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Hermione Full of Grace	By : AdamantEve Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 13378 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Standard disclaimers apply.

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Chapter One � Brilliance of His Gaze

In which
Hermione asks herself why, what now, and what next.

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It was perfect. It was everything she might have asked
for.

Hermione Granger, the brightest,
and now most famous, witch of her age, lived with her two best friends, Harry
Potter and Ron Weasley, who were probably more famous
that she was. They showered her with
affection and care; sought her approval when they thought it necessary (which
was always) and turned to her when they needed mothering (which wasn�t always,
but all the more precious for its rarity.)

When they weren�t comfortably
basking in each other�s company, they were celebrities; invited for interviews,
gala premiers and photo shoots, often together; sometimes individually. They refused more often than they
accepted. They did not feel much like
celebrating when there were so many lost lives, but survivor�s guilt stood no
chance when the ones they loved told them, almost everyday, that they had
nothing to be guilty for; that they had saved lives by the thousands. The pain lingered, but the edge wore off, and
with the encouragement of those most dear to them, they let themselves realize
that the war was over, and that the Wizarding World
was safe at last. The novelty of
accepting it was overwhelming, but it had its moments. It had its use. It was, in a way, therapeutic, and while
Hermione and Harry took it in small doses, Ron took to it with a
vengeance.

On Hermione�s part, she had
refused being placed on the cover of Witchling:
Wizard Magazine, mainly because they wanted her in nothing but skimpy robes
and a pointy witch�s hat, but she did rather enjoy being on the cover of Wizard�s
Compendium, the wizard gentleman�s quarterly magazine detailing the latest
in the discerning wizard�s corporate, sports and casual wear, wizard health,
business and the occasional image-spell.
She liked having been in her smart (but subtly sexy) business robe,
holding her wand like a thinking stick and with Crookshanks
staring up at her adoringly as his tail whipped this way and that. Sometimes, especially when Hermione was
waving her wand in the air, Crookshanks would slide
around her legs. Everyone seemed to love that.
Cute pets aside, she looked like she was ready
to hex you one minute and then seal a multi-million galleon deal the next.

Hermione figured she was entitled
to at least one vanity in her lifetime.

Wizard�s Compendium was the first and last of her
commercial exploits. As the months
rolled by, she turned down proposals for ad campaigns and other such explosive
ventures. She strategically attempted to
ease herself back into a regular-life routine (if not absolute obscurity) and
began submitting resumes to the varying Ministry offices. She did, after all, feel that she had a lot
of catching up to do, career-wise. After
they left Hogwarts, she, Harry and Ron devoted all their time and efforts to
the Order of the Phoenix.
There was a full-blown war, after all, and they weren�t the only ones
who put off their careers to fight for the cause. They were soldiers; that was their career for
the time being, and only after the defeat of Voldemort
was any other career an option. Now was
her time to look through those options, and she was going to tackle it with
utmost enthusiasm.

Hermione was glad Harry saw eye to
eye with her on this aspect and he had eagerly taken a similar path, probably
even sooner than she did. It was hard to
tell with him, considering he seemed just as busy being the celebrity that they
all were, but Hermione knew he couldn�t have gotten his application for Auror-training in so quickly if he had started at the about
the same time she began submitting her resumes, so she suspected Harry had been
putting in extra hours to secure his place among the Auror
hopefuls.

The post-war frenzy made everyone
want to be Aurors. The defeat of Voldemort
made it seem like such a heroic, impressive job, and of course, it was
everyone�s dream to be heroic and impressive. Fortunately (or unfortunately),
Harry knew better, and he was applying for the job for all the right reasons.
Hermione wouldn�t put it past Harry that he thought he actually had competition
for a place in the auror force, hence his
diligence in meeting application deadlines.

She actually laughed at him when
he asked her help to compose an essay and she promptly pointed out: �You can
write about cauldron bottoms and still get the trainee-position,
Harry. You defeated Voldemort,
for goodness sake� without a wand!�

�That was a fluke!� he cried, before he
frowned and retracted his statement a bit.
�Sort of��

�Fluke
my arse,
Potter. You�ve been doing pretty
impressive wandless magic ever since! And��

�Only
the basic spells! I couldn�t do the
difficult spells wandless, not since that one time
with Voldemort, and let�s not even talk about unlocking
charms��

�AND�� she
continued, as if he hadn�t said anything ��you have your own Chocolate Frog trading card. An auror-in-training�s
resume couldn�t get any better than that.
They should be rolling out a red-carpet for you.�

Harry had rolled his eyes. �Tonks hasn�t
exactly stopped teasing me about that card, thank you very much, and might I
remind you that you and Ron have your own cards, simply because you had about
as much to do with defeating Voldemort as I did. You almost�well��

He stopped then, pausing ever so
slightly to look like he was suddenly reliving some nightmare in his mind.

