A/N: Once again I wish to thank my betas, Christina Teresa, Seakays, and sunshyndaisies.Trust me,this story just wouldn't be the same without them. NZ
Chapter Seven
Spoken to Sharpely
He'd made it down the stairs and through the living room, all without hearing a sound--if anyone caught him he'd be trounced for sure. But when he'd checked on everyone earlier, they were all asleep--so far everything was going swimmingly...
Ron edged the swinging door to the kitchen open a few inches, making sure that his broomstick didn't bump the sides and make a clatter. He had nearly pushed the handle into the open space --
Wham!!! Something slammed into the door from the other side, shoving Ron's unsuspecting body backwards. He tried to catch his balance, stumbling rapidly until he finally ran short of living room floor and crashed into the bookshelf Ginny had cleaned the week before. Ron instantly realized that if whatever hit him planned to kill him, his mum would arm-wrestle it for the chance to have a go first if he broke anything on that shelf. So he dropped his broom and turned to hold the bookshelf up. Luckily still on his feet, he steadied the bookshelf to keep it from toppling on his head until it balanced itself.
said an irritable voice in the darkness. Who's there? Are you all right? Oh, this blessed tea...
Bloody. Bloody. Hell. It's me, Mum, he said dully.
Ron heard a whisper and a wand-light went on, quickly followed by another whisper that brought on the oil lamps.
Molly said from across the room, as soon as her eyes could focus in the sudden light. Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you all right, dear? I was just getting some tea to drink while I put away all those clean clothes stacked on the bed. Your father can sleep through anything these days--
He could feel his broomstick lying across his right trainer. I might be able to explain myself out of the rest of it... Pulling his toe out from under the handle of the broom, he quickly but subtly tried to push the entire broomstick under the end of the divan with his foot. He heard his mother right behind him now and turned to face her.
What were you doing, dear? I didn't hear you come down, Molly fussed. She was distracted by the front of her dressing gown, which seemed to have an enormous, wet tea stain all down the front of it; she began to brush at it futilely with her hand.
I didn't hear you coming, either, Ron said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. I was -- getting some -- some water.
Well --here --let me see if you're--
Uh-oh, Ron thought. She's seeing, all right. The look of concern on Molly's face slowly began to slip away as she looked Ron up and down, while a look of curiosity then appeared in its place. Brow-furrowing suspicion followed quickly after that.
You were going to get water? she asked, leaning to one side to apparently confirm that yes, he was indeed wearing a rucksack. Of course, she had to have noticed that before when his back was turned, but she wanted him to know that she noticed it -- and that was an entirely different matter.
Well, yeah, but-- Ron hadn't had time to consider a back-up story.
Just where were you going to get water, may I ask? The next county?
Ron noted that her voice was developing that--that edge to it. That edge had never in his lifetime meant anything good was coming his way.
Ron forced out. I was going to get the water in the kitchen and then go out back--
To do what? You know, it's not much cooler in the back yard than here, and it's a very warm night, wouldn't you agree?
Oh, no, she's closing in...Yes, it's very warm, but--
So there must be a good reason why you're dressed rather warmly. And all in very dark clothes as well. You know, I'll bet it would be difficult to see you in the dark like that, she said, sounding dangerously matter-of-fact.
Ron got the distinct impression that his mum was toying with him while she found the perfect angle to move in for the kill. But if there was still any chance to save himself... Oh, really? he chuckled. He did his damnedest to sound surprised at that notion and looked down at his clothes. You think so? There was nowhere to run -- he was still backed against the bookshelf.
She said nothing else, just took a step closer to peer up into his face. It wasn't quite as funny these days, now that it was a real possibility, but Fred, George, and Ron had all agreed long ago that if they were ever captured and interrogated by Death Eaters, trying to survive one of their mum's interrogations was bloody good practice.
she said after what felt to Ron like a very long time. Well-- I never did get my tea--at least, not where it ought to have been. She smiled at him much too sweetly--damn, this isn't over yet! Why don't we just go into the kitchen and I'll make some for the both of us? I'll ice yours if you like.
