Braces off, Cedric was reading in bed the night before his interview, a light blanket over his legs against the unnatural mid-summer chill, and Esiban curled happily atop the blanket. A pecking at his bedroom window startled him and he sat up, peering toward the glass. Who sent owls at this hour? Unless it were an emergency?
Aiming his wand at the latch, he muttered, "Alohamora," and a red flash of feathers sailed across to settle on the bedpost near his head, making Esiban hiss. "Fawkes!" Perhaps it was an emergency if the Headmaster had sent him a note this late on Monday night - but the handwriting wasn't Dumbledore's. It was Hermione's. Why had she borrowed Fawkes to send him a letter - which raised the more fundamental question of what Fawkes had been doing at the Grangers' house in the first place? "Thank you," he told the phoenix, who cocked his head in query. "No, it's all right," Cedric replied. "If I need to send an answer, we have an owl. It was kind of you to bring this for Hermione."
Fawkes let out one of his high-pitched cries, launching off the post and out the window. Cedric closed it behind him, then unrolled the parchment. It was short and to the point:
Sorry for yelling earlier, but it makes me angry to think Scrimgeour's using you. You're too talented to be some politician's trophy. But I know you've wanted to work at the Ministry for a long time, so if you think this job will eventually get you where you want to be, then I'm behind you. It's you I believe in Cedric, not Scrimgeour.
Love,
Granger
Her olive branch. And with time having passed since the morning blow-up, not to mention conversations with Dumbledore and both of his parents, Cedric was feeling less in a huff too. Unfortunately, he was also tired and not inclined to get out of bed, write a letter, chase down their owl and send it off. He doubted Hermione expected an immediate reply anyway.
The next morning, groaning, he rose with the sun, but supposed he should get used to it. Soon, he'd have to become a contributing member of society, but he'd hoped to have July free, at the very least, while awaiting the results of his NEWTs. With Wizarding economics as they were, however, he couldn't afford to be too choosy.
He dressed in the fine robes Berry, their house-elf, had readied for him the night before. She had a proper fry-up waiting as well. "Master Cedric can't go to his interview on an empty stomach," she told him, bringing out bacon and scrambled eggs, sausages and sautéed potatoes, tomatoes and mushrooms, along with toast and Marmite, and strong black tea.
"I can't eat all this!" he told her, laughing, even as his father entered and inspected his plate.
"Perhaps I ought to take that Ministry job back, if I'd get a breakfast like this."
"Berry will bring Master Amos breakfast too." And she scurried back into the kitchen as his father sat down, studying Cedric. "You ready, son?"
"As much as I'll ever be. You're sure you don't want back in the depart- "
"No," his father interrupted. "I have the job I want, and with you out of school, I can take the risk. Now, if the Ministry will coordinate with me on the rescue of abused pets, I'm all ears, but I'm not holding my breath - and I don't want my old job back. I'd rather not deal with the bloody paperwork."
Cedric smiled. His father wasn't the most patient of men.
Berry emerged with a second plate for his father - minus some of the greasier elements - "Mistress Lucy says Master Amos doesn't need bacon or sausage or potatoes."
Cedric had to grin at his father's disgruntled face. "We all know who gives the final orders in this house," he said, poking at his poached egg. Cedric had pulled out parchment and a quill, writing back to Hermione between bites. "Who's that for?" his father asked.
"Hermione."
"Mmm. What does she think of all this?"
"That Scrimgeour wants to use me."
"Clever little witch."
"She is, at that," Cedric admitted, folding the note. It wasn't long - mostly a reassurance that he'd be back to the Grangers by that evening, and perhaps by that afternoon. "How often do you and mum quarrel?" Cedric asked his father as he returned to his overfull plate and slipped Esiban a slice of bacon beneath the table.
His father raised an eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise?"
"I'm not sure I'd say trouble," Cedric replied. "Just . . . this whole interview. She didn't even want me to go. Sometimes we don't see eye-to-eye at all, you know?"
"Ah." His father smiled around a bite of tomato. "Wouldn't you find it boring if you did? A lot depends on what you disagree about, son - how much it matters - but also on how you argue. If you can argue to a settlement and not keep dragging it back up, well, that's all right. If you sweep it under the rug and let it fester, it could erupt on you later, right?"
Cedric nodded. He and Hermione didn't tend to drag old grievances into new arguments, but he also had to admit that sometimes they didn't bury those old hatchets so much as hide them. Perhaps he should worry about that, but he wasn't sure if they were the sort of hatchets that they needed to worry about.