Hermione understood that her coma
had affected him quite badly, and Ron too, if both their over-protective
tendencies were any indication, but they refused to talk about it, with that
added feature of Harry looking sick to his stomach whenever he remembered it,
so she never pressed, and she was well adapted to continuing conversation as if
it never came up in the first place.

She scoffed. �Doesn�t change the fact that you�re the one
who really kicked Dark Lord arse,
Harry Bloody Potter!�

The Harry �Bloody� Potter always
made him grin. He thought it was
ridiculously funny. �Shut it. I just want to submit a good essay, that�s
all. Are you going to give me a hard
time of it, Granger?�

She chuckled, taking his
parchment. �Oh, give me that, then. Let�s see what you have.�

And so she helped him write his
stellar essay, and his application was accepted, stellar-like, with a letter
exploding confetti, fireworks and jellybeans.
Poor Hedwig almost popped her feathers as Hermione, Harry and Ron dove
for cover under the kitchen table, screaming.
Crookshanks was even less pleased, hissing and
spitting at Ron as if instinctively knowing it had something to do with him, or his brothers.

�This has Fred and George written
all over it! I bet Bill made them to do
it, those gits!� cried Ron amidst the whistle of
fiery pinwheels and displeased cat-kneazles.

Combustible acceptance letters
aside, Ron was the one who enjoyed the attention the most. There was, surprisingly, an odd affection for
him as a sidekick. Because Hermione was too much her own
person to be considered one, Ron got tagged with the moniker and was actually
quite accepting of it. As far as
defeaters of Voldemort went, sidekick wasn�t a bad
position to be in. It was certainly a
heck of a lot more than the rest of the wizarding
world, but Hermione supposed it had more to do with Ron�s being Harry Potter�s
best friend; the one who �had his back� so to speak, that made him so
well-loved. And perhaps, in an imperfect
world, there�s always a following for the underdog. Hermione supposed Ron would prefer �sidekick�
to �underdog� any day. In any event, he
was the guy who had front row seats to the battle between
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Boy-Who-Lived.
That was beyond wicked.

So Ron was everywhere. He was given invitations to the most
exclusive parties and clubs, was made to come out in ad campaigns, was always
given (three) complimentary front-row seats to Quidditch
games, had a float of his own in parades and he even had his own brand of butterbeer. As much
as the fanfare nauseated Hermione, she saw that it made him happy, and that was
enough for her to be supportive.

She was only too glad to have peace
and quiet in Grimmauld Place.
As popular as the house was, very few could actually see it. It was
visible to a select few, and accessible to in-house apparation
to even fewer. Order members, of course,
could simply apparate in its front yard, walk up to
its porch and ring the bell, and a few other friends, mostly from Hogwarts,
could do the same, but only Hermione, Harry and Ron were allowed to apparate in its living room, courtesy of built-in house
wards. Harry explained that the house
recognized its true residents, and it was only by unanimous consent of all
living in it could permission be granted for others to apparate
within the house�s protective walls.

Ron, for one, was glad he didn�t
have to come up with lame excuses for his mother as to why she couldn�t
just apparate in the house. �Don�t tell her about the
unanimous consent thing, Harry. It would
be a nightmare to have mum coming and going as she pleases. I love her, but she�s mum for Merlin�s
sake.�

It was little surprise that Remus had apparating rights, but
he stalwartly declared that he would use the porch, just like everyone else,
because God forbid he ever apparate on something he shouldn�t be apparating
into.

At any rate, they all agreed that
he was always welcome in the house, and he could come and go as he pleased, any
hour of the day, for whatever reason he saw fit and he could even stay there,
for as long as necessary. It�s what
Sirius would have wanted, after all.

Remus demurred, saying his Marauder
rights were up and that he would let the next generation of Marauders have it,
but he expressed his appreciation for their sentiments. The old werewolf could not help but be
touched.

Hermione was glad she could share
many quiet moments with Harry and Ron, most nights just Harry. Ron had a terribly busy schedule, and Harry
got in late besides since he began training.

