Looking at the Minister for Magic, Jeremy felt regret. Regret that he hadn't been born twenty years earlier, then perhaps he might've had a chance. Even in her forties she was gorgeous. Her curly brown hair cascaded down her shoulders and seemed to move almost of its own accord as she entered the room and tossed a deep red coat over a chair and sat in it, that morning's copy of The Sun in one hand. „Gentlemen, sit, please," she ordered them after a moment.

The two looked at each other. Eren began to move and suddenly Jeremy sprang into action, walking past him hurriedly to sit in a chair opposite Hermione. She moved a loose strand of hair from her pale face, her brown eyes moving this way and that with what might've been amusement. Forty–five years old she was, though she looked to be half that. Dressed for business, she wore a white button–up shirt with a brooch in shape of a bloodstained dagger, paired with a black tie, high–waisted black trousers, black stiletto boots. One leg over the other, the newspaper placed in her lap, fingers steepled as if in contemplation, she seemed to be waiting for them to... what, salute her?

Well, Jeremy decided to address Eren while she made up her mind. „You're alive."

„You sound disappointed."

The Auror chuckled. „Of course I'm not. Good to see you safe, buddy."

„Right," Hermione spoke up. That seemed to have been the signal she was waiting for. „Officer Taylor, you did not call for me so I thought I might take matters into my own hands regarding this Malachi Greymist situation."

„The lion I am proud to hunt," Jeremy quoted offhandedly at the mention of the name.

„Huh. Francis Bacon, right?"

„Coriolanus, yes," Jeremy smiled stupidly, ignoring Eren's half-heard protests that the quote was clearly from Shakespeare. These things were not for non-wizards to know.

The last thing Jeremy wanted was to appear ungrateful for Hermione's presence, but putting the initial pleasantries aside, he remained perplexed. „I appreciate your desire to help, Minister Granger. I just wasn't exactly sure how you might help with our investigation, and why someone of your... stature... would want to get directly involved in pursuit of–"

„A self–proclaimed dark lord," she spoke. „Sorry for interrupting, but I knew what you were going to say. And therein lies your answer. I have helped defeat one dark lord before. I will not sit back and let another one rise."

„Still, Minister Granger, all due respect, I'm... I'm not so certain what you can do for us that you couldn't do through someone else."

„I can provide you with a new base from which to conduct your investigation," Hermione replied and produced from her pocket a piece of weathered, blank parchment which shimmered with vague purple light.„You are no longer safe here, if ever you were. Written on this parchment is the location of a safehouse in London, which is where you will go when we're done instead of returning here. I have personally given it every manner of protection possible. Take this key," she took the bloodstained dagger brooch and handed it to Jeremy. „And remember to bring with you from this hotel room whatever you find important."

Jeremy took the offered brooch and the parchment which was seemingly blank, but that purple glow around it couldn't have been mistaken for anything other than a magic incantation, hiding the inscribed message from everyone except its intended recipient. „I..." he stammered, and laughed. „My apologies, Minister Granger–"

She smirked. „You may call me Hermione. Both of you."

„Hermione," Jeremy corrected himself. He had just woken up and now he was on first name basis with the British Minister for Magic. „I guess I was wrong not to call on you."

And she was not yet done. Now the newspaper came into play. „I can offer you information, too. Have you been reading the news lately? Perhaps you may not have heard, but there's been a mystery going on in East Ham for quite some time now. A building was purchased by some sinister individuals, individuals who covered up all the windows and wouldn't let anyone near the building."

Jeremy and Eren looked at each other. They recognized the story as the one they'd heard yesterday on the radio.

Hermione smiled. „Glad to have your attention. I suspected the place might be somehow connected to Malachi Greymist, especially after complaints of a strong, putrid smell occasionally spreading through the surroundings."

„The Angel does emit a strong odour when active," Eren nodded.

„The Angel?" Jeremy frowned.

„It's what I call the poison. The Angel of the Lord. You know, after the plague that went through Egypt in the Bible?"

Jeremy frowned. An apt nickname, but to him, a Christian, an unspeakably ominous one.

„Last night I commanded a detachment of four Aurors to go and see what the fuss was about," Hermione went on, „but when they arrived to the scene they found the building empty. Funny, isn't it? How they knew precisely when to vacate the premises?"

„Yes," Jeremy nodded. He saw where this was going. „If I did not know any better," he said with a sarcastic tone, „I would think they had..."

„...informants, yes," Hermione finished. „That is why I'm here today, personally. Your friend, Mr. Eren, managed to snatch a letter passed between his kidnappers."

Eren remembered the piece of paper then. He handed it over to Jeremy and the Auror read it, mouthing the words. „Irion's papers... I've heard that name, ages ago. Who's Irion?" he spoke up.

„A wizard," Eren replied. „They call him master Irion out of respect. One of the greatest authorities on the magical heritage of Native Americans."

That might've explained where he had heard the name before, in some boring thesis about something, somewhere. And again, the West. First the atsilatree leaves, now this master Irion. „Where can we find him?"

„Where can we not?" Hermione retorted. „Yes, he's brilliant, but has gone quite senile in his old age. I'm not exactly certain but I've heard he is nearly two hundred years old. He tends to disappear for weeks at a time."

„We can at least try and pay a visit to his home, then?" Eren suggested.

„We could, but he lives in some big barn of a house in the middle of the Essex marshes. At any rate, what Greymist is currently after is master Irion's work, not Irion himself," Hermione pointed out as she stood. „The Temple Church is far closer, and if Mr. Eren's information is correct, the clock is ticking. Shall we be off, then?"

Jeremy shrugged. He was addressed then by Eren. „I felt I should let you know, but my little adventure... it wasn't as pointless as you thought it would be," the man smirked triumphantly, holding a black vial in his hand.