Agent Cockroach Cluster

Hermione forced a smile. "It's great to see you again, Zacharias," she lied, remembering what a rotten person he was during their school years. He was the skeptic from Hufflepuff who never believed anything until he saw it, who always wanted it his way, and who always had something condescending to say.

"Likewise, Hermione. I see you're still the clever little witch you used to be, if you've ended up here," he said, his very light eyes gazing over her.

"And you, apparently, have turned out for the better if you've ended up here."

He blew off the underlying insult. "I managed decent grades through school. Of course, I didn't know the words of every book in the library by heart. . . ." He trailed off, letting his insinuating gaze wander to Hermione.

Hermione found herself tongue-tied and rather flushed. With a glance toward Eva, who was staring at Zacharias almost adoringly (much to Hermione's horror), Hermione smiled and nodded at Zacharias in her most polite way. "Most delightful meeting you again, Mr. Smith," she said cordially. "I have training to get to."

"I'll meet you after your class, Hermione," Eva said.

"No, Eva, I'm afraid I'm a tad busy and I'll need your assistance. I'm sure Miss Granger can find her way out just fine," Smith said, giving Hermione an arrogant glance. "Unless, of course, she needs to be escorted hand-in-hand. Then I'd be pleased to do it."

Hermione's jaw dropped in fury, but she could not think of a retort before Smith turned and stalked into his office. Eva gave her an apologetic look, then scurried off after him. Hermione released the breath she had been holding and calmly turned back toward the tropical room where, undoubtedly, Mitch Goodall was waiting to offer her a Cockroach Cluster.

*

Hermione sat in the classroom in the I.I.C. office after hours, flipping through her dozens and dozens of French notes. A month into her studies had brought Hermione hours of pouring over notes each evening, along with learning charms and spells she had never known about before now. By this time, Hermione could change her face to many different disguises, and she could change the length, thickness, and color of her hair with a quick flick of her wand.

Oddly enough, she had become accustom to the slightly dysfunctional methods of the I.I.C. She found the couches endearing, the plants, though obnoxious and in the way, quite homey, and the people were pleasant despite all outward appearances.

Except, of course, one particularly annoying Zacharias Smith. Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought. She had spotted him at least once a day, and they were bound to exchange less than complementary words with each other. To her misfortune, Hermione found herself using what little spare time she had to think of verbal attacks for him.

Upon hearing this confession, Ginny had said to Hermione that soon enough, the thoughts of verbal sparring would change to thoughts of "physical combat, if you know what I mean." Needless to say, Hermione had been appalled, and Ginny had apologized for the gross cruelty of her statement. After all, it was Zacharias Smith they were talking about, but Ginny proceeded to add that he had "a nice look about his arse," and so Hermione had no choice to agree under the threat of a Bat-Bogey Hex. Hermione was terribly sorry she had ever agreed, however, for Ginny was relentless in her teasing.

It was no wonder, then, that when Mr. Goodall called Hermione into his office one day, Hermione was anxious to receive word of her mission.

"I must admit that I've grown fond of you," he said, in a strictly professional manner. "Unfortunately, you are not mine to keep." She sat in the couch and smiled back at him calmly. "I must send you off to France."

"That much I gathered," she said, and was surprised to find that Goodall did not mind her remark. Over the past month Hermione had enjoyed pushing her limits with Goodall, once almost to breaking point when she suggested that Cockroach Clusters must be harmful to one's dental health.

"I figured you would begin to guess about your assignment. You will be one of two active ambassadors to France. Unlike your co-diplomat, you will be there to spy. To begin with, you will settle yourself in and get acquainted with surroundings and your colleague. He will be around to help you navigate the city of Paris and to help you learn proper decorum for the French Magical Ministry. I will send you further notice when you are to properly start the spying duties I hereby bestow upon you," Goodall said, the last part with a considerable amount sarcasm.

"So I'll be sitting as a blind duck in the ministry for a couple of weeks?" Hermione asked, feeling as if it would be a waste of time.

