Chapter 23: Hermione

Arise

"I will sleep no more but arise, You oceans that have been calm within me! how I feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms." ― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Earlier that day—
Tonks House

The main thought in Hermione's mind was that Teddy looked like a miniature Malfoy. It was just the hair, she thought. It must be that, because sweet Teddy Lupin was the opposite of pompous, foreboding Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately, the metamorphmagus boy had captured Malfoy's precise shade of platinum blonde, which was uncanny and alarming.

As she looked at them, Hermione became conscious of her uncombed, unbraided, waist-length hair and wrapped her dressing robe more tightly.

Malfoy's voice was cold, deep, and precise when he spoke. "We're late. Are you ready to go, Teddy?"

Teddy nodded happily. Malfoy makes Teddy happy. What world was Hermione living in?

"Wait—" she blurted. Having overcome the shock of Teddy's Malfoy-blonde hair, Hermione had finally noticed his undone trainers. She quickly tied them with a wand wave and added, "Would you like some breakfast?" Hermione gestured at the floating tray of Kreacher's cooking beside her. It was a pain to balance the thing through the Floo, but she had not been dressed and couldn't apparate inside Andromeda's house.

Theo—who was also there, Hermione realized—politely said, "It does smell—"

"We're late. We'll eat when we get there," Malfoy interrupted. Rude. He touched Teddy's shoulder, turned around, and opened the door. "Goodbye," he threw over his shoulder like an afterthought.

What a ponce.

"Bye, Hermione! Bye, Harry!" Teddy called. And then they were gone.

"Don't mind Draco," Theo declared, walking up to Hermione. "Lovely to see you, Hermione. That does look scrumptious. May I?" He posted to the bacon.

"Er—yes," she replied, eyes still trained on the open door. "Aren't Purebloods supposed to be polite?"

"Not in my experience," muttered Harry, who was standing with his arms crossed.

Managing to hold three strips of bacon in one hand, Theo looked over at Potter and said, "We can be very rude, I agree—even ruder if you ask nicely."

And then, with a wink, Theodore Nott, too, was gone, shutting the front door behind him.

Harry was the first to break the silence. "I was way too hungover for that."

Hermione nodded. She and Harry spent Saturday reviewing the open DMLE casework, the Auror roster, active case managers, and other personnel. Hermione had sunk into her computational headspace for hours to make sense of everything.

Around midnight, Harry forced her to come up for air, and they ventured to Poor John's, his favorite Muggle pub, which they closed out around two in the morning.

Hermione rarely imbibed like that, but the state of the DMLE timetable had made her want to combust.

"I need coffee before I Floo again. Shall we?" Harry asked as we lifted the levitating breakfast tray out of the air.

He exited down the corridor toward the eat-in kitchen. Hermione glanced at the doorway once more before following him. Though she had been on the receiving end of many Draco Malfoy sneers in her life, even several in recent memory—this one had felt worse, somehow.

The Next Day—
Monday, July 9, 2007
Department of Magical Law Enforcement

The entire DMLE office was packed. Aurors, managers, and administrative staff filled every seat, leaned against the walls, or hovered in the corridor. It was a mess of robes and muttered conversations, but Gawain Robards didn't notice. He stood in the doorway of his office, the focus of the scattered assembly, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Hermione hung back with Harry near his office door, her face neutral, though her mind was already racing through the presentation she would momentarily give and the tasks she needed to finish that day. She scanned the room. There was the usual blend of tired Aurors stifling yawns, a few still nursing coffees, and a gaggle of eager recruits who looked far too happy.

"First off, an update on the Night of Terror case," Robards began, scratching the side of his jaw. "Potter, Wang, and Smith—you've done commendable work so far. All known British werewolves have been eliminated as suspects, their alibis for May 2 confirmed and corroborated." He nodded to Harry, who raised his hand in acknowledgment, and then to Zacharias Smith, whose chest puffed up at the mention of his name. "Smith, you've finally learned how to conduct a calm interrogation. That's progress."

Most of the Auror corps laughed, and Wang gave Smith a friendly jab with her elbow when she noticed his face start to turn red. He really needed some anger management, Hermione mused as she turned her attention back to Robards.

