Chapter Text
MINISTER MAXIMILIAN CROWDY’S DEATH CONFIRMED
July 26th, 2008
To the great shock of parliamentary workers, historians, published conspiracy theorists, and ministry trolls across the country it was announced today that the Ministry of Magic has finally been able to officially close inquiries into the mysterious death of our 8th Minister, Maximilian Crowdy.
Crowdy, by all accounts, was a well-liked Minister. He had fathered nine children and was a devoted family man. Prior to his appointment, he had been working in the Wizengamot’s Administrative Offices. He went missing at the age of 67.
It has been plainly reported to the Prophet that he was the victim of a disgruntled employee. According to the Department of Mysteries the first Muggle Excuses Chairman, Theophilus Olyngworthe, was so incredibly put-out by the idea of sharing a foul-smelling workspace with others in the Muggle Liaison Office that he assassinated the Minister.
Despite the Prophet receiving the completed government report, several lines and pages are redacted. It appears that Olyngworthe was able to summon some kind of portal which killed Crowdy instantly. However, how exactly Olyngworthe orchestrated the assassination of the Minister and who actually solved the mystery is not something that is being shared with the public at this time. In response, the Mysteries Head Lachlann MacGille said, “If you aren’t happy with your report we can just keep it to ourselves next time.”
However, in an interesting at-first seemingly unrelated twist, authorities took into custody a Ministry Transportation Department employee, Theophilus Liddet, 121, at the Barbados Wizarding Retirement Community in Bathsheba, Barbados on Friday, July 25th, 2008. Liddet, as his first name suggests, is a descendent of Olyngworthe.
Allegedly, when confronted poolside, the wizard merely asked perplexed, “So, you figured it out, have you?” and he went with the authorities willingly. The parts of his interview that are not redacted are mostly of the vein of “I had no idea what happened” and “I did what, now?”
When we asked Vice Auror, Harry Potter, to elaborate he said, “This appears to be someone accidentally using magic in an unexpected way.” He did not elaborate any further.
As is to be expected in such a big case with so much of the information redacted, conspiracy theories have cropped up everywhere. The current talk in the Prophet break room is that Liddet and Olyngworthe are one and the same and they ran afoul in the Time Room.
Continued on Page 3...
SHOULD CROWDY’S FAMILY RECEIVE COMPENSATION, PAGE 4
CURRENT MINISTRY OPENINGS, PAGE 6
Hermione couldn’t help it. She laughed. She cackled, fittingly, like a witch in the middle of her beloved Muggle café. The article was preposterous. How was it possible that the Prophet was still thought of as the epitome of Wizarding Newspapers? Okay, Hermione conceded, most of it was based on things that could be considered half-truths at best.
The redacted information included her and her partner’s names, thankfully, and also Liddet’s interview. While Hermione was not permitted to attend, Severus and she were the ones who were tasked in redacting the reports. Therefore, Hermione knew exactly what Liddet had said.
On the third of June Liddet, in a fit of rage at finding out that Miller Saunders had somehow been granted yet another extended leave, wished upon him death outside his office. Liddet had been trying to get Saunders to retire for a decade as Liddet desperately wanted to coast at work for the last remaining years he had left. He had a very human reaction; wishing death upon annoying co-workers or employers is usually nothing but a fleeting emotion. But Liddet hadn’t expected what came next.
Because of Liddet's several great-grandfather’s illicit activity in arranging the death of Minister Crowdy in this same hallway, on this same date over two hundred years ago, the building had supplied the best means of following through. The door. Severus had not been thrilled to concede the point about the sentience of buildings.
The door that somehow, inexplicably, was a portal straight to the rippling Veil in the Death Chamber. How exactly Olyngworthe had achieved that is still not known. His records show that he had been a former employee of the Spirit Division prior to his Chairman appointment. And unless there used to be some departmental crossover that no longer exists, it would remain a mystery. The Unspeakables assigned to the Death Chamber had been evasive and not helpful in trying to reach a consensus. However, it was noted that they had increased the Chamber’s wards shortly after their interview.