Ron tried not to cringe outwardly. Yeah--she'll ice me, more like it! He resisted the desperate urge to look at the clock-- he was losing precious time. Erm -- all right. There was nothing else for it--she would accept nothing less and he knew that. And furthermore, he knew that this kind of chat over tea' was the Molly Weasley equivalent of a lead pipe to the shins.
She had started to turn away when Ron heard the tiny little voice from the shelf behind him. He wheeled around swiftly to see if he could find the problem before she heard, but there were just too many things on that shelf. A figurine of a sweet little shepherd girl was lying on its side, squealing that she needed to be uprighted, while the stiff-legged, glassy-eyed lambs next to her on her pedestal stared accusingly into Ron's face.
He rolled his eyes and reached carefully between the shelves to lift her up.
But the shepherd girl would have none of it. Don't you touch me, you, you-- oaf! You're the one who knocked me down -- I saw you coming!
Ron sighed and withdrew his hand. You know, maybe I shouldn't even consider dealing with any more females today...
Worse yet, his mum had finally heard and turned to see the figurine's objection to Ron's help. Oh, you poor dear! Molly muttered to her, moving toward the bookshelf...
...Until she stumbled. Mrs. Weasley fell forward onto Ron, who caught her easily and set her back upright. But he closed his eyes and shuddered in anticipation of what was to come. He knew precisely what his mother had tripped over.
Molly looked down for a moment and then back up again, this time with fire in her eyes. Ron knew now that his conviction was complete. Odd place for a broomstick, that, she said in a very calculated voice, ...and indeed under very odd circumstances with you, Ronald, my son.
Oh gods... he winced. Not -- Ronald, my son' already!
Any thoughts on the matter you'd wish to share? his mum asked sweetly.
Ron's brow furrowed. But if I give in now, the whole plan gets trashed... What am I going to do about Hermione? But it probably didn't matter anyway, unless he could get his mum on his side. The chances of that, however, were currently running somewhere between zero and none.
Taking a deep breath, Ron started in. Mum, it's Hermione. Do you know what she's doing? Completely mental, that girl! She's --
Going to work as a Ministry intern. Anything else? Molly said dryly.
Ron's jaw dropped for a moment. You knew? You knew?! When did you find out?
When she asked to come and stay earlier than planned, Molly answered, several days ago. But she asked me not to say anything -- she wanted to tell you--herself.
Which means, as usual, I'm the last to know, Ron said snidely. But she has to go off somewhere with these scientists and we don't know where she'll be. She says they can only have one owl a day and that one's for her parents. So what do we do if something happens? Not regular things, you know--something bad?
Molly softened a little. I thought about her being so far away, too, with the world...circumstances...as they are. But as careless as the Ministry officials are, I can't see that they can afford for there to be any problems--especially now. Working with Dr. Null should help protect her in a way--he's a very high-profile scientist. If anything happened to him, the news would have it all over the wireless and the Prophet in moments-
From way out --wherever they're going to be? Ron asked in exasperation. You know how fast everything happened with Dad and Harry and the snakebite -- and you know how close that came to being deadly. Hermione can't go without leaving us some way to communicate with her -- she can't! She shouldn't be going at all!
We can't go changing everything about our lives for what might come, Ron. Once we do, they've already won, his mum said. I can understand why you're worried about her, but the Ministry doesn't dare let anything happen now during a study that they're conducting--everyone is too watchful, too disturbed over what's happened already. And if we can get some Order members to perhaps keep an eye on her through their contacts...
Order members? Ron said loudly. They're stretched too thin as it is!
This is very important work she'll be doing, too--very good for a future career, Molly said stubbornly. If everyone would focus on making a better future for our world instead of making an issue of the differences between us, we wouldn't even be having this conversation.
If she does this, she may not have a future! Ron insisted, his voice rising.
Shhh! Do not raise your voice at me! If you wake this whole household... his mum warned, glancing back toward the stairs.
And you think the Death Eaters are going to listen to any excuses? From what I've seen, they're more likely to blast first and ask questions later!
There's no reason to believe there'll be any Death Eaters where she is. She's likely safer there than anywhere. So many of them are in Azkaban now and she'll be back long before they start sending Death Eaters out to collect Ministry interns, Molly reasoned.
Ron just couldn't understand why his mum was being so stubborn. Mum! You know how things have been lately! And you know she's --she's not a pureblood! He hadn't meant to shout.