"For the upcoming full moon on July 30, we'll determine guard duty by next week. Expect a lengthy shift if you're assigned," Robards continued, moving on. "Now, the Rune Stone case. We got an anonymous tip that the stones were being produced in the Cotswolds, but surprise, surprise—it was just a Muggle sculptor's studio." Robards sighed wearily. "Selling beach rocks to tourists for the equivalent of one galleon a pop—I think we might all consider a change in profession."

The group grumbled, and Robards continued, "The Department of Mysteries is still analyzing the stones, but you know them. Perhaps we'll hear back by 2010." He rolled his eyes, drawing a few chuckles from the room. "In the meantime, Barnes and Rothschild, keep your ears to the ground in Knockturn Alley. I want to know if there's any real substance to the original lead that someone was trafficking these things through that neighborhood."

Robards glanced at his notes, his face growing slightly more severe. "I've also reopened the case into the escape of Death Eaters Antonin Dolohov and Thorfinn Rowle at the Minister's request. Not much new to say, but I'll be inquiring again with our counterparts in St. Petersburg, where they were allegedly last seen three years ago."

"Waste of time," Harry muttered so only Hermione could hear.

Robards looked up, scanning the room. "Lastly, Senior Auror Potter has some updates on scheduling."

Harry gave Hermione a meaningful look as he left his spot beside her and meandered up to the front, offering Robards a polite nod as he took his place. "Right, good morning, everyone," he began with a faint smile, his tone lighter than Robards' had been. "You may have noticed some changes on the schedule if you've already looked this morning. We've had a little shake-up with our rosters, thanks to our temporary staff member, Junior Auror Hermione Granger, who generously offered some changes I reviewed and decided to implement. Hermione, would you come on up and give your report?"

Aware of all eyes in the room, Hermione hastened between the mass of bodies to join Harry at the front of the room, clutching a stack of parchments against her chest.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione began, scanning the room. "As Harry mentioned, I'm on my second of three months here with the DMLE from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I've attempted to revamp the scheduling and some of our protocols to increase efficiency. Some of these changes are inspired by how Muggle police departments operate, which I believe can be helpful to us."

She conjured a few parchments in the air, allowing them to hover beside her for reference. "For instance, we're now rotating shifts every two weeks instead of three. This will reduce burnout and ensure no one is on high-stress assignments for too long. I've also restructured our response team for emergencies, so we'll always have at least one senior Auror available for immediate dispatch during peak hours."

At this, Smith loudly scoffed, crossing his arms as the room's attention turned to him. "Why are you even bothering with our rosters? You're just a temporary junior. I bet you and Harry are getting the prime shifts."

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he shot Smith a sharp look. "Watch it, Zac. If you're so keen on schedules, you can redo them yourself. I'm sure it'll be an improvement, based on the illegible scrawl you've been turning in to me for paperwork."

Smith flushed, opening his mouth to protest, but Hermione cut in smoothly. "This isn't favoritism, Zac. I've assigned myself to the mailroom and holding cell duty for the foreseeable future to balance things out. You were due next for those shifts, so—you're welcome."

Smith muttered under his breath, but the grumbles from others quieted. Hermione continued, undeterred. "I also have a few suggestions for some of our open cases. Kilmartin," she addressed a tall Auror at the side of the room, "Case D-467 isn't a stalking case as reported. It's likely an untethered spirit latched onto Mrs. Grapplehook's heirloom brooch. I recommend consulting with Winston Clark in the Spirit Division. He's handled similar cases in the past."

Kilmartin nodded, jotting down her suggestion. Hermione turned her attention to the next item on her list, which caused her heart to do one heavy thud. She cleared her throat and looked up. "Terry Boot."

"Er … here." Terry's deep voice responded from the back of the office near the corridor. Hermione looked up and found Terry's familiar brown mop of hair, his sharp-jawed face lined with stubble visible even from so far away. Terry looked at Hermione with a mixture of awkward eagerness and discomfort.

"Terry, for Case Number 99C," she said, choosing her words carefully, "looks like the pool facility is connected to illegal breeding. It could be kelpies or grindylows—the documentation isn't clear. I'd recommend passing this along to Gerald Anderson at Magical Creatures. He recently wrapped up an illegal menagerie ring in the North and would have some good insights."