"Part of the occupational hazard involves sacrificing the satisfaction of your curiosity to better achieve your goal - in this case, you must perfect your acting before you begin to dive into the bowels of the French government. Do you have any more qualms, Hermione?" Goodall said, but his tone of voice suggested that if Hermione raised another argument, he would have her head.

"None, sir."

"Good. You will Portkey from the main lobby of the Ministry at five this evening. Go home for a few hours and pack only your necessities. I will have your credentials ready for you as soon as you return."

"Thank you," Hermione said, trying to contain her exploding smile. She backed out of the curtain, and as soon as she was down the corridor, she broke into a grin and laughed loudly with pure happiness.

Not even Zacharias' snide comment about her behavior could pull her buoyant mood from the clouds.

*

"You're just picking up and leaving, then?" Ginny asked with enough of concern in her voice to stop Hermione's frantic packing.

"I - er, well yes, that's what I intended to do," Hermione said. Her brain finally caught up to her as she sat down on her bed and stared, a crease in her brow, at her open suitcase. "I suppose I should let Harry and Ron know . . . ."

"Would you have remembered if I wasn't here?"

Hermione looked up at Ginny guiltily. "Oh, Ginny, I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? I haven't even told my parents what I've been up to in the last month!"

Ginny sat herself down next to Hermione. "It's understandable, Hermione. You've been running around like mad lately. Just . . . just remember to owl us from Paris. And send me something beautiful and chic."

"Of course I'll send you something!" Hermione said, standing back up again and checking her watch. "It's already four! I really need to finish packing."

"I'll help," Ginny said.

"Thank you," Hermione said breathlessly. She began to order her clothes into her suitcase with her wand, and then went into the small bathroom in the hallway to retrieve her toiletries. Upon her return she spotted a black, lacy negligeé on top of her neatly stacked clothing. Hermione had purchased it a year ago under much pressure from Ginny, but she had never put it to good use. She gave Ginny a scandalized look. "What's this for?"

Ginny looked over her shoulder impishly. "You'll be surrounded by French men. It may come in handy."

*

"Hermione, it's almost five."

Hermione looked up into Eva's pleasant face. She sighed. "I guess we should go, then?"

"Probably."

Hermione took a deep breath and smiled at Eva, then picked up her suitcase, cloak, and handbag. She followed Eva through the maze of desks that littered the office floor. Just as they were about to reach the exit, someone called out to them. The two women turned to see Zacharias striding from his office.

"Leaving us Miss Granger?" he asked.

"Well spotted," Hermione muttered.

Zacharias grinned at her. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Hermione was saved from hearing it by Mr. Goodall, who had just poked his head out of his office and bellowed, "SMITH, GET YOUR ARSE IN MY OFFICE. NOW!" Zacharias gave both Hermione and Eva a startled expression, then pivoted and walked toward the navy blue curtain.

Hermione followed Eva down to the Atrium, her nerves jittering and jangling inside her, and she clutched onto her handbag anxiously. Eva did not leave her at the fireplaces, but instead lead her toward a desk partially obscured by a large pillar. A man sat on a stool behind it, flipping through Witch Weekly and looking extremely bored.

"Just ask the man for your Portkey when you're set - he'll have it ready," Eva said, giving Hermione a smile.

"Thank you so much for everything, Eva." Hermione couldn't contain herself; she engulfed Eva in an enormous hug.

Eva pulled back and beamed. "No trouble at all, Hermione! Your fellow diplomat will be waiting for you when you arrive, and he should be able to give you any help you need."

"I wish you were the one waiting for me at the end of this Portkey- I'll make sure to owl."

"Please do!" Eva gave her a little shove on Hermione's back. "Off you go. Paris is beautiful - you'll have no trouble forgetting dreary London."

Hermione stepped up to the desk and with one last glance over her shoulder, she found that Eva had already disappeared in the crowd of witches and wizards eager to go home. Hermione stood up a bit straighter and marched to the desk. "Excuse me," she said politely, startling the wizard so that he nearly toppled to the ground.

"Yes Miss, traveling by Portkey? Can I have your name, Miss?"