Neither am I --and neither are you, no matter what we're labeled! Anyway, all of that pureblood' nonsense is a ridiculous matter of proportion! This is the last time I'm warning you--don't you shout at me! You're already in big, big trouble and if you can't discuss this civilly... Molly took a deep breath, apparently to calm herself. This, Ron, is the heart of the matter. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you have no right to tell her what to do. This is between her and her parents-- they've made their choice --so you can just butt yourself right out!
But how can her parents know the danger she could be in from our world? She really wants to do this--and when Hermione wants to do something, she doesn't always give people all the details... Ron squirmed; he was becoming so agitated he was having trouble just standing in one place.
Their family's decision is none of your business, Ron! But what is your business is that you haven't told your own family about what your intentions were tonight! Molly's eyes narrowed. With this! She leaned down and grabbed the broomstick from under the sofa, holding it out at arm's length almost in Ron's face. And this! She grabbed the strap on the rucksack, yanking him forward a bit.
It wasn't a good time for her to strike a nerve, but Ron knew she had always been very good at bad timing. Do you want to know, Mum? Do you really want to know? I'm flying to Hermione's house tonight-- to talk some sense into her!
Flying? You're going to fly there--yourself? his mother said, smirking and obviously amused by the thought. You don't even know where her house is! Or if you'd make it before sunrise!
His mum's scornful dismissal of his plan didn't help matters a bit. He knew he was treading a dangerous path, but something kept pushing him forward. I do know, he said, gritting his teeth. I have her address. And if I can't find where she lives, I know how to get to Harry--he'll help me. He'll be just as angry with her for doing this as I am!
Don't you dare take Harry away from that home! Molly warned dangerously. The Order would be on you in an instant--and right now that house is his best protection!
Yeah--the Order protected him damned well last year, now didn't they? Ron said sarcastically.
Don't you take that tone with me, Ronald Weasley! And watch your language! Molly snapped, leaning up close to Ron's chin and wagging her finger at him.
Ron was distracted for a moment by a movement over her shoulder and across the room. There were spectators on the stairs. He and his mother must have indeed awakened the household with their shouting (minus his exhausted father), but Ron knew exactly what those three were doing now--taking bets on what his punishment would be. The Weasley children had long ago given up on betting who would win the argument. As Fred so aptly put it, That's a sucker's bet --none of us ever does.
He knew he'd made a rash decision in saying he'd get Harry-- in fact, as good an idea as it was, it hadn't occurred to him until just now. But now he was left to explain his way out. If Harry says no, then I'll leave him alone, but if he wants to come make sure Hermione doesn't do anything stupid, then so be it, Ron said, holding his ground only inches from his mother's face. Harry's a big boy. If he's expected to put his life on the line for the wizarding world, he can make up his own mind about what's good for him and what isn't. Ron knew he was going to have to rally some courage for this next statement, but one look at the clock made his mind up for him quickly. As his last-ditch effort to get to Hermione, Ron held out his hand. My broomstick, please.
You must be joking, his mother growled, pulling the Cleansweep closer to her body.
No. I'm not. I'm not going to let Hermione do this.
We'll see about that--
Something exploded inside of Ron at the same time his voice exploded from his throat. I'm not asking your permission! I'm going! My broomstick, PLEASE! He could see stirring and whispering from the spectators out of the corner of his eye.
Mrs. Weasley gasped, but then composed herself and her voice became dangerously quiet instead. Oh, you think you are, eh? Well, do I have news for you! I have never heard such insolence in my life. It may be years before you have the use of this broomstick again. After all, Mum and Dad giveth and Mum and Dad can taketh away. And here's something else for you, dear. I'm not going to let you be so stupid, either-- although it might be rather amusing to see whether the Ministry or the Order got to you first. Pity we'll never know.
Molly reached into her dressing gown pocket and pulled out her wand. Stepping back, she held up Ron's broomstick and pointed. Lockstockenbroomstick! Then MobiliBroomstick! to my bedroom, please.