Terry nodded quickly, mumbling a polite response, and Hermione avoided his eyes. She could feel the tension in the air but pressed on. "Lastly, we've been over-ordering quills." She found the gaggle of trainees in matching robes nearby, seated together. "We must stop charming quills to throw like darts at images of suspects in our spare time. I've taken the liberty of donating an actual dartboard, which is set up in the break room. Please leave the quills alone. They never quite transfigure back into a functional writing implement. I've re-adjusted the order, freeing up nearly a thousand Galleons for the rest of the year. I'd recommend that goes into the consultant's pool, but the decision is yours, Mr. Robards."

She nodded and returned to her spot by Harry's office, and Robards acknowledged her approvingly. "Thank you, Granger. We're lucky to have you, even if only briefly." He addressed the room once more. "Let's make sure we use these changes to improve our work. Dismissed."

Hermione allowed herself a small smile, catching Harry's eye from across the room as she gathered her notes. It was satisfying, even if only temporary, to contribute something practical that she was good at. At the thought of spending the day sorting through mail once again, though, her smile faded.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Dear Hermione,

It feels like too many months have passed since we last wrote to each other. I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and that you are keeping busy with work and life in London.

I am once again Seeker for Bulgaria this year. We are training for the European Championship next month. I'm not as fast as I once was, but I still think my chances of getting the snitch are better than most of the competing Seekers—I hope you won't think that too arrogant of me.

I am not too arrogant to say that Bulgaria will lose the tournament. Our chasers do not work well together, and other countries have better teams.

Win or lose, I will be in France next month to watch the final match, and I would like to know if you will be there, too. If so, could you save me a dance at the party? I would like that very much.

I find myself missing you more often than I admit, especially when I am at home in Bulgaria. The countryside here, outside of Sofia, is beautiful this time of year. My house is surrounded by rolling hills, and the air is fresh and clear. Sometimes, when I stand outside in the evenings, looking out at the mountains in the distance, I think of the last time you visited.

It has been almost six years since then, hasn't it? Too long. You should see the place now—it's even more serene than you might remember. And the location has its advantages. Being so close to the border with Serbia, it's only a quick Apparation to some excellent magical libraries in Belgrade and Bucharest. I know how much you would appreciate them. We did not find a chance last time. We could spend hours there, exploring together.

I really would like you to visit again. You would enjoy the peace and quiet, and it would be good to catch up in person, not just through letters. Something about this place makes me feel more connected to… everything. I would love to share that with you.

Please let me know if you plan to attend the final in France. It would be good to see you again. Also, consider visiting Bulgaria—it would make me very happy to show you all the changes here.

Until then, take care, Hermione. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Warmest regards,
Viktor

Two Days Later—
DMLE Holding Cells
The Ministry for Magic

Hermione sat slumped in an uncomfortable wooden chair, elbows resting on her knees, a tattered paperback clutched in her hands. The holding cell in front of her was eerily quiet save for the occasional snore from the single occupant: a wizard who had been picked up for public drunkenness. The department was out of sobering draught, so here she was, waiting for a wizard's body to process alcohol.

The wizard sprawled on the narrow cot, oblivious to the world, muttering incoherently in his sleep. Now and then, his snores would escalate into a snorting sound that echoed through the room before settling into a dull rhythm.

Hermione sighed and turned the page of the book she was reading, though her focus had long since drifted. It was a poorly translated autobiography of a Portuguese werewolf, mostly detailing the man's childhood before his infection. There was almost nothing about his life after transformation, and certainly no insights. She had hoped to learn something—anything—that would help her understand the nature of the coordinated Night of Terror attacks. She stared at the next paragraph, feeling her eyes glaze over. Why did every book in the Ministry archives on werewolves have nothing useful?

She sighed again, stretching her legs out. Already today, she'd been interrupted by Daniel Kirkpatrick asking for help wording a memo—the third time that week. He probably spent more time on Level Two looking for Hermione than on Level Four at his desk. Priscilla had come by twice, once for advice on managing Anderson and once to bring Hermione tea as a thank you. And then Geraldine had shown up asking where the Pixie Abatement files were kept. Of course, Hermione knew precisely where they were; she'd reorganized the department's filing system eight years ago during her third month on the job. Not that anyone else bothered to check the labeled poster outside the door of her empty office outlining the clarity of her system.