Not long after, Cedric left for the Ministry. His father offered him company but he declined. He needed to make this trip himself, and Apparated to an alleyway to access the visitor's entrance - and not just because he was a visitor. Flooing required him to sit, and he didn't come out the other side gracefully. If he did take a job at the Ministry, he'd likely always have to enter through the phone booth as anti-Apparition spells prevented one from appearing directly inside the Ministry, although - as Cedric, Harry and their friends had discovered to their dismay - it didn't prevent anyone from Apparating around once inside the barrier.
Cedric glanced out of the alley, spotting the now-somewhat-familiar pub, wall full of graffiti, and broken-down red phone booth. As nonchalantly as a man on crutches could do, he made his way over to the latter, slipped inside and dialed 62442: m-a-g-i-c. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business," came the voice of the Welcome Witch.
"Cedric Diggory. I've a job interview with the Minister."
He waited, and before long his visitor's badge appeared out of the coin dispenser. Resting his weight on one crutch, he used his free hand to pin it on awkwardly as the booth began to lower. He'd just affixed it when the booth-lift stopped, door opening to let him exit into the atrium. He was a bit early, but even so, most workers were already in their offices and the atrium wasn't as busy as he recalled from the previous August when he'd come to attend Harry's trial. He glanced up at the bright, royal blue ceiling with its gold runes and astrological symbols floating across, and considered. He'd brought his wheelchair in case he needed it, but also because (frankly) he thought he appeared more graceful in it and wasn't beyond vanity. Yet it put him below eye level for most, and he recognized that such a small thing could matter. That was why his shoes were shined, his hair neatly combed, and his chin close-shaven. Today, he decided, he would walk, even if the atrium hall was long and he'd likely be out of breath by the time he arrived at the lifts. He'd have a few moments on the ride up to recover. His gaze moved from the ceiling to the high wall of glass in the distance at the atrium rear. He wondered which office window was the Minister's, then began to make his way across the floor: clump, scrape, clump, scrape. People looked at him, then looked away quickly.
Finally reaching the end past the fountain, he approached the security desk. Eric Munch, on duty as usual in robes that matched the ceiling, nodded to him. Cedric started to present his wand, but Munch just waved him through. "The Minister said to expect you, Mr. Diggory. You go on up. First floor, left - the Minister's office is at the end of the corridor."
"Thank you," Cedric replied, clumping through the gate towards the lifts at the back. Some woman he didn't know held the door for him. "Thank you," he said again, a bit out of breath.
"You must be Cedric Diggory." She peered up at him through owl-round glasses. "You're every bit as handsome as your pictures in the paper - but taller in person." Cedric smiled, wondering if it wasn't inevitable that one be taller in person than in a photo, but still took her meaning. "What are you here for today, if you don't mind an old lady being nosey?" But she went on before he could open his mouth to reply. "I'm Georgina Smythe, Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. You may have heard a letter of mine read recently on WWN's Toots, Shoots n' Roots." She fluttered her fingers, looking both pleased and embarrassed. "I was so surprised. Nothing like your fame, of course, but my little fifteen minutes. Tilden Toots is such a lovely man, but he's married to that Daisy Hookum - the one who spent a year as a Muggle and wrote a book about it. Can't imagine why she'd do such a thing - a bit mental, if you asked me. I'm sure he could do better."
Cedric should probably have been amused at the not-so-subtle envy, but her casual bigotry left him cold instead. "I've spent some time in a Muggle house - my girlfriend's parents, you see," he said. "It was fascinating, really."
Her glass-magnified eyes grew even larger as she stared at him in surprise, then she fluttered her fingers once more. "Well, you're young and in love. It must seem like a great adventure right now, but trust me, young man - living without magic isn't something you'd want to do. What are you here for today again?"
Wishing the woman would just get to her floor and leave, he replied, "I've a job interview." He saw no reason to tell her where.
Fortunately, the lift stopped and the doors opened - "Level three," a disembodied woman's voice said, and Mrs. Smythe didn't have time to continue her friendly inquisition. Instead, she reached out as if to pump his hand, then realized her error and patted his arm above the crutch instead. "Good luck to you, Mr. Diggory. I'm sure a young wizard of your talents won't have any problem with employment."
He was solemn for the short ride to the top floor, disquieted by her attitude. Whatever jealousy drove her dislike for Hookum, it was her disdain for Muggles that had bothered him. That had been offhand and casual, as if she assumed everybody shared it. "Ignorant old witch," he muttered, thumping off the lift when the grill doors clanged open on level one.
It was quiet here, the carpets a rich purple decorated with tiny gold symbols like those on the ceiling in the atrium, the walls an unassuming cream, the doors highly polished wood with brass plaques bearing the office or name of the occupant behind them. Left down the corridor, Munch had said, so Cedric set off. He saw no one, and there seemed to be no directing signs - the assumption being that anyone with business on this floor already knew where he was going.
