Activation
Hermione sat at the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her teacup. The warm scent of cake filled the air, mingling with the laughter of friends—a comforting contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind.
Three years. Three short years since the war. Such a small amount of time, and yet it felt like a lifetime ago. They still faced their struggles, despite the many meetings with mind healers. Flashbacks and the occasional nightmare lingered like unwelcome shadows. Hermione had always assumed that Harry would bear the brunt of the trauma, but they all struggled in their own ways in the aftermath. They must have slept for three days straight following the battle, a mixture of their exhaustion and grief swallowing them whole. And then came the depression—a long, dull ache that nearly drowned them, sapping their motivation and will to do anything. For so long, they had been running on fumes, living second to second, moment to moment, never truly resting. Without the constant pressure of a wand at their necks, they had lost their ability to live, holed up in this very house, rarely speaking, barely eating, and drowning themselves in firewhiskey. Hermione, Ron, and Harry would have been content to wither away into nothing.
In the end, it was Professor McGonagall who would be saviour to the saviours of the wizarding world. Balancing her newfound duties as Headmistress with the Hogwarts restoration project, she took it upon herself to leverage as many connections as one has after years in education as she could, enlisting a team of mind healers to work with the trio. Bursting in uninvited through the Floo, she sat with each of them, slowly convincing them to give her team a chance. “You’re all so young,” she said, her voice steady and reassuring. “Despite the horrors you’ve faced, you owe it to yourselves to seek happiness.”
And they did. Though the journey was far from easy, it was entirely worth it. After a month of intensive daily therapy sessions, Professor McGonagall returned to check in and discuss their plans for the future. To Harry and Ron’s excitement, and Hermione’s disdain, they had all been offered positions at the Ministry, though only upon completing their mind healer-recommended care plans; Acting Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt had waived their NEWT requirements.
“For you, Hermione,” McGonagall had said with a smile, “I believe I have a much more exciting offer.”
The magical side of Oxford University had granted her admittance into any program of her choosing. It was then that Hermione first realised she was truely getting better, as a flicker of outrage ignited within her. Accepted, without any regard for her deservedness? She hadn’t even completed her NEWTs, let alone any admissions testing. How could they expect her to take a spot from someone who had prepared and earned it?
Seeming to read her mind, Professor McGonagall reassured her that she was more than deserving of such an offer, however, several rounds of testing would still be required before her admission became official. With that, Hermione allowed herself to begin dreaming of a future she hadn’t thought she would get to experience.
“Earth to Hermione!” A hand waved in front of her face, and Ron’s voice cut through her reverie. She blinked several times quickly, suddenly snapping back into the present.
“Sorry! Just... thinking.” She forced a smile, shaking her head slightly. “What were you saying?”
“I was telling Ginny that she better not forget about us little people once she’s a famous Quidditch star,” Ron said, nudging her with his elbow.
“Little people?” Ginny replied with mock indignation. “You’ll always be the biggest person in the room, Ron.” Hermione laughed brightly along with the rest of the group.
Around her, the Weasleys and Harry celebrated Ginny's recent appointment to the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team. Colourful banners adorned the walls, and a large cake—decorated with the Harpies' emblem and large block letters spelling out “GINNY”—sat proudly on the table, surrounded by plates of biscuits and pastries.
"Look at her, George!" Ron laughed, his face split by a mischievous grin. "Soon she’ll be dodging Bludgers for a living instead of dodging your pranks!"
Ginny rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. "Just remember who the real athlete in this family is, Ron," she shot back playfully, sticking her tongue out at him.
Hermione's heart swelled with happiness for Ginny; everything was finally coming together for her friend. She and Harry had moved in together the previous year, following Ron and Padma’s wedding. For a while, they had worried that things wouldn’t work out—between Fred’s funeral preparations and Harry’s intense therapy sessions after the war, they hadn’t had any time to discuss their relationship before Ginny returned to Hogwarts for her seventh year. Hermione could have hit both of them over the heads; it was plain as day that each was waiting for the other to make a move. Ultimately, Ginny decided to take matters into her own hands after graduation. When Harry walked into the Burrow for Sunday dinner, Ginny walked up to him and kissed him full on the mouth, earning a delighted squeal from the Weasley matriarch. Harry responded by immediately asking Ginny to move into Grimmauld Place, which received far less enthusiasm from Mrs. Weasley.
