and she shrugs in response.
"I'll call you if I need you," she settles with.
He smirks. "Do you ever not?"
With a fond roll of her eyes, she sets off to the Auror Office.
Harry's in the hallway, in front of the main office, waiting for her. He's anxious and pacing, and his head shoots up as soon as he sees her approaching.
"Sorry this is today of all days. We'll explain in my office," Harry says in lieu of a greeting.
Being Deputy Head of the Auror Office granted Harry a good amount of perks, including his own office. Though, oddly enough, said office was shared with one Draco Malfoy — something Harry chalks up to practicality.
("It's what makes the most sense," Harry admitted begrudgingly to her once. "He deals with a lot of confidential paperwork that's stored here. And he's always on mission, so the few times he's around is to report to me or Robards anyway.")
The Head of the Auror Office is waiting for them.
Hermione has crossed paths with Gawain Robards a handful of times. She understands why he was chosen to be Head; his age does not seem to wear on his body, with his strong form and intense eyes, yet something about him feels particularly intimidating, but wise. He's set in the older ways and they haven't always agreed on the direction the law was turning to, but he always set out to be fair, even if he stubbornly stood his ground. She knows Harry has a deep respect for the man, and she can't help but also admire his tenacity.
"Defender Granger," Robards greets with a strong handshake. "Thank you for meeting with us."
"Of course, Auror Robards," she replies kindly. "Now, what might this be about?"
"There's very little I can say regarding the case itself until a Contract of Confidentiality is signed," he answers. "But we have someone in need of your representation."
Hermione blinks. "I believe there's been a misunderstanding. I am not personally in the position of representation — I fulfil my role as a Defender in a different way."
"I'm aware that you tend to tackle the Decrees themselves instead of providing counsel to individuals, but Potter insisted — "
"He was wrong," she snaps pointedly. "I can happily recommend another Defender that can assist you with your new detainee, but unfortunately, unless this is a special case, I cannot help you."
"I believe this would be considered a special case," Robards supplies thoughtfully. "Very much so. It could mean a great deal to what remains of the Death Eater movement."
"Please, Hermione," Harry says, stepping forward. She looks at him blankly, wondering why he would even put her in this position.
"I'd like to take a moment to speak with Auror Potter," Hermione eventually says, prim and proper. "Privately."
With a short nod, Robards takes his leave.
"Harry, I'm not a proper Defender for accused Death Eaters, I focus on more...broad scale approaches," Hermione insists.
"She's not a Death Eater," Harry says quickly. "At least... I don't think. Besides, you're the founder of the current Defender Department. You focus on all law. Surely you can take on one case. Especially one as potentially important as this."
This intrigues Hermione. Nevertheless: "That's not how it works and you know it. I know magical law is questionable at best, but I will stick to — "
"Please, Hermione, just give it a look," Harry pleads. "This is a...sensitive case. We're trying to keep it low profile and I need someone I can trust — "
"I trust all my Defenders."
"I don't. At least, not with this. Just — It's hard to explain without being able to tell you exactly what's going on. I need you to trust me."
Hermione hesitates. Her fight to make magical law have a semblance of fairness has been a long one, and she has remained steadfast to her rules, even if her employees were more lax. Yes, she's dabbled in many other cases. She's poked and prodded and researched every case that her Department has taken on — but officially, it's not her representing those clients in front of the Wizengamot. It's Blaise, or Cho, or Susan, or Penelope, or any of her other employees. Unless it's a petition to a legal Decree — then that falls under her official purview.
Then again, Harry was asking — no, begging — for her to take on this case. There's something obviously going on, simmering under the surface. She's been sensing it since the moment she walked into the Auror office.
"I'll take a look at the case, and I'll talk to the accused," Hermione settles on. Harry's relief is immediate. "But that doesn't mean I'll take it on in an official capacity. I'm just reviewing it."
"I have a feeling you'll change your mind once you're brought into the loop."
With that, Harry cracks open the door and nods his head to Robards. The Head Auror saunters back in, glancing at Hermione curiously.
She nods.
With a flick of his wand, a roll of parchment materialises in the air, levitating. With a quick thwap, it unravels in front of Hermione.
"Sign here," Robards requests as he points to a glowing gold line towards the end of a very long parchment. Hermione scans it, recognising it as an Auror non-disclosure — she's dealt with them for previous cases — but this one is exceptionally extensive. She notes the level of security (magical ink, only visible to those allowed in a particular spell), the redacted items (the accused, the victim, and the involved Auror all blocked out), and the severity of the consequence of breaking it (time served in Azkaban). The only thing she can determine from the document is that the case is involves murder, likely singular.
Hermione frowns, glancing at Harry. He gives her a quick nod, and she trusts him implicitly, so she takes the quill and marks her name at the correct spot. She feels the bind in her blood as the ink glows a brilliant gold before settling to a classic black.
"So," she starts. "What's so important?"
Harry and Robards glance at each other, unsure, but eventually, Robards speaks: "We've been investigating the rogue Death Eater group for some time now. We... We know a great deal of the inner workings of its members, their rotations, their meetings. They're very careful and extremely hard to pin down — they are deeply suspicious of everyone, forming a series of splinter groups to organize most of their terrorism. Makes it difficult to keep track."
Hermione nods slowly, trying to follow. Many of this was as she suspected, even if the sub-groups are news to her. "I assume your spies aren't in all these corners."
Robards gives nothing away. "I cannot discuss that matter any further."
"Am I not here to take the case of a spy who was just outed as a Death Eater?" Hermione inquires. Perhaps one that had killed an enemy on the way out — or maybe even had no choice but to let a civilian get in the crossfire to maintain their cover. Severus Snape had done it, afterall — she and Harry had studied his case extensively, to clear his name post-mortem. She knew there were clauses that allowed for extreme measures to be taken during war, thanks to the DMLE's dubious legalities around enforcement and protection.
