After a failed career in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Hermione Granger starts a new career path in the famous Love Room, inside the DoM. She finds herself with new friends and a new life, one that helps her heal and move forward. But nothing could have prepared her for what that "forward" meant.
Hermione was unaware of the few curious stares directed at her, the flapping of the flying memos over her head, or Luna's calming and unquestioning presence beside her. She muted the nearby voices, her heart thumped loudly.
Frozen, she thought it absurd. Better yet, what did it mean?
Thankfully, her brain sprang from its slumber and started processing information, summarising the clues, the facts that would give some sense to that madness but that she felt terrified to ponder.
Because the evidence, the tall and blond evidence that calmly waited to enter Minister Shacklebolt's office, oblivious to her, restrained her will to move.
To run away.
It all began a year and a half before.
During those painful, forgettable days, Hermione had asked Kingsley for a change, desperate to leave her previous failed career path in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Miraculously, the Department of Mysteries published two mysterious and ambiguous job openings. She took a chance, not really caring about the job, and applied to become an Unspeakable, unwilling to leave the magical world but empty of hope. Lost.
Head Croaker was a meticulous and intelligent man, a workaholic, with the sole purpose of leading the DoM to new and glorious times. He did not pass the opportunity to employ the Brightest Witch of her Year and War Heroine despite her latest career detour and lack of connections. Without much difficulty, Hermione became one of the new Unspeakables assigned to work in the Love Room, studying the most dangerous magic of all:
Love.
On her first day, she conveniently learned about her predecessors' misfortune. After a miscalculation, two unspeakables had had a disastrous accident in the famous Love Room, one that had left them… well, for lack of better words, in blissful -and quite unsettling for viewers- ecstasy. Too overjoyed to utter a coherent word, the unspeakables had been declared useless for life.
As if news couldn't become any more auspicious, Hermione then learned who would be her new colleague: Luna Lovegood, previously an Experimental Charms Expert.
The first time she entered the Love Room with Luna, she felt like a witness to a treasure only a few would see. In her ignorance, she had imagined the room flowing with love potions. On the contrary, it was a spherical dome covered by white and red crystals of all shades imaginable. The Love Room was filled with countless transparent crystals, each embedded with a single memory that represented love. These memories included friendship, companionship, sacrifices, laughter, reconciliations, understanding, caresses, and making love. Every action that was once defined as love by an unspeakable since the room's creation was present, magically bestowing its characteristic colour and energy to the room. Hermione remembered the subtle energy being first overwhelming, then soothing, like home. And for the first time in months, she felt in the right place.
There was also something unique about this room, something special: it carried the scent of the person who represented true romantic love in one's life, unlike the smells brought on by the Amortentia Potion or any other love potion, which were linked to a person's infatuation or obsession.
"Leather, wet animal, and sandalwood," Luna muttered after a deep inhale, her cheeks blushing and her eyes lost.
After snorting, Hermione sniffed. The scents barreled her smelling sense and goosebumps covered her skin. She closed her eyes at the heightened feeling of rapture, which elicited a contentment breath. Nothing prepared her then for the burning arousal that took hold of her body.
"Soap, musk, and summer rain," Hermione whispered, the words like velvet in her mouth.
Every time Hermione entered the Room on further occasions, she became accustomed to the enveloping warmth of the scents, imagining it was like saying hello to a long-time friend, but never did she allow her heart or mind to go beyond that thought, focused on work as she was. For the following weeks, curiosity and the power of knowledge, of exploring the most powerful kind of magic, thrilled Hermione to the core of her existence as nothing had since finishing Hogwarts. It gave her a floor to firmly stand on and move forward.
Quite surprisingly, Luna was brilliant, in all her quirkiness, with a work ethic that compared to none Hermione had worked with. And after years of barely crossing words, instead of exasperating her, Luna now entertained her and worked tirelessly by her side. So, after weeks of planning, she and Luna established the hypothesis that would mark her life since then: love is energy. Months came when neither left the famous and restricted Love Room. Quite ironic, really, because outside her research, Hermione no longer wanted anything to do with love. She knew her wounds had to heal first.