Cedric hadn't quite reached the end when the door opened and none other than Rufus Scrimgeour himself emerged. Cedric recognized him from his picture in The Prophet. He wasn't as tall as Cedric, but broader with a slow grace and a mane of greying, tawny hair. Cedric thought him a man comfortable with authority. "Mr. Diggory," he said, but didn't make Smythe's mistake of offering a hand. Instead he gestured through the open door. "You're early, but please come in."
"Thank you," Cedric said. "And I've learned to allow extra time in case I need it."
Scrimgeour just nodded, neither embarrassed nor unctuously sympathetic. Cedric appreciated that matter-of-factness.
Perhaps a dozen secretaries and other functionaries occupied the large outer office, so it said something, Cedric thought, that Scrimgeour had been waiting for him personally. No doubt Munch had warned the Minister that Cedric was on the way up, but it looked increasingly as if Hermione and Dumbledore were correct. Scrimgeour wanted Cedric working at the Ministry.
The question was whether Cedric could make that work for him, and the Order too.
"Tea?" Scrimgeour asked as he ushered Cedric into his office, a grand thing with wide windows that overlooked the Atrium directly above the central gate in the golden archway. Scrimgeour walked over to a sideboard with a tea set pushed up against the glass.
"Tea would be lovely, thank you," Cedric replied, still standing politely.
Scrimgeour noticed. "Oh, please - have a seat, Diggory. There's politeness and then there's practicality; you'll find that I prefer the latter. Sugar? Milk? And poured before or after?"
Cedric took one of the two large red leather chairs, shrinking his crutches to tuck them into a pocket of his robes. "What type of tea is it?"
Scrimgeour grinned. "There speaks a true Englishman. Indian Assam, this."
"Sugar and milk both then. And shouldn't the milk always go in first?" Cedric was puzzled.
"Quite right," Scrimgeour replied, "prevents curdling."
Cedric wondered at such an odd test - and it had been a test - but supposed all bosses had their quirks. After a bit, Scrimgeour floated over Cedric's cup and saucer, which Cedric accepted, rather glad of something to do with his hands. Scrimgeour settled himself behind his desk and just watched Cedric, sipping his own tea. The scrutiny lasted a full minute but Cedric held his tongue. He had no idea what the Minister actually wanted and it seemed best to let Scrimgeour speak first.
Finally, Scrimgeour said only, "You're your mother's son."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You don't chatter like a magpie." Then Scrimgeour sat forward, setting down the teacup to shift papers about on his desk until he found the file he wanted, opening it to study the contents. "You're quite the impressive young man all around, Mr. Diggory: high marks in classes; a reputation for fairness and honesty; positions as prefect, Quidditch Captain, then Head Boy - not to mention your selection as a Triwizard Champion." Scrimgeour looked up. "You also have a natural charisma about you - people notice when you pass by."
Blushing, Cedric said, "Well I suppose, on the crutches, I'm a bit hard to miss."
"That's not at all what I mean." Standing, Scrimgeour walked to the window and looked out and down. "I watched you arrive, Mr. Diggory. One can tell a lot about a man when he doesn't know he's being observed - how he moves, stands, interacts with strangers. You don't slouch, crutches or no crutches. You keep your head up and you don't look away when somebody meets your eyes. Such a man either possesses great confidence or great arrogance. With you, I don't think it's the latter." He turned back to look at Cedric.
And Cedric didn't know quite how to reply. If Scrimgeour were buttering him up as Hermione had claimed, he sounded awfully frank, just as in his letter. Could that be part of the act? Blunt praise seemed more honest than obsequiousness. Yet perhaps it was honest. Cedric wanted to give the man the benefit of the doubt, so now he said only, "Thank you."
Scrimgeour nodded and resumed his seat, holding up a sheet of paper. "These are your NEWT scores."
Cedric's mouth dropped opened - which reaction seemed to amuse Scrimgeour. "I know pupils rarely expect to see these until early August at the soonest," the Minister continued. "Markers do tackle the NEWT scripts first as employers are waiting for them, and fortunately, the letter 'D' is early in the alphabet. Yours were already done when my office owled the Wizarding Examinations Authority. They sent the scores right over - a little executive privilege." The Minister's smile was wry, but Cedric thought he might have liked boasting a bit.
"These results are exceptional." Looking down at the paper, he read: "Transfigurations and Advanced Transfigurations, O in both - perhaps predictably; I've heard about your reputation in the subject. Then we have Charms, O; Herbology, O; Muggle Studies, O. History of Magic, E, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, E. I have a note here that says your History of Magic is an E only because you failed to answer the final question - but unless I'm much mistaken, that's the exam you submitted early in order to try to stop Mr. Potter from being tricked by You Know Who, isn't it?"
