Time Sensitive
From the POV of a very old Unspeakable:
June, 10th, 1999
The Department of Mysteries was not a place one wandered—not into, not through—it was not a place one Floo’ed, Apparated, nor Disapparated.
Not anymore.
Robert Threep had been an Unspeakable in the Department of Time Magic for one-hundred-and-six years. He expected to continue being so for another fifty. (There was, after all, just a bit of goblin blood—and a bit of goblin magic—in the family tree; but no one outside the family need know that; and no one in or out of the family would comment if Great Aunt Isley’s ears had gotten quite long, and her nose, rather prominent in effect upon her face; and well, Robert’s ears and nose seemed determined to go the same way, requiring a bit of shrinking potion every few decades.)
In all his many years working at the Department of Mysteries, Threep had never heard of an apprentice or an intern Unspeakable. One either was one or wasn’t—it was not for dabbling.
But it seemed a Miss Hermione Jean Granger was determined to make the unusual, usual.
Robert had been the wizard to read Miss Granger’s first request for a Time-Turner; one of the youngest students he’d ever approved based on the recommendation of Albus Dumbledore.
Upon the Time-Turner’s return, he didn’t expect to ever run across the name Granger again. Certainly, he didn’t expect to hear it being shrieked through his hallowed halls at work.
Robert had been researching late when the sounds of the first prophecy shattered. One, then dozens, then years worth, tinkling like the death of dreams and starlight. Voices, a cacophony of secrets, never to be heard again once silence fell—so much knowledge, lost.
And then the screams. Children’s cries of “Granger,” “Harry,” “Sirius,” “Ron,” and “Bellatrix.” Then all anyone seemed able to choke out was “Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort.” The name echoed through black halls to be taken up by the brain room. The psychic screams whimpered through Robert’s mind.
What’s this? Robert had stood up in alarm. The brains whispered their worries. And Robert made his decision.
It has to be done, Robert Threep told himself as he pointed his wand at his life’s work with a “Reducto, Frangere.”
The Department of Mysteries wasn’t for children and cults to run mad through. It wasn’t for politicians. It wasn’t for nutters who should have been locked up in St. Mungo’s ages past. And it wasn’t open to the public. It certainly wasn’t open to Dark Lords and dueling.
It was for research.
But apparently, just anyone felt they were welcome. Just anyone could now waltz through the doors, could welcome themselves to plucking out prophesies and chats with the brains and the throwing of corpses into death.
Madness.
Followed by a year of madness. Of darkness so foul Threep had no regrets. He didn’t dwell much on Time-Turners during those dark days. For it was he who broke them.
Threep shattered the Time-Turners the same night Miss Granger and her school colleagues and Death Eaters and Headmasters invaded his place of work.
Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries? Poor Robert had gone spare at the thought. The very idea of a Time-Turner in their hands? Ghastly. And the Minister was no help. That man buried his head deeper and deeper into the sand, squeezed his eyes shut, and pretended until Voldemort near said boo to his nose.
Robert spent much of those dark times burying his own head in Great Aunt Isla’s garden, pretending he’d never worked nor heard of an Unspeakable much less a Time-Turner.
Voldemort fell, and Robert went back to being an Unspeakable. And security in the Department of Mysteries changed with him. He had had quite enough of witches and wizards wandering in with no guide, no note. The fireplace Floo’s became one directional and that direction was out. And to enter his department, one had to be invited in by the protection wards Threep commissioned.
Life returned to normal.
Harry Potter was an Auror in training. Death Eaters and their sympathizers were all on the run. He quite gratefully put the entire year behind him.
Of course, in a form of celebrity, Miss Granger appeared rather often. In newspapers, academic articles, and correctional letters to the press.
Then came her letter to Robert requesting a Time-Turner for her combined 7th/8th-year return to Hogwarts, as the prodigious young lady was attempting to complete every available N.E.W.T. all at once.
Moved by such academic rigor, Robert was loath to inform her that the Time-Turners were gone. As loath as he was pleased upon her return note of thanks—indicating she had been unaware of the continued loss of such a valuable tool.
