Agent Cockroach Cluster

Her head smacked against the bottom of the desk. She clutched her head and grimaced, swearing under her breath. Her blood boiled with frustration - she had been searching for a scrap of parchment for the past half hour to no avail. The elusive piece of paper had magically disappeared from her desk. This was an unnatural occurrence for Hermione, who was always organized. If fact, her cubicle was the cleanest of them all . . . well it had been, up until she began to rummage through it like a whirlwind about thirty minutes ago.

Now it looked like a hippogriff's cage; paper was strewn about, file cabinet drawers were flung open, and manila folders and envelopes were scattered on the floor. All done for one piece of paper.

Frustrated to the point where she felt her eyes prick with tears, Hermione moved off of her knees and into a more comfortable position under her desk, rubbing the sore spot on her head. She took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry. The butt of her palms pressed into her eyes, Hermione rocked a bit, the wheels in her head whirring frantically as she tried to remember where the paper was.

And then, at the height of her anxiety and desperation, Hermione felt a wad of parchment hit her head.

She opened her eyes and snatched up the crumpled paper, looking up just in time to see someone walking on the other side of her cubicle, muttering under his breath. "Thank you!" she yelled angrily, about ready to chuck the parchment back at the fair-haired head that was passing, but paused when she spotted the obnoxiously yellow ribbon that had once been elegantly tied around the parchment.

She felt the hollowness in her chest fade into curiosity and Hermione unruffled the letter and untied the ribbon. Still sitting under her desk, she scanned the official-sounding letter:

Mr. Ambassador:

You must find a replacement for Mr. Zwethfield as soon as possible, for the current situation is urgent. Remember that all applicants should be of age, skilled in multiple areas, including, but not limited to, trasnfiguration, charms, defense, Muggle relations, international relations, human interaction, investigational work, and the ability to learn and retain multiple languages. Please remind your applicant that this job will send them abroad for long periods of time, and that they should have no qualms concerning this.

Have any applicants come to the office of the International Intelligence Coalition, located in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. More information can be provided to your candidate once they arrive for an interview.

Sincerely,
Mitch Goodall

Suddenly, Hermione found herself thanking the stranger who had thrown this at her head. By chance, he had given her an opportunity to change the humdrum of her life. Since graduation from Hogwarts six years ago, Hermione had been working for the Minister as an public relations aide in hopes of climbing the Ministry's ladder all the way to becoming Minister of Magic. At least, that was her original, perhaps naive, aspiration. As the months wore on, Hermione realized that she was getting nowhere by greeting people and the press, and that, for all she knew, she could be working in a small cubicle for the rest of her life.

And now she held in her hands the opportunity to get out of her cubicle and travel, or at least get some serious office space. If she acted upon it, Hermione might find her world turned on its side. Any chance of getting a high-ranking and influential position in the Ministry might vanish. And Hermione had to admit that she was not one for . . . for . . . for what, she wondered, looking down at the letter. It was vague, to say the least. No mention of what the job actually was, or where she would be sent to, could be found in the writing.

Then again, Hermione Granger was a curious soul, and she was always up for a challenge. Grinning to herself, she folded the parchment and put it in her bag. For now, she had to find that document before tomorrow, or else she would have one very upset Minister of Magic on her hands.

*

"Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation," said the steely female voice. Hermione took a deep breath and squeezed herself between two burly men, determined and bound to follow through with it. She stepped into the corridor and waited for the lift to close faintly behind her. Someone tapped her on her shoulder. Hermione jumped and turned to look at the petite woman smiling at her.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"Yes, actually. Can you direct me to the office of the International Intelligence Coalition?" Hermioned asked.

The woman continued to smile. "What a coincidence - I was just on my way. Right down here, Miss-?"

"Granger. Hermione Granger."

"Eva Stimbault. Nice to meet you, Miss Granger."

"Likewise," Hermione said, finding the woman to be quite amiable. "Do you work in the Coalition?"

"I work for Mr. Smith, actually - oh, he's a senior officer," Eva elaborated, seeing Hermione's confused gaze. "He left the country yesterday . . . pity, he's a quite a character. Maybe it's best that you're not meeting him on your first day here-"

"Oh, I'm not working here yet," Hermione quickly corrected. "I heard about an opening in this department and thought it would be fascinating."

