Chapter Text
Hermione
There was something seriously wrong with this situation, Hermione was absolutely certain of it. As she stared at her boss on the other side of the desk, Hermione was lost in thought as she considered the possibilities.
First, she could be looking at an imposter. True, Hestia Jones wouldn’t be the easiest person to polyjuice, but then again, neither was Alastor Moody. A Death Eater had once pulled off that ruse for nearly ten months. Hermione discretely checked her watch. She would be able to eliminate this possibility in approximately forty minutes, unless she could think of a security question to ask her before then.
“... will provide a final report once the project is complete…”
Second, Hestia could be imperiused, but Hermione didn’t think it was likely. Most of the former Order of the Phoenix could throw the imperius curse, even those who had been underage at the time. Dumbledore had insisted upon it. Tonks had practiced with Hermione and Ginny until they could both do it the summer before fifth year. It seemed nearly impossible to believe that Hestia couldn’t do it as well. But perhaps she was out of practice? Maybe the caster was particularly powerful? Hermione squinted as she looked at Hestia’s face to see if she could identify any of the telltale signs that she was fighting it – any nervous ticks or odd movement of the eyes. Nothing.
“... shall be on site for the duration of the project…”
Third, this could be some sort of potion. Maybe he had a house elf who had slipped into the Ministry and spiked Hestia’s drink. Hermione quickly thought about what it could be: a befuddlement draught? Confusing concoction? Amortentia? No, definitely not amortentia, thank God. She didn’t seem to have the slightest romantic interest in him, and it was a rather large age gap after all. Her other ideas had merit though. Hestia was certainly confused. Except she also seemed entirely lucid, and now Hermione was the one who was confused.
“... will take a direct portkey as soon as our meeting is over….”
The only other possibilities Hermione could think of were confundus and obliviate. Both of those spells affected the mental acuity of the recipient in astonishing ways, but Hestia wasn’t displaying symptoms of either one. She wasn’t vague or dazed. She wasn’t tripping over her words or rambling off topic. No, she was clear, concise, and very Hestia. Nobody had messed with her mind, that much was obvious.
So what was it then? What on earth could explain the entirely odd predicament Hermione was in?
Hermione suddenly had a brainwave. She must be dreaming. She pinched herself.
Damn, that hurt.
Back to square one then. Was this some sort of alternative dimension? Was this a time turner gone wrong? What could it possibly be?
“...any questions?”
“No ma’am,” said a deep voice to her left.
“Hermione?” asked Hestia.
I have so many questions I don’t even know where to begin.
“Erm, no. Not right now.”
“Very well then, please go grab your things and head to the portkey office. They’re expecting you.”
Hestia rose so Hermione and her companion rose as well, and they made their way silently toward the reception area just outside of her office, where they had left their trunks, along with a familiar-looking tent that made Hermione grimace. Harry had told her he would loan her one, and he must have dropped it off while she was in her meeting with Hestia. She didn’t realize he meant this one. She wasn’t even aware he had recovered it from the woods all those years ago.
“That bad, huh?” her companion asked, as he watched her scowl at the tent. She just shot him a look, but said nothing as she shrunk her luggage and the tent and put them both in her pocket. Then she shrank an enormous box of books that she was bringing as her portable library. She noticed the ghost of a smile cross her companion’s face at this, and she scowled again.
Hermione was lost in thought as she walked toward the portkey office. She still couldn’t believe it, and what made it even more extraordinary were the circumstances surrounding it. She recalled what Hestia had told her, just before her companion arrived.
“He agreed to serve as the representative from the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures as long as you were assigned to the project. It was his one condition. He said he wouldn’t do it with anybody else. Of course I had already decided to ask you even though it means you’ll be in the field and away from the Ministry for quite a while. You were the best choice instead of bringing in somebody else to help with this. Still, I thought it was rather encouraging that he was so insistent upon it. Please give him a chance, Hermione.”
No, none of this made any sense.