Hermione shook her head and tried to return to her book, but her mind wandered. Her second month on leave at the DMLE had blurred into busy work, helping half the Ministry with things no one else wanted to deal with. This wasn't where she'd expected to be—not even close.

The sudden knock on the doorjamb startled her out of her thoughts, her head jerking up in surprise.

"You know, Aurors on guard duty shouldn't be so easily startled," came a familiar, teasing voice.

Hermione blinked, setting her book down on her lap. Octavia Randall stood in the doorway, her usually stern mouth angled slightly in amusement. Octavia looked the same—sharp and composed, though her gray hair had grown a bit more since they'd last spoken.

Hermione winced and tried to cover her surprise. "It's been a quiet day," she said, sitting up straighter. "What are you doing here?"

Octavia stepped into the room, eyeing the snoring detainee briefly before pulling up the spare chair across from Hermione. She sat down, smoothing her robes as she did. "I wanted to check on you. We haven't spoken face-to-face since—" she paused, leaving the sentence unfinished, but Hermione knew exactly what she meant. They hadn't spoken since Hermione had been placed on leave. Letters didn't quite count.

"I'm fine," Hermione replied automatically, folding her hands in her lap.

Octavia raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure Gawain has conveyed my opinions to you, but it's worth telling you personally that this isn't what I had in mind when I gave you a three-month leave."

Hermione clenched her jaw momentarily, biting back the immediate retort that sprung to mind. She forced herself to breathe, then said, "A leave wasn't what I had in mind at all." But that made her immediately feel guilty. Hermione took a quick breath and added, "I'm just trying to help. The DMLE is overloaded with cases, and the investigation into the May Second attacks …" She trailed off, shaking her head.

Octavia nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair. "I know you've also been helping half my staff over the last few weeks."

Hermione shrugged. "I can't turn them away." She didn't mention how bitter she felt, puppet-mastering a tiny sliver of the work she wanted to be doing.

Octavia gave her a sympathetic smile. "Hermione, this leave wasn't a punishment, you know. I'd rather have you working. But … the politics of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the Minister's office—it's a tangled mess." She sighed, looking genuinely frustrated. "You're internationally respected, and directly opposing their initiatives doesn't make you very popular with some."

Hermione thought of how Kingsley had told her that his hands were tied just before her leave had been imposed. It seemed everyone's hands were tied these days. She kept that thought to herself and said, "Alright."

Octavia gave a faint nod and glanced around the room. "Robards likes you, you know."

Hermione leaned back slightly, blinking at the comment. "He's a good head of the DMLE. Everyone respects him."

"He'll try to poach you," Octavia said, half-teasing, though there was a kernel of seriousness in her tone.

Hermione shook her head, wondering what Octavia was fishing for. She told the truth. "I want to go back to Magical Creatures. I'd be there right now."

Octavia nodded again, offering her a curious look. "Thanks for proofreading Daniel's memos, by the way. You've saved us all a load of headaches downstairs."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh softly, some of the tension easing out of her. "I just couldn't leave him to it. If I did, you'd have had twice as many complaints from the Minister's Office."

Octavia rose from her chair, brushing off her robes. "Take care of yourself, Hermione. I mean it."

Hermione nodded, watching as Octavia left the room. As the door swung shut, she glanced at the werewolf autobiography still in her lap and took a long breath.

The next day—
Friday, July 12, 2007
A muggle café, London

The clinking of cutlery and the low hum of conversation filled the Muggle café as Hermione stirred her tea absentmindedly. Her salad lay mostly eaten and forgotten. Harry and Ron were seated across from her at their window table halfway through their sandwiches and chips.

"Ron, it's an absolute miracle," Harry said, mouth half-full of fried potatoes. "In the last three days, we've closed five cases that have been stalled for months. It's all because Hermione put Finlay on the domestic investigations beat and rotated Wang off the night shift."

Ron, mouth full, merely looked at them oddly.

Hermione sighed and responded, "Finlay was wasted on patrol. She is certified in detection charms and a mother of ten-year-old twins. Having her on a more flexible schedule rather than time-based patrol assignments makes sense. I'm sure Molly can attest that Fred and George trained her to know everything happening in a household situation."