"Miss Granger, we do not have any spies," he says, officially. They both know it's a lie. But, evidently, her binding contract does not include this topic.
So, not the case of a spy, then.
Interesting.
"An Auror responded to a distress call earlier," Robards continues. "She had called for the Auror office specifically — she was turning herself in for a murder. Originally, she denied counsel, but due to the complex nature of her case, and the lack of information she held regarding it, we believed it was something we should loop a Defender into."
More and more layers. Hermione simply wishes he would get to the point.
"You see, there are a very select few upper level officials in the Death Eater ranks that have more information than anyone else. They have access to the knowledge of all the various splinter cells — nearly, at least. We estimate that five people control the majority of the terrorist opperations." Robards pauses, letting her digest the information. Then, he finally explains, "The man who was killed was one of these officials. In fact, he was the only one we had the identity of, and likely our quickest path towards unravelling the whole movement."
The room goes silent. Hermione thinks about everything she's just been told, officially and between the lines.
"I'm not entirely sure what you're asking of me, sir," she settles on saying. "It seems like a pretty cut and dry case — an unfortunate one at that. The Death Eaters discovered you were zeroing in on someone with too much information, and they removed the threat from the equation."
"Our information is secure," Robards defends. "No one had suspected."
"Then it was a more personal matter," Hermione insists. "A disagreement between Death Eaters that results in murder. We've seen it happen." She swings around to Harry.
Harry, who had remained quiet thus far, shifts. "The person in question doesn't seem to have any official ties to the Death Eaters. And certainly not to the Ministry."
"We can't know that for sure," Hermione insists. "You already said it — the splinter cells make it impossible for you to know anything for sure. And you don't even know the identities of — "
"Malfoy can attest to it," Harry assures.
Robards shoots him a dark look. Evidently, Harry was not supposed to say that.
Hermione didn't care. "And you expect me to take his word for it?"
"As a Ministry official and the lead on this case, yes, I do expect you to take my word for it, Granger."
Hermione freezes.
Malfoy.
She turns around slowly. When had he entered the room? She was sure it was warded.
Evidently, the other two Aurors present were shocked as well.
"Malfoy," Harry starts, irritated. "I thought we agreed — "
"We agreed on nothing," Malfoy interrupts cooly. "It's my office, and you were taking too long."
Hermione rarely has seen Draco Malfoy since they graduated Hogwarts. There's only been a handful of times they've passed each other in the Ministry corridors, thrice in public settings, and a couple of times he'd been in the office when she came to visit Harry and Ron, or do a legal consultation. But, overall, he keenly avoids testifying, rarely shows himself at the Ministry, and doesn't typically attend the outings of their somewhat joint social groups.
"Miss Granger," Robards intervenes, bringing her attention back to the topic. "As you can tell, this is a sensitive case. We are looking for your discretion. The news of this has yet to make its way into the public, and we'd very much like to keep it that way. It is essential to our investigation to keep this under wraps."
"He is sugarcoating it," Malfoy says darkly. "We're about to do some highly unethical things and the Department needs the accused to have a Defender to cover our arses."
Both Robards and Harry shoot him a glare. Then, Robards, clearing his throat, clarifies, "Our efforts to keep this quiet must include keeping her in our custody, without yet putting the motion in for her trial."
"But — "
"As the Ministry Decrees currently stand, there is nothing that prevents us from doing this," he continues. "But, we'd like for a Counsellor to be able to inform her of her options and rights as we conduct our investigations. Potter and Malfoy campaigned hard for a representative to draw the line of our moral obligations, not just our lawful obligations. I know you are a Defender, and not one for the individual, but we believe you are the best candidate given our information. Are we in agreement?"
Hermione nods slowly, trying to ignore Malfoy's cold stare. As if she's a threat — like she's about to run out and betray the Ministry and announce to the world that she has much key info about the future takedown of the Death Eaters. Yet, he, along with Harry, had pushed for a Defender to keep the Aurors in check in their morally ambiguous methods. Even if he didn't look too happy about it.
"Good. Now, Malfoy, if you could please explain to Miss Granger the exact charges brought against the accused so she can review the case before the meeting."
The man in question scoffs, folding his arms together and leaning back against the wall. "There isn't much to tell. I got a distress call — " Ah, so Malfoy had been the redacted Auror on the case, not just the lead investigator. " — I arrived, and Flint was dead. She — the accused, turned herself in. End of story."
Flint?
Marcus Flint?
Hermione didn't put it past him to be a high-ranking Death Eater. Slimy git was always overly cruel; she was genuinely surprised when he was never associated with the war itself.
"Who had sent the tip to the Aurors?" she questions.
Malfoy glares at her, as if she had just asked the stupidest question to ever grace his presence.
"Fine, don't be helpful." She turns to Harry. "Let me talk to this woman."
"Alright," Harry agrees, shooting an irritated look towards Malfoy. "But — "
He stops.
"What?"
Harry shakes his head. "Nevermind, it's better for you to just see for yourself. Let's go."
He leads her down a short warded hallway which Hermione recognises as their series of in-house containment rooms. This is where they keep the newly-brought-in offenders for interrogations or temporary imprisonment before a transfer to Azkaban can be made. Harry walks her all the way towards the back, behind a small bend, and waves his wand to unveil a plain door.
He turns the knob, and then pauses.
"Uh," he starts awkwardly. "Just, uh — Good luck."
And with that, he pushes the door open.
Sitting in the interrogation room, looking positively murderous, is Pansy Parkinson.