Chapter 1: Hermione
I Don't Believe in Fairies
"Children know such a lot now. Soon they don't believe in fairies, and every time a child says 'I don't believe in fairies' there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead." — J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
Monday, March 19, 2007
The Outskirts of Lower Chicksgrove
In hindsight, Hermione knew she should have brought backup. She would have, too, if Daniel Kirkpatrick hadn't fallen head-first into a tank of Grindylows the day prior, leaving him catatonic in St. Mungo's.
Not that Kirkpatrick would have been much help.
Hermione had been meaning to speak with Octavia about Kirkpatrick's performance. She wasn't entirely certain he was suitable for fieldwork, with the number of avoidable accidents he stumbled into. The tricky part was that he wasn't ideal for office work, either. He had trouble understanding the most basic memos. Then again—could he even read?
As Hermione looked around at the dozens of wide-eyed fairies staring back at her, she reasoned that being there with anyone—even Kirkpatrick—would have been preferable to being alone.
"We have no timefor useless frolics, foolhardy witch!" The Fairy Queen Helia scolded her, piercing Hermione with a look of weary disappointment that made her feel like she was eleven again. The fairy continued, "The planet is imbalanced this cycle of seasons! Do not tell me your kin are blind to the shifting of the stars?"
At the queen's words, her one hundred fairy attendants moved in unison. The half-meter-tall beings fluttered their pastel-colored wings and lifted from the ground.
They chanted, "Blind! Blind! Blind!" and began to fly in a circle with Hermione and Queen Helia at its center.
The movement of the dozens of miniature bodies stirred a wind that whipped tendrils of Hermione's hair out of the loose ponytail at the base of her neck. She lifted her hands to the level of her eyes and took a moment to briefly regret her decision to oversee beings rather than beasts or pests when she was promoted six months ago.
Hermione steeled herself against the puffs of dust and debris in the air. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures needed to make peaceful contact with this herd of fairies, which had to happen that day.
It was the day before the Vernal Equinox, and last year these fairies had caused chaos in the village of Lower Chicksgrove, Derbyshire. The hybrid Muggle-Wizard community had been set upon by mutant wildflowers that grew through storefronts and—in eight horrifying instances—out of people's ears. It had taken five Aurors, two healers, and the full Obliviator squad to set everything to rights.
And so, Kirkpatrick-less and with no other staff available to assist her, Hermione tracked down the fairies to a meadow a few kilometers north of the village in a last-ditch effort to prevent the same level of destruction from happening again.
Fairies hated her.
Hermione supposed it was possible that not allfairies hated her. That incident three years ago when a fairy guard at the Finnish prison tripped her was probablyan accident. And that time last year, when a heard of ocean-dwelling fairies on the Irish coast fled after she doffed the hood of her cloak, couldhave been a fluke.
But with the level of disdain emanating from Queen Helia's expression, Hermione began to think that it was a fundamental rule. Perhaps it was her untamed curls, her plain grey robes, or the fact that her complexion was just an ordinary skin tone rather than a pastel shade of the rainbow.
Twirling the ends of her golden hair around her forefinger, Queen Helia rolled her equally golden eyes and let out a melodic sigh. Hermione brought her hands to her temple and discretely attempted to smooth down her wild curls.
Yes. Fairies hated her.
"Your majesty," Hermione said tersely, "the Ministry only wants to protect the people in the village nearby. Some of them do not know of magic. If you can guarantee any celebrations tomorrow will remain away from the village, I will happily leave."
After a moment, Hermione remembered the department's protocols and, swallowing her pride, she curtsied. She cast her eyes downward before straightening up, tripping slightly over her feet.
Queen Helia tipped her chin upward and looked into Hermione's brown eyes with—if it was possible—even more scorn.
Suddenly the queen snapped her fingers. The attendants stopped circling, but they remained hovering in the air. With another snap of her fingers, a dandelion flower at the queen's feet grew taller and wider until the yellow bloom reached Hermione's shoulders. Queen Helia pushed off the ground delicately and, with a flutter of her shimmering wings, perched herself on the dandelion throne.
