Snape was less prickly when they went to the Lestrange Manor the second time, though he seemed just as alert and wary.

"Phaedra Lestrange will have dwelt on your apparent exception to her wards by now," Snape told her, his eyes dark. "She will undoubtedly try other subtle things or tests on you to learn what she wants to know."

"She could just ask me what she wants to know," Hermione protested.

Snape gave her a thin smirk. "We are Slytherins, Hermione. We do not just ask."

Hermione acknowledged his point with a sigh, and they Floo'd to the Lestrange Manor together at 7 o'clock sharp.

Phaedra was waiting for them by the fireplace, sweeping them a curtsy and welcoming them to her home once more. Hermione immediately noticed her robes were decidedly different this time – instead of normal (if a bit grand) robes, Phaedra wore a set of green velvet robes embroidered with ivy, the neckline resting just off her shoulders, exposing her shoulders, collarbones, and décolletage. It looked like there was a built-in corset as well, if she squinted a bit, which Hermione figured what was helping everything (and the robes) stay up and in place.

That, or magic. Could one magic one's breasts not to fall down? Or just one's robes?

"Are you entertaining this evening, Phaedra?" Snape asked silkily. His eyes were sharp on Phaedra, clearly having noticed her robes too.

"Oh, not really," Phaedra said, dismissive. "Just the policy meeting tonight for me! Though, Narcissa said she might stop over, as might my daughter, and if I can get her to feel any sort of enthusiasm for the holiday, I'm bound to try."

She laughed, as if Snape would commiserate with her on the struggles of being a parent, before turning to Hermione and clapping her hands brightly.

"So!" she said, her eyes sparkling. "Shall we get started? Or wait for Melker?"

Hermione claimed a seat on the couch while Phaedra settled herself into a large chair, Snape taking a chair by the window across the room where he could see anyone coming in the doorway. Hermione was pleased that Phaedra, like her, had no patience for people who could not make an effort to be on time, so they promptly started working on their legislation.

It quickly became apparent that working all of the details necessary into the Ministry's budget bill was going to be difficult and exhausting. The budgetary bill wasn't phrased like most legislation that came before the Wizengamot, and it read more like a projected expense report than an actual bill or resolution. After several failed attempts, Phaedra sighed and suggested that they just write a new bill, get that passed, and then make mention of it in the Ministry budget bill as one or two lines.

Hermione agreed whole-heartedly. That would be much easier, in her opinion, and give more room to be thorough, specific, and detailed.

Melker showed up over half an hour late. Phaedra greeted him coolly, and he didn't offer an excuse for his whereabouts. His expression somewhat soured when he saw Hermione had taken over his role as group scribe, drafting and writing things down, but he didn't object. He offered occasional suggestions for wordings, as well as joined in on the discussion of what things should be strictly forbidden from trade with the goblins.

Hermione privately thought that Royce really should have shown up for this meeting – he undoubtedly had strong opinions on what to exclude from goblin trade. But if he wasn't going to take his seat on the Wizengamot seriously…

She just hoped he didn't clamor for an amendment once the bill was reintroduced. Constant amendments would be a pain.

Around eight, Phaedra declared her eyes were tired from squinting down at the parchment for so long and announced they should pause for an evening tea. Hermione wasn't about to object, though Snape's eyes slitted as Phaedra swept off to go get tea prepared.

When she returned, it was with a guest.

"Narcissa is here," Phaedra announced, pleased. She turned to the witch next to her. "I daresay you're already acquainted with everyone, Narcissa?"

Narcissa raised one delicate eyebrow.

"Not… everyone," she said, and Phaedra nodded, her eyes glinting.

"Ah, of course, of course," she said, moving into the room. Her eyes fell on Hermione, and Hermione hurriedly stood, brushing her robes out.

"Narcissa, may I present Hermione Granger, current Hogwarts student and British Youth Representative?" Phaedra said, gesturing grandly. "Hermione, this is Narcissa Malfoy, current Regent of the House of Black and wife to Lucius Malfoy."