The lighthearted banter continued, and Hermione found herself drawn into it, laughing and teasing right along with them. She felt a sense of normalcy, a comforting reprieve from the chaos that had dominated her life in the past months. However, as she took another sip of tea, the sound of the wards alerting to guests at the front door pulled her attention away.
Harry, who had been sitting next to her, frowned. “I’ll get it,” he said, standing up. Hermione watched him walk toward the door, her curiosity piqued. “We weren’t expecting anyone else, were we, Gin?” he called as he walked down the hall.
The chatter around the table faded to a murmur as everyone turned their attention toward the door. Harry's brow furrowed as he opened it, revealing two figures cloaked in dark robes, the emblem of the Department of Mysteries gleaming on their attire. They spoke in hushed tones as they leaned in, peering around Harry’s shoulders.
“Erm, Hermione,” Harry cleared his throat, and the atmosphere shifted instantly. “They’re here for you.”
A chill ran down her spine. The lightness of the moment evaporated as she rose from the table, her heart pounding. “Me?”
Harry nodded, his expression one of confusion mixed with concern. Hermione felt the eyes of the Weasleys on her, their faces a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She followed Harry into the sitting room, the Unspeakables trailing behind. Their presence added an air of gravity that was unsettling.
“Please, take a seat,” she offered, gesturing toward the worn couch. The Unspeakables exchanged a glance before declining her offer. The air thickened with tension as they stared directly at Harry, clearly waiting for him to leave.
“Well, I’ll just be in, erm, in there,” Harry stuttered, rushing out of the room. Hermione rolled her eyes at his awkwardness before turning her attention back to the two cloaked figures. Some things would never change.
“No time for pleasantries, Unspeakable Granger. I’m—”
Hermione shushed him sharply, pulling out her wand to cast a series of privacy charms. Her voice emerged low and firm. “That knowledge is classified. You should know better. Now, who are you, and what are you doing here?”
She looked back to the man who had spoken as she finished casting. He was tall and lean, his dark hair slicked back, revealing a sharp jawline. “I’m Unspeakable Hecat, and this is Unspeakable Elder. We’re here on direct orders from the Minister.”
Her stomach twisted. “What’s this about?”
Unspeakable Hecat glanced down at a folio in his hands, his tone clipped and businesslike. “You have been activated for Project Quio. The minister requires your immediate assistance.”
Hermione's eyes widened, her breath hitching in her throat. Project Quio—the classified operation Kingsley had recruited her for just a few short months prior. The operation that was supposedly very unlikely to be called into action.
“Can I ask what it entails?” she managed, striving to keep her composure as her mind raced with possibilities. “When I spoke with the Minister previously, he made it seem as though it would be some time before I was needed.”
Unspeakable Elder interjected, his voice gravelly. “Not here. This is highly sensitive. We need to leave immediately.”
Hermione’s mind spun with a whirlwind of questions. A pang of guilt twisted in her stomach for leaving the celebration. Ginny’s achievement deserved to be honoured, and they had already spent a lifetime rushing into unknown situations. But with Kingsley calling her so soon—she couldn’t ignore it.
Rising from her seat, Hermione summoned her cloak, dispelled her privacy charms, and returned to the kitchen. “I’m sorry, everyone,” she said, quickly meeting each of their eyes. “I really have to go.”
“Go?” Ron echoed, alarm flickering across his face. “What do you mean, go Mione? You just got here!”
“I’ll explain later, I promise,” she said, her tone gentle yet resolute. “This is something I need to handle.”
Harry's brow furrowed in concern. “But you don’t work at the Ministry. Are you sure you’re alright, Hermione? I could come with you.”
She managed a light laugh, her voice smoothing into an easy lie. “It’s a joint project, Harry. You know how St. Mungo’s is always eager to give my lab new tasks. You’d be bored out of your mind—unless you’ve developed a sudden interest in magibiology?”