Cedric only nodded, still a bit speechless at his results. Scrimgeour continued. "I have little doubt History of Magic would also have been an O, if you'd completed the exam. I'll be certain to tell the Authority to strike that last question and assess you on the completed material - "
"Sir, it was my own choice, it wouldn't be fair - "
"Extenuating circumstances, Mr. Diggory. Due to the disturbances at Hogwarts on Wednesday night, the graders have been directed to grant the OWL students a similar grace with regard to their Astronomy exam. Students can hardly be faulted for what is beyond their control. You're not being singled out for special treatment."
Cedric subsided, although he still suspected that Scrimgeour was doing him an intentional favor.
"In any case, we'll assume the end result will be six Os and one E. With results like those, you can virtually name your job." He paused and Cedric wondered if the Minister were expecting him to do just that, but he didn't. He just sipped cooling tea and held his tongue once more, waiting. When he didn't reply, Scrimgeour smiled. "Most eighteen-year-olds would be babbling like greedy baboons at that. I like that you don't."
Cedric lowered the teacup and spoke carefully. "As you invited me here, sir, I assumed you had a particular position to offer?"
"So I do, so I do - although a rather non-specific one. The Minister's office has several 'personal assistant' positions attached with flexible job descriptions, depending on what's needed. I've let some of Fudge's go, and I want you to fill one of those vacancies. It's a golden opportunity for a young wizard just out of school - a chance to work right at the heart of the Ministry, see how it's all run. And it offers a competitive salary too, let me add."
Lips pursed minutely, Cedric sipped tea to give himself a moment. The offer wasn't unexpected. In his conversation with Dumbledore the day before, the Headmaster had warned it was likely one of these amorphous jobs he'd be offered: "They can be anything or nothing - a glorified gofer in most cases, usually reserved for young Ministry employees looking for eventual, higher administrative posts. Yet those who fill them rarely escape the Minister's office to other departments. In truth, most don't want to leave - but it is something to be aware of."
Cedric understood he'd have to pay his dues like anyone else but had no desire to be caught in a dead-end generalist's job; he'd been giving thought to a counter-proposal if he were offered one. Lowering his tea cup again, he sent it and the saucer to the edge of the Minister's desk with a wave of his hand. "Minister, what sort of work did you have in mind for me as your assistant?"
Scrimgeour tipped his grizzled head, like a quizzical cat. "I'd thought a bit of morale boosting, perhaps - your charisma and obvious self-confidence would lend itself to reassuring others."
Ah, Cedric thought, that's why Scrimgeour made those observations earlier. He felt himself deflate just a bit, but didn't let it show.
"Reassurance is just what our people need in this dark hour, Diggory," Scrimgeour was saying. "You've stood your ground against He Who Must Not Be Named - people trust you. I think you have a natural gift for public relations, don't you?"
Cedric wondered just what Scrimgeour wanted him to reassure people about? Certainly he hoped the new Minister would be more effective than the old, but things weren't looking good in general, and Cedric wasn't inclined to lie to people just to make them feel better.
He didn't say any of that. He had something else in mind and preferred to redirect Scrimgeour rather than confront him. "I might," he said, "be of better service in another area."
That got Scrimgeour's attention. He must not have thought Cedric actually had any thoughts of his own. "And that is?" The question wasn't sharp, not exactly, but it was clear the Minister wasn't used to having his suggestions dismissed, however politely - even while he was curious as to what Cedric might say.
Cedric cleared his throat. "Minister, you may not be aware, but I have some familiarity with the Muggle world."
"Ah, yes, your lovely and clever girlfriend, Ms. Granger. She's Muggle-born, is she not?"
Cedric nodded, although he was sure the Minister well knew Hermione to be Muggle-born. He'd put far too much effort into preparing for this interview to miss something that public. "But as evinced by taking a NEWT in Muggle Studies, I have an interest in Muggle matters that extends beyond Hermione.
"It's occurred to me," he continued, "that it must be quite a challenge to keep track of possible strikes by Death Eaters against Muggles. The Brockdale Bridge was obvious, but other suspicious events like that entire family of Muggles murdered in Kent have been less so." Cedric and Hermione had kept a close watch on the papers. "It went unnoticed by the Ministry for almost a week until Amelia Bones' death, when it turned out one of her brothers' Squib daughters had married into them."
Scrimgeour's lips twitched. "You're well read, Mr. Diggory."
"I, er, like newspapers, sir."