The broomstick suddenly developed a covering of metal mesh, then became enclosed in a glass-like casing. Break the glass, a horrendous alarm sounds, sure to find me if I'm anywhere in the Queen's England, as the Muggles say. Try to remove the metal mesh, the broomstick bursts into flame. Much better spell than that Umbridge woman used with Fred's and George's brooms last year --the woman obviously hasn't dealt with seven children of her own.
The Cleansweep in its metal and glass casing, moving slowly from the added weight, eased its way toward the stairs. Ron, feeling deflated now, could do nothing but watch his precious broomstick float away. As the Cleansweep approached them, Fred, George and Ginny stood and ran upstairs. But Ron knew they were still watching from a crack in the bathroom door one flight up; he'd done it so many times himself.
And as for you-- Molly continued, since you're not in the mood to listen to reason... She pointed her wand at Ron and he felt his knees jam together. The Leg-Locker Curse will last until morning. This should give you time to think about poor decisions and whether or not you're too old to need permission to go gallivanting about the countryside all night. Don't bother trying your bedroom door--it will also be locked until morning as well. We'll discuss consequences tomorrow. Now--off with you-- Mobilicorpus!
The spell carried him up the stairs to his room, where it dumped him unceremoniously on the bed. The door slammed shut and he could hear another spell setting the lock in place. Ron sighed and felt his eyes stinging. Frustrated, humiliated and feeling oh-so-useless, the best he could do was hope for sleep to take him quickly. Maybe that's what he'd do-- just sleep the rest of the summer away--at least he'd have his dreams to keep him company.
It had happened again: in spite of all his good intentions, there was absolutely nothing he could do to help Hermione now.
Ron Weasley had been, quite literally, grounded.All right, stop. This is it.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger had peered through the windshield at the area around the vandalized telephone box, bits of trash blowing along the ground in the warm, stiff breeze.
What is Mr. Granger had asked, still glancing up and down the street.
This is the entrance to the Ministry, Hermione had said matter-of-factly.
My poor parents, Hermione thought as she recalled the last hour. Once they had parked the car near the overflowing dumpster and unloaded all of her baggage into the thrashed telephone box, she had had to coax her parents into joining her there. To two only semi-initiated Muggle parents, it must have all seemed like a bad joke. They were likely waiting for someone to jump out and shout that they were being candidly filmed for some sordid television show.
Then there was the announcement by the voice in the telephone box, not only to welcome them to the Ministry of Magic, but also to advise that any Muggles proceeding past this point would be subject to an Obliviation procedure once their visit was concluded.
Oh, I hadn't thought of that, Hermione had said, frowning. But I suppose it's necessary. The Obliviation procedure--it's just a Memory Charm, completely painless--I'd love for you to go on with me from here, but in case they insist on the Obliviation, I don't want to make your choice for you. They're very good--and specific--they'll only erase the memories of what you see inside here, nothing else.
The Grangers had glanced at one another, but just briefly. Wordlessly and courageously, they made their decision and nodded, then the two silver badges rapidly slid from the telephone slot. Each of them dutifully attached to their shirtfronts the badges that said:
Mr. (or Mrs.) Granger
Parent of Reporting Intern
Hermione's own badge had come out last. She anxiously read:
Hermione Granger
Research Intern to Dr. Null
A little thrill of excitement ran through her as the words sank in. It still felt too good to be true.
Apparently an announcement of her arrival had been made in some other part of the building, for when the telephone box descended and ground to a halt some levels below, a short, bow-legged wizard appeared immediately. He first checked Hermione's badge and then collected all of her baggage, pulling the trunk and satchel behind him in the air by virtue of a Levitating Charm. The three Grangers then walked unencumbered through the Atrium. Hermione tried to urge her parents along before anyone spotted her that might recognize her from one fateful night several months before.
Hermione's parents, on the other hand, appeared awed at all they saw. They were, of course, aware of magic and had already seen some things happen in Diagon Alley that would have proven totally baffling for any fully uninitiated Muggle. But the fireplaces with people rapidly Flooing in and out, the Fountain of Magical Brethren spouting in the center of the Atrium, the peacock-blue ceiling with its rapidly changing gold symbols, all seemed a bit much to take and actually continue walking, too.