“Ah, there you are,” said another familiar voice. Hermione grimaced as she recognized Cormac McLaggen. “Heading off on some adventure then, are you?”
“It’s for work,” she said curtly.
“Right…” said Cormac, eyeing them both suspiciously. “And when you will be back?”
“Shouldn’t be more than a month.”
He wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth to say something else – no doubt to ask her out yet again – but Hermione cut him off. “We’re due to head out directly. Is the portkey ready?”
He grumbled a bit, but finally produced a ballpoint pen that he held out for them. “It should go off in about a minute.”
They both nodded and each grasped one end of the pen, and a minute later, Hermione felt herself hurtling through space. She did her best to ignore the young man on the other end of the pen with her.
They landed with a jolt, and Hermione took a moment to look around the moors. It was beautiful, but deserted. Hence the tent.
“That’s it then?” asked the young man, nodding toward a crumbling stone structure on the edge of what looked like a bog.
“I suppose,” she said cautiously. “We can get set up and then take a look.”
Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped the tent, which immediately erected itself with a flourish. Almost unconsciously she started casting the wards she had used all those years ago when she, Harry, and Ron were on the run.
“What are you doing?” he asked in confusion.
“Making sure nobody can find us,” she said curtly.
“You think somebody is going to find us out here?” he asked skeptically, looking around the very empty landscape.
“I’m… nevermind,” she muttered. She finished the ward she was on and then left it at that. The war had been over for six years, but old habits died hard.
She waved her wand once more, and the flap to the tent opened for them. She went through her mental checklist as she followed him inside. She had shown up to the office very casually today, ready to do field work. She was wearing trainers, and her jeans had some stretch in them. She could run if she needed to. Her wand was holstered on her forearm like always. The holster was one of the few things she had splurged on during that brief period of time between her parents’ obliviation and when conditions with the war seriously deteriorated. The holster was expensive, but it was almost as important to her as her actual wand. It was lightweight and made of demiguise hair so it blended into whatever she was wearing. It molded to her body perfectly, and she could barely feel it. It was sensitive enough that she could call her wand to her at any moment with barely a thought and return it to the holster in the same way.
Very few witches and wizards used holsters at all, let alone ones this sensitive. She had spent a large portion of her savings acquiring three of them before she, Harry, and Ron had gone on the run. She knew Harry still used his as an auror, and she used hers as a cursebreaker. Ron, however, hardly ever carried a wand anymore. He managed the jokeshop with George and preferred floo over apparition.
He might have one too, she thought, as she eyed her companion. He and his friends might have gotten one… back then.
Yes, Hermione was prepared to fight or run if she needed to. She was trained and knew some really good curses now. And she didn’t trust him, not even a little bit.
Hermione turned to look at him, and they eyed each other warily. Hermione couldn’t even remember the last time she had seen him up close – usually her glimpses of him were from a distance in the Ministry atrium. At some point he had grown up and filled out. He was much larger than her, though still not as tall as Ron. He was about the same size as Harry now, though perhaps a bit broader in the shoulders. His eyes flashed with intelligence. He had always been smart, she knew that. He had been at the top of the class in Hogwarts, along with her.
“You can chill out, I don’t bite,” he said with an eye-roll. “We need to pick a name for the project. What do you suggest?”
“How about ‘Project Insanity?’ Or ‘Project Delusion?’ Or ‘Project Hestia has Lost her Damn Mind?’”
Now he gave her a smirk.
Why the hell do all Slytherins smirk? It’s like some sort of prerequisite. Do you have pure blood, questionable ethics, and a ready smirk? Then welcome to Slytherin House.
“I insist on something more… unifying,” he said. “How about, ‘Project Chimera?’”
“That’s….” Hermione trailed off.
OK, that actually wasn’t a terrible idea. It was possible that’s what they were facing, after all, though they weren’t certain. That’s why he was here in the first place. Regardless, chimeras were monstrous. It seemed rather apt for her current situation.
“We’re missing the goat,” she said suddenly. “Obviously I’m the lion, and you’re the snake, but chimeras are part goat too.”