She found that she had a bit of
difficulty selecting which job opportunity she wanted to pursue. She had many offers from big name
corporations and magical research institutions, but what she really wanted was
a job in the Ministry, and the Ministry was being a Bitch. It sent her one refusal after another,
condescendingly pointing out that while she had all the qualifications and
more, they didn�t feel she would adapt to the Ministry�s working environment
and office culture. Hermione knew it
was because she had caused quite an uproar with her
latest S.P.E.W. proposals.

She would never confess this sad
truth to Harry and Ron, because it almost felt like she was admitting failure,
and she didn�t ever want to admit to something like that. Not Hermione Granger. No way.
She vowed that she would never let her personal goals get in the way of
her principles, so unfairly refused applications or not, she would submit
S.P.E.W. proposals whenever she damn well thought it appropriate.

She didn�t think her current state
of unemployment particularly troubling, anyhow.
Worse came to worse, she could get a job, but she was willing to
fight it out with the Ministry to give her a place in its holier-than-thou
walls, and she actually found the challenge invigorating. Besides, it wasn�t as if she didn�t have
other sources of income for the meantime.
She did. She was, in fact,
financially secured for the next year.
Money was not a problem.

Everything was perfect.

So
Hermione wondered why, especially on nights when she was completely alone in
the house, did she feel so utterly lonely?

0000000000000000000

Hermione tore open yet another
Ministry letter as soon as she untied it from Hedwig�s upraised claw.

Hedwig hooted from her perch on
the kitchen window, as if to say, �Aren�t you forgetting something?�

She smiled, reaching for a
bird-treat. �Sorry
�bout that, Hedwig. Of course you
deserve thanks. Here.� She gave Hedwig the treat, smoothed her
ruffled feathers and watched the snowy owl set off for the sanctuary
upstairs.

Having done her duty, Hermione sat
at the kitchen table to read her letter.
Crookshanks hopped on her lap, purring as if
preparing himself to comfort his mistress at the inevitable Ministry
refusal.

It wasn�t a refusal. Well, at least not outright. The letter mentioned that she was a menace to
the status quo, etcetera, etcetera, but she did possess certain qualities that
this particularly �obscure� Ministry office required. It was the Wizengamot
Counsel�s Office, and they needed an assistant Interrogator. The primary Interrogator was a wizard named
Thane Archibald, and his second was Winston Heartcomb. She would be assistant
to Heartcomb, and Archibald, too, when the need
arose. Hermione figured it meant she
would be assisting both, but Heartcomb first before
Archibald.

She was being made to report at
level two, Wizengamot Administration Services Council
of Law. The stern reminder of �This is
not an acceptance. Your employment is
yet to be decided after careful consideration of your upcoming interview,�
wasn�t as unnerving as it probably should have been. Hermione had put up with enough written
rejection from the Ministry to actually want someone to at least tell
her to her face that she wasn�t wanted.

�Bloody cowards, the lot of them,�
she had often
grumbled.

Thoughts
of rejection aside, Hermione didn�t even know there was such an office until
then. She was under the impression that
the prosecution in court of accused wizards fell in the hands of�well�the Wizengamot. She
didn�t realize there was actually an office for Interrogators.

Well,
I�ll take what I�m given. It�s a start,
and who says I couldn�t use the office�s obscurity to my advantage? Those
blockheads in the big offices will never see me coming!

Thus enervated, she decided to
learn more about the Wizengamot Counsel�s Office, or
as she later found out: WizCOF. Care for a lozenge?

It was a Ministry inside-joke she
would come to hate.

With her usual efficiency and
enthusiasm, Hermione wrote out her itinerary for the following day.

It was late in the night, and
Harry and Ron were still out of the house, so she didn�t bother bringing her
work to the library. She quilled-in her plans seated at the kitchen table while she
ate muggle potato crisps, which Ron declared to be
brilliant. �Especially
dipped in sour-cream and onion sauce!�

Stubborn to the core, Hermione
decided she would stop by the Magical Legislation Committee to submit another
S.P.E.W. proposal. It was really nothing
more than a detailing of the more important, general proposal she submitted the
previous week, but she liked to pound her convictions over the heads of the
committee, or at least she liked to remind them that they couldn�t scare her
that easily. She didn�t need to
antagonize the lot of committee members anymore than she already has, but they
were beyond liking her long before, so this little proposal wouldn�t do anymore
worse damage to her reputation, but just like every proposal she had submitted,
the Legislative Committee had an obligation to present it to the higher law
making bodies, whether they liked the author of the proposal or not. Besides, it wasn�t as if she didn�t have
sympathizers in the committee. There was
at least one who was rumored to agree with her; one Cecily Ackwater. Hermione had no idea if the rumor was
true.