"Hermione Granger." She watched with trepidation as the man turned around and looked at a wall lined with nearly two hundred cubby holes. He looked closely at a few, then finally removed a banana from one of the topmost cubbies.

"Here you go, Miss Granger. Just tap it with your wand when you're ready. Have a safe journey." The man grinned, tipped his head in her direction, then slumped onto his stool and was immediately engrossed in his magazine.

"Well then," Hermione said, looking at the banana. She securely grabbed all of her possession and tapped the banana with her wand. Immediately, she felt a familiar jerk behind her stomach and she whirled into a tunnel of blinding colors and flashes of light. Just about when she thought she could stand it no longer, she felt the whirlwind around her slowing and finally, she came to a stop and wobbled about on her legs, trying to find her footing.

Finally, when her vision caught up to her mind, Hermione saw a very regal looking woman leaning against a pillar. The woman sniffed loudly and peered at Hermione through narrow, dark eyes that were as dull as stones.

"Madame Granger?"

"Yes - yes, and you...?"

"I'm Madame Francesca Stevens. Have you all your papers in order?"

Hermione nodded and started to dig through her handbag. "Yes, I've got them right here-"

"Don't worry with them, child. I have no need to see them," Madame Stevens said sharply, startling Hermione. "Now," she continued, tucking her short black hair behind her ear. "We'll pass through security and get your clearance, and then I'll show you your quarters."

"Will I live inside the Ministry?"

"Of course."

Hermione blinked. "How large, exactly, is this Ministry?"

"Child, this Ministry is the size of Britain's Ministry five times over. All of the diplomats have residency within these walls, as do some of the other members of the Ministry. Remember, Madame Granger, that you are not in London anymore."

Hermione very much wanted to point out to Madame Stevens that she was quite aware of this fact, considering the lengthy journey she just underwent, but she held her tongue. She did not want to upset her colleague on the first day. Hermione instead forced a smile and turned to retrieve her luggage, but it had disappeared.

"Gremlins took it up to security already, Madame Granger. I advise we do the same."

The mismatched pair followed a clean-cut path to security. Hermione noticed that the interior of the French Ministry resembled the one she knew so well only in a few ways; both had clean, marble walls with high ceilings and golden fixtures. Other than that, the similarities faded. The French Ministry had a layout that was quite easy to follow, and as far as Hermione could tell, there were no stairs or elevators.

"Is this building all one level?"

Madame Stevens snorted. "Most definitely not."

"How does one-"

"Go right through that gate, Madame Granger. I'll see you on the other side." Madame Stevens disappeared and Hermione was alone, facing a golden gate that was embroidered with blue and red stones. Next to it stood a grim looking man with his wand ready at his side. Quickly, Hermione drew her papers out again and approached.

"Bonjour," she said, and handed the papers to him.

"Donnez-moi vos sacs, s'il vous plait," he barked. Hermione handed over her suitcase and handbag to be inspected. The man ran his wand over both and waited until it turned green. He did it three more times, each time waiting for it to turn green.

"Que cherchez-vous, Monsieur?" " Hermione didn't understand what the point of this security check was. After all, wizards did not need explosives or knives to cause danger. Even the youngest wizard at Hogwarts could harm those around him with a mere flick of his wand, if he was to have the knowledge.

"Rien," he snapped and thrust the suitcase back at her. Then, to Hermione's utter surprise, he grinned. "Merci, Madame. Au revoir."

Hermione slipped through the gate and, to her dismay, found another man waiting for her. He, however, said hello politely, asked for her wand and papers, and smiled quite often. Hermione watched in fascination as her wand underwent a series of tests, including one that showed all the spells she had ever cast (and it took quite a while). The man quickly made some marks on her papers with his wand and handed them back to her.

Madame Stevens was waiting for her next to the far wall. There were no doors there, and it seemed to Hermione that there was no where else for them to go but back.

"Everything in order?" Madame Stevens asked blandly.

"Yes - where are we go-?"

"Did the man past the gate give you a card?"