But Liddet hadn’t known any of that, all he knew was that a door had materialized in front of him at the peak of his anguish; at the injustice of Saunders enjoying vacations and leaving at two in the afternoon on Fridays while he toiled away in the Transportation Department. And Liddet had done what any average wizard would do when presented with a phantom door. He had fled the hall. And then he had fled the building entirely, under the guise of a sabbatical, when the door had been finally noticed. Liddet had only chosen to flee internationally when the Minister started asking questions at the beginning of July.
The team of Unspeakables tasked with vanishing the door had treated it as a form of inanimate blood malediction. Their success actually opened the possibility to if not cure, then maybe extend the life of those affected by this type of blood curse. There was talk within the department about creating a cross-committee with St. Mungos, and the Cursebreaking Division at Gringotts to explore this further.
Lastly, greatly due to Saunders habit of skiving off work whenever possible, and trusting his superiors about their opinions on mysteriously appearing doors, he had survived to announce his retirement yesterday.
Hermione flipped her newspaper over, lest someone see the moving photo of Liddet’s arrest, literally poolside with a daiquiri in hand. It would have been comical really, if the initial use of the door wasn’t so morbid and depressing.
She fidgeted in her seat, adjusting her empty pastry plate. She had ordered a chocolate croissant. It was the first time Hermione had eaten one in ten years, since sending her parents on a permanent Australian holiday. She was learning to forgive herself, even if the process was slow and at times seemed unmanageable. It seemed that perhaps her partner wasn’t the only one bringing crates full of baggage into the relationship.
She smiled at that thought. The two of them whittling away at their own unpacking and lending a hand to the other when their suitcase was just too heavy. They both deserved happiness, Hermione realized.
At that moment the little bell above the café’s door dinged. Hermione looked over expectedly (she always did seem to think him into existence) and there he was.
Severus stood for a moment in the doorway before coming through it, searching for her. He was in his normal casual dark tailored clothes. Where everything fit just a bit too well, not that Hermione was complaining about that anymore. Severus' hair was tied back in the half-knot she found herself favoring. And, of course, a book was slung in the crook of his arm. She recognized it as being the one he had borrowed from her flat but Hermione couldn’t see the title.
When they finally made eye contact, Severus smirked slightly. The corner of his mouth upturning in just that particular way that she recognized as his. Hermione felt a smile cross her face in response. Severus gave her a nod and walked to the counter to order.
When Severus turned around again, he caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. He came to their table and pulled out his chair to sit across from her, leaving the book in his lap.
“Like what you see?” Severus asked, voice low.
She chuckled, hiding behind her coffee cup. “It’s a favorable view.”
His smirk widened, and he shook his head. Severus began to trace the tabletop’s wood grain with his finger.
He gestured towards the newspaper. “Anything of interest?”
“Not really,” Hermione said. “I didn’t read past the front page but they’re already talking about it being related to the Time Room.”
He grunted, “Pax, Mohebi, and Anderson are going to love that.”
“Do you know everyone in our department?”
“Perhaps.” Severus smile was knowing, and just a touch mischievous.
Hermione huffed.
“I actually have a proposal for you.”
Surprised, she exhaled, “Oh?”
“Yes.” Severus pushed the book across the table to her.
“The Tales of Beedle the Bard? This is the book you borrowed?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t really get a chance to pick which book of yours to read. If you remember, I was preoccupied.”
Hermione flushed slightly.
He tapped the cover with two fingers. “Have you ever thought of translating this out of Ancient Runes and into Modern English?”
She picked up the book and fanned the pages with her thumb. “Translate it? Would anyone even be interested in that? The average wizard considers these to be just fairy tales.” Hermione continued to flip through the book.
They sat quietly for several moments. Severus thanked the employee when they brought over his tea and pastry. He then flung an arm over the back of his chair, observing the café around them.
Severus didn’t look at her but quietly said, “I bet you could get it done by Christmas.”
Hermione's eyebrow rose as she flipped through The Wizard and the Hopping Pot. “A bet, Severus? It’s dangerous to challenge me. I’d caution against it.”
He chuckled darkly, a low seductive melody. “Perhaps I should tell you, I have no intention of collecting my winnings unless they were… debauched in nature.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, both pairs dark and deep.
The side of Hermione's mouth quirked. “It would be a good gift for the next Potter child, I suppose.” She placed the book open on the table as she admired a few of the illustrations.
Dismissive, Severus waved his hand back and forth. “Think bigger.”
She looked up at him.
“Bigger?”