"It is if you're not a secretary," Eva said, slightly glum, but then shook her rounded face and smiled. "Not to say I'm dissatisfied. Mr. Smith is a wonderful man!"

"Have you been working here long?" Hermioned asked, hoping dearly that she would not be a secretary for years. Hermione realized that they had come to a door with the letters 'I.I.C.' printed on it. Eva opened the door for Hermione, who stepped through cautiously. Unlike most of the offices in the Ministry, which were composed of cubicles, this one was unconventional in the sense that the desks were randomly spaced. It seemed that if someone wanted their desk next to the window, he parked it there, or perhaps in the dark corner, or by the giant palm plant that was standing awkwardly in the center of the room.

"We're a strange lot of people, Miss Granger-"

"It's Hermione, please," she said, a bit miffed a the disorder.

"Of course, this way," Eva said, beckoning Hermione to follow her. Nobody paid much attention to them, though a man with orange hair started laughing loudly as they approached. "I've been here for about a year. The only reason I'm not an agent is because I'm not very clever - but I don't mind, really, because this place truly is fascinating."

"There are agents?" Hermione asked, and Eva stopped in the middle of a corridor to look at her questioningly. Hermione laughed dryly. "My sources were rather vague."

"Oh," Eva said, a grin on her lips. "Understandably. This office isn't exactly a place of common information. Lots of digging and snooping goes around here. Wouldn't want that to get around in the rumor mill, right?" She stopped walking again, but this time it was because they had come to a doorframe with a long piece of navy fabric hanging in it. Eva looked at Hermione apologetically. "Mr. Goodall - that's the head of the I.I.C. - blasted the door to smithereens once."

"Temperamental man?" Hermione asked, feeling her heart pounding.

"No, not really. Someone forgot to bring him his Cockroach Clusters."

Hermione tried not to snigger - it reminded her very strongly of Dumbledore, though she doubted that Dumbledore would ever dismantle a door because he ran out of Lemon Drops. Still, the possibility was amusing.

"Anyway, Hermione, go right through there."

"Is he expecting me?"

"DON'T LOLLYGAG, LADIES!" a voice bellowed from the other side of the curtain. Hermione stared at Eva, horrified. Eva simply beamed at her. "Mr. Goodall is on top of everything, Hermione. Remember that."

"Er - thanks, Eva."

"Anytime," she replied, turned, and disappeared down the corridor. Hermione blinked, straightened her robes, and brushed aside the curtain. Whatever she was expecting, Mr. Goodall was not it. He sat on his desk, Indian-style, but was dressed in very smart robes. He had long, brown hair that was braided down the back. His chair (which was actually more of a stool) lay on the floor. Posters of dragons littered his walls where shelves were not found. The shelves held multitudes of plants, weird gadgets and books, though most of the books could be found on the floor.

"Morning, Miss Granger."

"How did you-?"

"Please, have a seat," he interrupted, throwing his newspaper aside and putting the last of his Cockroach Cluster in his mouth. Hermione, though very perplexed, tried not to laugh. "Interested in a job here?"

"I, well, yes," she said, flustered. Annoyed with herself, she refocused her mind and sat up straighter in the extremely plush couch. "I have to admit that I have very little idea as to what actually goes on here-"

"Good, it's better that way," Goodall said briskly. He pulled out a cigarette tray that was filled with Cockroach Clusters. "Cockroach?"

Hermione bit her cheek. "No, thank you. I assume that most employees start out as secretaries and what not, and I don't object, provided that there is some guarantee that I will not-"

"Miss Granger," he said, holding up his hand. Hermione stopped in mid-rant, closing her mouth with a decided snap. He smiled - a forced, condescending smile - and cleared his throat. "I assure you, there will be no secretarial duty for you. You'll be starting your training by Monday, as soon as all the correct paperwork is filled out."

"Training?"

"You don't expect to waltz into a foreign country without any knowledge of its culture or language, do you, Miss Granger?"

"I wasn't aware there would be any waltzing into a foreign country," Hermione said tartly. She was not a fan of being uninformed.