"Your ignorance is very tiresome, little witch," the queen said. She scrunched her nose, as if she smelled something bad, continuing, "And your physical form is extremely upsetting."
Hermione squeaked but bit her tongue before saying anything she could regret. She fisted her hands in the sleeves of her robes. Another curl of hair blew free, this time hitting her lips, and Hermione spluttered it loose.
"Your majesty, I am only—"
"Rosalea!" The queen interrupted. A fairy with pink skin and magenta hair, wearing what Hermione thought dubiously were several carefully placed rose petals, flew out from the circle of attendants.
"Yes, my queen?" Her voice was like a song.
Queen Helia waved one of her tiny hands in Hermione's direction. "Please…fix this. I find my eyes can no longer bear it."
Before Hermione could process the queen's words, Rosalea clapped her hands twice, and then five equally pink fairies descended upon her.
All of a sudden, Hermione's vision blurred. She shrieked loudly and fumbled for her wand. Just as she had her grip secured, her knees were knocked out from under her. Hermione could feel her hair being tugged in multiple directions, her robes flying around her body, and her skin tingling.
When the movement stopped Hermione's vision cleared. She blinked rapidly and noticed that Queen Helia and the other fairies were looking at her with…glee? The attendants that circled her laughed. The sound reminded her of wind chimes.
"Delightful! What an improvement! Many thanks, Rosalea," the queen nodded gratefully.
Hermione rose to her feet, looked down at her hands and gasped. Her robes, once grey, were now a sunshine yellow and trimmed with gold. The exposed skin on the backs of her hands sparkled. It was as if she had stuck her hand into a vat of diamond dust. The points of light embedded into her body twinkled like stars. Pulling up her sleeves, she noted with horror that the rest of her body was in a similar state.
Hermione reached up to her hair to discover that it was now braided in one large plait down her back, stretching down to her buttocks, even though before it had reached only to her waist. She pulled the plait over her shoulder. Woven into the thick braid were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of yellow wood-sorrel blossoms.
Hermione closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She kept her wand clutched tightly in her fist. Fairies were not violent, she reminded herself firmly. They were chaotic, vain, and infuriating, but they were not violent. They're going to makeme violent, though,she thought furiously.
" Queen Helia—"
"You are most welcome, little witch." The queen bounced excitedly on her dandelion throne. "It brings us joy to spread beauty through these lands."
"Joy! Joy! Joy!" The fairies chanted, and they began to circle Hermione and the queen again.
"Now," Queen Helia continued. She fluttered her wings and hovered in front of her throne. As she rose, the flower shrank down to its normal size. "We must away, little witch. May light touch your life in the months to come."
"Your majesty! I must know that you will remain away from the human village!" Hermione's voice rose to a near shout. The fairies began to congregate around the queen in preparation for moving away.
"Did you not listen, little witch?" Queen Helia replied with such annoyance that Hermione was briefly thought of Professor Snape. "The planets are imbalanced! Just this day the Earth was cast in shadow, and the darkness moves closer. We mustkeep to nature this cycle lest the chaos seeps into our meadows."
Hermione huffed and wondered whether she would get anything concrete out of the queen.
The fairies congregated into a shimmering, rainbow cloud that twinkled brightly enough to partially blind Hermione if she looked at it directly. They flew in unison toward a nearby copse of trees that bordered a larger woodland.
"Look to the moon, little witch! The celestial powers are in disarray. Do not let the darkness into your soul," the Queen called before turning around and following her attendants into the woods.
Hermione stood, gobsmacked and still sparkling.
"What?"
Fairy magic was inconveniently persistent. After an hour of failed attempts, Hermione determined that the glittery tone of her skin was impervious to cleansing, scouring, vanishing, glamours, human transfiguration, and manual scrubbing. Academically, Hermione knew that the fairies drew their power from the sun and the effects would likely fade over the rest of the day, but it posed a unique problem. Hermione had work to do and—thanks to Queen Helia—Aurors to requisition for the next day. Despite the fairies' claim that the herd would keep to nature, whatever that meant, Hermione was not one to trust anything that turned her shinier than a disco ball on a whim.