“I think you could get it published for mass distribution.”
“But who -”
Severus turned towards her, leaning his elbows on the table between them. “I know someone in publishing. While they owe me countless favors, I think you could get published on your own merit.”
Hermione's eyes narrowed. “Who exactly is your contact in publishing?”
“Draco Malfoy.”
“Malfoy,” she repeated. “I don’t think I’ve had a conversation with him since he had that soiree seven years ago. I’m not even sure -”
“His wedding.” Severus took a bite of his pastry.
Hermione stopped short, the book all but forgotten still open on the table. “His what?”
“That party he threw seven years ago. The one where you attempted to shove platitudes down my throat?”
She nodded dumbly.
“That was in celebration of his wedding.”
“I was invited to his wedding?!” Hermione asked incredulously.
Severus snorted. “No, the ceremony was only for close friends and family. You attended the -“
Cold realization flushed through her. “Reception. I was a guest at Malfoy’s wedding reception.”
An eyebrow rose. “You didn’t know?”
“The invitation was so elaborate, the typography so over-the-top… I didn’t even read it before tossing it.” Hermione covered her face with her hands. “But then practically everyone I knew asked if I was going to the estate for some kind of party and I couldn’t very well be the only abstaining individual then.”
Severus twirled his spoon in his tea and nodded. “Lucius really did go slightly overboard with the guest list. Did you not notice the traditional wedding attire? I admit it was all a bit grand but -"
“Muggle-born!” Hermione explained. She gasped, “Bugger, I didn’t even leave a gift! He may not even talk to me let alone about publishing a book, Severus.”
“He will,” he said confidently.
Hermione snapped the book closed. “Fine, if you get me a meeting with Malfoy, which now sounds as much of a herculean feat as any, I will consider translating this. I could at least use the opportunity to apologize.”
He smirked as if he had already known that she would accede. Severus somehow knew her better than she knew herself.
She found that she didn’t really mind that thought at all.
---
“I’m suspended? This is ludicrous,” Hermione spat at her fireplace.
MacGille sighed loudly. “The Obliviators wanted you sacked, Granger.”
She blinked and muttered, “This is acceptable, thanks.”
The flames coming off of MacGille’s head made his red-brown hair iridescent. “I put myself on the line with Arnie. You will agree to mediation, Granger, if you want to return back to work.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. She did not like Arnold Peasegood, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. In a startling moment of clarity Hermione wondered if the third floor just naturally attracted people she greatly disliked. Peasegood tended to be a bit too brash, too confident, and he never let her forget her error that resulted in the Chipping Clodbury Riot.
A Bill of Goblin Rights had been one of her first proposals at the Ministry when she was in the Creatures Department. Hermione had thought that if the Ministry worked with the Brotherhood of Goblins it would lend an air of credibility. She hadn’t anticipated the Riot and was disappointed that Bodrig the Boss-Eyed had supported it.
Hermione had kept her head down after that, the shame of her failure feeling like it was constantly hanging over her head. It was too much change too fast after the War. She had learned to take things slow after that, matching the infuriating sluggardly pace of bureaucracy.
“Granger?” MacGille asked, interrupting her mental musings.
She apologized, “Sorry, I was just thinking about something…”
His next question was hesitant, “You will return to work, won’t you?”
“Oh,” Hermione realized he must have misinterpreted her silence. “Yes, yes, of course.”
MacGille breathed, relieved. “It would hurt the department to lose you as an Unspeakable, Granger, I won’t lie. This is just a minor setback. It’s really more just -”
“Keeping up appearances,” she supplied.
He cocked his head to the side. “Something like that. Appeasing the status quo.”
Hermione nodded but didn’t say anything for a beat. “How long is the suspension?”
“A week. Paid.”
“Very well. I’ll see you next week.”
“Granger,” MacGille said as his head disappeared from her floo.
She sat on her sofa, cradling her now cold cup of coffee. Hermione had just sat down as MacGille’s head popped into the floo. Those damn whiny Obliviators. It could be worse, she supposed, although she couldn’t help but feel like she failed at something here. She grimaced as she took a sip of her coffee, already forgetting it had gone cold. Hermione put it on the coffee table and began to dig out her wand from her robe’s pocket.
“Was that MacGille?” Severus asked as he exited the hall from her bedroom, walking through the room to her kitchen.
