An Auror's Obsession

An Auror’s Obsession

Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, 11:28 AM

A creak sounded in Auror Headquarters as one wing of the large oaken doors opened. Several of the less-preoccupied residents of the department looked up at the sound to see two figures walk in and close the door behind them, their robes languidly dripping all over the scarlet floor tiles. The young woman sitting at the desk closest to the door smiled and nodded at the entrants.

“Wotcher, Susan,” replied the older of the two.

“Still raining outside, Tonks?” asked Susan conversationally. “I got soaked coming in this morning.”

“Oh, yes, loads of mud, too,” said Tonks cheerfully, now wringing streams of murky water from her pale blue locks of hair. “I wish I’d thought to take a Soakers Towel with me to Tunisia.”

“You mean they don’t have them there? How positively barbaric,” said Susan sweetly. “So, where’s Hermione at? Oh, Harry, Shaklebolt wanted to see you as soon as you came in.”

The second wizard nodded wordlessly and crossed the large room, leaving the women to chat and bypassing the cubicles of his peers.

*

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Teachers’ Lounge, 13:51 PM

“Yes, Miss Zeller?”

“Professor Granger!”

“Yes, Miss Zeller. The matter about which you came to see me?”

The girl’s face contorted, as if in an effort to overcome her shock.

“Actually, it’s about that. You see, Professor, while you were gone, Professor Snape has been teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“I’m aware of that, Miss Zeller,” said the Professor rather more impatiently than usual, and Rose noticed for the first time that her usually-neat navy blue robes were wet and stained with something dark and dripping.

“Yes, Professor, but, you see, he assigned the Fourth Years homework -- “

“-- Perfectly within his rights as a teacher at this school.”

“Of course, Professor, but he gave them two and a half feet on the Unforgivable Curses. A couple of the kids came to me right after class to see if something couldn’t be done about it, and I told them I would talk to Professor Snape, but since you’re back, now… “

The professor gave a sharp nod. “Professor Snape and I will speak about this and possibly reevaluate the students’ workload. Allow me to commend you, Miss Zeller, on your commitment to the responsibilities of the position of Head Girl.”

Rose smiled awkwardly, her face flushed. “Thank you, Professor. Just trying to do my best.”

The bell rang.

“Off to class with you, now.”

The Head Girl nodded and trotted off along the corridor, joining the throngs of students swarming from classroom to classroom. Behind her, Professor Granger shut the door to the Teachers’ Lounge and sat down heavily in front of the crackling fire.

“Back at last, I see.”

She had not even heard the door open. “Good afternoon to you, too, Severus.” Most of her year-mates confessed that even after their graduation, they could not imagine addressing their former teachers by their first names. Perhaps because she was now a member of staff herself, Hermione never had that problem.

“I don’t see how you get any teaching done, what with being off hunting with your Auror friends half the year. Of course, that might explain the level of knowledge your pupils display. Perhaps I ought to speak to the Headmistress about it.”

Even staring at the flickering flames in the hearth, she could see the sneer on his pallid face as though they were standing eye-to-eye. “Yes, Severus, we really ought to speak about the level of knowledge, as you term it, you expect from my pupils. Perhaps the Headmistress would like to hear the reasoning behind assigning a N.E.W.T. level essay to Fourth Year pupils.”

“Any luck in the hunt?”

Hermione smiled thinly; a change of topic surely meant he saw his own defeat. Pulling out her wand, she aimed a choice drying spell at her robes, and said, “No. Lestrange is still at large.”

*

Number Eighteen, Diagon Alley, Apartment Three, 20:11 PM

Nothing moved and no sound was made as Harry locked the front door behind him. He turned around only to see that the kitchen door was closed -- always a bad sign. A set of robes in garish purple and orange hung beside the fireplace, and a racing broom was leaning against the wall next to them. He set his own broom by it, and went to the coffee table.

The table was, as usual, strewn with papers and books. Recipes on loose bits of parchment were scattered around a cookbook. A sporting magazine was open face down, flaunting the grinning face of Ludo Bagman and the caption Bagman Resurfaces: Where Has Wasps Beater Been?

A small scrap caught Harry’s eye; it was a clipping from the Daily Prophet, only about two inches in length. He skimmed it impatiently, not knowing what struck him as so important about a tiny article from the very corner of page nineteen. Mayhill Moths’ second game of the season… new lineup compensates for initial disgrace… scored higher than veteran Chaser Aaron Spinnet…

Harry let the slip of paper flutter back to the table and sat down on the squashy couch. The luridly colored robes were staring at him almost accusingly. He scrabbled to catch the little article in mid-fall and reexamined it. It was dated a little over a week ago.