"Ridiculous tiny rainbow menaces!" Hermione cursed to herself.
With a grunt, Hermione heaved her unwieldy plait over her shoulder and shrugged off her blinding gold-flecked robes. Not for the first time, Hermione was grateful to have the thing that had been her constant companion for many years. Reaching into the beaded bag that hung low at her right hip, Hermione summoned a set of plain black robes into her hands.
She slid her arms through the sleeves of the robes and buttoned them. Luckily, her black trousers and white blouse were unaffected by the fairies' magic, so if she kept the hood down and the sleeves clutched tightly, she might reach her office without making a scene.
The fates were kind that day, and it was quiet in the Atrium. Hermione made it down to Level Four without running into anyone curious about a hooded figure with a Ministry badge, but as she approached the door to her office, someone called her name.
"Hermione Granger! Is that you? Come in here a moment." It was the sharp-edged voice of her boss, Department Head Octavia Randall.
" Bollocks," Hermione muttered. She took a deep breath and pivoted toward the heavy double doors partially open down the hallway. When she reached them, Hermione ducked her head and hovered outside.
"Yes, Octavia?" Hermione asked.
She heard rustling inside the office but did not lift her head.
"Hermione, you look like a Dementor, what areyou doing? Get in here," Octavia scolded.
Sighing, Hermione crossed into the office and closed the doors in one quick motion. She kept facing the closed doors.
"I had an incident with the central meadowland fairies," Hermione said, and then she pulled down her hood and turned around.
Octavia Randall was a rail-thin woman with gray hair cropped almost to her skull. Her dark eyes bore into Hermione's as she leaned back in the chair behind her mahogany desk. With an eagle's feather quill held aloft in one hand, Octavia snorted and then sat forward to continue signing a sheet of parchment.
"Queen Helia?" Octavia questioned before setting down the quill. Hermione murmured her agreement, and Octavia continued, "You wore your regular robes, didn't you? The queen is offended by neutrals."
"That's beside the point," Hermione grumbled, resolving to expand her wardrobe beyond the usual grey and black. "I think it would be wise to send a few Aurors to Lower Chicksgrove tomorrow," she continued. "Queen Helia was vague when I questioned her, and I don't trust the herd to remain away from Muggles on the Equinox tomorrow."
"Very well," Octavia agreed. "You and Auror Potter can work it out together. No more than two or three should be fine."
Hermione inclined her head. She and Harry worked together fairly often. Hermione acted as the unofficial liaison between Magical Creatures and the Department for Magical Law Enforcement due in part to her close relationship with Harry, who was one of the most senior Aurors, and due to her role as a reserve member of the Auror force.
"There's something I'd like to discuss since you're here," Octavia continued. "Have a seat and try not to…glisten so much." The older woman squinted her eyes.
Hermione huffed in exasperation and sat in one of the padded leather chairs.
"I had a floo call this morning with my counterpart in Serbia, Aleksandr Sabo," Octavia began. "We've worked together a few times over the years and keep each other generally informed." Octavia leaned her elbows on her desk. "He called to inform me of some unusual werewolf activity around the shared borders of Serbia, Romania, and Bulgaria."
"What—attacks?" Hermione asked, alarmed.
"No attacks, but they are concerned," Octavia replied. "There were numerous sightings around the last full moon unconnected to any known packs. And they were moving around unusually close to muggle areas."
Hermione's eyebrows raised in concern. "There's a chance it could be nothing. A rogue pack in migration from Turkey, maybe. The magical government there isn't very communicative."
"Perhaps," Octavia said. "But if word gets out to the local press, it may not bode well for us."
"You think this could affect our legislation?" Hermione asked. "I thought the vote was mostly secure after we got Warlock Allard on board with the revised sanctuary plans."
"I don't think this could affect us at the moment," Octavia said cautiously. "But all it would take is one report in the Prophet to stir up significant negative sentiment in Britain. Allard is a yes for now, but remember—nothing in the Wizengamot is ever secure. Those crones are more fickle than my two-year-old grandson."