Hermione looked through the papers in her hand and found a rectangular piece of metal with the fleur-de-lis embellished on it. It was eerily warm to the touch and weighed almost nothing.

"That is your Pass Card, and it will allow you to get almost anywhere in this building. Insert your card into a Mouvers mouth and say where you'd like to go. Of course, you'll have to learn the passcodes for certain areas. Saying 'loo' for the restroom will not get you very far." Madame Stevens surveyed Hermione through her shrunken eyes. "Understood?"

Hermione nodded and felt the familiar feeling of excitement start to resurface. She had read about the Mouvers and was utterly enthralled by them. Inspecting the wall more closely, Hermione saw ten heads mounted onto the wall. Each head looked sort of like a cross between a dragon and dog, with horns and floppy ears, with a snout and fur. Hermione approached the nearest Mouver and bent down to look at it in the eye.

It winked at her. She grinned. The Mouvers were once on the verge of extinction in the Alps. They were the only non-human animals that could Apparate. Soon the knowledge of their existence became widespread throughout Europe and sadly men started to treat them as cattle. Unfortunately, no one knew that the Mouvers relied on metals as a source of food, usually-

"Vanadium," Hermione whispered, fingering her Pass Card.

"What?"

Hermione looked up to see Madame Stevens looking quite startled. "Vanadium - the Pass Card is made of Vanadium because it's a major food source of the Mouvers."

The woman's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "I'm glad to see that you hold some knowledge in that head of yours."

Hermione bit her tongue, then released it when she bit down too hard. "Am I to be working with you every day?" she asked tartly.

Madame Stevens laughed like a crow. "Heavens no! Your colleague will meet you in your quarters soon. He was detained by his supervisor, I hear. Stick the Pass Card into the Mouver and ask for the residency. You are room seven-four-four. Dinner is served at six."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask where dinner was served, but Madame Stevens had inserted her Pass Card into the mouth of a Mouver, whispered something, and was now gone. Fingering her wand gently, she inserted her Pass Card into the nearest Mouver's mouth and said, "Residency." The Mouver chewed on the card a bit, spat it back to her, then Hermione felt as if she were Apparating. With a quick and sound pop, Hermione was standing at the end of a very long and wide hallway.

She heard loud laughter coming from one of the rooms, followed by a deep bellowing voice of a man. Hermione glanced at the nearest door, number one-hundred and one. Sighing, she walked briskly down the hallway, holding her head up, on the lookout for anyone she might meet. Soon she was at the six hundreds then finally the seven hundreds. She came to an abrupt halt in front of her door, realizing she had no key. She inspected the door for any keyhole, but all she could find was a narrow slit that she assumed was for her Pass Card. Hermione slipped her Card into the slit and the door popped right open.

Feeling quite proud of herself, she stepped inside and almost tripped over her suitcase. Hermione side-stepped her luggage and looked around her quarters. They were much more spacious than her old flat had been, but Hermione noticed that she was not going to be alone. Down the middle of the room was a curtain that could be drawn out for privacy, and two large beds were on either side of the room. Each side had a large window that she suspected had a false view, just like the ones at the British Ministry did. The furniture was old and ornate and an empty bookshelf stood waiting for her attention.

Hermione dragged her suitcase to the left side, where the (fake) sun shined becomingly upon her plush bed sheets. She flopped onto the bed and stared at the intricate pattern on the ceiling. She suspected that she lost track of time, for when a knock sounded on her open door, she jumped up in alarm as if she had been sleeping.

"Yes?" she called, rubbing her eyes.

"Hullo, darling," called an all too familiar voice. A blond head peeked around the door. "Miss me?"

Hermione felt her eyes widen, then quickly narrow in annoyance. "Smith, what are you doing here? If you intend on stalking me I'll have a word with Mr. Goodall!"

To Hermione's utter dismay, Zacharias threw his tattered suitcase onto the spare bed and leaned against the wall. "Mr. Goodall will think you're nutters if you do that, because I'm your fellow ambassador."

"You what?"