Ron swallowed and laughed. "I bet. So—this is working out then?" He pointed at Harry and Hermione, a finger moving across the space between them.

"Yes," Harry replied emphatically. "Robards is already talking about poaching Hermione from Magical Creatures permanently."

"What?" Hermione's stomach lurched uncomfortably.

"Don't worry, Hermione—I told him you're committed to returning to Deputy Head."

"Good," she murmured. "Because I'm fine redoing your schedules, Harry, but after another month and a half of sorting through cursed letters and your fan mail, I'll be at the end of my rope. I got hit with a glitter charm on Wednesday, and I'm still finding blasted sparkly things all in my hair."

Plus, Hermione's conversation with Octavia had unsettled her. Hermione worried that perhaps she wouldn't be as welcome back in the DRCMC as she'd thought come September. Hermione resolved to clarify that her position as Deputy Head was her ultimate goal. The leave was just a leave.

"Since you bring that up," Harry remarked, taking a sip of water to clear his mouth of food, "if the new rosters keep going the way they're going, we're going to have a surplus of personnel hours."

"Okay," Hermione replied, not following.

"The Night of Terror case is at a standstill, at least until the next full moon. And with the Minister's detention policy still in place, there's nothing more to do than follow up on some loose tips and leads."

"Yes?" Hermione thought bitterly of Joseph's pack being surrounded by Aurors like criminals on their peaceful, warded estate.

Harry and Ron exchanged a look that Hermione knew all too well. They were about to gang up on her.

Harry's emerald green eyes pierced her as he spoke. "How about a vacation?"

"Harry, I already said I'm not taking a weeks-long holiday just because I'm on leave," Hermione scolded.

"Who said weeks?" Harry protested. "A week! One week."

Ron added, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, "Why don't we all—the three of us—go to the European Championships in France next month?"

Hermione sighed, already shaking her head. "Ron, you know how I feel about Quidditch. I'm already planning on going to the final if Ginny's playing, but that's enough for me."

"It's not just about the Quidditch," Harry said, leaning forward with a grin. "They're playing in the south of France, Hermione. The weather's perfect, the scenery … You've been—well, you need a break. I do, too, I reckon. One week in France next month."

Hermione frowned, her usual argument about important work waiting for her on her desk at the Ministry dying on her lips. She was on leave, after all. There was no pressing project, urgent meeting, or deadlines to meet. Just the repetitive, mind-numbing tasks she'd been assigned—and now had assigned herself—as a junior Auror.

She sighed again, more heavily this time. "I don't know…"

Ron looked at her with a dreamy light in his eyes. "Think of the cheese, the pastries, the wine…"

Hermione bit her lip. "I suppose it would be nice to get away." She paused, glancing between Harry and Ron. "But the championships will be full of fanatics, and you know how they get when we're together."

Harry nodded, and it was clear that he had considered her concern. "For once, we'll be the least interesting public figures there. Every major Quidditch star not on the pitch will mingle around the events. … Viktor will be there too, you know."

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly, thinking it odd that Harry and Ron had sprung this conversation on her just days after receiving a Viktor letter inquiring if she would attend the championships. "You've been talking to him, haven't you?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. "We might have exchanged a letter or two. And he might've mentioned that he's hoping to see you there. Come on, Hermione. It's been ages since we've had a proper break."

"And we haven't gone anywhere together in ages," Ron complained. "Not since … Merlin, is it Australia?"

"Surely not," Hermione muttered, thinking back. Ron and Harry had accompanied her to Australia a month after Voldemort's defeat to restore her parents' memories. Since then, she had taken trips to visit Viktor, and then a weekend or two away while she dated Terry.

"I think it might be," Harry said, equally thoughtful.

Hermione found herself warming up to the idea. Reuniting with Viktor would be a pleasant bonus of visiting France in August. And maybe if things went well, she would consider accepting Viktor's invitation to visit his home in Bulgaria. She smiled at the thought, recalling the last time she had visited Viktor six years ago. It had been a beautiful trip, filled with serene landscapes and quiet moments in Viktor's countryside home.

It was also the trip where they had decided to part ways.