"So it would seem. But what does this have to do with your proposal?"
"I could comb Muggle papers and other media, then supply your office with summary reports - things you should be aware of happening among Muggles. A sort of . . . junior press secretary."
Both Scrimgeour's shaggy eyebrows had risen. He looked as if he wasn't sure if he were more impressed by Cedric's initiative, or more annoyed. "I have a press secretary," he said.
"Oh, I know, sir. I wasn't suggesting that I make public statements for the Minister's office; I'm well aware I'm not senior enough for such a position. I'd merely collect and organize relevant information from the Muggle press." Cedric kept his eyes modestly lowered, fingers crossed inside his fist, while Scrimgeour mulled it over. He was banking on the fact the Minister hadn't had a specific job in mind beyond trotting him out as a Name attache for public relations. He was offering to do something productive instead, and hoped the carrot was appealing enough.
Apparently, it was. "All right," Scrimgeour said. "I don't believe this office has ever had a position quite like the one you've suggested, but I'm not afraid of a little innovation. And with You Know Who out there terrorizing people, wizard and Muggle alike, it couldn't hurt to have another pair of eyes looking for clues. The quicker this office can respond to disturbances, even Muggle disturbances, the more on top of things we'll appear, and we need to keep our people reassured that we're not a bunch of incompetents."
Cedric bit his tongue, refraining from asking if the Minister only wanted to avoid seeming incompetent or wanted to avoid being incompetent. It would have been unforgivably cheeky - especially if this man was about to become his boss.
Besides, Cedric had an ulterior motive for remaining on Scrimgeour's good side. Since hearing Charles and Helen Granger talk about Muggle world problems, he'd given thought to the need for the Ministry to pay better attention to Muggles. He'd mentioned this, obliquely, to Dumbledore the day before, earning a keen look from the Headmaster before Dumbledore had smiled. "I think you're quite right, Cedric. Our Muggle brethren deserve more than our disdain, although I fear most wizards wouldn't share your view. Traditionally, our Muggle-borns leave that world in order to adopt ours, and Squibs feel exiled to a lesser existence rather than a different one." Dumbledore had paused. "Did you have something in mind beyond the observation?"
He did. This was what he had in mind, this proposal. If the Ministry had departments to handle the misuse of Muggle artefacts or Obliviate Muggles exposed to magical incidents accidentally, so far as Cedric knew, not a single department or official was charged with keeping track of their news and current affairs. If not the job in International Relations he'd once intended to apply for, it was closer to the role he wanted to fill someday than reviewing international trade agreements on imports and exports.
Now, Scrimgeour said, "If we make this new position for you, I doubt it would take all your time. You'd still be able to handle some public relations appearances." He hurried on before Cedric could even open his mouth to object. "What shall we call you, Diggory? We could just keep 'personal assistant,' but perhaps a better title presents? Advisor to the Minister on Muggle Affairs? Yes, I think that will do. Two more questions. One, when can you start, and two, what will you need? I'm afraid I haven't got a bloody clue what would be involved in following the Muggle press beyond subscriptions to a lot of newspapers."
Blinking and feeling a little overwhelmed by how quickly Scrimgeour was moving, Cedric decided to tackle the last question first - and not just in case the proposal stalled on his list of resources. He also wanted to see if he couldn't put off starting until next week. He wanted a few more carefree days with Hermione.
Taking out his parchment list, he Levitated it across the table to the Minister. "You did come prepared, didn't you?" Scrimgeour asked.
"I try to be efficient, Minister."
"I like that. But I'm afraid you're going to have to explain to me what much of this is."
"Yes, sir. The biggest, well, hurdle, would be electricity. If possible, I'll need an office that has Muggle electricity, as well as a telephone line. I understand that might be a bit . . . unorthodox, but Muggles have a wide variety of media sources besides newspapers - "
Scrimgeour was waving it off, unconcerned. "It can be arranged. Your office will be up here where a tap into the Muggles' electrical services won't pose a problem. Continue."
"Yes, sir." Cedric let out his breath; getting electricity had been the main issue. "The rest is rather straightforward. As you mentioned, I'd need subscriptions to various newspapers. I could have those delivered to a Muggle post office where I'd pick them up - "
"Or have them fetched. Let's be practical - you'll need a secretary. Continue."
"The other four things I need are a television, a radio of the Muggle sort, a computer, and a telephone. The television, radio and computer just need electricity, but hooking up a telephone line might be a bit more tricky."
"I'll put Arthur Weasley on it; he likes these Muggle things."
"Er" - Cedric struggled not to look appalled - "I'm not certain this is something Mr. Weasley is familiar with. But I may . . . I may know some people who could help."