So, the two witches thought, if love was energy, there had to be a spark. Safeguarded -not only by the Room's inherent protections but by individual, magical shields- the witches searched for a spark of love, a glint of visible energy that would prove their hypothesis. After weeks of searching and experimenting, of long hours of working and little sleep, a shy little spark of love illuminated the Room.
"There it is!" Luna barely moved her lips, "A spark of love!"
Hermione witnessed it in awe and then shared a glance of joy with Luna. They had achieved what none could have imagined, and Hermione felt together they could achieve much more. Hope for a future nested in her heart, willing to be born and grow, filling her void. The old Hermione was coming back.
As their protocol dictated, they then attempted to contain the spark in a specially designed spherical vessel, moving their wands subtly around the spark, but -alas!- not a second later, the two witches lost control of it. A powerful explosion ensued, one that shook the whole Ministry and forced the Muggle Liaison Office to work extra hours with their muggle counterparts. They were engulfed by an overwhelming darkness that left them unconscious.
"Unspeakable Lovegood! Unspeakable Granger! Answer us!"
Hermione heard voices behind a thick confusing veil, the mix of soap, musk and summer rain scents comforting her. Carefully, she opened her eyes, sprawled on the floor. Everything hurt. Her head moved slowly, looking for Luna, finding her stirring and murmuring a few feet away from her:
"Nargles… it was the nargles."
"Lovegood! Granger! The Room is blocked! We're working on opening it!" Hermione heard again.
"We're fine!" Hermione yelled, her voice raspy and uneven, as she struggled to sit up.
With a groan, Hermione extended her legs and moved her toes.
"Thank Merlin! Keep going lads, we have to open this door!" someone who sounded like Head Croaker ordered.
Luna's body suddenly lifted up from the ground, her blonde hair draping over her face like a curtain. She appeared to be closely examining her chest, which struck Hermione as an odd thing to do. But when Hermione followed suit and looked down at her own chest, she noticed something strange. Glistening threads were emerging from her shield and creeping out of the Room.
"Are you seeing them, Luna?"
Hermione raised herself to her feet.
"They're countless, coming from your and my shield," Luna's hand attempted to grab the threads, unsuccessfully however because there was nothing to physically hold. "Oh! We're connected!"
And, indeed, a silver-bright string, more like a thin rope, connected both shields.
Despite the explosion, they persisted in their experiments that night and the following day. The accident turned out to be fortunate, as it revealed something unexpected. The two brilliant witches discovered that the threads they thought were sprouting from their shields were actually coming from their hearts, with one exception - a thread originating from their belly button that floated up like an umbilical cord towards the sky.
"Conclusion number one," Luna began as she sat down in their shared office, holding a cup of tea in her left hand while conjuring a quill and parchment to write. "The threads are a manifestation of Love, an energy that interconnects us all."
"I agree. Our next step should be to study these connections and confirm that they exist for all of us, Luna."
"Oh, how exciting! It's invention time!"
And then, the words Objects that will help us see the connections like the shields appeared on the parchment. Not many days later, such invention rested on each witch's nose: a pair of golden-wired glasses with multicoloured stars attached to Luna's rim, which replicated the shield's properties. The exploration of an unfamiliar universe was at their grasp.
First, it was the Department of Mysteries, then other Ministry Departments. No witch or wizard was free from their scrutiny, confirming that all humans had threads born from their hearts and belly buttons. One early morning, both witches could no longer avoid Level 5. Hermione hesitated to open the wooden door that separated her from the Department of International Magical Cooperation, where her old life awaited.
"Hermione, it wasn't your fault," whispered Luna by her side, her hand on Hermione's shoulder, comforting her.
The hair-like thread that resembled Hogwart's ghosts still existed, connecting Hermione to him. It would always exist, like stagnant water, a testament to their past connection. She knew he had the habit of arriving early to work and imagined he would be sitting at his desk with a cup of breakfast tea, reading The Daily Prophet. In her mind, she could see his tidily pressed robes and recently showered dark hair, and almost smell his strong cologne that reminded her of cedarwood.
Luna kindly nudged her and Hermione nodded, brown eyes and warm grins hiding behind her thoughts. Once they were in their secured office later that day, Hermione couldn't take her eyes off the almost invisible thread she had learned belonged to him.
"It connects us to all the people in our lives, even when we want to move on, even when we don't want to have anything to do with them," Hermione said with a heavy heart.
