Chapter Text
“I’d like you to look at this,” her boss said nervously, pushing a stack of papers towards Hermione across his desk, before he leaned back, his fingers tapping his chin much too rapidly.
Poor Merriman Gainsley had never been the same since that incident in the mines of Painhill last year. Back then, Unspeakable Galbraith Mortimer had simply disappeared, and Merriman had been found alone, lying unconscious outside the entrance to the mines.
Hermione had never found out exactly what had gone wrong down there, but she suspected there had been a run-in with the local tribe of Dwarves. They were notoriously protective of their mining business and their smithy, but they vehemently refused that they had anything to do with the incident.
Their Department Head, Sam Crawley, had insisted that Merriman stayed on, even though he had become … different. Thinking about that gave her a warm, glowing feeling, proving that sometimes, things were done right, and that people were treated fairly and with justice.
In short, the Mysteries was a good place to work, in her opinion. Great even, when they took so good care of people falling ill due to missions. But it was a far cry from that and the Wizarding World being just and good, even five years after the war.
Glancing at the documents, she furrowed her brow. Another incident. A strange magical artifact had found its way into a Muggle building, and by the looks of it, this wasn’t good news - and Muggles had gone missing.
Anger built up inside of her - when would this stop? What would it take to keep the poor Muggles safe from malicious intent from dark witches and wizards? - and she nodded briskly.
Of course she’d help, because justice for Muggles was what she had been campaigning for after the war outside of her work in the Ministry. In her opinion, Wizarding law needed to change, and at a much faster pace than today.
Now Merriman licked his lips, looking shiftily around, before he leaned in. “Hermione, you need to work with them on this.”
“Them?” she asked, before it dawned on her. “Oh gods,” she groaned, “not again? I swear, if they send in him again, I’ll be in Azkaban before you even get out of the office.”
From the stiff smile forming on Merriman’s lips, it was easy to see: Oh yes, she would have to work with him.
Severus Snape had proven to be more of an arse than she’d ever thought when she was in school, his tenure as the Death Eater Headmaster notwithstanding. After the war, he had entered the Ministry, and it was a poorly guarded public secret that he was an Unspeakable.
Well, that went for Hermione too, as people would nod and smile knowingly when she told them she worked at the Ministry. Fresh out of school after her belated NEWT exam, she had been enrolled in the Department of Mysteries, working in the Time Office for the last five years.
Severus Snape, however, was a senior researcher in the Thought Office. At times, though no one liked it at all, the offices in the Mysteries had to cooperate.
Usually, that was when criminal cases were too difficult for the other Departments to solve on their own, or in those rare cases that a research project demanded broader perspectives from more than one Office from the Mysteries.
The people in the Thought Office were the worst, full of arrogant pricks believing themselves able to analyse every single action and thought that a person possibly could have. And Severus Snape was the worst of them all.
Growling, making Merriman jump in his chair, she spat out: “I better get on with it. But mind you, I demand at least two weeks of uninterrupted research time in return for accepting this mission!”
Xxxx
Dean Thomas, manning their front desk, waved at her, looking cheery as usual as she stomped out of the office wing of the Mysteries.
As she came closer, he took a look at her face, before raising his hands, pretending to back off with exaggerated steps, as if he was trying to avoid an imminent attack.
“Whoa, you look like a thundercloud,” he said, peering worriedly at her. “Whatever you’re about to do, I recommend getting something to eat first. Preferably something sugary. Just a tip, the canteen has Victoria sponge on the menu today.”
“Thanks Dean,” she mumbled in passing, “that’s probably sound advice. I don’t think I can face … Snape … when I’m hungry.”
“Merlin no,” Dean laughed, “that’s bad enough by itself. Good luck, whatever you need him for!”
Trying to school her face into a semblance of normality, she headed for the Ministry canteen.
Just outside, she bumped into Harry. “Hey Hermione! Time for a coffee?” Harry sounded more chirpy than ever, beaming at her after giving her a bearhug.
Taking a deep breath, she stopped, turning around and made an effort to sound polite: “Not really, Harry, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“Please,” he wheedled, “I promised Ginny I was going to talk to you, she’s been at me for weeks, saying that I’m a lousy friend, having barely seen you for a month, and…”
“Well,” she said snippily, ”I wouldn’t have been in this much of a hurry, if your department was able to solve its own cases.”
Harry raised his hands appeasingly: “That’s not my fault, I had nothing to do with that investigation, and…”
“So you know something about it,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “And you know what, I have to work with … with him.”
Harry took one look at her, before taking her arm. “Coffee is on me. Chocolate too,” he said firmly.
As they sat down in a Muggle coffee shop close to the Ministry, Hermione clutching her double americano as if it was a lifeline, Harry sighed.