Hermione swept her her best curtsy. "Pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine." Narcissa's face didn't move as she looked Hermione over carefully, and Hermione took the opportunity to examine Narcissa as well. She'd only seen her up close once before, briefly, when Draco had been in the hospital wing – not when she was out and about in society.

Narcissa was tall and slim, looking very svelte in her ice-blue tailored robes. She, too, was blonde, though her hair was more of a yellow-blonde than the platinum shade her husband and son shared. Her eyes looked to be gray, though they seemed to pick up notes of color from the shade of her robes, and both of them were piercing on Hermione.

As Phaedra served the tea, which had been floating behind her, Hermione retook her seat as Narcissa claimed the open chair, making Phaedra take the seat on the couch next to Hermione once she was done.

"I have heard much about you, Miss Granger," Narcissa said, taking her cup and saucer. "My Draco paints a flattering picture of you."

Hermione flushed.

"Draco is overly kind," she said, embarrassed.

"Oh?" Narcissa inquired. "Are you not first in your class?"

"Err – no, that's correct," Hermione said. "I was ranked first both years so far."

"And did you not daringly rescue him from a basilisk?"

"That's correct as well," she said. "Though I wouldn't quite call it 'daring'. More like 'desperate' or—"

"And are you not the most powerful student in your year?"

Hermione paused, looking at Narcissa.

"That's a very different sort of question," she said slowly. "The classes and professors don't really measure our raw power or potential, just our ability to use it to accomplish a goal."

Narcissa smiled. It was a cold smile.

"Are you not, then?" she asked.

Hermione bit her tongue.

"No," she said finally. She considered the matter, thinking. "If there were a way to measure us all, I would come in top, probably followed by Harry," she admitted. "I don't think there's anyone else in the class close to me."

"Harry? Harry Potter?" For the first time, Narcissa's face expressed emotion, her lip curling in disgust. "Him? Powerful?"

"Harry is capable of wielding more raw power than most people our age," Hermione argued. "He's not particularly refined about it, which is why Draco tops him in classes constantly, but he has a lot of potential there – possibly because of his exposure to such powerful magic when he was a child."

Narcissa's face smoothed back out.

"That makes sense," she conceded. She raised an eyebrow. "And you?"

"And me what?" Hermione asked, blinking.

Narcissa's lips twitched in a smirk.

"Were you exposed to powerful magic as an infant?" she asked. "How is it that you have come to be so powerful?"

"Oh," Hermione said. "I—um—"

She fiddled with her teacup. The real answer of I practice all the time and I messed up my menstrual cycle with Voldemort's help trying to maximize my potential wasn't one that Hermione was willing to share.

"It's part of being a New Blood," Hermione told her instead. "I think it comes with being touched directly by Magic."

Narcissa was looking at her seriously now.

"Many people are beginning to believe you are truly a New Blood, Miss Granger," Narcissa told her. "If this is some grand thing you have invented, it is fast approaching the time to disclaim it."

Hermione recoiled, struck, and Phaedra gasped.

A feeling of shock and incredulousness hit Hermione, like she'd been punched in her gut as well as insulted. It took only a moment to judge the risk of being angry versus not being angry in this situation. Snape was watching her carefully from the side of the room, and Hermione fought to keep her voice smooth even as her temper flared.

"How dare you." Hermione's voice came out low and dangerous, and her eyes narrowed on Narcissa, glittering. "How dare you. And to think, I thought you were a civilized woman of society, with better etiquette than this."

Narcissa raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"How dare I?" she asked. "How dare I?"

"I don't go about to my friends' houses challenging their guests on their birthright," Hermione said sharply, "and I'm not casually casting aspersions on yours."

"I was offering a friendly bit of advice," Narcissa sniffed. "If you were masquerading around as something more than what you are, you would not be the first Muggle-born to do so."