"That's right," he said, a smug grin spreading over his face. Hermione gripped the blanket beneath her tightly. "You have the pleasure of having my company, day and night."

"You're sharing my room, too?" Hermione asked, annoyed with the fact that her voice had come out as a squeak.

Zacharias shot her a look. "If you think you're going to benefit from our arrangement, think again, Miss Granger. I prefer to keep things on a professional level." He quirked an eyebrow and let his eyes travel down her. Hermione squeezed the blanket even harder. She felt blood rushing to her cheeks at what he just suggested. Calmly, she gathered her wits and stood up.

"And if you, Mr. Smith, think I'm going to lay before your feet like a dog, think again," she snapped, turning to her suitcase and opening it. "Your seniority doesn't translate to your superior intelligence."

"I wouldn't dare mess with the Hogwarts Prefect and Head Girl. You might take points."

Hermione whirled around in the middle of unpacking. "You insufferable-"

"What's that you're holding?" he asked, peering at the garment in her hand. Hermione looked down at the racy negligeé, choked, and threw the scandalous piece of material back into her suitcase.

"It's none of your concern," Hermione said, quickly closing her suitcase and sitting on it, just in case he had an irrational urge to dig through it.

"Trust me," he said, giving her a funny look. "If you're wearing it in my presence, it'll be my concern."

*

Hermione dipped her spoon into her bowl with a content sigh. The steam gently tickled her face. After a few days in the French Ministry, Hermione managed to figure out that the passcode for the eating area was neither 'Great Hall' nor 'kitchens,' but rather it was known as the 'Commons.' She also discovered that Zacharias snored when he slept, but that was a topic she preferred not to discuss.

Just as she was about to take her first bite of the scrumptious-looking soup, Zacharias sat down with a resounding thump in the chair across from her, slamming a thick stack of papers and books on top of the table. The vibrations sent her spoon tumbling into her bowl and, in turn, the soup went splashing onto the front of her blouse.

"Argh!" she cried, grabbing at a napkin and quickly mopping up the mess. She looked at the stain on her blouse; even after her fretful cleaning, there was still a faint spot. "Brilliant," she muttered, throwing the soggy napkin down and glaring at the man opposite her.

"Here," he said, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket. "Let me help you clean that." Hermione stopped his hand inches from her chest, staring wildly at him.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Smith," Hermione said, pushing his hand away but still managing to grab his handkerchief. She noted that it was a lovely shade of lavender before she continued to clean the soup from the table and her shirt.

"No need for formalities, Hermione."

"Whatever happened to keeping things professional, Zacharias-?"

He made a gagging noise. "Please, only my grandmother calls me that. It's Zach."

She forced a smile, then threw his handkerchief back at him. "Can I help you with something, or will you leave me to enjoy my dinner?" He pushed the massive pile of papers toward her, and Hermione just managed to swipe her bowl out of the way. She looked around the stack at Zach. "What are these?"

"Your rule books and the most recent records from the French Ministry. Read over these tonight and I'll fill you in on some things in the morning," he said, then leaned in mischievously, bright blue eyes shining under the dimmed lights of the Commons. "Inside the book you'll find your mission clearly outlined. Now listen - I'll be out of your hair for tonight. I've got some business to take care of."

Hermione saw that for the briefest moment he seemed to have a flicker of doubt shine from his eyes. The next moment it was gone, and Hermione was left with the distinct impression that Zach was doing something he was not supposed to. Immediately he snapped his aloof demeanor back on. "I thought that I was supposed to get a feel for things before I start working," Hermione whispered, remembering Mitch's words.

Zach rolled his eyes. "I'm speeding things up a little here. Don't you dare tell Mitch, though, or he'll have my head in the boiling pot. I'm not supposed to be involved with this in anyway." He patted the stack with his hand. "I hope you're still a quick reader, Hermione." Zach turned and walked away, smiling politely at a woman who waved to him. Hermione stared at his retreating form for a bit longer than needed, then quickly shook her head and pushed her soup away. A small grin flitted onto her lips. The only hunger she felt now was for what was contained in the massive stack of papers.