Hermione nodded. "Do you think I should set a meeting with Aberforth and Griselda? The vote is not scheduled until after the Victory Ball, but it may be a good idea for them to do the rounds over the next month."
"I can talk with them," Octavia assured her. "I want you to focus on finalizing the bill with Penelope and the DMLE. And," she hesitated, "I need you to lead the summit with the merfolk near Cardiff next week."
"Me?" Hermione quirked her head. "I thought Priscilla was handling that?"
"Gerald called Priscilla in to help sort the paperwork for those illegal menageries," Octavia said, tiredly. She leaned back in her office chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're the only senior employee I trust with this."
"Alright," Hermione murmured. "That shouldn't be a problem. But…this ring of menageries is a real draw on our resources. There must be a way to clear the facilities without using three-quarters of the department."
As she thought about Gerald Anderson, Hermione could feel the beginning pulses of a tension headache at her temples. The other Deputy Head of their department was more than ten years her senior, and it was an ill-kept secret that he was put out that she, a twenty-seven-year-old, was placed on equal governmental footing with him. He was brash, difficult to work with, and one of the most smug wizards Hermione had ever met. For the last month, he was out of the office breaking up a string of unlicensed magical menageries, and Hemione felt the break from him was quite pleasant even though it meant Hermione was doing more than twice the amount of fieldwork.
"I've already spoken with Gerald about efficiency, among other things." Octavia rubbed the bridge of her nose before adding, "Oh, and don't forget to bring Kirkpatrick to Cardiff."
Hermione's eyes bugged. "What, why?" She had a brief vision of Kirkpatrick falling into the ocean, his baby-plump cheeks disappearing into the briny depths as a horde of merpeople held her back with tridents.
"Solo fieldwork isn't protocol, as you know," Octavia scolded. Hermione blushed and looked away. Octavia added, "And why do you think I hired Kirkpatrick?"
"Because his uncle is the head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and he passed at least one N.E.W.T. last year." Hermione paused. "I hope."
Octavia laughed. "The kid is fluent in Mermish."
Hermione gaped. "Really?"
"A bloody prodigy," Octavia declared.
"Oh," Hermione uttered.
"He grew up by the water and befriended some merfolk as a child. Might've even spoken Mermish before English." Octavia added, "Lucky for him, because he's a blithering idiot otherwise."
"Do you think he can read?" Hermione blurted.
Octavia replied, "If he can, he does it poorly."
Hermione nodded. "Well, that will be an interesting few days."
"Be prepared to spend longer than a few days. The chief is notoriously difficult," Octavia warned. A moment of silence. "Off you go, then."
Hermione rose to her feet. "Alright." She turned to leave.
"Oh, and one more thing?" The words halted Hermione before she reached the door.
"Yes?"
"Don't mention the business with Serbia to anyone, even in this department. I don't want to raise an alarm and accidentally cause what we want to avoid." Her gaze held a serious expression as she looked directly into Hermione's eyes.
"I understand," Hermione answered with a nod. "You can trust me."
"I certainly do," Octavia said. She picked up a stack of parchment and moved it to the center of her desk. "And maybe you should try a veil?"
"Ha ha," Hermione monotoned. With that, she secured her hood over her head and left the office.
Hermione and Octavia had a relationship of mutual respect ever since their first meeting—when Hermione was impressed with her knowledge of intricate policy operations, and Octavia possessed the wisdom to stop Hermione before her monologue extended past twenty minutes. Over the years their rapport had become one of the things Hermione was most proud of in her career at the ministry. Hermione knew that the fact Octavia had taken the earliest opportunity to inform her of the werewolves in Serbia meant that Octavia was more concerned than she let on.
It had taken the entirety of Hermione's eight years at the Ministry to get werewolf rights legislation before the Wizengamot, and it was the first major initiative she was leading as Deputy Head. She briefly entertained the idea of moving the vote up before any catastrophes could happen. But it had taken more than a year for her to secure their current date on the legislative schedule, and she shuddered at the thought of going through the bureaucracy again.