After the important meetings, she
figured she could squeeze in a trip to Fred and George�s store. She had come up with a funny new invention
and she had the specifications; for the twins to test its feasibility. In the
past, she had managed to get two of her inventions up on the shelves and both
sold so successfully that Fred and George were always niggling
her to come up with more. They had, of
course, offered to give her a percentage of the inventions� profits for as long
as the product stayed on the shelves, but Hermione instead opted to sell them
the patent so they didn�t have to pay her royalty forever. Their insistence on sharing the profits
convinced her to take a profit share of one year, no more. Everybody
happy.

Ultimately, it was an acceptable
source of income for her while she was unemployed (it supported her Book
Addiction just fine, as well as a brand new addiction she had come to acquire,
free of the stresses of war: shoes), and she enjoyed having this little secret
with the twins. They thought it a grand
joke, too, so they liked the secret as much as she did.

It was during Hermione�s planning
that she decided to improve on her proposal and thus stayed up later than she
was wont.

She was almost done with the
revisions when she heard a loud crack from the living room. So attuned was she to the nuances of her best
friends� apparitions that she knew by sound who had arrived. It was too early for Ron, anyway.

She looked up at the Whereabouts
Clock hanging on the kitchen wall.

It was a clock reminiscent to the one at the Burrow, only
instead of nine hands, there were three: One for Ron, one for Harry and one for
her. It contained the standard
indicators: home, school, work, traveling, lost, hospital, prison and mortal
peril. There was an extra indicator that
said �out�, which she put there specifically for Ron who was always �out� as
in: out on dates, out partying, and out doing Merlin-Knew-What.

Right now, Harry�s hand shifted from �traveling� to
�home�. Ron�s� well, that was a
no-brainer.

�Hi, Harry!� she called from the
kitchen, not removing her gaze from her parchment.

Harry dragged himself through the
kitchen, his face drawn weary. He pushed
up his glasses briefly to rub at his eyes before setting them back down on the
bridge of his nose. Out of habit, he
scratched at his lightning scar.

�Hey there, Hermione. You�re up late.� He went to the magical chill-box, opening it
to rummage for something. He brought out
one of Ron�s butterbeers.

Crookshanks gave a yowl as he jumped off
Hermione�s lap, quickly padding to Harry and winding affectionately around his
legs.

He gave Crookshanks
a nice scratch behind the ears. �Hi
there, boy. Been keeping Hermione
company, haven�t you?�

The cat-kneazle
rewarded him with a purr, as if to say yes, before he slid out of Harry�s reach
and out of the kitchen. Perhaps Crookshanks knew Hermione had company now and that he could
go back to his usual haunts.

Hermione nodded. �Crookshank�s a
dear, that way. I�ve been busy. I have to get this done now if I want to get
anything done tomorrow.�

�More spew?�

�That�s S.P.E.W. to you, Potter.�

�Ah, yes. Of course.�

She looked up, expecting that he
would be cocking her that grin Witch Weekly declared to be the most
charming since Lockhart conned the Wizarding
World. She agreed heartily with Witch
Weekly on that, but Harry�s grin lacked luster this time. He looked tired.

�Shaklebolt
drive you hard today?� she asked, smiling as she offered the crisps.

He ate some and nodded. He spoke through the crisp. �Man�s an unforgivable curse in himself. He had me dodging boggarts
all morning and rounding up hostile pixies in the afternoon. He hates pixies, so naturally he assigns me
that job.�

Hermione pitied him the boggarts but knew that Harry was more than capable of
fending off boggart-created Dementors. �Well, at least you got to practice your patronus summoning skills.�

Harry was silent for a few
seconds, tilting his bottle of butterbeer idly as he
thought. He had a look of pain on his
face, as if someone had poked a stick at a healing wound. �I�m not afraid of Dementors
any more, you know. I mean, they still
give me the willies, but I seemed to have� developed a fear deeper than that
these last few months.�

She knew immediately that the
tiredness so evident in the slump of his shoulders was from a little more than
physical fatigue. �I�m listening, Harry.�

Hermione found that the
unobtrusive quality of �I�m listening,� as opposed to, �Do you want to talk
about it?� worked better for her boys.
They were often less resistant to it.
Often was the operative word; not �always�.