“I don’t know much about this case,” he began, “I just overheard that this was advanced magic, and that they needed experts. Something about the dark ages, I think.”
He sipped his vanilla latte - Hermione eying it dubiously, because how could it be coffee when more that 75 percent of it was milk? - and shrugged. “Enough about that, and I’m really sorry you have to work with him again.”
“Yeah,” she said darkly. “Severus Snape is a fucking arse.”
Harry almost laughed, before he crooned: “So good of you to come around, Hermione. I remember you harping on me and Ron forever.”
Feigning a higher voice, Harry piped: “It’s Professor Snape, you cannot call him a greasy git! You might lose valuable Gryffindor points for us!”
“Don’t remind me,” Hermione mumbled with a sigh.
“Oh well, how’s the campaigning going?” Harry asked, changing the subject.
Brightening, Hermione began: “Really well, actually! We’ve secured enough support for the motion that Muggleborn and their parents should be educated about the Wizarding world at least a year before Hogwarts, and isn’t that great? And the revised law for a fair exchange of Galleons to pounds is going well…”
Harry hemmed and hawed at the correct places, but after a few minutes, Hermione broke off, realising that - as usual - he didn’t listen.
“And how’s Ginny?” she asked softly. “Is she still upset about being grounded from the team during her pregnancy?”
At that, Harry started, before shaking his head. “She’s coming around. It kind of helps that she can’t really traverse the stairs at home anymore. You should come to dinner, you’d be surprised how her stomach has grown. Who knew that two tiny twins would take up so much room in the belly?”
Xxxx
“Curious.”
Severus Snape’s deep voice always sent a frisson of uneasiness through her, like she was still in school, waiting for his harsh judgement on her school work.
“I heard they used this to torture Muggles during the Dark Ages,” he mused, looking down at the odd little box sitting in the middle of the room.
It was made of wood, darkened with age to an almost black, and the carvings on the sides were sinuous and elegant, looping around the box, looking like it was infinite, with no visible endpoints, as if the box had no lid or opening.
The box had been found in an empty Muggle warehouse near the harbour, in a rundown district that hadn’t become hip enough yet for real estate development to happen, making young professionals move in and transform the area to something vibrant.
Instead, the area was filled with derelict buildings, a place where nothing good would happen, a place perfect for a crime scene like theirs.
Hermione had cast her own spells to determine the temporal aspects of the little box, and she couldn’t help it, her voice sounded overly snotty, just like the know-it-all he had told her she was in class as she replied: “This one has been used recently.”
He looked sharply at her, drawing a breath. “Are you sure?” he said intently, and Hermione nodded.
“Last night, between ten pm and eleven, it was activated, the spell inherent in it in use for six minutes and 38 seconds.”
When Snape blanched, she realised it was serious. Perhaps even more serious than usual.
In the years after the war, Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt had instigated new laws to protect Muggles from any mistreatment by magical means. It wasn’t as if that had been legal before the war at all, but the campaigners for Muggle rights - like Hermione herself - had pointed out that incidents had happened far too often, causing harm and accidents to defenceless people.
There had been some grumbling about the stricter laws, but the result was that most wizards and witches took greater care, not leaving dangerous magical artifacts lying around where Muggles could pick them up.
But … there had also been an uptick in the more serious cases. Deliberate attacks, even a series of brutal murders.
The Ministry did their investigations, but wanted no publicity. Kingsley had even told the remains of the Order that he was worried that the perpetrators might gain sympathy in the eyes of society. And everyone - apart from Hermione - had agreed. In her opinion, it was important to shed the light of the day on those heinous crimes. If the public knew what had happened, absolutely no one would sympathise with the villains.
“Those Muggles,” Snape muttered, his eyes having a faraway look, “those Muggles will be dead. It’s effective, prolonged use isn’t necessary…”
“What does it do?” she asked, though she knew she wouldn’t like the answer.
“It …” he glanced at her, judgingly, as if he wondered if she’d handle the answer. “It … expands to capture people, like a trap. But it has spikes on the inside, you see, activated when the trap shuts. Whoever that is inside would have been speared. Afterwards, it contracts, crushing whoever that is unlucky enough to be inside to a pulp. A witch or a wizard could easily fight it off or at the very least Apparate out, while Muggles…”
Hermione shuddered, but her pragmatic nature took over as always. “There’s no blood,” she pointed out. “If this happened, there would be quite a lot of bloodstains in here.”
“True, “ he muttered, looking around the room. She could feel his magic build, probing the air, tendrils of power spreading out like feelers, lightly touching the room and everything in it. Including her.
Hermione couldn’t help shivering, feeling the gentle pressure of his power, like a warm palm sliding over her bare skin, engulfing her as he probed for something elusive, like a remnant of a sensation or an emotion.
