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A man is never more truthful than when he acknowledges himself a liar.
Mark Twain
Hermione tried to ignore the clock ticking on the wall beside her. She knew checking it again wouldn't make the time go faster. She desperately attempted to focus on the valerian roots she was slicing to the exact millimeter. She was Hermione Granger. She had to concentrate.
Her eyes betrayed her and slid to the clock. 45 minutes of this to go. On the other side of the wide airy lab, at a grey high table identical to her own, Lucy Stewart, Hermione's fellow intern was glaring murderously at her own roots. Lucy was a mix of contradictions; Her tanned skin was littered with freckles and her long black hair brought out her startlingly blue eyes. But it was the young girls self-assurance that brought harmony to such distinct features. She always had a handle over herself, and quite often, others in the room.
Looking up, she spotted Hermione's glance and dramatically rolled her eyes. Hermione couldn't be sure if she and Lucy had become fast friends due to complimentary temperaments, or if it was borne entirely out of their mutual contempt of Healer Sullivan.
He was an absolute idiot.
At first Hermione believed his mollycoddling was merely an introductory phase, while he tested their aptitude. After six months of the same repetitive lackey work, she had assumed he was finally ready to introduce the more intense training. Ten months later, Hermione had been proved wrong.
She wasn't fond of the feeling.
Even now she wasn't entirely sure that Healer Sullivan was just thick, or simply spiteful. The middle-aged wizard was tall, but fair from slender. The years had left his round boyish face intact, but left him with a pudgy frame and a noticeably receding hairline. His effort to comb the thinning blonde hair over was not unmarked by the rest of the Hospital's staff. It was well known that he had an inferiority complex a mile high and his treatment towards Hermione had plummeted severely after her breakthrough with the decantation of dittany.
Each day was the same mind-numbing drone, with each menial task differing only slightly. The only reason Hermione was able to suffer through it silently was her own research that sat waiting for her each night. She hadn't been entirely truthful with Ron on that score. The only way she was able to placate him about the long hours she spent holed up in Percy's old room with her books, was to tell him that she had no choice. That it was imperative to her internship.
It was nothing of the sort, of course.
What had initially started as an attempt to stave off her intellectual cravings had resulted in a breakthrough that could potentially benefit wizards everywhere. It had been her saving grace; it had provided hope. Hope that she had so desperately needed. And so she pushed herself further and further, desperately trying to find a solution for victims of the Obliviate Charm. Victims like her parents.
Molly had, surprisingly, taken it all rather well. Granted, Hermione had only mumbled something about keeping up with her internship, but Molly had swiftly backed her up, repeatedly scolding her sons for bothering her and gently reminding Ron that it wouldn't be like this forever.
Hermione felt another twinge of guilt. She was well aware that Molly believed Hermione would one day emerge from her pile of books with the life-changing realization that she wanted nothing more than to be Mrs. Ronald Weasley. Hermione, on the other hand, couldn't see it happening. The thrill of publishing her first academic article had been incomparable. Hermione couldn't imagine any greater calling. It certainly surpassed any fumbling tryst with Ron.
Hermione jumped, as her reverie was interrupted. Healer Sullivan had stormed into the room, and Hermione had never seen him so furious. He stalked straight past the two stunned interns and over the fireplace in the corner of the room. Six erratically flapping memos swept in through the third story window, obviously following the aggravated wizard. Flinging a handful of Floo Powder from the ledge, Sullivan bellowed into the green flames:
"Huxley! What's the meaning of this? 36 days? 36 days?"
Lucy shot a dumbfounded look at her across the room. What the hell was going on? The two girls strained to hear the reply of the older, portly man through the crackling hearth. Hermione thought she recognized the name Huxley, but she wasn't sure. She faintly remembered Percy bringing him up at some point.
Through the Floo, Hermione heard the faint sounds of "Out of my hands, dear fellow" and "Absolutly nothing I could do."
This hadn't soothed Sullivan at all.
"Nothing you can do? There's nothing WE can do in 36 bloody days." The end of his sentence was lost in a blustering attempt to expel his outrage.
Again, the elder gentleman's reply could only faintly be heard.
"I need more details TONIGHT! Do you have any idea how much work this will entail? I need more numbers in my department for this, Huxley!" Sullivan paused to draw breath, and seemed to think for a moment. "And more funds! I can't pull this off on a shoe-string budget!"
His tone of voice had seemed to level at this, and Hermione exchanged a cynical grin with Lucy. Whatever was happening, Sullivan believed he'd found a way to work the situation to his advantage. The wizard on the other end of the Floo seemed to come to the same conclusion.
Hermione thought she heard a chuckle, and an "Of course my friend, I'll see what I can work out for you."
With this the green flames flickered out and Sullivan was left staring blankly at the empty grate. Turning around, he seemed shocked to see them both still in the room. He gave them both a weak grin.
"Well girls, the fun certainly starts tomorrow, no more of this slacking around for you, I daresay. Your luck's run out! Still, that's more than enough for now. You can both go home early. How's that for a treat?"
Mistaking their looks of disbelief for satisfaction, he strolled out of the room, battered memos still fluttering after him.
"SLACKING AROUND?" Lucy exploded, silver knife held aloft. "I'll do him for this you know. 'Lucks run out?' He's an idiot!" She punctuated this last outburst by embedding the knife deep within the countertop.
Hermione was just as enraged.
"Does he actually think, can he be so daft as to believe, that we've ENJOYED nearly a year's worth of menial tasks?" She uttered, shaking her head at the closed door.
"Well. I'm storing this lot, then I'm off before he changes his mind" Lucy said irreverently, wiping her hands down her green robes.
"I wonder what that was all about, though? What's in 36 days?" Hermione pondered aloud while levitating the roots into the glass container.
"Oh no, here we go. Consummate Gryffindor Hermione Granger is on the case. I'm not going to be your side-kick on this one, okay." Lucy grinned at her.
Hermione merely huffed and rolled her eyes. Lucy had been at Hogwarts two years ahead of her, and the ex-Slytherin took great delight in reminding her of all her school hijinks. Reminding, of course, being a euphemism for mocking.
"You show an astounding lack of curiosity you know."
"Yep" Lucy drawled back. "Never been turned into a cat though."
Hermione only groaned. She had vowed never to go drinking with Lucy again. Her secrets were simply not safe after multiple gillywaters.