Frustrated with their progress, Hermione hurried a bit ahead of her parents to present her wand at the Security desk. Once the dowdy little female witch in peacock-blue robes had registered and returned Hermione's wand to her with a scowl, she said, Your wand will remain registered now until your departure after your internship is completed. Though you are underage, Miss Granger, any magic authorized by Dr. Null as part of your work will be permitted by the Ministry.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger had finally caught up and approached Hermione as she finished with the Security witch. They were just in time to leave again.
Come on, this way, Hermione said, knowing that they now could head for the lifts. It didn't take long for the irony of the situation to hit her: she was able to easily find her way through the Ministry office because she had been involved in the illegal Ministry break-in to rescue Sirius. At least, she thought, the fact that I seem to know where I'm going is making my parents feel more confident about this whole thing, so some good has come out of it.
As they chose the lift with the smallest crowd of wizards and witches waiting before it, Hermione looked nervously at her parents. So...what do you think?
Her father spoke first. It's--it's hardly what I expected from the outside entrance.
I had no idea, her mother said softly. But I suppose I feel a bit better about leaving you with someone who works here now.
The lift opened and after climbing aboard, it whisked them away to several different levels before they reached the one they wanted: Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau...
..Which is where they were now - in the Being office, of course.
The Grangers were seated in the office of Mr. Thaddeus Sharpe, awaiting his arrival. Mr. Sharpe's assistant, Louise, had assured that he was expecting them and that he would arrive momentarily, but that had been twenty minutes ago. Hermione's excitement and nervousness had been on the verge of turning to irritation when they heard voices in the hallway, one of them distinctly louder and more self-assured-sounding than the others. It sounded as if the louder voice belonged to a person who was accustomed to having people listen to him--and what worried Hermione was that the voice kept coming nearer.
Sure enough, a moment later, Thaddeus Sharpe pushed open the etched-glass door and strode into his office.
I do apologize for my tardiness, the loud, self-assured voice said, now seeming very appropriate for the wizard standing before them. Thank you so much for your patience. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I presume? Thaddeus Sharpe at your service --very pleased to meet you, he said, holding out a hand first to Hermione's mother, then her father.
Thaddeus Sharpe was a tall, commanding wizard dressed in the most stylish (and expensive, Hermione guessed) of silver-gray robes. His sleek, perfect, shoulder-length hair had once been dark all over, but his temples now sported a light dusting of silver-gray that almost perfectly matched the robes covering the trim, yet solid set of shoulders below it.
Hermione recognized Sharpe immediately from his numerous appearances in the Daily Prophet. She hadn't known that Sharpe led the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Department, but she should have known his type would appear somewhere along the line. By that, she felt immediately concerned that Mr. Sharpe held his office not due to his commitment toward the cause, but because being involved here would be so politically correct--and possibly so politically beneficial in the future.
And that wasn't all. Thaddeus Sharpe not only graced the wizarding news pages with his presence, but his face was well-known and no doubt strategically-placed on the society pages as well. Somewhere in the back of Hermione's mind her words to Ron returned to haunt her: But this doesn't have anything to do with the political side of the Ministry, Ron, it's all scientific. Great --and here she sat staring at one of the slickest politicians in the Ministry.
This must be the brilliant Miss Granger, Sharpe gushed, holding out his hand for her to shake. We certainly received some sterling recommendations regarding you.
Thank you. I'm very pleased to meet you, Hermione said formally, feeling her cheeks grow hot in spite of the fact she wasn't especially taken with the man.
Ready for your great adventure, are you? he asked, circling the desk and sitting down. For most of our interns, their time with their studies is one of the most rewarding and memorable experiences of their young lives -- one of their first great adventures away from home and on their own.
Hermione could think of a few other adventures' she'd had and hoped that he wasn't remembering her name in connection with any of them.
I think it will be a great experience working with Dr. Null. I've always admired his work and followed it very closely, Hermione said, feeling she was expected to say something.
Well, let's get on with it and get you there then, shall we? Mr. Sharpe stood and pulled down a retractable map of the United Kingdom from the ceiling behind his desk, slipping his wand from his robes pocket to use as a pointer. Dr. Null and his associates have set up shop for his study right...here. Sharpe pointed to a place in southwest Scotland, an area that looked on the relief map as if it was very mountainous and unpopulated. As you know, our Hermione will be working with the Yeti, who are not native to the UK, but are most numerous in the Himalayas and in North America. In those locations there have been a greater number of sightings by non-magical folk --though we try our best to Obliviate them quick as we can. Sharpe flashed a perfectly photogenic smile at them all, apparently enjoying his own little joke.