He gave a reluctant nod, still frowning slightly, as he sat back down beside Ginny. “Alright. But just be careful, yeah?”
“I’ll make it up to you, Ginny, I promise,” Hermione added, a soft smile crossing her face.
“Right you will,” George interjected, slinging an arm around Ginny with a dramatic wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll send you the time and place for dinner, so no excuses!”
The table broke into playful groans and laughs as the tension lifted. “Oh, give it a rest, George,” Ginny teased, rolling her eyes. “’Mione’s much too smart to be caught dead out with the likes of you. And besides, it’s me she’s meant to be fussing over. Now you’ll have to go swing by that new pub with me!”
“Then I suppose we shall,” Hermione couldn’t help but smile as the warmth of their laughter wrapped around her, a moment of peace before stepping into the unknown. “Unspeakable Hecat, if you’d lead the way?” she said, her tone professional once more. Hecat nodded curtly. With a flick of his wand, they were gone, the familiar rush of Apparition wrapping her like a cloak, pulling her swiftly into whatever lay ahead.
The Atrium was bustling with energy, despite it being a weekend. Wizards and witches rushed past, voices blending into a steady hum, the occasional burst of laughter or heated debate cutting through. Despite the lively atmosphere, a cold dread settled in her stomach. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, focusing on the sound of her footsteps echoing against the polished floors as she followed Hecat and Elder through the throng. At last, they arrived at a set of heavy, dark wood doors, embossed with the Ministry’s crest and flanked by enchanted sconces. Hecat turned to her, his face impassive.
“Wait here,” he said, motioning toward the entryway.
Hermione nodded, her mouth dry. As Hecat disappeared through the doors, she stood rigid, struggling to quiet her thoughts. This felt hauntingly similar to those summons during the war—times when they’d been briefed on missions that changed everything, thrusting them into danger without a second thought. A nervous rhythm of thoughts drummed in her mind, speculation and worry swirling as she glanced around the hallway, feeling the weight of the unknown pressing on her. Finally, the door creaked open, and Hecat re-emerged, giving her a slight nod to indicate it was time. She took a steadying breath and stepped forward into the office.
The room was imposing, with tall shelves lined with books and documents, and portraits of former ministers lining the walls, their expressions ranging from solemn to downright disapproving. In the middle of the room, Kingsley Shacklebolt sat behind a large mahogany desk, exuding an air of calm authority. His gaze was steady and light, though a flicker of something serious lingered in his eyes. To his left stood Unspeakable Rakepick, the head of the Department of Mysteries—a tall, commanding woman with an intense gaze that seemed to take in every detail at once, her expression as unreadable as always.
Two other figures sat across from Kingsley, their profiles instantly recognizable: Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy. Hermione’s breath caught, though she kept her expression neutral. Nott was staring intently at Kingsley, his posture poised but relaxed. She hadn’t seen him much since the war, but she knew bits and pieces of his story. He had covertly passed information to the Order and, as it turned out, done what he could to shield students from the Carrows’ vicious rule at Hogwarts. His efforts had been met with a brutal response from his father, who had attempted to publicly disown—and worse—Theo, only to end up in Azkaban after the attempt was thwarted. She’d heard he’d been granted control of the Nott estate, but beyond that, his path had largely stayed out of the public eye.
Malfoy, however, was a more familiar figure, if only through the news she occasionally caught wind of. He’d trained in Paris, taking up a Potions Mastery just as his godfather had. He’d maintained a low profile abroad, likely because of the lingering infamy attached to the Malfoy name. Still, she hadn’t realised he’d returned to Britain—especially not to work in this capacity. His gaze met hers with a slight flicker of surprise, then sharpened, his expression as cool and unreadable as she remembered.
Kingsley’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Hermione, please, take a seat.” He gestured to the chair between Theo and Draco. With a small nod, Hermione stepped forward, settling herself in the chair between the two wizards, acutely aware of the tension in the room.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” Kingsley said, his voice low and steady. “You three have been selected for a mission of utmost importance. It requires both your expertise and utmost discretion. At 2 a.m. UTC, the European Space Agency was alerted to a disturbance—something unusual appeared in our solar system, near Mars.”