He smiled wanly, resolving to eat
more crisps. �I know. That makes me feel better already. Is Ron still out?�

That was Harry for �Thank you for
being concerned, Hermione, but I�d rather not say...� Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at the
absurdity of it. He was as guarded about
his emotions as always.

�Ron�s still out,� she said. �Probably another one of his ridiculous
parties. But you�re in quite late
yourself, Harry. Don�t tell me Shacklebolt made you stay in after he put you through all
that.�

�Oh, he didn�t. Gail Coppercane
asked me out to the Leaky Cauldron for happy hour. A bunch of other Aurors-in-training
were there. I really needed to unwind,
so��

�Always good to unwind,� said
Hermione, going back to writing on her parchment with nonchalant ease.

She
felt that harsh twist inside her when Harry mentioned other women. Every inch of her knew Harry didn�t like her in
that way, and while she had supposedly gotten over this unimpeachable fact after
he kissed Ginny Weasley in the Gryffindor common
room in sixth year, she realized that having him single throughout seventh year
and the critical year after that had managed to awaken a sad little hope in
her. Forever the realist, Hermione never
lost sight of the fact that�well�she didn�t seem to be his type at all, but
sometimes it was easy to forget whenever he took such good care of her,
especially these last few months.

He
was always very thoughtful with her, like when he remembered she had a craving
for egg-rolls one day when even she had forgotten about it already, or
when he bought books on impulse because he thought she might find them
interesting, and how he always asked if she wanted company to go somewhere; so
that she didn�t have to be alone, he said.
The only reason she didn�t think Harry felt more than friendship for her
was his occasional mention of strange women.
He went out with them, as was expected of a handsome, famous and young
bachelor such as himself, but the thing about Harry was that he had this look
in his eyes, like he was constantly in search of The One. It wasn�t hard to deduce that he wanted
what James Potter had with Lily Evans; that same all-encompassing love. It was
romantic, but such a quest directed at other women was thoroughly heartbreaking
as far as Hermione was concerned. He was
out there looking for his greatest love because he hadn�t found it in 12 Grimmaul
Place.

Well,
lah-dee-dah, there�s nothing a dashing bachelor would
find remotely attractive in S.P.E.W. and library-couture, so don�t act so
surprised, Granger, she
often thought bitterly.

As
for Ron�the Boy Who Was Supposed to Fancy Her�, he was never quite that
consistent to begin with. The fact of
the matter was she could�ve loved Ronald Bilius
Weasley, red-headed temper and all, if he hadn�t been
so damn eager to suck Lavender Brown�s face in sixth year and the face of every
starlet in these last few months. She
supposed she was a little jealous
when he harried off to yet another date with �this really hot bird�, but not so
much that she would be as bitter about it as she was about Harry�s women. Ron was thoroughly enjoying his blonde
(brunette� redheaded� in all colors, really) bombshells and he had absolutely
no plans of settling with a proper young woman who can put two sentences
together without pouting fashionably between dangling participles. Ultimately, her feelings for Ron before could
be considered her way of �settling for the next best thing�, but if they ever did get together, she would be of a mind to deny that �settling� concept to
her dying day. It would be unnecessarily
cruel of her to tell him that he was second�even in her affections�to Harry
Bloody Potter.

So maybe she loved Harry, and she fancied Ron
(sometimes), but no one could accuse her of being a selfish spoiled brat,
because she hadn�t really said anything to either of them to stop them from
seeing and being with their bimbos�

Er, women, I mean.

It went without saying that hearing Harry being
with another girl hurt for real. Ron�s
exploits annoyed her, but Harry dealt that proverbial knife through her heart
every time he mentioned someone new.
Hermione sometimes felt masochistic and had the urge to ask him about
Ginny, but she hadn�t enough painkillers handy for that one.

She ground out her frustrations about this new name�this Gail Coppercane�by churning out more nouns and adjectives in her
proposal, and only after she�d included �bodacious� in the legal jargon did she
look up. It had all taken no more than a
few seconds, really, but she did, after all, have incredible self-possession. She met Harry�s steady gaze without blinking
once.

�How�s Tom, by the way?� she asked.