Mr. Goodall sighed. "Remind me never to hire fresh agents," he said, shaking his head bitterly. Then, as an afterthought, he offered her the cigarette tray again. "Cockroach?"

*

"You what?"

"You heard me," Hermione said, swirling her fingers across the rim of her glass.

"You quit?" Ginny said, amazed. Then she grinned. "Way to go, Hermione!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she could not squash the small smile. "Yes, well, I think it might have been a mistake."

"Why? That hell-hole was getting you nowhere. I'm surprised it took you this long- oof!"

Ron had appeared behind Ginny, slapping his hand roughly on her back. "Hullo. What did we miss?"

"Hi Harry, Ron," Hermione said, scooting over in their booth to make room for them.

"Hermione quit her job!" Ginny burst, grinning like a fool. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"You quit?" Ron and Harry said together, staring at Hermione with stark disbelief.

She smiled modestly, still trailing her fingers along her glass, all to aware that Harry and Ron were staring at her, agog. "B-but, why?" Ron spluttered.

"Well," she said, taking care not to look at the three of them. "I heard about this opening in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and how you could travel abroad and speak different languages and well, at that point it sounded like a good idea... now I'm not so sure."

She chanced a glance upward. Ron was still staring at her like she had grown antlers, Ginny was beaming crazily at her, and, to her surprise, Harry had a sly smile on his lips, partially covered by his hand. His eyes sparkled with something she rarely saw in him lately, something close to mischief. Suddenly, she had a very foreboding feeling, but it was quickly washed away when Ron started hollering at her.

"I think it's brilliant, Hermione, bloody brilliant! That scum of a Minister was keeping you in an office when you should have his job! You've got twice the brains and he's got half the talent and I'm glad you finally removed your head from his arse!"

Hermione was slightly taken aback by his sudden display of support, when in fact she was expecting him to call her irrational, but she smiled and blushed pleasantly nonetheless. "Honestly, I'm relieved, but the I.I.C - that's what it's called, the International Intelligence Coalition - has some odd sort of people in it, if you know what I mean. And it's in complete disarray. It's a wonder that anything get's done."

"What do you do there?" Harry asked, the curious look from before gone from his features.

"Er - I don't know, exactly. Nobody seemed to want to tell me, but I'm going straight into the field, after training, of course. Doesn't that seemed a bit strange? I'm mean, I'm exhilarated that I don't have to be a secretary or errand-girl, but it seems so sudden. They almost as if they were expecting me . . . ."

"You're just imagining things, Hermione," Ginny soothed, raising her hand to grab another waiter. "I think this calls for a celebratory drink. What do you say?'

"I shouldn't-"

"It's on us," Harry offered, drawing out his pouch of clinking money. "All right?"

Hermione grinned. "Mulberry Nymph Cocktail, please."

*

The next day as Hermione was sitting at her kitchen table, an owl flew through her open window (as the summer breeze was pleasant today) and landed on the chair next to her. Hermione quickly took the sealed envelope from his around his leg and watched as he flew off. She pushed her plate away from her and read the notice from the Ministry.

Miss Granger,

Welcome to the International Intelligence Coalition. There are a few things you should be informed of before you commit to the I.I.C. For starters, you presence will be requested at seven o'clock sharp this coming Monday in the I.I.C. office to begin your training. Eva Stimbault will be at the entrance to make sure you find your way around. I will be instructing you personally, along with a few other applicants, during most of the day. Your training will consist of learning foreign languages, culture, and etiquette, along with stealth and disguise.

While I was vague on our first meeting, I feel that it would be unwise to tell you the specifics of your new career until we can meet personally, for the I.I.C. does not take breaches of information lightly. Apologies about the ambiguity of all of this, but it's for your own good. Trust me.

Until Monday, then,
Mitch Goodall

P.S. - It would be prudent to burn this letter. Have a good day.

Hermione reread the letter, the dissolved the letter into ashes with a tap of her wand. One line stood out in her memory, even as she stared and the black remnants of the letter: stealth and disguise. Surely, an ambassador or diplomat wouldn't need to disguise herself? Hermione felt a sudden panic.

What have I gotten myself into?