It hadn't been an easy decision. Viktor was kind, understanding, and always supportive of her passion for the rights of magical creatures. But in the end, her commitment to her work in England outweighed her fondness for him. He would never ask her to leave England, and she couldn't handle the excessive travel that his job as Bulgaria's star seeker required. It had been a problematic goodbye, leaving her with a sense of loss even as she knew it was the right choice.

They remained friendly, exchanging letters every month or so since then. The idea of visiting Bulgaria again was tempting. Maybe a week in France and a few days in Bulgaria wouldn't be so harmful. But a small part of her worried about leading Viktor on. Despite the time that had passed, she couldn't shake the feeling that Viktor still liked her as more than just a friend.

Viktor had also been a great lover, after the war, attentive and caring, and it had been far too long since she had felt that kind of connection with someone. The years she had spent with Terry were tainted by the explosive way things had ended between them, and—as Ginny would certainly complain—it was a tragedy that she had not been intimate with anyone since then.

Had it been eight months? She and Terry had broken up immediately after the vampire incident. Yes, it had been eight months of throwing herself into her work, ignoring the ache of loneliness that sometimes crept up on her. Maybe she just needed to try dating again—anyone—or at least consider it.

Hermione had been lost in thought for a few moments too long.

"Earth to Hermione," Harry called with a sarcastic lilt. Hermione rolled her eyes at the Muggle reference.

"Was this part of your strategy? Assign me mail duty for weeks—indirectly persuade me to assign mail duty to myself to avoid favoritism in the rosters or DIMC interference—all until I would be desperate for time off?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"No," said Harry, clearing his throat very suspiciously. "But if you think time off would be good…"

Finally, she sighed, setting down her teaspoon. "Alright."

Harry and Ron exchanged triumphant grins.

"But," Hermione added quickly, holding up a finger, "I'm only taking a week off, and I'm only attending the final match. There are at least four magically significant historical chateaus that I must see."

"That's all we ask," Ron said, smiling.

Two Days Later—
Sunday, July 15, 2007
The Burrow

It was an evening to celebrate for the extended Weasley clan. Ginny was in attendance at Sunday dinner for the first time in months; she had moved home to the Burrow from Wales in July while she trained with the English National Team. Plus, Percy's wife Audrey was pregnant with their second child.

Most excitingly, Arthur was buzzing when he showed Hermione a handheld Muggle garlic mincer that fascinated him.

"I'm representing our country in the most popular magical sport, but sure," Ginny murmured to Hermione over post-dinner tea, "the garlic doohickey is great, too."

Hermione laughed. "How's training?"

"Alright," Ginny shrugged. "The coach is great, and there's one nice reserve beater—we'll be roommates in France. I miss the Harpies, though. I hope they'll ask me back for next season, even though our games were shit this year."

Listening in from across the table, Harry said, "Play well, and they'll be fools not to ask you back."

"Thanks, Harry," Ginny smiled. "I hope so."

George and Angelina excitedly chatted about the Dueling Arena for most of the evening. Then, Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were formally presented with fancy metal membership cards, the same style as the guest pass that Theo had presented to Padma last month.

DUELING ARENA
Hermione Jean Granger
MEMBERSHIP # 000002

Hermione admired the enchanted copper card embossed with the letters of her name. She glanced at Harry and Ron (oddly, numbers 7 and 8) and wondered whose name was on membership card number one. Considering that Theo had made these, she had a sneaking suspicion.

Hermione then took the opportunity to have a conversation she had meant to have for weeks.

"When were you going to tell us that Theodore Nott is your business partner?" She demanded, leveling George with a steely stare.

"What?" Harry's head whipped over to George and Angelina sitting across from them.

"Theodore Nott … like Hogwarts, Slytherin, Death Eaters, Theodore Nott?" Ginny interjected.

"He was never a Death Eater," Hermione said, surprised to find herself defensive of Theo.

"He's just one of five of us working on the club," Angelina said with a shrug. "Didn't know we needed to announce it."

"How did that happen?" Harry asked, turning to Ron beside him. "Did you know?"

"Found out recently," Ron admitted, remarkably calm. "Nott's been consulting at the joke shop from time to time. I recommended throwing him out on his arse."

