A Wizarding Internship
Hermione was sitting on her trunk, reading a copy of An Arithmantic Atlas of Alsace, which was the book she currently had charmed to look like Hogwarts: A History. She had five more pages to go, and if she hurried, she could return it before it was time to head to her meeting with McGonnagall, without incurring the wrath of Madam Pince.
She was pointedly ignoring Lavender and Pavrati as she read. They were furiously tossing things from their wardrobes into their own trunks, items flung from one girl to the other as they attempted to sort out who owned what in a mad flurry after breakfast and before the train arrived. Hermione had been packed for almost a week. There was no sense in putting it off something predictable, and getting stressed at the last minute. It wasn’t like being late for the train because you had failed to pack your trunk was going to mean you got to stay at Hogwarts for the summer, however much one might want to.
But she had forced herself to learn enough tact to not mention this to Pavrati and Lavender. They would hardly appreciate her advice and had moaned and whinged about Hermione’s packing being “distracting” while they were trying to perfect their eyelash curling charms. Apparently, it was Hermione’s fault that one set of Lavender’s eyelashes had ended up looking rather like a fuzzy caterpillar, and had crawled off her eye lid and tried to hide in her ear canal, and had to be retrieved by Madam Pomfrey with tweezers. They had refused to speak to her for two days after Hermione had mentioned that this sort of mistake was exactly why self-transfiguration was dangerous, and perhaps it shouldn’t be performed by someone who had gotten a Poor on their last Transfiguration assignment.
An “I told you so” about end of term packing wouldn’t mend that relationship, and Hermione wasn’t going to say it. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t lounge against her own packed trunk and read a book while her roommates panicked, getting louder and shriller as Pavrati attempted to bounce on her trunk to get it to close, and when that failed, Lavender joined her.
With one last wistful glance at a particularly interesting diagram of the most arithmatically potent sites in Strasbourg, Hermione snapped the book closed, stuck a reluctant Crookshanks in his carrier and headed down to meet McGonnagall, dropping off the last of her library books off on her way, wishing Madam Prince would maybe, one day, agree to summer book loans.
She knocked on the office door, and Professor McGonnagall called her in, waving her into a chair in front of her desk.
“Miss Granger, I understand you wish to discuss your coursework for your fourth year?”
“Yes, Professor McGonnagall. I’d like to return the time turner, and I think I’ll drop Muggle Studies as you suggested. That, with dropping Divination, should give me a more normal year next year.”
“That seems very wise of you, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonnagall agreed, her stern face softening a bit.
Hermione pulled the chain out from around her neck, and handed it to her Head of House. Her hand gripped it for a second before returning it, before forcing herself to let it go. It had been so useful, but really, there was no need to make the summer any longer than it already was.
“You have handled owning it admirably, I do believe no one suspected you had it, and I remain impressed by your scholastic achievements this year,” Hermione’s Head of House said as she tucked the time turner back into the drawer. “Still, I admit I am proud of you for choosing to reduce your workload for next year. Prioritization is just as important as any of the subjects we teach here. And I think I have found a way for you to remain engaged next year, without resorting to time travel. We spoke a few weeks ago about the prospect of what Muggles would call a summer internship,” Professor McGonnagall said. “Are you still interested?”
“Yes, Professor. Very much so.”
“I know had said that finding you a summer position might be challenging, due to certain biases in our world. The Ministry doesn’t have a program for summer students, and finding positions without family connections in England is deplorably difficult. Would you be willing to go abroad?”
Hermione had firmly quashed all her hope for this summer several weeks ago, but at that, it flooded back in a rush, and she practically vibrated with eagerness. She’d found a position? Where Hermione would have to go abroad!?
“Yes, of course, Professor! I’d love to get to explore other wizarding cultures.”
A soft knock on the door, and it swung open.
“Ah, Professor Snape, thank you for joining us. Perfect timing, as usual,” McGonnagall said. “Please, sit.”
Snape billowed in, taking the chair next to Hermione stiffly. She still hadn’t forgiven him for what he had said about Sirius, and she forced herself to look ahead, so as not to glare. He had saved their lives, so she would remain polite, no matter how aggravating he was.
“I’ve given the matter of a great deal of thought, and I think, with the assistance of Professor Snape, we have thought of a solution. You wrote in the CV you gave me that you are fluent in both German and French. Has Mr. Weasley mentioned the Quidditch World Cup to you?”
“The World Cup? Yes, I believe it’s in August, and hosted in England. Ron is quite excited.” Hermione tended to tune out Quidditch-talk, but Ron’s excited speculation about teams and players and standings had sunk into her brain that much, at least.
“Yes, pity the Scottish team didn’t make the cut this year, and the English team looks so poor this year, eh, Severus? But I think the Irish have a chance.”