"All right, Diggory, I'll leave it to you. I assume you'll require a regular operating budget plus additional funds for set up?"
"Er - yes, sir."
"Get me an itemized budget by Friday." Scrimgeour waved at a quill, which stood up and started writing on spare parchment. "In the meantime, take this to the business office to file a requisitions work order so the paperwork's begun. It's not likely to be something they can order for you so you'll have to buy the things yourself, then submit receipts. I trust you not to waste the taxpayer's money on what you don't need." Scrimgeour's frown verged on a glower, but it seemed more for show, and Cedric was just a bit surprised at how quickly and easily all this was happening. He'd been prepared to explain each piece of equipment to the Minister, how it was used, and justify his need for it.
"Do you, er, do you want to know how any of these function, Minister?"
Scrimgeour actually snorted. "Isn't that the point of having you? You know how to work these machines, right?" Well, more or less; Cedric didn't want to admit his own naïvéte. "I don't care how the machines work, Diggory, as long as I understand the results you're submitting. Again - pragmatism. Like I said, I'm a great fan of it."
"Yes, sir." Cedric noticed that Scrimgeour had gone from calling him "Mr." to calling him only by last name. The wooing was over, and Cedric hoped he hadn't just made a mistake.
Scrimgeour's first set of orders was finished and he signed it, sending the paper sailing across to Cedric while the quill wrote up a second. "Now, in just a moment, I'll take you out to meet my personal secretary, Aurelia Goldstein and she'll start paperwork for your employment records." He scribbled something by hand on another slip parchment, Levitating that to Cedric as well. "That's your starting salary, unless you have an objection." But he didn't give Cedric time to object, well aware it was better than most offers Cedric could hope for. "Aurelia will take you down to Maintenance, so they can arrange for your office needs." Scrimgeour lowered his chin. "I want you to be completely candid with the Maintenance Wizards, Diggory. Not much sense in hiring you if you can't get through your own door, is there?" Cedric shook his head. "It'll no doubt take a day or two to ready things here, but that shouldn't stop you from starting tomorrow if you've alternative access to these Muggle resources - "
"Er, I don't," Cedric interrupted, if politely. He was starting to feel railroaded. "And, um, really, it might take more than a few days to get everything I'll need . . . "
"Very well - how about next Monday then? I don't like to dawdle once a decision's made; you'll find that out about me, Diggory. I'm sure Voldemort isn't sitting around twiddling his thumbs, and I don't either. Information is key, so as soon as you can start providing it for me, the better."
Cedric suppressed a smile. Scrimgeour spoke now as if having Cedric research Muggle media had been his idea from the start, but Cedric didn't care, just hoped he wouldn't be disappointed. Cedric's real plan was to educate the Minister on Muggle current events, but doubted Scrimgeour thought that worth his time. So Cedric would need to find sufficient information about Death Eater attacks on Muggles too. "I'll start some preliminary searches and reviews this week," he said, "and pass on anything that might be of use. But it may not be until mid-next week before I'm really up and running." That wasn't Monday; he hoped the Minister wasn't angry.
Apparently not. "Fine, fine. Now" - Scrimgeour stood, collecting the second parchment before coming around the desk - "let's go and meet your new colleagues." Not even waiting as Cedric retrieved his crutches, Scrimgeour crossed to his door and threw it open, speaking briskly, "Aurelia! Come and meet Mr. Diggory . . . !"
Hermione felt as if her morning had lasted half the afternoon while she awaited Cedric's return, trying to read or to write letters, first to Harry; then to Ginny; then yet a third to Viktor, with whom she still kept in contact. The longer Cedric's interview seemed to take, the more she worried. Either it hadn't gone well and he'd returned to his home to lick his wounds in private, or it had gone well and . . . and what? Would the Minister put him to work immediately? Surely not. Truth was, a part of her hoped it went badly. She was concerned about just what the Minister had in mind for Cedric, not to mention she was a bit . . . jealous. Of course she wanted him to find a job, but had hoped it wouldn't be until after she returned to school. With only a month or so left before they'd be separated for months on end, she was a miser for time.
She became so engrossed with her letter writing that she did, in fact, miss his return until the back door popped open - making her jump half a foot in the air. He'd barely got inside on crutches before she was on him, hugging his neck. "You look exhausted!" she said.
His smile was wry as she led him to a chair at the kitchen table, pulling it out for him. "I think I just walked the length and breadth of the Ministry," he said, "three times."
She hurried into the kitchen to get him a Tizer from the cupboard. He liked fizzy Muggle drinks but she couldn't imagine how he stomached that red stuff. To her, it tasted like oversweet battery acid. He finished most of it in one long guzzle. "So?" she asked.