Now he actually chuckled. “True. But that would require a third party, and I don’t see a ménage à trois in our future, do you?” He gestured around the barren landscape.
Hermione’s jaw dropped, and he laughed.
“Project Chimera then, it’s settled,” he said firmly, with another smirk as he whipped out some parchment and wrote down the name of the project at the very top.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered. She was so thrown off she didn’t know how to react.
“Now the next thing,” he said, “is house rules. I know this is only supposed to last a month, but we’ll be in close quarters. We don’t want to kill each other.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at this. That also wasn’t a bad idea. And having once lived with two boys in this very tent for months, she had some rather strong opinions about this.
“Alright, here are my rules,” she said. “I get to shower first because I prefer to air dry my hair, and it takes ages. I don’t sleep much, but I’ll be quiet between ten and six, unless I see that you're awake too. I expect the same from you. Silencing charms around the bed for nightmares or wanking. I don’t want to hear it. And your nasty socks and other dirty clothes stay in your room and do not spread to the common area.”
He studied her for a moment, his head tilted to the side. “You do a lot of wanking then?”
She gave him an annoyed look. “I will not answer that.”
He just raised an eyebrow. “And your nightmares?”
“They’re not that frequent now, but I’ll probably have one or two bad ones while we’re here,” she admitted.
“We could just wake each other up,” he said reasonably. “That’s the easiest way to snap out of them.”
“Look, you don’t want to do that, I promise,” she said. “Besides, I told you I don’t sleep much.”
He gave her a long look and finally said, “Alright, fine. Silencing charms for now. And I have a few rules of my own to add to yours.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes as she waited for the axe to fall.
“First, we divide the work as evenly as we can. I know you’re the curse-breaking expert and all that tosh, but I’m no slouch either. You can lead that part of it, obviously, but let me help you if I can. I don’t much fancy sitting around and twiddling my thumbs for a month while I wait for whatever beast is inside that thing to finally be let out. I’ll go mad.”
Hermione’s eyes widened at this, but she nodded slowly. “Fine. If you’re willing to let me lead it, I’ll let you help.”
He nodded. “Next, we try to stay civil. I’m not saying this will be easy, but it doesn’t have to be intolerable either. I plan to treat you the way I would treat any of my other, professional acquaintances. I expect you to do the same. We obviously aren’t close, but we can be cordial until we figure things out. We have to work together a lot over the next few weeks.”
Hermione blinked rapidly, and she found herself nodding, wondering yet again if she had entered another dimension.
“Finally…” and here he hesitated. Hermione was suddenly on guard again. “We don’t insult each other’s friends.”
Hermione stilled as she stared at him. He allowed her to study him, as she thought about it. He looked determined, even a little desperate. She had to admit he was already very different than she was expecting when Hestia first told her the news. Maybe she should let him have this. Merlin knew it would be about a hundred times easier if they weren’t at each other’s throats.
“Fine, but then it’s probably best we don’t talk about them too much. I may slip if you start telling me how wonderful Pansy Parkinson is.”
She rolled her eyes at this, but to her consternation he just smirked again.
“Pansy’s not that bad.”
“Of course she is,” snapped Hermione.
“And why’s that then?”
“Pansy is so… Pansy,” said Hermione lamely.
“That has to be the least intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at this. “You haven’t heard me say anything since Hogwarts.”
“Not true. You’ve been asked to speak at every bloody Ministry function for the last six years. Trust me, I’ve heard you say plenty.”
Hermione blinked. “What’s so wonderful about Pansy then?”
He shrugged. “She’s a little temperamental, I’ll grant you that, but she’s not a bad sort. She actually reminds me of you.”
“Oh you cannot be serious!” she said in horror.
He just laughed. “I’m very serious. You both have sharp tongues. You would have done well in Slytherin House.”
“Yes, except for the whole mudblood thing,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t use that word,” he said shortly. “I’ll make a rule about it if I have to.”
