Miss Hermione Granger,
Due to an administrative error, you have been reassigned from the Centaur Coalition to the Veela Vanguard effective immediately.
Please report to Cuthbert Mockridge, Department Head at 09:00 Monday 12th, December.
Sincerely,
Gethsemane Pickle
Head of The Department for the Regulation
And Control of Magical Creatures
Hermione spat her coffee all over the missive. Groaning, she shook off the parchment and cast a quick drying charm. Reassigned? Due to an administrative error? Sitting her coffee down on her desk, she grabbed the missive and stalked out of her office towards the lifts.
Hermione joined the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures after returning to Hogwarts for an unprecedented eighth year. She had been offered positions in other departments, but Hermione refused them all, preferring to fight for those who the Wizarding world - even after the war - still viewed as less than.
Two years later she achieved relative success working as a part of the Centaur Legion. Relative - in part - because she had yet to pursued all the department heads to vote on a name change. For her team and the entire division. Centaur Coalition, Veela Vanguard, Goblin Guild. Absolutely ridiculous. She was sure purposefully militant names were chosen to further imbed prejudices towards Beings. Not to mention being glaringly and needlessly alliterative.
The doors opened on Level Two and Hermione wasted no time replying to greetings as she made her way down to the Auror’s offices. She would apologize for her rudeness later; this couldn’t wait.
She found Harry outside Head Auror Dawlish’s office, speaking to Seamus Finnigan. They looked to be in a serious discussion, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Harry,” Hermione called, waiving the parchment, “I need to speak with you. Now.”
Harry whirled in her direction looking quite startled. Seamus opened his mouth to say something and Hermione interjected, “Please, Harry.”
Typically, Hermione prided herself on her ability to keep it together. It served her well, usually, but today she was having a harder time than normal allowing the feelings of hurt, betrayal, and anger to wash over her - rather than consume her.
Harry glanced at her, seeming to notice her trembling fingers and gestured forwards his office.
Setting in at his desk, Harry asked, “What’s going on, Hermione?”
She took a deep breath, “I’ve been reassigned.”
Harry’s eyes shot to hers in shock and concern. “Reassigned? You? Why?”
Glad of his commiseration, Hermione continued, “Yes, reassigned. Yes, me.” She glared down at the paper in her hand. “As for the why, I’ve been informed it was due to an - administrative error.” She enclosed the later in finger quotes.
Harry scrunched his nose, “Some administrative error. Where are they sending you?”
Hermione threw the paper onto his desk, “The Veela Vanguard - “
“Ridiculous name,” Harry interjected.
“No worse than Centaur Coalition,” Hermione replied, “But it’s not where I’m going, or the ridiculous name, that’s the real issue. The fact I’m being reassigned at all is the real issue; and the timing of it! It’s absolutely awful timing, Harry!”
She stood and begun pacing the small space between his desk and the door. Hair whipping behind her with the ferocity of her about-faced every fourth step. “My team is so close to negotiating for the full inclusion of Centaurs under the Being classification. Both sides have argued and disagreed for years, Harry. And we are this sodding close!”
She came to a stop and thrust her fingers towards him, mere millimeters from his face.
“Can I help?” he asked.
Hermione deflated, sinking back down into his chair, running her hands through her already wild curls. “I don’t know, Harry. The missive came directly from the Head of the DRCMC. She’s not buddy-buddy with anyone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
“But, I’m the Chosen One,” he grinned, earning a returned smile from Hermione.
“I appreciate the offer, Harry,” she said, “but as much as I hate being reassigned, you know I hate cashing in on you even more.”
He laid a hand across hers, squeezing gently, “You know I don’t care about that, Mione. But, I do care about you.”
She squeezed back. She was glad, no matter when they went through or how much time had passed, Harry Potter was in her corner. “I know, Harry, and I love you for it.”
Squeezing his hand once again, she stood saying, “I’ll meet with the Department Head on Monday and graciously accept the reassignment.” She held her hand up before Harry could interrupt. “I’ll accept the reassignment because I’ve heard a few rumors regarding an issue with Veelas up North. I know the Centaur deal will be in….decent hands…as much I hate to let it go. Do you know anything you could tell me about any reports of attacks on Muggles by a reported animal?”
Harry thought for a second before shaking his head. “If there have been any come through, I haven’t heard about it. My assignments don’t often line up with Muggle interactions.” He got up, coming around the desk to stand by Hermione, “But, come with me and we can ask Dawlish so you’ll be as prepared as possible next week.”