As soon as she returned to her quarters, she placed herself on the floor against her bed and opened the big dusty book. The pages flipped open to the spot where an envelope was hidden, unmarked and unopened. Hermione withdrew the letter and began to read thirstily:

The I.I.C. deploys you to the French Magical Ministry in order to investigate the patterns of movement of all persons involved or once involved with the Dark Lord himself. Specifically, you are to follow and investigate Gabrielle Delacour. Delacour was the organizer of the continental, European support for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named a few years back. Today, even after the demise of the Dark Lord, she continues to gather supporters throughout Europe, but their headquarters are somewhere in France.

Find all possible links between Delacour and her supporters. We wish to gather enough intelligence from you to prove her guilt, and prove the guilt of those connected to her. Once you have gathered sufficient evidence, a squad of Aurors will be sent in to handle the matter, after which you will be taken off duty.

If, by chance, you are compromised or fatally wounded, you will be relieved of duty immediately.

Hermione blinked in surprise. Gabrielle Delacour, as in the younger sister of one infamous Fleur Delacour, was involved in dark society? Hermione found it ironic that such a do-good, Triwizard Champion had a dark young sister who was stirring up mayhem in the world. The fact that she, Hermione, was the one in charge of the investigation blew her mind; even after all of her intensive training, Hermione feared that she didn't have much to work with.

Looking down at the thick stack of papers on the floor next to her, Hermione suddenly felt determined. If she didn't have much in terms of spells and spy-work, she would always have her strongest weapon. A hand snatched out and grabbed the first few pages. With that, Hermione began her method of completely absorbing everything in print that lay before her.

*

She checked her watch again and threw an impatient glance toward Zach, who was hastily throwing on his work robes over his shirt. Hermione herself had discovered her own set of work robes this morning, as they had mysteriously appeared on her dresser over night. Glancing at herself inconspicuously in the mirror as she could, Hermione noted that they were a bit more fitted than any other of her work robes had been. She shrugged mentally; it was nothing that a quick spell or two wouldn't fix. Now her hair was an entirely different story. . . .

"You're gorgeous, and we're late," Zach said, grabbing her wrist and yanking her out the door. Hermione snatched her arm from his possession and fell into step beside him. "Did you manage to read through all those papers last night?"

"Yes," Hermione said, realizing that her goal was proving a bit harder to manage. Zach's steps were long and quick, and Hermione was nearly jogging to keep pace. "Every last piece - what time did you get back in?"

"Late," he said simply. "Questions before you sit in on your first session?"

"How did Delacour get into the Ministry so early? She's six years younger than I am."

Zach grinned tartly. "Daddy had a few thousand Galleons to put in."

"She got in on her father's money?" Hermione mused aloud. "Did he have any involvement with Voldemort?"

"No - not so far as we can tell. Besides, he's dead. His weak heart couldn't take the speed of the Firebolt - at least, that's what we're told, but I've caught wind of a torrid affair with a banshee."

Hermione gave him a shrewd look; half the time she didn't know whether he was joking or not. Shaking the mental image out of her head, she tried to rake her mind for more questions, but her lack of breath and total disorientation seemed to be throwing her off. Zach stuck out his hand and Hermione looked up just in time to stop herself from slamming into an impressive, wooden door.

"We're here."

"We are?" Hermione said breathlessly.

Zach turned to face her, his cool eyes searching her face. "Parles-tu français?" he asked sardonically. "Look - don't try to show anyone up this time, okay? This isn't O.W.L.s time. No need for you to whip up Hogwarts; A History from your knickers and prove someone wrong. Try to keep low as much as possible. Don't draw attention-"

"Zach!" cried a deliciously silky voice from behind Hermione. "Lovely to see you again!"

Hermione searched Zach's face for anything that might help her, but all she could find was a tightly controlled front that was looking over her head at the woman behind her. Slowly, Hermione turned around. "Madame Delacour," said Hermione, nodding her head slightly, then bringing up her eyes so she could meet the blue ones opposite her. "Enchante."