Hermione's own office was a short stretch down the hallway. Inside with the doors closed, Hermione let out a weary sigh. Her employees knew not to disturb her when her doors were shut, so Hermione reasonably hoped she would be left alone in her sparkling glory. There was a tall stack of unread memos on her desk next to a cold cup of tea. Pulling her wand from its arm holster, she heated the liquid with a wave and sat down to tackle her work.
There was a meeting request from the Department of Magical Games and Sports to discuss the construction of a Quidditch pitch on land infested with nogtails, which Hermione forwarded to the Pest Advisory Board; a complaint regarding a ghost that had taken residence in a Muggle church, which Hermione assigned over to Winston Clark in the Spirit Division; a noise complaint about a kneazle in a magical home, which was a problem for domestic investigations at the DMLE—they alwaysmade that mistake at intake; finally, twelve creature-related policy proposals for her initial review. Hermione set these aside and put her mind to tackle the fairy problem.
Normally, she would go to Level Two to see Harry in his office. It was almost three o'clock, and Harry was usually in the building for the last few hours of the day to go through paperwork. But her skin was still glittering so brightly that in her windowless, dimly-lit office she could see it cast flickering lights on the surface of her desk.
Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out a golden coin. The charmed Galleons from their days in Dumbledore's Army were long retired, so when she and Harry began to rise in the ranks at the Ministry, Hermione made a new matching pair. It looked like a Galleon, but at the center of each side was a monogrammed "H." Hermione also made the charm work more complex so that the coins could accept longer messages and would let out a low chime when messages were sent, much like a Muggle cell phone.
I have a bit of an issue. Can you meet me in my office? -HG
A minute passed, and a chime signaled Harry's reply.
Crazy day. Talk tonight? -HP
Too late, need DMLE help tomorrow. -HG
Meeting soon. Come to my office? -HP
Hermione let out a huff of annoyance, looked down at her incandescent hands, and wrote back.
Fine, on my way. -HG
Hermione transfigured the ends of her robes into gloves, pulled a scarf out of her beaded bag to wrap around her neck, and pulled down her hood. She stuffed the policy scrolls into her purse with the plan to head straight to the apparition point once she spoke with Harry.
She left a note on her door. Out for the day. Send an owl for emergencies.
Walking with haste, she made it up two levels fairly quickly, and the lifts were busy enough that no one noticed her conspicuously covered-up form. The DMLE was a different story. Harry's office was at the center of activity for the Magical Law Enforcement division. At least three junior Aurors were milling about the mass of cubicles and information boards relating to various cases. Harry's door was half-open and the lights were on inside.
Hermione had some experience with covert activity, and the overall diligence at the Ministry had not improved since she, Harry, and Ron had broken in many years earlier. She thought with simultaneous gratitude and disappointment that it should not have been so easy for an unknown cloaked figure to slip around two major departments in the middle of the day.
Standing around the corner in an empty corridor, Hermione charmed a spare piece of parchment into a memo and sent it flying against the far wall. For a brief moment, all of the Aurors looked in the opposite direction of Harry's office, and Hermione could slip into the room unseen, closing the door quickly behind her.
The relief Hermione felt was quite brief. Turning around into the room, she realized there were multiple people in Harry's office, and none were Harry.
"Typical of the Auror Office to set a Dementor on us without cause. Do you have much experience with the Patronus Charm, Draco? I'm afraid I never quite got the hang of it."
"I'm afraid neither have I, Theodore. But I don't think we're in danger. Potter's too goodfor such an underhanded strategy."
The drawl of the second voice was so horribly familiar that Hermione's head jerked up, and her hood fell to her shoulders.
"What the— Granger?"
Up next: Draco Malfoy's unexpected day.
STORY NOTES:
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters from the Harry Potter series that have inspired this story.
Further Disclaimer: I do not support or agree with the harmful transphobic views of the author of the Harry Potter series.
Warnings: This story will eventually include some violence, but nothing beyond the canon-typical violence in the Harry Potter series. It will eventually include some mature scenes. Content Warnings will be placed at the end of relevant chapters if I think it pushes the boundaries.
Binding: Binding for personal use is okay, but please don't advertise, sell, or spread images.
Goodreads: Please don't post on Goodreads.
Thank you for reading!