He felt, more than heard, the kitchen door opening. Moments later he could also smell it, as the heavy scent of allspice filled the living room, wafting on thin streamers of steam.

“You missed the game.” There was almost no accusation in that voice. It was dull and uncaring, and its tones were oddly flat, not rising and falling with emotion as they normally were.

“I know.” He sighed. “I was there for the first game, though.”

“And when I passed the trials, you said you’d be there for every game,” said Ginny. “The Quidditch season isn’t that long, honestly.”

Harry’s head fell to rest between his hands. “I know,” he said miserably.

Ginny’s voice was quieter when she asked, “Did you get her, at least?”

And Harry’s was almost inaudible. “No.”

*

Hogsmeade Village, Number Thirty, Mandrake Road, 21:40 PM

Ron was sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea and writing a letter when the key clicked in the back door's lock. He looked up to see the door swing open and Hermione enter, not sopping wet but still rather damp. She sighed deeply. “It’s raining again."

“You didn’t have to stop by Scrivenshaft’s for more stationary,” he replied with a frown. “Or stay at the school till nine.”

Hermione gave him a look that said quite clearly that he just didn’t understand; not that she expected him to, being as he wasn’t a teacher himself. At the sound of a clatter from the stairs, though, she abruptly turned and whipped out her wand, leveling it before her menacingly.

“You can put that away,” said Ginny calmly.

Hermione rounded on Ron, who smiled weakly. “Did I mention Ginny Apparated by? She’s staying for dinner.”

“Slipped your mind, probably,” said Ginny with a snort, helping herself to a Ginger Newt from the cookie jar on the counter.

With another, deeper sigh, Hermione pocketed her wand and drew a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry I’m so jumpy, Gin, but these last three weeks have been absolutely horrid.”

Ron frowned. "Three weeks already?" he asked. "That's the longest you've ever been away."

“Yes, it is,” said Ginny with great emphasis.

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” said Hermione again. “I wish we’d have this over and done with, too, and I’m sorry Harry and I keep having to leave…”

“I’ll bet your students are more sorry than any of us, if Snape’s still covering your lessons,” muttered Ron, but Ginny did not look placated.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’s hardly your fault he won’t spare a thought to anything else until he catches her.”

“Ginny, Bellatrix killed Sirius,” said Hermione firmly.

“I know.”

“And you know how important Sirius was to Harry…”

“Yes, I know.”

“So you can see why her being the last Death Eater still free would --“

“Hermione, I know!” cried Ginny fiercely. “You don’t have to spoon-feed me his reasoning, you know! I understand why he’s so obsessed with catching her, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s an obsession.” She slumped down on a chair by her brother discon.

Ron looked from his sister’s fuming face to Hermione, whose lips were tightly pursed. “Hang on,” he said, “just how bad is it?”

A moment of silence stretched taunt and painful before Hermione’s words broke it. “I keep thinking he’ll be fine once we finally get her, but then I remember that’s what I said about Macnair, and Avery, and the Malfoys…”

Both Ron and Ginny shuddered.

“Anyway, I guess he can’t be much worse off than the rest of us,” finished Hermione.

“Maybe,” said Ginny skeptically. “I still wish he’d been at my game. Am I being too hard on him?”

The other two hesitated.

“Tell me!” demanded Ginny.

“A little, I think,” admitted Hermione. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t understand how you feel, and Harry definitely shouldn’t have been making promises he knows he can’t keep…”

“But, you know, Ginny, it’s his work,” said Ron, and Hermione nodded.

Ginny scowled.

“Just stay for dinner tonight,” added Ron hastily, “maybe spend the night, and then go and see him tomorrow morning. He’s bound to be better off after a decent night’s sleep.”

Hermione yawned. “Tell me about it. The places we stayed at were dreadful… Well, for the most part. It’s really quite a nice country, Tunisia. We should go there, sometime. As a vacation, you know.” She yawned again.

“Go get some rest, Hermione,” said Ron with a small sigh. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

She surrendered and made for the stairs. “Night, you two.”

“Good night,” said Ginny, now breaking her Ginger Newt into crumbs somewhat bleakly.