“That word was literally carved into my arm, as you very well know. The knife was cursed, and the scar is permanent. I’m pretty sure that trumps any rule you create about it.”
There was a long pause, and he was looking at her warily again. She could tell he was choosing his next words carefully. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that happened to you. But I would still prefer we not use it.”
Hermione felt herself burning with something that she thought might be shame. He really had nothing to apologize for, and she had been unnecessarily sharp with him about it. But still, she couldn’t help but push him on it just a little more.
“I don’t glamor my arm,” she said. “It never worked very well anyway, and it’s not like it’s some dark secret.”
He just gave her an impassive look. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. I just ask you not to say it.”
Hermione blinked again, but finally nodded shortly. “Fine.”
“Good,” he said. “And my last rule: we go by first names. No surnames.”
Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”
“Trust me, it’s just easier,” he said dismissively. “Besides…” and now he smirked again. “Imagine coming back to London at the end of this thing and telling our friends all about it. The looks on their faces will be utterly priceless if we are on a first-name basis by then. They’ll think we’re polyjuiced or something else ridiculous like that.”
Hermione laughed a bit uncomfortably, as she remembered that she had this very thought about Hestia.
Then again, he had a point. They were going to be working together so much for the next month that being on a first-name basis was sensible. She thought of what else Hestia had told her earlier that day.
“I know that there are still a lot of latent feelings about the war, but I think that you two can cross sides, as it were, and build a rapport with each other. Maybe you can set an example for others in the Ministry.”
“But why Hestia?”
“Because you may have fought for the light, but I also know you did some things that were rather dark as part of the war. As for him… well, he was raised to be dark, but he did what he could to stay in the light. I’m not saying it will be easy to work with him, but I think you two have a lot more in common than you may realize. Give him a chance and see if I’m right.”
Hermione chewed on her lower lip as she thought about his request to be on a first-name basis with her. Despite the fact that it had been six years, she realized Hestia had a point: the lines that had been drawn during the war were still there, to some degree. There wasn’t open hostility anymore, but Hermione rarely mixed with those who had stayed neutral or who had alliances with the other side.
In fact, she was a bit chagrined to realize that with the notable exception of Kingsley Shacklebolt, she had never been on a first-name basis with anybody from Slytherin House before, even though she was nearly twenty-five years old. She had simply done the easy thing and avoided former Slytherins when she could or remained hyper professional when she couldn’t. If she had to pick the one Slytherin who would break her streak she would never in a million years have guessed that it would be him.
Then again, she was stuck with him for a month in a bloody tent. He was right that it would be a pain if they didn’t find some sort of common ground.
“Fine, we can do that,” she said.
He smiled with satisfaction. “Shake on our rules then?”
Hermione nodded and slowly raised her hand. He shook and then smirked. “Repeat after me: ‘I, Hermione Granger, promise to follow all the rules.’”
He was still shaking her hand, and Hermione couldn’t help it. She cracked a reluctant smile. “Fine. I, Hermione Granger, promise to follow all the rules.”
“Excellent,” he said, grinning broadly as he released her hand. “That was why I wanted you to be my partner on this project instead of one of the aurors or some random cursebreaker they borrowed from Gringotts, you know.”
Hermione blinked, suddenly thrown off again. “What? Why?”
He looked at her seriously now. “Because when Hermione Granger makes a promise, she’ll win a fucking war to keep it.”
Hermione inhaled. He was right of course. Her word was her bond. It always had been. And in their first hour on this mad project together, he had elicited a promise from her to work with him and be civil to him. She knew she had no choice but to follow through with it, whereas others in her shoes probably would not.
How very Slytherin of him.
“Now,” he said, “Care to give me a tour of your tent? Then perhaps you can give me a crash course in curse breaking. It always did sound like one of those hot, sexy, dangerous jobs you know. Right up your alley, I’d say.”
Hermione cracked another smile, despite herself. “It’s a lot less hot and sexy than you’d think. But sure, we can do that Theo.”