Formidilosus

Formidilosus

She walked awkwardly down the corridor. The novelty of wearing shoes with heels had worn off the moment she had caught one on the hem of her robes and tripped down the bus stairs, landing flat on her face on the pavement. To top it all off, her embarrassment had been amply magnified by the round of sniggering from those left on board the vehicle. Why on Earth she had decided to take the Muggle bus instead of Apparate was something she had instantly pondered – so what if she had been ready two hours before she was due at work? It would have been just as simple to have turned on the television or picked up a copy of The Daily Prophet as it had been to savour the journey to work. For one long moment she yearned for her younger days – hot days, just like today, spent at the Burrow in t-shirts and jeans and perfectly practical running shoes, whiling away the time in whatever manner she so desired.

Then again, today was the big day. The day she finally made it as one of them. Hermione Granger, newly graduated recruit of the International Magical Investigation Bureau, the most elite of Aurors, was on her way to her superior’s office to be given not only her first assignment, but her partner.

It was the latter that Hermione was most intrigued and terrified about. Though she had graduated through training with both Ron and Harry, she knew there was no chance of being placed with either of them – as new Aurors they would undoubtedly be placed with far more experienced wizards or witches. Hermione hoped that perhaps it would be Tonks –at least Tonks would be a familiar face, albeit one attached to a not so graceful body, and Hermione knew that she would be treated with respect, not as the silly little twit, and a girl at that, who had just graduated. However, she was well aware of the fact that Tonks was currently off in Siberia somewhere and that being partnered with her was fairly unlikely at best.

Hesitantly, Hermione tapped on the door marked ‘International MIB Head Auror T. Ogden’.

“Come in!” a withered voice called back and, drawing one deep calming breath, Hermione entered the office. “Ah, Granger. Excellent. Your partner should be along shortly.” The plump old wizard leaned back in his chair and perused Hermione’s face for a few moments. “Someone you know quite well, I believe.”

Hermione immediately thought of Tonks and her stomach settled into fluttering like small butterflies rather than the feeling of a herd of hippogriffs dancing the tango in her guts. She gave Ogden a relieved smile.

“While we are waiting, I’ll give you your briefing. Lately, there have been several…incidents in the small town of Riverdale in Washington. Three bodies have been discovered, the victims each in their own homes. Local authorities have, as yet, been unable to establish a cause of death – which in and of itself, given that they are Muggles, is not that unusual. What is, however, is the external appearance of each of these victims.”

Odgen paused here and Hermione took the opportunity to enquire, “What precisely is it about their external appearance, Sir, that is so unusual?”

Odgen chuckled a little. “That, Granger, is something you are going to have to view for yourself. I believe…Ah! There you are! Granger, your new partner…”

Hermione craned her neck around towards the office door, completely expecting to find Tonks standing there. Her mouth dropped open, her stomach sank and she had the sudden urge to leap from her chair and run from not only the office, but the entire Ministry of Magic as fast as her idiotic shoes would allow her.

“Severus Snape.”

Composing herself, Hermione took a moment to take in Snape’s reaction to her; however, it was far from what she expected. There was no immediate protest to Ogden, nor any sort of surprise – in fact, he actually smiled, though, if possible, it appeared to be more of a bemused gesture than welcoming.

“Miss Granger,” he finally spoke, his face back to its usual utterly emotionless state. Hermione grimaced inside at her name spoken in that all too familiar tone.

“Ah, excellent, you are acquainted. Well then, Snape, you are already fully aware of your case – I see no need to keep the two of you any longer.”

Hermione rose from her chair and turned to leave when Ogden spoke again. “One more word – I am not completely content with this case. I suspect that Dark forces may be at work here. I would appreciate your complete discretion.” Hermione heard Snape huff at these words and wondered what they meant before Ogden continued, giving Hermione the worse news of all, “No magic once you step foot within the United States.”

Hermione turned with a sigh, then followed Snape from the office. Though she half expected him to say something to her, not a word passed between the pair. She tailed him along the hallway in a manner reminiscent of the few times at Hogwarts when Snape had actually managed to catch Harry, Ron and herself in their rule breaking. Hermoine felt about as far from the professional witch she had admired in the mirror that morning as she possibly could.