He blinked first.
�He�s alright. Business has been
up since the end of the war. I s�pose there are more things to drink to, these days.�

Her mobile telephone rang and he smirked at the
look of displacement on Harry�s face.
She had cast an enchantment on Grimmauld Place
to get a cell-signal for hers, Harry�s and Ron�s phone while they were in the
house, and it pretty much worked everywhere else except enclosed magic-warded
places. Predictably, the two boys didn�t
find the phone as handy as she did, but the reason she gave them telephones in
the first place was so that she could
contact them from anywhere. It wasn�t
her fault wizards didn�t use �telly-phonies�. It was just as well. It meant 99.9% of the time their lines would
be free for her calls to get through.

She
checked her caller I.D. and was pleasantly surprised to discover Ron�s name
flashing on her digital screen. �Why,
it�s Ronald!� she couldn�t help but exclaim as she exchanged grins with
Harry. It was the first time Ron ever
used the mobile and she couldn�t help but feel a bit of thrill. She answered the call.

An
unfamiliar female voice spoke through, music beating in the background. �Is this Hermione Granger?�

Hermione�s
smile melted to nothing and morphed into a frown. �Yes.
Who is this?�

�Oh,
goodness! It really is you on his
speed dial! So you really are friends! I thought it was some kind of nutty
propaganda!�

�Who
the hell is this?�

There
was a clatter, and suddenly Ron�s voice was there, laughing. �Hi, Hermione!�

�Ronald,
what was that?�

�That
was Nancy! I mean�Nina! Oh, bother, it�s so hard to keep track of
names!�

Hermione
felt her annoyance rising. �I am working,
and I would appreciate it if you didn�t have your groupies calling me,
unless you�re dead or bleeding to death on some blooming sidewalk!�

�Well,
don�t go in a snit. I was just being
nice to her! She wanted to hear the
voice of the great Hermione Granger��

�Goodbye,
Ronald.� Hermione snapped her phone shut
and banged it on the tabletop.
�Unbelievable.� She went back to
her parchment but felt Harry looking at her.
She met his gaze; his was expectant and she arched a questioning
eyebrow.

He
kept staring with the same look.

She
quit guessing. �What? Something on my face?�

His
brows knotted. �No. It�s nothing� I think I�ll go to bed
now.� He got up, leaned over and kissed
her forehead. �Goodnight, Hermione.�

Hermione
liked these kisses, even if they were meant to be brotherly and nothing
else. �Goodnight, Harry.�

He
flashed a weary smile, squeezed her shoulder and left the kitchen.

She
watched him go, sighing softly. �Books
and cleverness�� she muttered. �Who
cares about that except me?�

000000000000000000000

The
following morning, Hermione found herself anxiously smoothing out dark-gray
kimono-inspired business robes. She
checked her high-heeled shoes and stockings.
No runs on the nylon; Mary Janes were
perfect. She didn�t care what the Wizarding World said; muggle
shoes were a joy. She touched her hair;
it was swept up to perfection and the two oriental pins held it tightly in
place.

She
gave the WizCOF waiting room another survey, trying
to familiarize herself with the territory.

The
entire office was a hole in the wall; literally. When Hermione first arrived in the Department
of Magical Law Enforcement on Level Two, she spent almost ten minutes going
back and forth down a designated hallway looking for the said office. Imagine her chagrin when she discovered that
she had been passing the WizCOF door again and again
simply because she had thought the hole in the wall was an accident pending
repairs. Was it her fault that the sign
by the door looked like some poorly tacked-on �Wet Paint, do not lean� sign
scribbled on by some kindergartener?

Of
course, once she stepped through the powdery, crackling stone, the office
looked bigger than it seemed (but not by much.)

The
waiting room itself was a mess. There
were books, scrolls and quills scattered everywhere. There were two owls perched on the ceiling
beams, peering down with their wide, blinking eyes. They shook their feathers then ignored her.
There were windows lined up on one wall, overlooking a steamy bog. There had to be something living in the
greenish goop of pond-water, as was the Wizarding
World�s wont. Hermione stopped trying to
figure out how in the world there could be a bog outside windows that weren�t
supposed to be there in the first place� in level two of the Ministry no less!

The
waiting room was about as large as a storage closet, and to the far left from
the entrance was a dungeon-like, tall wooden door placed against ancient, moldy
stone. The door had a slot at the top,
but the slot was closed. She could only
assume it was the door to the office proper.