Hermione had already furrowed her brow at the use of our Hermione', but she reasoned that perhaps he was just trying to make them all feel comfortable. At least he'd said non-magical folk instead of Muggles.
This area, close to Galloway, is most similar to their native habitats, so when the creatures were flown in from their native lands, they adjusted quite quickly to the habitat itself, Sharpe continued. In fact, most are well-settled even though they've been there no more than several weeks at this point.
Hermione glanced at her parents, who were listening attentively from either side of her. Both of them seemed a bit more tense than usual, but she could guess that it was difficult for them to let their fifteen-year-old daughter trek off on some scientific quest so far away. She wondered what they thought of Thaddeus Sharpe, but could hardly ask them right in front of the man.
I have a question, Hermione said, assuming that raising her hand, while familiar, would be a bit awkward in this situation. Is that what the study is for, then? The creatures' adjustment to the new habitat?
We're jumping ahead a bit here, but that's what I like to see in my interns-- a healthy dose of curiosity, Sharpe said.
Hermione thought Thaddeus Sharpe actually sounded a bit more like a used-broomstick salesman than a Ministry department head, or even a politician, but she supposed that those same skills might come in useful in all of those positions. She was still deciding what to think at being called one of his interns'.
No, actually the habitat is considered one of the constants' because the creatures will remain in the same location for the duration of the study. The variable'--the one Dr. Null is testing his theories on--is the behavior of the Yeti, Sharpe continued. I'm sure Dr. Null will explain his own position further, but I do know that what prompted Dr. Null to begin this study now is that after thousands of years, the behavior of the Yeti has begun to change very quickly and very drastically. Their ordinarily docile behavior has become very erratic, and once in a great while, violent. The group Dr. Null is working with are some of those Yeti who have come to our attention as being especially prone to more violent behaviors, so they were removed from their native societal groups and brought here for study. As magical creatures, the Yeti are part of our jurisdiction, so it's really our responsibility to see if we can find out why there have been such changes and if the creatures' rights have been in any way violated.
As uncertain as Hermione was about this wizard before her, she could at least respect him for the fact that at some point he had to have found money to fund such a study for the rights of the Yeti. No matter how superficial he might have seemed in her first impression of him, she felt he must have cared at least a little; he had, after all, described doing the study as our responsibility (meaning, of course, the wizarding world) and with precious few Ministry workers wanting to take responsibility for anything these days, it was refreshing to see that at least one side of him was caring and respectable.
Our little inside joke is that the poor Yeti are just sick and tired of what they've always been called on their two native continents. The Sherpa people of the Himalayas, who first spotted the creatures' magical ability to appear and disappear at will, call them by the respectable name of Yeti', which means rock dwellers'. But outsiders to Asia began calling them Abominable Snow Men' --who wouldn't object to being called abominable? And the Americans call them Bigfoot'--there's a name most people would be proud to carry around with them, right? No wonder they pound their chest and look tetchy, eh? Mr. Sharpe laughed loudly at his own weak humor for minute or two.
Hermione smiled vaguely and her father chuckled half-heartedly. Of course, I could be dead wrong about him having any redeeming qualities at all, Hermione thought.
You already know that the internship was arranged for a month's duration, Sharpe explained. Transportation to your home on the twenty-fourth of August will be arranged, giving you a week to prepare for your return to Hogwarts. The owl post situation has been described to you?
Mr. Granger said, as Mrs. Granger nodded.
Um, is there any way to make any--adjustments-- to that rule? Hermione asked. Like sending an extra owl once in a while to friends or something?
Mr. Sharpe smiled. Such a peer conscious age, eh? We'd like to be able to be more flexible, but what with the number of people at the study site and their isolation, almost everyone there has the need to owl others, along with the regular owls for supplies and business purposes. Dr. Null has found that for some reason the owls flying over seriously affect the attitudes of theYeti, so we simply can't allow for more.
Hermione nodded glumly. I see.