“There are residues,” he said slowly. “It feels strange, though, like someone wanted me to find this, to look for their pain, their panic, a final desperation etched into the very walls of this building.”
Hermione furrowed her brow. Someone wanted him to find it? What did that mean?
Snape shook his head. “I’m afraid there’s no doubt. At least four people were inside it, and you say this was done only last night. We can only wonder why the perpetrators left their little box of gore behind.”
He scratched his chin, just above the cravat around his neck, and Hermione caught a glimpse of pale skin, riddled with thick, raised scars from the attacking snake that had almost killed him, just as the war ended.
Severus Snape looked much the same as he had when he was her teacher. Tall, imposing, cold and detached, like his famed Occluding abilities had left him without any means of showing emotions like joy or happiness. Or maybe he just was a grump.
No matter that, Hermione found working with him as an adult uncomfortable in the extremes.
First, she was absolutely sure he looked down on her, judging her input and work like he was about to mark her results. He obviously had little respect for her expertise, seeing her as too young and inexperienced, not at all at a level he found acceptable. In short: She felt that he didn’t think her to be worthy of her position.
Grimly, she remembered that time when he had asked the Head in a Department meeting to ensure that when cooperating, all Offices should strive to man the projects with senior researchers, not letting their juniors run rampant to the expense of the Department’s quality of work.
All heads had turned to look at her , because everyone knew that Severus Snape had been working with her on the Department’s last projects. The humiliation had been horrible, people looking at her with either pity or blatant curiosity, wondering what she had failed to do for Snape to call her out like that. And fuck him, she hadn’t failed at all, he was merely angry because she had argued with him, not accepting his solution at face value. His ideas had been shitty, while her ideas had simply worked.
And secondly, she hated working with him because …
… almost blushing, she tried to stop that line of thinking, forcing down the intruding thoughts, because she was desperately worried that Severus Snape, Legilimens extraordinaire, should ever pick up on the fact that she had a crush on him after the war.
Back then, when she and everyone else had learned the truth about his actions, it had been such a buzz. She hadn’t been able to help herself, her nighttime fantasies focusing on the stern man, seemingly always in control - and oh, how would it be to let him take her, driving her body to ecstasy - and yet, he had proved himself to be someone who loved deeply and with such loyalty, like a true hero. Satiated, she would lie in bed, daydreaming about having an affair with Severus Snape.
At least, she hadn’t been the only one turning her attention to him, because he had become the most popular war hero, having numerous romance novels inspired by his life as well as a rather awful play on the Wireless.
Suffice to say, her little crush had waned instantly as she once more came in contact with him, seeing the disdain he held for her.
She was sure that it would be supremely awkward and awful if he ever found out. Sweet Merlin, she was sure he’d be downright nasty, probably calling her out in public for that too. Maybe he’d file for sexual harassment in the workplace for all she knew - that would be just like him.
Her boss had tried to tell her that Snape was notoriously difficult to work with, and she wasn’t by far the only Unspeakable complaining about him, but somehow, she wasn’t sure. He had singled her out, because she didn’t see anyone else being called out by him in Department meetings for doing supposedly shoddy work.
“Well, it’s a case for the Aurors, then,” she said snippily. “Can’t see what more we can do, it’s a criminal investigation. They need to find out where the blood went and who lured them in here - and who the Muggles were.”
He looked at her, black eyes so empty that she wondered if he had taken permanent damage from the war, before sneering: “Shirking your duties, Granger? You know that they can’t solve this. It’s far beyond the Aurors’ abilities.”
Immediately straightening her spine like he was chastening her, she felt her cheeks flush before anger overrode the embarrassment. “I beg your pardon,” she hissed. “I do not have your obvious and intimate expertise in anything dark, especially how torture devices work, and I’ve contributed my findings concerning the time frame. Unless we are to Time travel back to last night, I have no further input in this case.”
Raising an eyebrow, Snape drawled: “Interesting, Granger. Maybe we should travel back. Even though we can’t change what happened here, it’s vital to stop whoever did this. We need to know who it was, so the Aurors can arrest and detain them. If they were willing to use this … device, I’m sure they would do it again, and maybe worse. The box itself is a sign: It’s a valuable artefact, and not many would’ve left it behind willingly. This is merely the beginning, and they want attention. So… you get that Time Turner, and let’s go.”
Blinking, Hermione wondered if he was joking. As everyone in the Department should know, using one of the newly produced Time Turners was a complicated, bureaucratic affair, needing approval in several instances.
Weakly, she said: “You can’t be serious. Getting the approval to use a Time Turner takes days, if not weeks, and…”
“Oh come on, Granger,” he scoffed. “It’s not like you haven’t broken a rule or two for the Greater Good before. You have access to the Time Room, don't you? Don’t tell me you are so junior, that they won’t trust you with access? Remember, people might die because of this. Right now. ”