Hermione�s
first steps into the waiting room sent her crashing to the floor, a book flying
from beneath her foot. She landed on her
behind and she cursed soundly, forgetting that someone might hear her. The owls hooted but left her alone.

Gathering
her bearings, she went to the door and grabbed hold of the knocker. She rapped it, and the sound was inadequately
pert. She didn�t know if anybody
could�ve heard anything through the thick door.

She
was about to use the knocker again, more vigorously this time, when the slot
slid open and she met deep brown eyes topped by thick, bushy eyebrows looking
down at her.

�Yes?�
croaked a toad, for that was the only way Hermione could describe the quality
of the voice.

�H-Hermione
Granger, sir. I��

�There�s
no Hermione Granger here.�

She
blinked. �Yes, I know. I�m Hermione Granger. I received��

�You�re
Hermione Granger? Well, why didn�t you
say that in the first place? Would�ve
saved me the trouble of asking!�

�But��
She stopped, immediately realizing it would be futile. �Yes, sir.�

She
stood there, waiting for him to open the door, but he merely stared out at her,
unmoving.

�Well?�
he asked. �What do you want, Hermione
Granger?�

Hermione
blinked back her befuddlement. �This
office sent me an owl telling me to come here today so I can speak to
Messrs. Archibald and Heartcomb.�

�The
office sent you an owl?� he cried in amazement.
�How can an office do that? It
doesn�t have hands to write with, or a brain to think with, for that
matter! If an office can hexing well
write owls, I�d have it make me tea and scones!
Office sending an owl� the idea!�

Hermione
felt the first signs of frustration. �I
didn�t mean�sir, I�d just like to speak to Mr. Heartcomb. The owl said he was considering me to be his
assistant.�

�Assistant
to the owl, you say? Didn�t even know
those feathery things could talk! What
does Mr. Heartcomb have to do with any of that,
then?�

Hermione
had a strong urge to pull at her hair and scream.

�Thane,�
came a dignified voice from behind him.
It sounded old, and wobbly, much more ancient than how Dumbledore used
to sound. �Is someone looking for me?�

Before
Thane Archibald could speak, Hermione tiptoed as near to the slot as she
could. �Mr. Heartcomb! It�s Hermione Granger! I think you might have
sent me an owl��

�Granger?�
said Heartcomb.
�Why, yes, Granger! Well, of
course I sent you an owl! It�s only
proper, isn�t it? Thane, let her
in. And send that other person you were
talking to, away. She�s wasting mine and
Ms. Granger�s time!�

Hermione
decided she wasn�t going to be the one to explain this very odd situation to Heartcomb.

Thane
Archibald�s response was uncannily simple.
�I think she�s gone now, Winston.
Good riddance, I say. She sounded
rather batty. Office sending an owl��

He
swung the door open and Hermione carefully walked across the threshold. The office proper was neater� but not by
much. The twenty-foot shelves lining the
walls were filled with books and scrolls, some of the volumes rattling in
place. The entire room looked like it
extended a mile down, and the farther down the aisle, the more active the
shelves. The shelves spat books at each other,
the dismayed cries of the tomes whistling in the air. Amazingly, the disenfranchised
books shimmied back to their shelves quite desperately. A lot of the mess was confined to the two
enclosed cubicles nearby set on opposite sides of the office. She could only assume they belonged to Thane
Archibald and Winston Heartcomb. There was a utility table in the center of
the room, like the dining tables they had in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but
miniaturized to sit three on each side instead of a hundred. Atop it were a collection of the strangest
things. They may have either come from
the junkshop further down Diagon Alley or Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn. She spotted one with a label floating just
above it that said, �Item 12^th; Case No. 231546423156 and so on and
so forth.� There were other items that
were labeled as well, but she couldn�t read what was written on them.

Pulling
her gaze from the room, she let her eyes fall on Archibald and Heartcomb.

Archibald
did not look like a toad. Archibald
looked like a wisp of a tall man with wide brown eyes, white, bushy eyebrows and
absolutely no other hair anywhere else.
He wore a pinstripe brown robe with tasteful silver frills. His feet were clad in gleaming black boots;
no heels. He was tall enough as he was;
at least as tall as Ron who was almost a foot taller than her.

Heartcomb was of regular height, the same build as Archibald, but
he had more hair. It went all the way
down his back streaked in white, gold and gray.
His robes were black pinstriped, but he wore a dangling round pendant
down his front�the image on which wasn�t quite discernible�sparkly
gem-encrusted rings, a trimmed mustache and silver shoes; heeled with bows at
the arch. The heels pegged him to be
about as tall as Harry.