Her throat constricted and a fierce tear slid down her cheek as she shut her eyes. Luna walked the few steps that separated them and, with a swift movement of her hand, dried her tears.
"You're not to blame for his betrayal, Hermione. Don't forget it."
With a thankful grimace, Hermione knew she sometimes still did.
As days passed, the two witches noticed not all connections were romantic or friendly. The visible strings attaching Hermione to Theo Nott and even Daphne Greengrass, who had worked with her in the Department of International Cooperation, had a distinct braiding and dull shining that made her shrug in acceptance. These types of threads were catalogued as 'Acquaintances threads'.
There were those shared by previous acquaintances. Hermione once saw from afar Cormac McLaggen in Level 2, one of his own threads grey and wispy, almost like a dying dark hole that drained his energy. She pondered over what might have led to such an occurrence, considering that he most probably deserved it. Interestingly, her own thread that connected her to Cormac was barely visible.
What brought her joy, however, were the rope-like connections that attached her to her best friends, Harry and Ron. Strong, bright and thick, their shared loving connections mirrored their long friendship. She relished walking alongside them, occasionally catching a glimpse of their intertwined threads.
On another day, in their modest, wood-panelled office, Luna attempted to count the diverse connections coming out from her heart. She swung her wand, counting as golden numbers floated by her side.
"15. 16. 17. Hermione, I think it's time for our second hypothesis. 18. 19... " Luna said, her eyes bigger than normal behind her enchanted golden glasses.
Hermione, working on arithmetic calculations that would give them an estimate of the number of threads each person had, raised her eyes from her scrabblings and nodded from behind a tower of books.
"Hypothesis number 2. The brightness of the connections reflects the love they represent," she said, before deciding to pace around their office and enjoy the sunlight filtering through the enchanted window. "It's clear that we're all connected by threads, with each representing the type of shared connection. The brighter the thread, the greater the love."
Luna seemed to not have listened to Hermione's words, but her colleague knew better. She waited while the blond finished counting her more visible threads. Luna then thoughtfully took a sip from her floating teacup and, with a swing of her wand, a bunch of parchments expeditiously came out of one of her desk drawers towards her hands. Luna thoughtfully examined her notes, finally smiled and spoke:
"Oh, yes! And the rumours are true. Mr Barber from the Charms office does have an affair with Mrs Margaret Thomas from maintenance, their thread more like a thick radiant rope as evidence. Which, by the way, I think she knows we know and that is why she's been charming sunny days in our window. Anyway, Mrs Thomas, on the other hand, barely tolerates her husband, poor Mr. Thomas, from the Muggle Liason Office who is oblivious to this. Merlin, their connection barely there! Only a tinsy whimsy mist is visible after five years of marriage!"
Luna shook her head and tutted before taking another sip from her tea. Hermione chuckled. Luna did not gossip nor did enjoy it, but it had been entertaining to watch the witch try to listen with no little discretion and parchment in hand to gossiping witches and wizards while taking notes about their threads. Yet, Luna had raised an important issue. If Mr. and Mrs. Thomas did break their marriage, would their thread change further? Or, had it always been like its present state?
"I'll let Croaker know we're taking the eyeglasses outside the Ministry," Hermione suggested.
With reticence, Head Croaker gave them the much-desired permission to take the articles outside the Ministry, only charming them -and absolutely making sure- to work for the witches alone.
Hermione promptly joined her friends at Ron's house, sporting golden glasses on her nose. Ron's connection to her was strong but not as bright as the one he shared with Poppy, his wife. It warmed Hermione's heart and partly confirmed their hypothesis: the brighter the link, the stronger it was, suggesting there was more love shared.
Upon Ginny's entrance with James, however, Hermione saw proof of a terrible truth. Harry and Ginny's string was weak and opaque in contrast to the bright and delightful one connecting James to Harry.
Shocked, Hermione gave a double look to the wispy link, not believing what her eyes saw. Just barely squaring her face, she wondered if Ron knew. The witch observed both her childhood friends only to realise that yes, Ron did know, his occasional sad eyes betraying him, while both Harry and Ginny tried not to show that something was wrong with their marriage.
She felt the sudden urge to grab Harry by the arm and question him. Ron, however, surprised Hermione by pulling her arm and leading her back inside towards the kitchen.