*

Monday came in a flash and there Hermione was, approaching Eva's beaming face. "Morning!" she said perkily, and Hermione smiled back, for unlike Ron and Harry, Hermione didn't mind waking up early.

"How was your weekend?" Hermione asked conversationally, falling into step with Eva as they made their way toward Goodall's office.

Eva continued to smile. "Lovely, thank you. Yourself?"

"Quite nice," Hermione lied, because she had spent her weekend torturing Ginny, Ron, and Harry about the horrible mistake she might have made.

Hermione spotted the man with the orange hair again, but this time he looked worn and tired. Instead of walking straight through the navy curtain to Goodall's untidy office, Eva took Hermione into an unobtrusive door on their left. Behind the door was a cramped little room, filled, oddly enough, with various tropical plants. The plants took up most of the space, finding homes in corners, on shelves, and even magically charmed to attach to the blackboard at the front of the room. The amount of books crammed into that tiny room was amazing, totaling, Hermione guessed, at almost half of all the books found in Hogwarts' library. And, true to the nature of the rest of the office, it was a complete mess.

But Hermione was not the only occupant of the room. Two men and a woman were seated casually on the ratty couches (which, Hermione supposed, served as desks). The two men were inconspicuous, average, and staring right at Hermione. The woman, on the other hand, was rather attractive. She gave Hermione a politely curiously look and returned to reading her magazine. Hermione held back a snort as she noticed that the title read The Quibbler.

"Mitch - Mr. Goodall, that is - will release you for lunch. I'll be in the main office area, if you'd like to join me."

"That would be nice, thank you," Hermione said, smiling gratefully at her. Eva nodded and slipped from the room. Hermione took her seat on the empty couch with a gaudy flower pattern on it. She smiled her recognition at the two men, who finally realized they were staring and quickly occupied themselves otherwise. The woman set her magazine down on her lap and smiled prettily at Hermione.

"The name is Patty Prise. Just starting?"

"My first day, actually. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

She raised a perfectly molded eyebrow. "Oh? Unusual name. I don't know why parents do that to children, honestly." She smiled dolefully and started to inspect her nails. Hermione blinked, surprised at her comment, then cleared her throat. "So . . . Mr. Goodall teaches us?"

"Yeah," Patty said simply. "He's all right, once you get to know him. He doesn't like questions though, so don't ask too many."

Hermione snorted. "That's abs-"

She was halted from sharing her opinion with Patty by the arrival of Mitch Goodall himself, who today wore a magenta robe and a stylish hat. "Morning, everyone," he said, swaying to his desk and tossing his hat off. He shook his brown hair free and set to work on the chalkboard without noticing Hermione. "Notebooks out, please."

Hermione looked around as the three others drew out their notebooks. She opened her mouth to ask where she might find one when Goodall spoke. "You can get one in the box next to your couch, Miss Granger."

"Right," she said to herself, leaning over the arm and picking up a book of bound parchment. Finding it oddly convenient, Hermione spotted a jar of Muggle-style pencils right next to the box. She took one of those, too, and sat up to read what he was writing on the board.

"Today," he said, still scribbling something with chalk, "we'll start learning French."

"French?" one of the men murmured, but loud enough for Hermione to hear. He tossed his hair out of his eyes. "But we just started Italian."

"Priorities change, Mr. Whimple."

Mr. Whimple didn't say anything after that, but he was looking thoroughly disgruntled for the remainder of the morning. As Hermione sat learning definite articles and genders and pronouns, the hours whizzed by, and only during the middle of a lesson on conjugating verbs did she look up to see that it was nearly eleven.

Goodall suddenly stopped his lesson, turned, and made sure not to dust his chalky hands on his robes. "You're dismissed for an hour, after which I expect you back here for the rest of your lessons." Hermione stood up and made to leave, but the sound of her name stopped her. "Oh, and Miss Granger, a word in my office, please."

Hermione watched as the others filed out, suddenly strongly reminded of Hogwarts. She waited for Goodall to gather his few papers and followed him out of the room without a word. He parted the curtain for himself, but did not hold it open for Hermione. She stared at the navy wall for a second, becoming annoyed with this slightly eccentric man, but then decided not to waste her time and stepped inside the room. Her mind had been buzzing with curiosity all morning, but she had schooled it to focus on the lessons. Now, she was excited (and a bit anxious) to learn what exactly she was doing.