“A pity.” Professor Snape droned, looking bored. For once, Hermione found herself agreeing with him. Why was the wizarding world so obsessed with such a nonsensical sport? “Miss Granger, what we are about to discuss must not be disclosed to anyone in the school. And, if you agree, you will be formally bound to an agreement of secrecy. No mention of this to Mr. Potter, or any of the multitudes of Weasleys you associate with. You may tell your parents only in the vaguest of terms, and there is a letter here for their signature, but you must inform them you have agreed to a non-disclosure agreement, as I believe the muggles call it.” Snape pulled a flat black stone from his pocket, etched with a complicated symbol, and tapped it with his wand. It began to glow silver. “Touch this, and swear yourself to secrecy on this manner. It forms a binding contract, and I will know if you have broken it.”
“Yes sir.” Hermione looked to Professor McGonnagall,who nodded at her encouragingly, and placed her hand on the stone. “I, Hermione Granger, swear not to disclose, other than to my parents, what we have and will discuss today, unless given permission to speak of it.” Snape scowled, and Hermione was glad she’d added the limits to her vow.
“I have an acquaintance who is a Healer for the Bulgarian National Quidditch team,” Snape said. “I’ve spoken to her, and, based on Professor McGonnagall’s recommendation, and your final exam results, the wardcrafter for the team would be willing to take you as an assistant for the season, as a favour to us. She’s getting older, Quidditch stadiums are large, and she could stand some young legs to help set up and test her wards. If you performance is satisfactory, and you are in agreement, she would be willing to continue a more formal apprenticeship in the future.” An apprentice?! Hermione practically bounced in her seat (a habit she had been desperately trying to quash) – and literally bit her tongue to keep from interrupting. “Do not embarrass me. You would need to tell your friends that you had remained with your parents, and not disclose what you learned, how you learned it, where you learned it, and what you did over the summer with anyone outside of this room. You will sign a confidentiality contract and wear a glamour, as required by the team. As I am sure you can imagine, the details of the security arrangement for the teams are kept very secret. But it should provide a good understanding of the intricacies of spellcraft should you wish to pursue it. The wardcrafter is a member of the International Society for Spellcraft and Wardcraft. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, in the end notes for the Standard Book of Spells-”
“A book, how predictable,” he sneered. “I am, of course, a member. As Professor McGonnagall suspected, with the current political environment, even with your bookishness,”- his inflection made that seem like a horrible insult- “it would be difficult to find you a position within England. they have used my connections to find this placement. Take these letters, do NOT open them on the train, go home, read them, discuss with your parents. There is a Portkey ticket to Prague for Thursday at 10 am, and a connecting Portkey for Varna at 12:30. Wardcrafter Iskra Dobrenova will meet you in Varna, and has arranged accomodations. If you can keep your mouth closed long enough to fool her into thinking you’ll be tolerable to work with for a summer, she will sign a contract with you, otherwise, she will arrange to send you back home. If you choose, after reviewing the documents, not to attend, simply send an owl from Diagon Alley the day before.”
A portkey?! Hermione had always wanted to try one, the arithmancy that went into creating them was amazing. And Wardcrafter Dobrenova! She was famous, and Hermione had read the most fascinating article about a new theory of anchoring wards to living beings, based on traditional charmwork that she’d published in das Internationale Zeitschrift für Zauberkunst in January... Hermione forced her face into more adult-like seriousness, and even made her bouncing foot still, as Snape sneered again, obviously seeing her excitement.
“There will be no swashbucking adventures in Bulgaria, Miss Granger, and you will follow instructions. I trust you to behave as if you have never even met a Gryffindor. No madcap schemes, no haring off unescorted, and no international incidents. Professor McGonnagall has vouched that she thinks you have a sensible head on your shoulders, and I have informed the Wardcrafter that she is to send you right home if you step one foot out of line.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sure you will do the school proud, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonnagall said, with a bit of a glare at her counterpart. “We wouldn’t have offered this opportunity if we hadn’t believed in you, and I assure you, despite the excitement, it should be a very safe and educational summer. Now, you’d best be off to catch the train, while we go and round up the stragglers.”
“Thank you, Professors, I’m very grateful, and I’ll be sure to do you proud,” Hermione said, standing and leaving the room.
Hermione carefully closed the door behind her and listened for a click, and walked at a sedate pace down the hall, then looked both ways to check if anyone was around. Finding no one, she squealed, pumping her fists in the air as she spun in a circle.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Bulgaria! An escape from her parents! An apprenticeship with the ISSW! Working with Wardcrafter Dobrenova! It was going to be a fantastic summer.
Good things truly did come to those who worked hard.