Setting down the can, he undid his cravat, tossing it onto the table and unhooking the front of his robes - dark maroon ones she'd never seen before - to shrug them off. "So I've joined the ranks of the gainfully employed."
Skeptical, she asked. "What's he going to have you do?"
"That's the interesting part." He lifted the can again, and took another drink before meeting her eyes. His lips were twitching. "You're looking at the new Advisor to the Minister on Muggle Affairs."
"Huh?" She blinked. "You're the . . . wait, I didn't think there was any such position?"
"There wasn't. There is now."
"You - There - How did - What are you going to be doing for him?" she finished finally.
He proceeded to explain what he'd talked the Minister into - both what the Minister assumed he'd be doing as well as what he actually had in mind - and she felt a great rush of pride in him, but also of apprehension. Her boy - her man - was brilliant, but . . . "What if Voldemort doesn't actually attack any Muggles?"
"Oh, he will," Cedric replied, finishing the drink. "He can't resist it, Hermione, he or his Death Eaters. It'd be like telling the hunter he can't go after foxes in the field. Baiting and attacking Muggles is sport to these people. He'll do it again. I just hope I recognize it when I see a report about it. But now I need to go out and buy all this . . . stuff - a telly, a computer, newspaper subscriptions." He looked at her at bit pitifully. "Help?"
Hermione snatched a notepad to scribble a list of leading newspapers and magazines on one side, and a list of equipment on the other. "You said you have an expense account?"
"Yes. The financial secretary said I can go down to Gringotts tomorrow morning and withdraw Muggle money, although there's a cap on the amount until I submit an itemized budget. I have five thousand pounds at my disposal for now."
Hermione wasn't sure whether to start in shock or roll her eyes. "Cedric, if you walk into an electronics store carrying that much cash, they'll be really suspicious." She looked up. "I think you need a Muggle bank account first of all."
"How do I get one of those?"
They spent the rest of the afternoon until her parents returned, strategizing. "Dad," she called almost before her parents were through the front door. "Who's that fellow who helped you set up your home computer?"
Curious, Mr. Granger came over to the table. "Jim Lowe. Why?"
And Hermione, with input from Cedric, explained Cedric's new job. Both her parents seemed very interested. "Well," her father said, seating himself, "Jim's a good bloke, but he's not like Brenda and Phil. He thinks Hermione's off at a special boarding school for the gifted - which she is - but we left out the 'for magic' bit. We could probably just pass off Cedric as technologically challenged, but there are some other issues here." He met Cedric's eyes. "Are you really sure the people putting electricity in your office know what they're doing? If not - if it's not properly grounded and laid - you could either wind up frying your new equipment or electrocuting yourself."
Hermione hadn't even considered that, and Cedric blinked in surprise. "Er, the Minister seemed to think it could be done," he said.
"According to you, the Minister assumes he can just tap into power cables and siphon off what he wants. But you need a certified electrician to do the wiring or a mislaid wire could burn down the whole Ministry if it catches. Same thing with a phone line. You not only need a vacant cable pair, you also have to be connected to switches at a local exchange and have a telephone company assign you a phone number."
"Oh." Cedric seemed to deflate, and Hermione reached over to squeeze his hand.
"Now, it's not impossible, lad," her father continued, "it's just a little more complicated than you may've thought. And it's almost certainly going to involve Muggles coming into the Ministry to do this work - not to mention it'll be expensive."
Cedric's face appeared even more alarmed now. "If this gets too complicated, he might not let me do it at all - "
Hermione's father held up a hand. "I've a simpler solution to suggest. Why don't you just have the Ministry rent you a small studio office in the neighborhood above the - "
He got no further because a sharp knock came on the back door and Hermione's mother rose to answer, gasping slightly at the twinkle-eyed, purple-robed, white-bearded man on the other side. "Professor Dumbledore!" she said.
"I hope you don't mind my dropping by, Helen," he said, sounding cheerful. "I hoped to speak to Mr. Diggory."
"No, no - please come in. Cedric was just telling us he got a job."
"Yes, I heard about his job; that's why I'm here."
Of course he'd heard; if Hermione didn't know better, she'd think Dumbledore omniscient. In truth, he just had good spies. The Headmaster entered the small dining area, seeming to fill it up with his height and pointed hat and long beard. "Charles," he said, shaking her father's hand.
"Please have a seat," her father said. "I was explaining to Cedric what he'd need for the equipment he has in mind. I assume your Ministry doesn't already have electricity?"