Hermione was hard-pressed not to throw up her hands in frustration. Across the room, Snape's eyes glittered at her, but he did not move to interfere.

"I'm fourteen," Hermione snarled, her eyes sharp. "In three years, I will call a convocation of the Sacred 28, and you will be able to test my full strength yourself to determine if I should establish a new Great House or not." She glared at the blonde woman. "But as for now, I'm a third-year student," she emphasized. "What great feats of magic must I perform for you to give me the benefit of the doubt? As slaying a basilisk is apparently not enough."

"You killed a basilisk?" a surprised voice came from behind the couch. "Where did you find one of those?"

Hermione whirled around to look behind her even as Phaedra groaned.

"Sylvia, what are you wearing?" she despaired. "Honestly."

There was a young woman standing behind the couch, looking at Hermione with curious, silver eyes. She looked a little wary of Hermione, but there was a respect to her gaze – a deeper one, one that seemed heavy somehow. Phaedra stood and rushed over to the young woman, fussing with the state of her robes, but the young woman's eyes remained locked with Hermione's, and Hermione gasped.

"I—I know you," Hermione said in shock. "We worked together – back at Lleulynn and Selwyn—"

The woman's eyes gleamed.

"Yes," she said. "We did."

Phaedra looked confused.

"You met at the dusty publisher's?" she said. She turned to Hermione. "How? I understand how my daughter was there – she decided she wanted to play at being in low society before returning to her birthright, of all things – but how did you end up there?"

"Miss Granger had an internship," Snape cut in smoothly. "I arranged it with one of the editors. Hermione did a work study with him that summer."

"A 'work study'?" Phaedra looked confused again. She shook her head, dismissive, before taking her daughter by the arm and dragging her around the couch.

"Well, regardless, I doubt you've been properly introduced," she said. "Hermione, may I present my daughter and eldest child, Sylvia Lestrange? Sylvia, this is Hermione Granger, current British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot."

Sylvia cut her an abbreviated curtsy as she came around the couch.

"Charmed," she said dryly.

Hermione couldn't help but stare.

Sylvia was wearing muggle clothes – muggle clothes – and looked like she'd spent the day in a chemistry lab or something. Her denims were dusty at the knees, and her shirt was large and baggy, with powder splotches all over it too. There was an overrobe hastily thrown on over her clothes and left open, a last-second concession to her heritage, but it was not the attire of a well-to-do witch.

To say Hermione was surprised was to put it mildly.

Sylvia had always been so nice to her at work – encouraging her to push her limits, to see how far she could go – and to learn she was related to Phaedra Lestrange, a blood purist with the smile of a snake no matter how hard she tried to hide it, and Lysander Lestrange, the snobby prefect with a nasty attitude, was a shock no matter how she looked at it. She'd have never pegged Sylvia as a Lestrange – not in a million years.

"Where did you go?" Hermione finally asked. "I missed work one day – one day – and when I came back, everyone said you'd had a fight with Mr. Vitac and fled – no one could find you, your apartment was deserted—"

Sylvia grinned.

"I never gave my proper address on the employee forms," she admitted. "Vitac was willing to pay spellers in gold if we asked, and I left my last name a bit of a smudge on the paperwork." Her eyes cut up to her mother's. "The Lestrange name isn't the best one to have, in many places."

Phaedra sniffed. "The Lestrange Legacy—"

"Whatever," Sylvia interrupted, waving a hand. "I don't care. Vitac didn't care, either – just that I had the power level necessary to be a speller, and that I did the job well." Her eyes glinted as they looked at Hermione. "Though, apparently, it isn't as much of an accomplishment as I had thought…"

Sylvia plopped down next to Hermione on the couch, and Phaedra poured her tea, irritation in her gestures. Sylvia looked perfectly at ease sitting on a fancy couch with fancy tea in dirty clothes, though her mother kept shooting her dark looks.

"So," Sylvia said cheerfully, glancing around. "All ready for the holiday season?"