"You are a quick learner, Miss Granger," Goodall said blandly.

"Thank you," Hermione replied, and added, "and please, call me Hermione."

"It's Mr. Goodall to you, Hermione," he said, giving her a look from under a strand of hair that had fallen into his face.

Hermione was a bit taken aback. "Of course, sir."

"Good. Now, as I was saying. You're a quick learner," he said, and pulled out his cigarette tray. "Very quick. I'm pleased. I'm glad you answered the application request. The mission I have assigned for you is a most important one, and so therefore our studies will be centered around helping you with it. Understood?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "What is my mission?"

He glared at her. She remembered Patty's advice about not asking questions. "You'll be informed later. For now, I think you should know exactly what we are."

"That would be nice, yes," Hermione said, feeling suddenly resentful toward the man.

Goodall gave her another look. "What do you think we are, Hermione?"

Hermione tried to think of a reasonable answer, but she really had only bits of bark, and he was asking her to make a tree. "Well," she tried. "I suppose - I suppose the I.I.C. is sort of like a diplomatic service to other countries . . . but it's not what it seems. The diplomats are investigating the governments, I guess."

Goodall raised an eyebrow at her. "In all my years, no one has come so close to guessing. Well done, Hermione."

Hermione smiled bleakly. "Thank you."

"Let me explain in detail," Goodall said, positioning himself on his desk again in Indian-style. "Your front is a diplomat - an ambassador, more - to a foreign country. Italy, Spain, Albania, Poland, Germany, France. They're not all in Europe, of course. Other countries are considered, especially Russia, Peru, and South Africa. The countries we focus on have one thing in common - individuals in the governments have, or had, something to do with Voldemort."

Hermione blinked at how easily Goodall said Voldemort's name. While Voldemort was no longer around, thanks in a large part to Harry, his Death Eaters were much luckier, and were now spread throughout the world, causing almost as much mayhem as Voldemort himself had. Harry and Ron, who were both Aurors, constantly discussed missions on hunting down this or that ex-Death Eater.

"Naturally, we need intelligence before we can send Aurors in to do the dirty work. That's where we come in. We pose agents as ambassadors in the government while actually our agents are getting the nitty-gritty info that is oh-so-vital so us. Typically, it's not too dangerous. Few scratches here and there. And that's what you'll be doing in two weeks time."

"Two weeks? Do you think I'll have enough training by then? Sir?"

Goodall grinned deviously. "Trust me. You'll be fine." He looked down at his palm, where his cigarette tray sat. "Cockroach Cluster?"

*

Hermione rushed into the main office area, frantically searching for Eva. Goodall had kept her longer than she had expected, and consequently she was late for her lunch with Eva. Thinking that she probably had already gone off to lunch, Hermione walked toward a window which was not occupied by a desk and looked out, stretching her legs a bit. She had nothing to eat, anyway, and without the time to go out anywhere, she resolved to hang around the office for the next fifteen minutes.

"Hermione!" Eva said from behind her. Hermione turned to find Eva with her arms piled with folders and papers and a box of strange looking objects. "So sorry about not meeting you for lunch!"

Hermione laughed. "Goodall kept me late, anyway. Looks like we both got tied up."

"Tell me about it," Eva said, rolling her eyes. "Mr. Smith just came back from his trip and it's always a madhouse for me when he returns."

"Mr. Smith," Hermione said, amused. "How original of a name for a spy."

"Miss Granger, do you dare make fun of my name?"

Hermione jumped, her hand flying to her chest. In the doorway behind Eva stood a strangely familiar man with blond hair and a dainty nose, wearing an extremely smug smile. He pushed himself away from the doorjamb and sauntered over to her. "It's not wise to mess with a spy. We have friends in high places."

Hermione found herself staring into the face of a man, who was once a boy that liked to antagonize everyone during Hermione's Hogwarts years, who had been in their defense league - Dumbledore's Army - in her fifth and sixth years. A boy who looked exactly the same six years later was staring down his nose at her.

Zacharias Smith.