As the continued down the hallway, the low talk of voices in many different accents stopped, their owners all glancing up from their desks, each staring at the pair – mostly at Hermione with pity. One wizard, with a turban on his head, even shook his head at her in sorrow. Her heart sunk even further.

Finally, Snape turned off the corridor and into yet another office. Hesitant, Hermione hung back in the doorway completely unsure of what she was supposed to be doing.

“Miss Granger.” Snape finally spoke, sitting himself down behind his desk. He watched her for a moment as she fidgeted in his doorframe. “For Merlin’s sake, girl, sit down before you wet yourself.”

Highly embarrassed, Hermione did as she was told, taking a seat opposite Snape’s.

“Miss Granger…” Snape began, then glanced at his door again. With a swift flick of his wand, it slammed shut before his eyes flew back to Hermione’s. “Miss Granger, as unfortunate as this partnership would appear to be, at least from my prospective, there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Nothing legal at least,” Snape added, with a rather terrifying smirk. “Therefore I feel I must remind you that you are now an MIB Auror. I presume, given that you did actually managed to graduate…” Here Snape paused for a moment and his eyes fluttered down to a piece of paper atop his desk. “…top of your class - what a surprise,” he said monotonously. “- that you are aware this is no longer school. You are no longer able to act like a silly little twat and rule breaking is for the foolhardy not the brave. I will not have you risking my career here due to your pigheadedness!”

Suddenly, Snape’s presence at the MIB dawned on Hermione. Though he had finally managed to clear his name at the end of her seventh year at Hogwarts, there had been, and still were, many a rumour regarding his real innocence in both the matters of Dumbledore’s death and his involvement with Voldemort. Of course, given his brilliant mind and his spying expertise, the MIB would had to have been completely idiotic not to have taken him onboard, but this, Hermione believed, would be his final test – either he would make it as an MIB Auror or he would be forever held in disregard by the wizarding world. For a moment, this thought terrified Hermione – that this man would be desperate enough to try almost anything to keep his job and prove his innocence, before his previous words hit home – she was an MIB Auror! He was no longer her teacher, she was no longer at school and, no, she most certainly wasn’t a silly little twat anymore.

“What you do with your career, Snape, is your business. I have my own to worry about,” Hermione replied, feeling quite proud of herself as she smiled smugly at him.

“Insolence will not be tolerated!” Snape boomed. Raising halfway to standing, he slapped his hands down loudly upon his desk and leaned towards her until he was mere inches from Hermione’s face. “I may no longer be your teacher, Miss Granger, but I am still your superior! You will do well to remember that!”

We shall see how long that lasts, Hermione thought to herself but didn’t dare repeat it out loud – for now. Instead, she decided that a change of subject was in order. “So this case in Washington – what are you thoughts on the matter?”

Snape eyed her again for a moment, but Hermione refrained from the urge to wriggle in discomfort, instead defiantly looking his straight in the eye as he lowered himself back into his chair.

“Perhaps, as top of your class Miss Granger, you could enlighten me with your thoughts. I would certainly like to see why it is that you were given that honour.”

Hermione glared at him for a moment. “Given the information I have, it could be anything from the common cold to the return of Voldemort.”

Hermione was surprised at Snape’s slight flinch at that name spoken aloud, especially now three years on from his demise.

“Not quite as brilliant as you believe yourself to be, are you Miss Granger?”

Hermione felt the blood rush to her face as her temper rose. “Let me see – there are three dead people in Washington who met their demise in their own homes and with something out of the ordinary about their physical condition…well…hm….must be Voldemort back to his old tricks if you ask me!”

The grin from Hermione’s face soon vanished, though, as Snape got to his feet, whisked around his desk and loomed over her. “You will never, ever refer to Him in that manner in my presence again!”

“It has been three years since…”

“I do not care if it were a millennium ago – do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes, Sir. Crystal.”