She briefly considered refusing. Nosing in on cases not assigned to him was pretty close to using the Chosen One card; but, if the transfer was happening, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be ahead once she started.
“Okay, Harry, thank you. Let’s go see what we can find out.”
———————————————————————————————————————————————————————-
“I appreciate your willingness to meet and speak with me, Mrs. Durand,” Hermione said, walking the beautiful woman to the end of the hallway.
After being abruptly reassigned, Hermione found she inherited quite the mess with the Veela Vanguard. Reports had been taken for the past few years alleging attacks on wizards and Muggles alike by Veela. The descriptions were often poor, the records not kept well - little organization, a lack of cohesion between the reports, discrepancies when reports were filed in Scotland or Wales versus England - and there only a handful of interviews directly with the alleged perpetrators.
Veela are notoriously private. Hermione learned about at Hogwarts, of course, but the information was severely limited. The Restricted Section held scant more and there were rumors some Pureblood families were descended from or at least some Veela in their lines. Their libraries were vast and ancient, and Hermione supposed at least one family would have journals or other accounts. She started with the Longbottom family, with being close to Neville, but their search of his family estate came up empty.
Hermione had been toying with the idea of sending letters to other families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Some, were obviously out of the question, but Abbott and MacMillan might yield some results. Their estates were nowhere near as large as the Parkinson’s, Greengrass’, Nott’s, or Malfoy’s, but Hermione had no real desire to contact them and figured the other two families would be a start. She made a note to check with Molly regarding the likelihood of the Prewetts having anything.
“Genevieve, please. And of course, Ms. Granger,” she began, turning to say her goodbyes, “but, I would appreciate your discretion when possible. I don’t want my darling, Brigitte, to have any trouble.” She clutched her coat as if wrapping herself up would keep the trepidation at bay. “I’m so worried, Ms. Granger, with her going to Hogwarts this coming fall. If you can’t find out what is causing all the pandemonium, I’m afraid the retaliatory attacks will get worse.”
The woman sniff gently - inherently daintier than Hermione would ever manage in her entire life.
“She’s just a little girl.” Her lips trembled ever so slightly.
Hermione laid a comforting hand on Genevieve’s arm, promising, “I am going to do everything within my power to make sure it doesn’t come to that.”
With a wane smile, Genevieve turned and entered the lift. Hermione watched her go puzzling over the timing. Three years, she had said. Nearly three years to the day when Genevieve had heard a friend of her cousin had begun acting strangely. Short tempered, twitchy, paranoid. The episodes became more frequent and severe within a short timespan. A month, two? The Veela couldn’t say for sure as her cousin lived in Southern France and they didn’t necessarily correspond regularly.
Hermione sighed. Another area where the magical world would benefit from Muggle technology. A good number of beings refused a connection to the Floo network because they are controlled and monitored by the Ministry of Magic. Few trusted the Wizarding government, and for good reason Hermione thought, but it made quick communication difficult.
She had just sat back down at her desk when a tapping sounded at the window. Hermione looked up to see a beautiful, tawny colored Eagle owl perched on the sill.
Getting up, Hermione grabbed a treat from the tin on her shelf and went to open the window. The owl swooped in, letter clutched delicately in it’s claws.
“Well, hello there,” Hermione cooed, reaching out her hand with a treat. The regal looking owl dropped the letter in favor of accepting the offered morsel.
Hermione picked up the letter, watching the owl look at her. “Ah, you must need a response then.” She sat back at her desk, wondering who would have sent her an owl during the day. Harry worked over in the Auror department, Ginny was away at training camp, and Neville had classes. All her other correspondence typically came via the tiny, paper airplanes the Ministry favored for internal correspondence.
She opened the letter with a small gasp. Shockingly familiar script caught her eye immediately. She slapped the letter face down on her desk, looking at the owl rather accusingly. “A little warning would have been nice.” The owl just cocked it’s head, maintaining eye contact.
“Very well, then,” she sighed. Surely there was a reason she was hearing from him after all these years. She just hoped beyond hope it was a good one.
Dear Miss
Miss
Granger,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I must seem odd to hear from me after all this time, but I implore you to keep reading and not immediately set fire to the parchment. It would upset Astrid. (I do remember your temper. We attended classes together for seven years, after all.)
I have information which may I know will interest you regarding the recent attacks. Don’t ask how I know; I couldn’t possibly write it down where anyone may see it.
Meet me for tea at a place of your choosing. Send the particulars back with Astrid; she has been instructed to await a response.
Sincerely,
Draco Lucius Malfoy