"Blimey, Hermione. What you doin?", he whispered.
"Don't play dumb, Ron! You know!"
Ron sighed.
"Now it's not the time to ask him."
"But, Ron! Maybe we can help. Maybe we can do something," she whispered loudly, trying to exit his kitchen.
He stopped her again.
"No. No. Listen to me. He doesn't want us to know. You bloody well know how that feels like. He needs time," Ron's look silenced her, a shared signal of unspoken support for Harry. He continued whispering, "He hasn't told me either so I reckon it's difficult for him to accept it."
"I.." she tried to say, desperate tears flowing down from her eyes.
Harry and Ginny's love had been her guiding light during her storm, a symbol of love conquering all, her unspoken yearning that someday, somehow, she might have the chance to find someone who loved her.
Ron passed one comforting arm over her shoulders.
"Let's wait?" Ron said, more like a compromise than a question. "Hermione, he'll tell us when he's ready. You know it."
She agreed, all to protect Harry and give him time. They calmed down and shared a sad look. Ron then gave her a half smile.
"And what's with those eyeglasses?", he said, squinting his eyes, "Is that how you knew? Are those like those that muggle bloke uses? What's his name?"
"Er… James Bond? No! No! Of course not!"
Ron chuckled, having seen Luna and Hermione wearing them, quill and parchment on hand, creepily trailing each employee in the Ministry.
"Right. So, how d'you know? About Harry?"
Hermione replayed the scene in her mind.
"Once Ginny entered the room Harry never stopped frowning and avoided her eyes," she lied. "You? Since when do you know?"
"About a fortnight ago. Heard Ginny talking with mum."
Hermione grimaced as she conjured a pair of trays to float to their guests. Molly and Arthur would surely be devastated but wondered, not without a bit of guilt, how their threads shared with Harry would change.
Months passed and life continued, steady, firmly, bringing her peace in her solitude. Her research took all her time, her mind and heart were finally and blissfully silent. And that brought her back to her present, precisely to that same morning. Luna and Hermione had been studying the nature of the love threads. Immersed in her work in the middle of the pink dome, casting complicated diagnostic spells at her own floating, glimmering strings, Hermione hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.
Until something caught her attention.
At that point, she knew by heart the threads that were important to her, the ones that were bright and strong like ropes, connecting her to the most important persons in her life, each with a unique braiding and brightness. None had changed since the first time she had observed them. Not even Luna's.
Except, that day, one had.
Hermione spotted a string coming out of her heart pulsing with new energy and life, ready to be pulled. Connecting her to someone. Her heart thrummed faster and faster. Who shared that thread with her? Why had it changed?
"Luna!" Hermione exclaimed, catching her friends' eyes, "A change!"
Luna stormed towards her.
"Which one?!", eyeing her threads with her big bulgy eyes.
Hermione pointed towards it, unable to form any words.
"Are you sure it changed? Or is it a new one?"
Hermione nodded, her lips pursed. She would have scoffed if any other than Luna posed that question, doubting her judgment.
"Right. Good question. I don't know. It may be a new one. It might mean I'm about to meet someone. However, its braiding is curious, and it's already brighter than my 'colleagues' ones, see? This one is Head Croaker's."
"Sadly for Mr Croaking, any thread of yours is stronger than any of his," Luna continued studying the threads from different angles.
Then her blue eyes locked with hers.
"We have to follow it."
Hermione loudly exhaled and nodded, letting herself be pulled by Luna's firm grip, feeling unusually nervous.
As they wore their almost matching glasses, the two Unspeakables followed the thread through the Ministry, level by level, like a pair of true detectives chasing after a clue. This clue led them closer to an unknown destiny that revealed itself as they approached Minister Kingsley's office.
What did Hermione expect? In her rush and nervousness, she hadn't stopped to think. And that's why there she was, shocked, ignoring the curious stares, the flying memos, and Luna's comforting presence.
She could see the end of the thread and nothing had prepared her for the surprise.
It wasn't a new thread. It was an old one.
Because the person connected to the end of her living, almost-pulsing thread, was a tall, blond, wiry-haired wizard that sat comfortably, left ankle over his knee, outside the Minister's office.
He was Cormac McLaggen.