"You've been working with a Slytherin 'from time to time,'" Ginny repeated, eyes on George. "You?"

"He knows more obscure transfiguration principles than anyone," George remarked. "Helped us finally figure out the voice-activated bottomless teacups."

"He's also rich," Angelina added, her tone indicating the obviousness of the statement. "The DA would not have gotten off the ground without his galleons."

George nodded. "Theo is completely unconcerned with profit—he is taking on all the risk for establishing the club. As far as I can understand, it will take us ten years to break even, and he's unbothered."

"Must be nice," Ron muttered. "Rich ponce."

Hermione shook her head. "But this means all Theo's friends will be at the club. You're … okay with that?"

"He's only brought Malfoy and some girls by so far," Angelina responded. "They're … not so bad."

"Malfoy?!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Malfoy?" Ron repeated incredulously. "Malfoy is not so bad? Be serious, Angelina."

"I am serious!"

"She's right," George chimed in. "He mostly doesn't talk and follows Theo around. Plus, he donated a bunch of healing potions for the first aid system."

"Bloody weird," Ron grumbled. "Bloody bizarre. He got you lot banned from Quidditch!"

"I'm way too old to care about that now," George countered.

"He poisoned me!"

George quirked his head. "Well, it didn't take."

"Oi—"

"He's fine so far," George said, cutting Ron off. "Seems a bit sad, really. I don't need to get angry unless he gives me a reason to be—another reason, I guess."

"Times have changed, it seems," Harry commented. He looked thoughtfully at the tabletop.

Hermione hummed in agreement.

"You'll all come by?" Angelina inquired. "If anyone should test out the facilities, it's you two," she said, gesturing toward Hermione and Harry. Ron looked indignant. "No offense, Ron. They're bloody powerful spell casters."

"Don't hold back," George added. "Theo's paying for maintenance!"

Harry, Hermione, and Ron agreed to visit the DA in the coming weeks, and Ginny decided to join in after the championship was over. The evening continued with no more talk of dueling or Slytherins.

It was the sort of warm evening that usually filled Hermione with contentment, but tonight, she could not shake a cloud of frustration that hung over her. She had been keeping it at bay through dinner with the distraction of conversation, but the moment George, Percy, and Angelina began to play Harry, Ron, and Ginny at Gobstones, the cloud came right back.

Since Hermione's revamp of the DMLE, she had been feeling off. Even the prospect of planning a holiday to France couldn't pick her out of her rut. She was in an endless cycle of determination and despair—hope and stagnation. And she didn't know what to do about it.

In a turn of events that would have greatly upset her mum, Hermione decided to forget her manners and sulk.

She sat on the edge of one of the worn couches in the living room, half-listening to George and Ron, arguing over the game's basic rules through the window.

She glanced across the room, catching Lavender's eye. Lavender was seated by the fireplace, her hands idly tracing the edge of her teacup, and her eyes were distant. Something in Lavender's expression resonated with Hermione, and she made her way over, dropping onto the seat beside her.

"Hi, Lavender," Hermione began softly, trying to inject warmth into her voice. "How have you been?"

Lavender looked up, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, you know, the usual. Busy. I've taken some part-time work with Madam Malkin doing alterations—a lot of school robe fittings over the summer. How about you? You seem … a bit down."

Hermione sighed, glancing around the room before replying. "I've just been feeling frustrated with work."

Lavender's expression shifted, a flicker of something dark passing across her face. She took a sip of her tea before responding. "The papers have been so dark since May. It's hard to make sense of it all. I feel bad for the innocent werewolves getting blamed, but it's a relief that the attacks have stopped." Lavender leaned closer and whispered, "I was so worried for Harry. To think…"

Hermione looked at Lavender, taking in the scars that marred her once-perfect skin. Hermione's heart ached for her friend, but she also felt a deep conviction that the rights of werewolves couldn't be ignored.

"I'm glad Harry wasn't…" Hermione began, unable to finish her sentence. "I can't fully know what you must feel, too, Lavender. Greyback was the worst monster. But I also think it's important to remember that not all werewolves are like him. It's not fair to judge an entire group based on the actions of a few."