Well, if there are no more questions... Sharpe looked into the faces of Hermione's parents, but saw no further response. Then I suppose it's time to say your goodbyes. I'll step outside to speak with Louise. She's the one who'll be arranging the administration of your Memory Charms. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, anything we have discussed in this office will be left in your memories, but I'm afraid that all else you've been privy to this afternoon since descending on the telephone box lift will need to be erased. I apologize for the inconvenience--regulations, you know.
We understand. Hermione explained it to us, Mrs. Granger said.
Can I be with them while they're being charmed? Hermione asked anxiously. They've never been Obliviated before.
Thaddeus Sharpe looked thoughtful. Mmmm-- that might be difficult. The Portkey is set for fifteen minutes from now and it has a very short range of departure time since we have such a great distance to cover, you and I. Plus they're not allowed to witness our departure. Your parents will need to be walked out of the office and to ground level to be left with their car, so I don't think we'd have sufficient time.
Hermione started to object, looking a bit more worried.
It's all right, Hermione, Mr. Granger said. We've trusted your magical world enough to let them have you. We certainly should be able to trust it enough to take care of this. Mr. Granger reached an arm around his wife's shoulder as Mrs. Granger nodded in agreement.
Sharpe nodded as well and walked from the room.
Oh, I hope they send nice wizards or witches to charm you, Hermione said. Most of them are, but--
You get a mix, just like with us non-magical folk, eh? Mr. Granger said, trying to sound light-hearted. So you're off. We're certainly going to miss you. Even when you're at Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore has been so kind that we feel we can find you at any time if we want. So it's not really like being separated. But this feels...
Just a little bit farther away? Mrs. Granger finished.
Just a great bit farther away, Mr. Granger corrected.
Hermione smiled at them, her eyes stinging a bit. Thank you for letting me go. Dr. Null's such a brilliant man. I'll try my best--I'll make you proud. I know I can be a good research assistant for him.
Mrs. Granger laughed softly. You know, that was the farthest thing from my mind. We know you'll be the best he ever had--probably the best the Ministry's ever had.
A soft voice came from the just-opened door. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, they're ready for you now. Hermione looked over to find Thaddeus Sharpe leaning in through the door. At least he had the decency to give them a few last minutes alone together.
May I ask who's going to do the charm? Hermione questioned.
Erm, just a moment, Sharpe said, turning to look into the room behind him. Your names?
Two soft unintelligible noises were heard, then Sharpe nodded and looked back at the Grangers. Mr. Wells and Ms. Yopletski. Two of the best.
Hermione frowned. How could Sharpe know they were two of the best if he didn't even know their names? Ergh-- politicians! She quickly tried to scan her own memory of all the Slytherin students she knew and all of the people's names she'd read about as being tied in with the Death Eaters from the Prophet, but she couldn't remember either of the two surnames from anywhere. She supposed that was a good thing.
Hermione looked at her parents once more and all of a sudden felt panicked that she hadn't said enough. She threw her arms around her mother and hugged her tightly. I love you, Mum. Then she did the same with her father. I love you, Dad. I'll see both of you soon. The time will go fast-- I know it will!
We love you, Hermione, Mrs. Granger said. We know you'll do wonderfully.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger smiled proudly at their daughter once more, then took several steps toward the door from Sharpe's office before Hermione stopped them with one last request to Mr. Sharpe.
Don't let them erase that! Whatever they do--please don't let them! she said tensely as her eyes started to fill.
Anything that took place in this office is theirs--and yours-- to keep, Sharpe said.
Hermione watched her parents file past Mr. Sharpe and move into the outer office. The milky glass windows didn't allow her to see Wells and Yopletski. Although she knew it was completely unprofessional to do so, she lost the battle within herself and hurried to stand just behind the tall wizard where she was able to see into the outer office. Squinting at Wells and Yopletski, Hermione was only a little relieved to discover that she didn't recognize them. If only they'd randomly called up Mr. Weasley or one of the Order members ... she thought.
Don't worry, Hermione, they'll be well taken care of, Thaddeus Sharpe assured.
Hermione could tell that the Ministry official meant it to sound comforting. She just wished she could decide why she didn't feel comforted in the least.