Narcissa and Phaedra made vague, polite comments about holiday parties they were attending over the season, while Melker excused himself to the side of the room to play chess with Snape, utterly uninterested in society dribble. Hermione found it interesting herself, how Phaedra detailed her social calendar for the coming weeks, who was going where, and how she was subtly pleading with her daughter to come to the requisite parties and society events.

Sylvia was having none of it.

"I'll be working, mother," she said, smirking. "It's a very important time, you know."

"You always work on holidays," Phaedra despaired. "How are you ever to find a husband, if you're always work-work-working on the days of all the events?"

Sylvia snorted.

"I don't want or need a husband," she said. "I'm perfectly content where I am."

"Where is that?" Hermione cut in, looking at Sylvia curiously.

"Oh, she works at the Ministry, now," Phaedra said, dismissive. "She wouldn't need to work if she—"

But Sylvia regarding Hermione thoughtfully, her eyes sharp on her.

"I work in the Department of Mysteries," she said abruptly, cutting her mother off. She raised an eyebrow. "As an Unspeakable."

Hermione gasped. "An Unspeakable?"

Her mother looked aghast and appalled.

"What are you doing?" Phaedra demanded, horrified. "Sylvia, you're not to tell anyone—"

"Oh, bother," Sylvia said, waving her mother off. Her eyes stayed fixed on Hermione. "I work in the Power room, where we analyze the nature and power of magic."

"That's fascinating," Hermione breathed, her eyes wide. "Do you get to do private research? How did you get recruited? How do you get to join? I've always thought the Department of Mysteries—"

Sylvia laughed.

"Recruitment methods are secret. Sorry," she said. She grinned. "But I'm currently working on tracking the ebbs and flows of ambient magical power throughout the year, and then investigating possible causes of the fluctuations."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's why you miss the holidays, isn't it? You have to watch the surges on Yule."

Narcissa and Phaedra sat up very sharply, but Sylvia nodded, pleased.

"There are stronger surges in some places than in others," she said. "They're generally pretty predictable, but things have been getting unstable recently. There was a huge surge earlier this year, actually, on—"

"On Mabon, right?" Hermione said eagerly. "The Autumn Equinox?"

Sylvia's eyes glittered.

"It was," she confirmed. Her eyes met Hermione's. "But how do you know that?"

"I— err—" Hermione belatedly realized she'd backed herself into a bit of a corner.

With Snape sitting nearby, she could hardly admit she'd snuck out of the school to help with their autumn ritual and celebrate an old festival with them – he'd never let her out of the school again. But she'd indicated she knew of a magical surge that she had no real way of knowing – should she lie and say she felt it, all the way from Hogwarts…?

"I've become acquaintances with some of the youth in the woodlands and hedges," Hermione said, fighting not to squirm. "They—they told me their celebration was more successful this year than it has been in years past."

Sylvia's eyes gleamed.

"And," she said, "do you have any idea why that might be, Hermione?"

Hermione swallowed hard.

"I—"

"I have no interest in any of this," Phaedra announced loudly. "If we are going to be so crass as to discuss hedgewitches, may we at least do it in the context of funding the tenancies? I am sure Miss Granger and Snape would like to retire at a respectable hour this evening."

Hermione quickly put down her teacup. "Right! Of course! The bill—"

Sylvia laughed. For the first time, her tone didn't sound warm at all – it sounded high and cold.

"As you wish, mother dearest," she said, standing. She brushed out her robes, sending dirt clouds drifting to the floor, and offered her a mocking curtsy. She turned to Narcissa, nodding more respectfully. "Narcissa. Good to see you again."

"Sylvia," Narcissa said politely, inclining her head.

With one last wry grin at her mother, Sylvia disappeared with a loud crack, small clouds of dirt drifting through the air to the ground in her Disapparition.

"Why did she even show up, if not to arrange to be present for the holidays?" Phaedra despaired, whipping out her wand and Vanishing the dirt and smudges. "You'd think she hated the annual festivals, the way she carries on."