He was less pleased with the proceeding letter come summer.
A proposed internship, an extended summer 7th/8th-year project which should include Theodore Nott, who had given a generous donation to the Unspeakable’s department just this last Christmas. As well he might, considering the loads of dark artifacts collected from his estate.
Robert was sad to find his estimate of Miss Granger’s intelligence rather lowered, purely through her chosen association with the son of an imprisoned Death Eater. Not only associating but requesting the use of the Unspeakable’s archives on Time-Turners?
He felt moved to write a congratulatory note of her success in her N.E.W.T.’s before penning a quietly pointed reminder that as she had graduated—and that, even if Time-Turner’s still existed, the department was not open for non-students, (certainly not to the associates of Death Eaters).
He settled down, expecting to hear no more from a Miss Granger beyond the sensible confines of the Daily Prophet—for which she had been a known scandal subject—and perhaps Great Aunt Islay’s Witch Weakly—should such a magazine be so lucky as to feature anyone of real substance.
In the following days, Robert wondered if he had been a tad harsh with the witch who surely had a similar hunger for knowledge that he felt. Robert found that he was even a touch sad to acknowledge that it was surely impossible to ever hear from Miss Granger again, as he had been informed that she’d taken a position within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. A woefully confused department with so little interest or support in favor of bringing magical creatures equality that Robert doubted even Miss Granger could pass legislature of any importance.
A further fit of whimsy almost persuaded Robert to commission and name a bench seat in Granger’s academic honor. For she had published several theoretical articles on the subject of a rather subdued field of study. (Though, one should account for Robert’s equal desire to simply have a comfortable new spot to sit down.) The Department of Time Magic was mostly quiet these days. An excellent place to have lunch and catch up on his backlog of interdepartmental requests. And wouldn’t a bench be so convenient just so? Besides! There were, after all, any number of statues and memorabilia being sold of Harry Potter and the trio.
One can imagine his surprise then, when not a day later, Robert received a letter from the British Minister of Magic requesting the first-ever intern in the Department of Mysteries—specifically, in the Time Magic Department. Such an unusual request! No one went into the job lightly, you either were or weren’t an Unspeakable.
When he got to the end and read the applicant's name, Robert almost fell out of his chair. For the note concerned none other than a Miss Hermione Jean Granger!
And not only was she seeking a paid internship as an Unspeakable, she was also planning to continue as a paid employee in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Additionally, she was requesting the potential loan of a Time-Turner (Should one come into existence during her internship) to accommodate this schedule of two full-time jobs.
Most unusual.
Most unusual indeed!
Threep considered the letter once more—with its accompanied letters of recommendation. One from Minister Shacklebolt, one from Harry Potter, and another from Minerva McGonagall as Headmaster of Hogwarts. The little Granger witch had written up her own project proposal. The matter of study she pursued really couldn’t take place anywhere but the Department of Mysteries. And if the witch in question gave him no pause, the proposed partner for this project was, once again, near intolerable.
It was clear to Robert that Hermione Jean Granger and a Mr. Theodore Nott must already be in possession of, or near completion of creating, a Time-Turner. And Miss Granger was politely threatening to hand a Time-Turner over to some ghastly country, probably the Americans should the British Department of Mysteries decline.
Amusement won out over disgruntlement. After all, to presume unusual people would act in a usual fashion was, perhaps, a most foolish expectation.
And so, Robert Threep gave way to academic progress and invited not one, but two!, non-Unspeakables into the Department of Mysteries— after only a little humming, glowering, and muttering at the folly that must surely befall his department.
Time Sensitive
One week later
Robert Threep was taking tea with the brains when Granger discovered his hiding spot. Yes, alright, he’d been hiding from the imperious witch all week, huddled under an invisibility cloak, and the clatter of his teacup nearly gave him away.
He’d have to switch to those terrible paper plastic cups with the cardboard sleeves they sold at the cafe downstairs. The sharp clink of porcelain wasn’t worth the price of another lecture from Hermione the teenage witch.