“Good. Now, you are to make our travel arrangements,” Snape instructed, walking across his office, his back to her. Hermione got the distinct impression that she had just been dismissed.

“Okay. What are you going to do?” she asked, not wanting to let him think he had completely won this battle.

“I am going to do the real work.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at his back – so he thought he could just treat her as some sort of secretary, did he?

“Cease your attempts to bore holes into my back with your eyes, Miss Granger, and get to work. I shall be leaving in one hour – whether or not you tag along is up to you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “And where precisely am I supposed to work?”

Snape, not even glancing up from the papers he was shuffling, flicked his wand at a doorway to his left. “There shall suffice.”

Dubiously, Hermione approached the doorway and looked beyond. It was a cupboard – with just enough room for a desk and a chair and not much else.

Hermione spun around to glare at Snape once more. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“Do I look amused, Miss Granger?” Snape replied, his head still buried in papers.

“Fine.”

With difficulty, Hermione managed to squeeze her way through the doorframe, which was mostly blocked by the desk, however, slipping into her chair was another matter. Finally, she ended up climbing, rather unladylike, over the arm in order to sit down. On the way she hit her knee against the desk and a rather loud profanity slipped from her lips.

“And I will have not of that sort of lowly talk in my office!” Snape bellowed from the other room.

“My office…ner, ner, ner…” Hermione muttered under her breath.

“Washington, Mulder?” Scully sighed. “It is Thanksgiving. I am supposed to be having dinner with my mother…”

“Now, Scully, before you jump on the ‘Mulder is approaching insanity’ bandwagon again, I have something to show you that you may just find slightly more interesting than microwaved meatloaf.”

Scully raised one suspicious eyebrow at her partner and mentally chided herself for giving him even a moment more of her precious Thanksgiving.

“This,” Mulder said, flicking the switch on the slide projector, “is the first victim.”

Scully looked at the screen and immediately her mind was blown away. The body appeared to be that of a middle-aged woman, slightly plump with short hair – however, her face was a deathly white, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her mouth contorted into pure fear. Scully could practically hear the woman screaming.

“And this,” Mulder added, a smirk playing on his face as he realised he had caught Scully’s attention, “is victim number two.”

Again, a twisted vision of fear encompassed the screen, blown up to larger than life and caught upon the face of a teenage boy.

“And number three.” With a soft click, yet another victim in the same predicament enveloped the room – this time a girl in her twenties.

Scully stared at the picture for a moment. “What on earth killed these people, Mulder?”

“Let me see…according to the local coroner: a substantially large amount of adrenaline was found in the bloodstream of each victim, though there appears to be no entry point, nor any other sort of trauma. Essentially, they all died of massive heart attacks, which frankly, I find rather interesting given the age of victims number two and three.”

“Mulder,” Scully said, reverting back to scepticism, “ are you trying to tell me that these people died of fear?”

“Looks like it to me. Course, her face,” he said indicating the girl on the screen, “does look awfully reminiscent of my ex-girlfriend’s during sex.”

Though she tried to suppress it and give him a scornful look, a tiny smirk tugged at the corners of Scully’s mouth. “Might I presume she didn’t end up in that state?”

“Ah, women are warned about the possible detriments to their health before joining me in bed, Scully. If they decide to take the risk and then can’t handle it, that is up to them.”

Scully smirked and tried to suppress her thought but she couldn’t help getting in the dig. “Mulder, I have seen the state of your apartment – I suspect all that screaming was probably a result of disgust at the dirty laundry crawling around the room rather than anything quite so ego stroking.”

“Ouch,” Mulder replied, feigning pain as he grasped at his chest.

“Mulder, heart attacks do not only afflict the old.”

“I know, I can feel mine breaking right now,” Mulder continued.

“Mulder,” Scully said, giving him one of her looks. “I see no reason for us to go rushing off to Washington…”

“Did I mention these three all live in the same apartment building and all died within a day of each other?”

Scully sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “No, Mulder, you didn’t.”

Mulder grinned at her. “See you at the airport in an hour, Scully.”