Lavender nodded, her fingers tightening around her cup. "You're right, I know. … It isn't very easy for me. I'm reminded of what happened every time I look in the mirror. And now…" Lavender hesitated and looked away as if weighing whether or not to confide in Hermione. Hermione knew they were not very close but hoped Lavender could see her as more than her husband's friend.

Eventually, Lavender did speak. "A couple of magazines have approached me. They still want to do interviews about my—experience."

Hermione felt a pang of confusion. "Interviews? About … Greyback?"

"Yes," Lavender replied, her voice quieter now. "But I want to use the opportunity to promote my work. It's been so hard to get anyone to take me seriously. When you wore my dress to the Victory Ball, I had hoped—and I'm still so grateful, Hermione. But the attacks overshadowed everything. I worry that these magazines will just want to focus on what happened with Greyback. I don't want to be known for that, but …"

Hermione frowned, trying to understand what Lavender was getting at. "So, you're thinking about doing the interviews, but you're worried they'll only see you as a victim and still not take you seriously."

Lavender nodded her head slowly. "Kind of. I guess I'm worried that by talking about it, I'll be directing attention to the wrong things. I don't want to do that, but at the same time, this might be my only chance to put my name out there."

Hermione's frown deepened. The idea of these interviews becoming a platform for fearmongering made her uneasy. She didn't want Lavender to be exploited for a sensational story that would only harm the werewolf community. "Lavender, I think you're incredibly talented, and I hope you can focus on your work without feeding into that fear. But if the interviews will sensationalize what happened … I'm not sure that's the best way forward."

Lavender sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I don't want that either, but I don't know what else to do. I feel like I'm stuck."

"Tell me about it," Hermione muttered.

Hermione thought for a moment, her mind racing through possibilities. Then, an idea struck her. She continued, "What if we did an interview together? I could talk about the werewolf situation from a more informed perspective, and we could also highlight your designs. We could use the dress I wore as a starting point."

Lavender's eyes lit up with a mix of surprise and hope. "You'd do that? I mean, you hate talking to journalists."

Hermione nodded, a small smile forming on her lips. "I would. Maybe this way, we can change some minds."

Lavender looked at her, gratitude shining in her eyes. "That's a brilliant idea. Thank you, Hermione."

As they continued to discuss the details, Hermione recalled something Malfoy had mentioned during their last conversation. "Lavender, have you had any interest from Witch Weekly?"

Lavender shook her head. "Not sure, why?"

Hermione's smile widened. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right. They have the biggest reach, and it might be a good fit for both the fashion and public interest issues."

Lavender grinned, her mood visibly lifting.

As their conversation continued, through some small talk, Lavender's eyes lit up with an idea. "Hermione, I've also been thinking. I'd love to dress you if you plan to attend any events soon. I mean, not just for something like another ball, but for anything. Like … aren't you going to France next month?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Yes, I am actually. Harry, Ron, and I are going—are you not coming?"

"No," Lavender shook her head. "I'm taking a short trip with my mum while Ron's away. I don't feel like being in a bunch of big crowds."

"I understand," said Hermione. And she really did. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Lavender continued, her enthusiasm growing, "I was thinking you might wear some of my outfits for the formal and informal events—like the gala, the matches themselves, maybe even some of the after-parties. Only if you're willing, of course."

Hermione considered the offer, genuinely interested. "I'd love to, Lavender. But … at the Victory Ball, I had to—well, I ripped the skirt off my dress robes when the werewolves attacked." Hermione blushed, regretting the destruction of something Lavender had worked so hard on, even though she had already apologized profusely. "I was thinking. Would you be able to incorporate some more practical features into the designs? Something that looks elegant but can hold up in … unpredictable situations?"

Lavender's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Oh, absolutely! We could brainstorm ideas and figure out how to make the dresses stunning and battle-ready, just in case. Perfect for Hermione Granger."

Hermione smiled, relieved at the prospect of focusing on something other than the Ministry and its endless politics. "That sounds great. It might be nice to work on something creative and less stressful for a change."

Lavender beamed. "Great! How about you come over to our apartment next Saturday? We can have tea and go over some sketches, talk about Witch Weekly—we should time everything just right, you know?"

Hermione nodded, already feeling more at ease with the idea.

Up Next: Draco receives an unexpected guest.