“Protocol, Mr Threep,” seemed Miss Granger’s answer to all of his objections when she began to take over the time room for her and Nott’s research. She slipped in that magical word like a spell that smoothed other witches and wizards out of her way. And Robert Threep found he didn’t much appreciate being treated like an unwanted facial wrinkle.
“Protocol dictates that the time room must be used exclusively for time-based research. It’s not a lunch room, Mr Threep!”
“Protocol states that dangerous experimentation is permitted so long as all the precautions are met.”
“Protocol states that unless you are fully briefed upon a project you cannot endanger yourself and others by participating. Should you like to oversee my and Nott’s work, please read these texts, and our thesis papers.”
Just who, Robert Threep despaired by the end of the week, was head of the Time Magic Department, and who was the intern?
He should have known he made a mistake the first day Miss Granger walked into his office, sharply on the dot, dragging her pet delinquent Nott behind her.
An office nobody was supposed to know anything about!
And she had the look of someone expecting him to have expected her. Pert nose in the air, puff brown hair strangled into a sort of bun at the top of her head that was already coming apart—and it not even eight in the morning. He imagined she strangled innocent witches and wizards into her busy schedules the same way she dealt with her hair. Brute force.
So maybe he had been expecting—hoping for—a bright-eyed youngster eager to learn from his illustrious career. Eager to listen.
One can only excuse this laughable daydream about young people in general because Mr Threep had no children, nor nieces, nephews, nor neighbors. What Mr Threep had was dear Great Aunt Isley and their Crup, Frue. And Frue had no Crup pups either. Frue had her bone collection in the garden much like Threep had his relics and research in the Ministry. (There was really no place safer than a Crup’s bone pile. Even a nosy gnome was sure to be eaten before finding the Crup’s treasures. And Threep guarded his office as possessively as his Crup her bones.)
So no, Mr. Threep knew nothing of children, nor teenagers, and certainly he knew very little of young adult war heroes. Such hardened new adults were rather overly confident in Robert Threep’s opinion.
Hermione listened only so long as Robert talked practical, applicable sense. She wasn’t interested in his advice about where she should live in proximity to the Ministry—she had her own opinions about it. She wasn’t moved by his concern for her public image, nor his concerns of propriety in her keeping the company of known, evil, young bachelors like Theodore Nott. And she certainly didn’t care for Robert Threep’s suggestions that she re-read core texts on the basics of time magic. She’d done so at Hogwarts, and she was at the Ministry to read banned books.
To be fair, Robert Threep was also uninterested in the many improvements Miss Granger felt compelled to suggest he implement: Re-organizing his desk space, incorporating more Muggle-based technology into their security, and fixing known office hours in which Granger could depend upon finding Threep in his own office. When she presented him with a schedule to consolidate his own daily tasks, Robert Threep ungraciously accepted and ‘evenesco’ed’ the planner as soon as Miss Granger departed.
So it was only a matter of days before Theodore Nott decided to interfere with what had become a small sort of war. Theo had a lot of practice navigating two opposing groups—as he had been dodging Death Eaters and Order members and the war altogether for the greater part of his youth. Theodore was one of those people who worked hardest at not having to work—much less commit himself to another witch or wizard’s designs. He’d never been so content with his lot in life as he had when he inherited the many estates and accounts in the Nott name.
So it should be clear that when Theo decided to step in, he did so for entirely selfish reasons.
He was sick to death of Hermione and Mr Threep’s bickering. Because they didn’t bicker at each other. No, they were painfully polite in one another’s presence. As well they could be, because they spent the rest of their time complaining to Nott.
And because Theo heard everything they were not saying to one another, he also knew they were bound to be intellectual soul-mates if they would only stop trying to order the other about.
***
The sharp click of Granger’s sensible heels set the hair bristling up Robert Threep’s back, and he found himself tucking his feet up onto the bench and clutching one hand over his mouth to muffle even his breathing.
He was owed ten minutes peace! And by Godric, he would have it!