"Oh, no, no, quite right - no electricity," Dumbledore said, pulling out a chair even as Hermione handed him their list of things. He tilted his head to read through his glasses, lips pursed. "I fear I've got not the slightest idea what most of these things are." Chuckling, he gave her the list back and now studied Cedric over the top of his glasses. "I came to congratulate Mr. Diggory on securing an innovation in Ministry positions." Dumbledore seemed amused. "I also wanted to say that I believe I know somebody who can help with the technical details."
Cedric let out a deep sigh. "Oh, thank goodness. From what Hermione's father was saying, I was starting to think the Minister would breathe fire when I explained."
"Oh, it won't be that complicated. You see, Ted Tonks is Muggle-born, and his father happens to be a Master Builder - retired now, as you may imagine, but Ted Tonks senior knows all about witches and wizards . . . and electricity too." Dumbledore's grin was impish. "I took the liberty of dropping by his residence earlier this afternoon; he seems to think he could wire up your office, although he did warn that the work would require Ted's brother who now owns the company, as he didn't think he'd be able to manage crawlspaces like he used to. Even Ted can help, as he's learned some things over the years - and he can repair the walls once his brother and father are done cutting holes in them." Dumbledore chuckled.
In fact, the Headmaster seemed quite pleased by the entire prospect, as if putting electricity into the Ministry were a great adventure. He explained Tonks senior's plans, then asked, "Now, that telephone line you requested is more of a problem. How badly do you need one?"
"Well, I don't really need it to ring up people, but Dr. Granger uses the phone line to get to the . . . to this thing called 'the internet.'"
"Ah - Mr. Tonks thought that might be the case and suggested - or rather his son suggested - something they call an" - he pulled out a scrap of parchment - "'a category-five ethernet cable.' Yes, that was it."
Dr. Granger was nodding. "That'd be a good sight faster too, and if they can piggyback for electricity, then - "
"- they can do the same for the ethernet, or that seems to be the plan," Dumbledore said, eyes practically glittering with delight. "Ted Tonks senior seems to think they can have your office ready for you a week from tomorrow. Will that give you time to purchase your equipment?"
Cedric glanced quizzically at Hermione, who glanced at her father. "We've an appointment with Brenda tomorrow evening," her father said, "and I do need to work during the day . . . "
"I can stay through the weekend, if that's more convenient for shopping - and you and Helen don't mind," Cedric said.
Hermione's mother was shaking her head. "We don't mind in the least."
Cedric nodded. "Then Hermione and I will go to my parents on Monday."
"Why don't you come back here on Tuesday night," Hermione's father was saying. "You may as well leave the computer with us and I'll, er, try to do some set up for you, then we can go over it a bit on Tuesday and" - he glanced at Dumbledore - "do you think this Ted Tonks would be able to help Cedric set up the telly and radio on Wednesday? I would, but I've got several appointments, including a major jaw surgery . . . "
"I dare say Ted senior would be delighted to have something to do. I'm not sure retirement quite agrees with him. Poor Cedric may have to evict him from his office to get any work done."
Hermione's father and mother seemed to find that amusing, but Hermione frowned faintly. It felt . . . surreal . . . to be plotting a collision between her birth world and adopted world when for the past five years, she'd struggled to adapt and adopt and notthink like a Muggle. Now all of a sudden, being a Muggle might prove useful. Yet she felt disenfranchised. She was no better with a computer than Cedric, and, for the first time, wondered if perhaps she shouldn't brush up on such things? It would be embarrassing if Cedric got more adept with them than she was.
Notes: Ted Tonks' father is for Meg. Regarding Scrimgeour and my presentation of him - one must remember that the books are seen through Harry's eyes and we must balance his assessment. With Scrimgeour, we do at least get to see him once through the eyes of Prime Minister Major, which helps. While not necessarily a good guy, he's also not a bad guy. Harry is young, and his expectations aren't realistic. Likewise, we know Dumbledore likes his secrets and rarely tells anybody more than he thinks they need to know. I can easily see how Scrimgeour (or Fudge before him) might find that infuriating, especially as Scrimgeour is an old Auror and like many police detectives, may see undue secrecy as suspect. Scrimgeour also seems to be a man who likes to control situations. Naturally they'd clash. My biggest clue to Scrimgeour's true nature (and strength) comes from his death, when he apparently refused to give up Harry despite torture . . . and also despite the fact Harry had been repeatedly rude to him. In the end, as Harry realizes, Scrimgeour died heroically. I think that, like Snape, Scrimgeour is meant to be seen as more complicated than simple 'bad' or 'good.' He's self-confident, self-assured, doesn't like to be caught in an error (as with Shunpike), does like to seem blunt and straightforward - but is more shrewd and even manipulative than he lets on.