Hermione’s brows knitted in confusion, but she kept silent. Mars? She could feel Draco shift beside her, his curiosity likely as piqued as her own.
“Upon further investigation,” Kingsley continued, “the ESA identified the disturbance as an exploratory spacecraft, one originally launched over a decade ago. It was intended for atmospheric research on Europa but was knocked off course after colliding with a meteoroid. They lost track of it years ago, and yet now, inexplicably, it has returned.”
“Returned?” Theo echoed, his dark gaze narrowing. “And how exactly does this involve us?”
Kingsley’s expression grew more serious, his gaze shifting among the three of them. “The ESA has requested retrieval, and the Director General has made a specific request for our involvement. He, as well as several wizarding members of the council, suspect that whatever the craft encountered out there has altered it in ways that defy muggle understanding.”
Draco leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp. “And the rest don’t suspect…?”
“The team you will be working with know nothing about the possibility of magical involvement—nor should they,” Kingsley replied firmly. “But they do have concerns that whatever the craft encountered could be dangerous. This is where the Statute of Secrecy becomes paramount. You three will be embedded in the muggle mission as specialists—undercover, of course.”
A beat of silence hung in the air as Hermione processed his words. The implications were staggering. The muggles’ lack of understanding, combined with the need to monitor any potential magical threat, was a volatile combination.
Kingsley’s gaze settled on her first. “Hermione, your cover will be as the mission’s medical expert—a ‘surgeon,’ though your responsibilities will extend well beyond that. They believe your knowledge of exobiology and pathology will be vital.” He shifted his attention to Theo. “Theo, you’ve been assigned as the engineering specialist. This role gives you access to critical areas of the ship the moment you arrive. It’s essential that you neutralise any magical threats before they’re noticed by Muggles. If you encounter anything that warrants further investigation, even on a hunch, put the area under stasis immediately. Use Muggle-repelling charms as a safeguard so you can analyse it fully at a later time.” Kingsley’s gaze moved to Draco, whose eyebrow lifted slightly, though otherwise he managed to keep his expression unreadable. “And Draco, you’ll be their chemist. They’ll rely on you to identify and analyse any unknown substances or energy sources you come across.”
Hermione caught a flicker of surprise across Draco’s face. She knew he had specialised in Potions, but posing as a Muggle chemist? She could only imagine what was going through his mind at the prospect of working in a Muggle lab. Still, she had to admit—from what she had heard, Draco was as skilled as they came.
Kingsley leaned forward, his voice lowering with an edge that made Hermione’s pulse quicken. “This mission is unprecedented. You’ll be venturing into a Muggle-controlled environment, bound by their protocols and safety standards. Your magical abilities will be restricted to prevent any breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Any unauthorised use of magic will be dealt with harshly.”
A chill settled over Hermione as she absorbed his words. A manned mission to Mars. The potential for magical interference from beyond their world. And she would be heading straight into it.
“There’s more information you’ll need once you arrive,” Kingsley continued, snapping her from her thoughts. “A Portkey to the research centre leaves in twenty minutes. The Director General, Antonio Rodotà, will greet you there in his office. Remember, outside of him, no Muggles are to be made aware of the existence of magic.”
The gravity of the mission sank in with finality. This was no ordinary task; it would test everything she had learned and challenge her in ways she had never imagined.
“Right,” she said, her voice steadying as a flicker of determination ignited within her. “Let’s do this then.”
The three exchanged glances—Nott’s expression unreadable, while Malfoy’s lips twitched, as if he was suppressing a smile. Hermione couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or a bad one.
They quickly gathered their things and wrote brief letters to be dispatched to their loved ones while Kingsley assured them that a cover story had been established and will be forwarded to explain their absence. As Kingsley handed them the Portkey, Hermione felt a strange blend of exhilaration and apprehension. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for—a chance to make a difference, to contribute to something greater than herself. With the Portkey pulsing in her hand, she knew they were no longer just Hermione Granger, Theodore Nott, and Draco Malfoy; they were scientists, spies, and—perhaps—humanity’s best chance.