Meanwhile, Theo guided Hermione to the opposite side of the bench where he thought Mr Threep might be huddling beneath an invisibility cloak. The quiet clink of china from a quivering hand confirmed Nott’s suspicions, as he firmly sat Hermione down and poked a finger to the center of her forehead—just hard enough to keep her from standing up again.
“Theo!” Hermione growled, batting ineffectively at his hand. “Theo! Give me back my wand!”
“You may have your wand back after you let me get a few words in.” Theo held their wands aloft in a firm hand.
“Fine!” Hermione crossed her arms and glared expectantly.
Threep watched this interaction with vague disapproval. How dare the young wizard manhandle the witch so!
“You need to stop terrorizing Robert Threep,” Theo said sternly.
“Me?!” Hermione squawked.
Threep also blinked owlishly at this revelation. Wishing fervently that he dared to take a sip of tea and settle the ruffled feathers of his thoughts.
Theo nodded firmly. “I know what you’re doing, and I don’t need you to fight this battle. Robert Threep is perfectly entitled to his dislike of me. He lived his whole life for Time-Turners, and Death Eaters are the reason his life’s work was destroyed. He’s kept his opinions professional and you need to do the same.”
“He refused our project, and only accepted it because of Shacklebolt!”
“It’s the Department of Mysteries, Hermione, not a local pub. They’re supposed to be selective.”
“But you’re not your father!”
“Other than Mr Threep’s general dislike of me, do you have anything else against the man?” Theo smiled smugly.
Hermione huffed, “Of course not. He’s brilliant.”
Theo glanced to the side.
Threep, for his part, stiffened up like a board, as it seemed the young man met his gaze even through the cloak’s protections.
There were some uncanny resemblances in Theodore Nott to Robert’s late friend Albus Dumbledore. And that wasn’t necessarily a good thing!, in Threep’s opinion.
“And wouldn’t our project benefit from that brilliance?” Theo continued.
“Not if he finds a way to kick you off it. This is your project more than mine, Theo, and without you, this vein of magic might never have been explored!”
Threep almost bleated out a protest. Of course, he wasn’t going to sabotage two young people with a brilliant project! But he couldn’t quite bring himself to throw off the cloak and admit to having hidden himself away from Miss Granger in a way he hadn’t even hidden from Death Eaters.
“Excellent to hear, Granger. But as it is my project, I’d appreciate you not fouling it up for me before the week’s up. Let me deal with proving myself to Robert Threep. And maybe you should invest all this protective energy into something beneficial. Like improving your business wardrobe.”
Threep frowned, trying to get a better look at Granger’s outfit through the folds of the invisibility cloak. She looked perfectly pleasant to his mind. Rather like his Great Aunt Isley—which was quite proper and practical.
“Keep your nose out of my wardrobe,” Hermione sniffed.
“Exactly my sentiments. Agreed?” Theo held her wand just out of reach.
“Yes, fine, agreed!” Hermione snatched up her wand and batted aside his hand from her forehead. The young witch stormed back out of the brain room.
Theo lingered a moment, watching her depart, then turned back toward the bench.
“I do hope your tea hasn’t grown cold, Robert,” Theo knocked on the bench seat. “Have a lovely evening,” and then Theo strolled out.
Robert’s teacup clattered as he set it aside. His rumpled head appeared first as the cloak slipped down into his lap.
What in Godric’s name had that been about? Robert wondered; Feeling rather cornered and manipulated because he found he rather respected the young Theodore Nott. And, if the wizard ended up applying to be an Unspeakable at the end of this unordinary internship, Robert’s first instinct was no longer a confident, no.
Granger, by contrast, whom on paper he’d have said would be an absolute shoo-in to the Department, would be an absolute disaster of an Unspeakable. The witch needed an occupation in which she could freely chastise the rest of the Wizarding World into more honorable behavior. Magical law Enforcement, Robert Threep suspected, yes, that would suit Miss Granger quite well.
Perhaps there was some merit to this internship business.