"She seems busy," Hermione offered. "If she's monitoring ley line fluctuations on major festival days, they're probably the most important workdays of the year for her. Maybe if you were also invited to a Christmas party instead of Yule, she might be able to attend—"

"Miss Granger."

Hermione sat up sharply, startled, to find Snape glaring at her.

"You are here to write your legislation for the Wizengamot, not gossip about society parties," he hissed at her, his eyes venomous. "Write it."

Hermione winced. "Right, right—"

The matter was quickly dropped as conversation resumed around the wording of the bill in questions, Hermione writing and drafting as word choice was argued over again and again. Phaedra insistent about including details on how the distribution of trade profits would be conducted, while Narcissa offered comments on how slighted landlords should seek repercussions if need be. Melker was far more focused on the details of the trade, wanting a much larger list of forbidden items to give to the goblins than Hermione wanted to list out – she thought summarizing classes of items was a more effective way to handle that matter.

By the time they were all satisfied with it, it was nearly ten, and Hermione was exhausted, but they were done and proud of the bill.

"We'll reintroduce this on Tuesday, then," Phaedra said, nodding satisfactorily. She glanced at Hermione. "Melker and I will handle it, unless you'd prefer—"

"No, by all means," Hermione said, gesturing weakly at them. "You're established Sacred 28. It makes more sense for you to do it, really—"

"Perfect."

Phaedra seemed incredibly pleased with the end result, and as Hermione gathered her things, Phaedra fluttered around Snape, lingering, thanking him for his company and inviting him to her annual holiday party.

"I find I am too old anymore to attend such festivities, madam," he said silkily, eyes glittering, "but I thank you for your invitation all the same."

Phaedra smiled back at him sweetly. "Of course."

Hermione was very tired, and she managed some sort of polite goodbye and curtsy to everyone still present, Narcissa inclining her head in response.

"Perhaps Draco was not wrong about you," she said, her gaze cool on her. "You are a special one, Miss Granger."

Hermione was too tired to analyze that cryptic statement for what it meant, but she found it perversely funny.

"I am," she said, her lips quirking. "You should compare notes with your husband sometime."

Narcissa's eyes widened, but Hermione turned back to the Floo, throwing powder into the flames and watching them turn a glittering emerald green. Snape leaned forward with his wand, tracing some sort of sigil into the flames once more before they promptly Floo'd away, returning to Snape's office.

The dim office was the same as they'd left it, only Hermione was decidedly more exhausted this time than she had been when they'd departed.

"Another three hours," Hermione said tiredly. She dug in her pockets. "At least the math's consistent."

Snape ignored her as she set gold out on his desk. His eyes were on hers, instead.

"You need not turn back time to regain me my evening," Snape told her. "I find I would prefer to retire sooner than later."

Hermione barely suppressed a yawn. "Me too."

Snape looked her over carefully, Hermione watching him with tired eyes. It seemed like he wanted to bring something up, but abruptly he decided against it.

"Return to your common room and get to bed," he instructed her. "In the off-chance Filch catches you in the two hallways between here and there, insist he bring you to me, and I'll excuse you being out after hours."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, sir. Have a good night."

She managed to drag herself from Snape's office and back to the Slytherin common room, making it to her dormitory, where the other girls were already in bed. With a sigh, she undressed and set about getting ready for bed, her mind reflecting on the day.

Sylvia, she mused, washing her face. Hermione had imagined she'd fled the country under threat from Vitac or some else equally dramatic. She'd never imagined she'd been recruited by the Department of Mysteries. It certainly explained her sudden disappearance – no one was supposed to know Unspeakables were Unspeakables, after all.

Though, if no one was supposed to know Unspeakables were Unspeakables…

...why had Sylvia told her the truth?

It made Hermione uncomfortable to consider, and she pushed the matter firmly from her mind as she went to bed.