He was in dark gray lounge bottoms and a plain dark t-shirt.
“Yes,” Hermione called over her shoulder, watching him pour coffee into a cup through the pass-through. She turned back and tapped her wand on her cup's rim. Steam immediately curled up from it. She left her wand on the coffee table and once again leaned back into her couch. Hermione took a tentative sip. It was much improved. She sighed and closed her eyes.
She felt Severus sit beside her in what she was starting to think of as his corner. “And?” he asked.
Hermione opened her eyes but continued to stare ahead, not looking at him. She held the cup close to her mouth and muttered, “He said I’m suspended.”
“He what?” Severus turned to her then, a curious look on his face.
She sighed. “He said I’m suspended. For a week. With pay.”
An eyebrow rose. “That’s all?” he asked before taking a sip of his coffee.
Hermione bristled a bit. “What do you mean is that all? I’m suspended!”
“What for?”
She hid behind her cup again. “I was apparently too mean to the Obliviators.”
“The Obliviators,” Severus repeated. “That is not necessarily a surprise.”
Annoyed, Hermione muttered, “Zabini needs to grow a pair. He is the most infuriating -”
He began to raise an eyebrow again.
She corrected herself immediately, “He is one of the most infuriating people I know.” Hermione gave him a pointed look. However, she resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.
Severus chuckled and put his cup on the coffee table. “You do know, Hermione, that you’re projecting on -”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Yes, I do realize that, Professor.”
He ticked his head to the side. Severus' jaw was tight. Hermione was momentarily worried that she had really offended him. But then a laugh erupted from him, he had failed to squelch it.
“Is this funny to you?” Hermione asked, gritting her teeth. She placed her cup on the coffee table a little harshly, some coffee sloshed over the rim.
He looked over at her. Severus' eyes were full of light but his smile was almost predatory. “You’re absolutely gorgeous when you’re angry, do you know that?”
Hermione deflated a bit, despite her rolling temper. “Severus, do not distract me by changing the -” She then squeaked because he had interrupted her by pulling her a little closer to him.
One hand was on her wrist and the other cupped the back of her head. Severus kissed her gently. He whispered against her cheek as his nose ran to her ear, “So what if you’re suspended? I can think of things that you can do with your time.”
“Oh?” Hermione breathed. “Like meeting with Malfoy?” She tilted her head to allow him access to her neck.
He snorted. “I’d rather you not think about him right now.” Severus began to kiss down Hermione's neck. The hand that was on her wrist began to pull her robe off her shoulder.
Hermione gagged, “Oh Circe, I never want to think about Malfoy like this.”
He stopped his ministrations and sighed against her collarbone. “This isn’t exactly how I envisioned things going.”
She smirked. She moved her hands to his shoulders. “Was this what you pictured instead?”
Hermione pushed his shoulders back so he was in the - his - corner of the couch. She rose up and straddled his thighs. Severus' hands settled at the flare of her hips. She leaned down and kissed him.
She rolled against him, eliciting a groan out of him. Oh yes, this is what Severus had in mind. Hermione shrugged out of her robe and his hands immediately began to roll up her nightshirt. Her chest bare, Severus traced the curving scar across her chest before holding her breasts in his hands. Severus was admiring her, his jaw slack, his eyes hooded with desire.
Hermione grinned, relishing the power she had over him. Severus always started out strong, relying on innuendos, his voice, his fingers to make her come undone. But by the end Hermione, more times than not, can completely flay him open as she gives as good as she gets.
She clutched Severus' hair as she arched her back.
He waved a hand towards her floo, closing it off from the outside.
“Hey!” Hermione yelped as she straightened.
“You are far too inclusive with your floo, Witch.” Severus' hand slid down past her stomach and brushed against the waistband of her knickers. “And I don’t want to be interrupted.”
“But what if work -” Hermione moaned as his fingers found what they were looking for.
His reminder was dark, seductive and husky, “You’re suspended, remember?”
Oh yes. They could find things to do during her suspension. Severus was her partner after all. And he had always taken great diligent care of his responsibilities, hadn’t he? For once in Hermione's life, the idea of being suspended from anything was suddenly something to look forward to.
Actually, for the first time in a very long time she felt she had many things to look forward to.
FIN