That
was the way with her, she supposed.
Harry and Ron were always her gauge for the men-folk.

�Why,
you�re a child!� cried Heartcomb, horrified.

�No
children in this office!� barked Archibald.

Hermione�s
eyes flashed. She had suffered the worse
kinds of criticism from the Ministry, and so she knew how to hold her own
against them, whoever they were. �Mr. Heartcomb and Mr. Archibald, I am not a child. According to Wizarding
Law, a witch and wizard shall be declared of-age on and after the seventeenth
year of his or her birth! I am twenty,
going on twenty-one, and incidentally, I stopped being a child when I
turned eleven!�

�Hang
on,� said Archibald. �Aren�t you the one
on the�what was that in the papers, Thane?
Something about someone, something��

Heartcomb�s brows knotted in thought.
�Good God, Archibald! What could
this child have to do with an Antipodean Opaleye? She�s so little!�

I
am not little! And she
wasn�t all that small, anymore, really.
Somehow, she grew another few inches before she hit the
eighteen-year-old mark for women, and she managed to hit five feet and six
inches, but Ron, Harry and practically everyone else she knew (mostly Weasleys) were so tall she was definitely dwarfed by
comparison.

Archibald
continued to speak. �Not that! The one
with the chap who doesn�t want to be named��

Hermione
almost had a stroke hearing them refer to Voldemort
as a �chap� who �doesn�t want to be named,� for she could only assume they were
talking about that.

Recognition
sparked in Heartcomb�s eyes. �Ah, yes!
With that young man� Gardener, was it?
Or maybe Planter.�

�That�s
Potter,� said Hermione, unable to help herself. �Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One��

�Well,
no wonder the poor chap couldn�t remember his own name! He has so many of them!� said Heartcomb. �Tragic,
really. Now, what should we do about this child?�

Hermione
grit her teeth. �Mr. Heartcomb,
you were the one who summoned me here.
From what I read in your letter, you wanted to determine whether I was
fit for this office��

�Egad! All that kerfuffle
to get me an assistant! It�s quite
simple really: Can you read?�

�Of
course I can read!� she cried indignantly.

�And
are you quite willing to learn the Magical Laws of our lovely Great Britain in
all its moods and nuances? Can you write
about them? Laud their precision and
wave it proudly in the face of those who disrespect it?�

Hermione
raised her nose haughtily at his utter
nonsense. �I am willing to learn,
yes, and I know I will be able to grasp it in all its �moods and nuances�. I can certainly write about them and use it
to build a strong case against the rightfully accused, but I have my issues
with certain laws, particularly those governing elves.�

�Humph!�
sniffed Archibald. �We can certainly
condition that out of your pretty little head!
But the rest of your qualities will do.
I might like you. What do
you think, Winston?�

�Minerva
did recommend her. Highly, I might add, and she doesn�t
give in lightly, that witch.�

Hermione
might have fallen all over again in her surprise that McGonagall had
recommended her to these�these bumbling fools!

Hermione,
calm down. There must be a perfectly
good explanation as to why McGonagall sent you here. She loves you, remember? She would never do anything mean to you,
right?

Archibald
sniffed again. �Indeed. And with all those Deatheaters
getting their trial dates postponed, they�re really too much to handle by
ourselves��

Hermione�s
interest was suddenly piqued. �Pardon
me� Deatheaters?
Aren�t they all in Azkaban?�

Heartcomb rolled his eyes.
�Well, not all of them.
There are still quite a bit roaming free; as fugitives, of course, but
I�d expect the aurors to round up the lot of them
soon.�

Archibald
nodded. �And those that are in
Azkaban have been properly convicted.
However, there are still those out on bail. Due process, you know. I don�t expect they�d be doing anything nasty
while they�re awaiting trial, though.
It�ll be bad for their case if they get caught pre-trial doing unsavory
things. With their supposed leader dead,
they have no one to turn to but themselves!�

Hermione
suddenly didn�t feel like she had walked into a hole in the wall and it
suddenly became absolutely clear why McGonagall wanted her there. �Of course; due process. Mr. Heartcomb; Mr.
Archibald; it would be an honor to work for your office, if only to lighten
your burden. I promise you that I will
give you nothing but my best efforts and I will see to it that every Deatheater who has ever postponed a hearing will be duly
processed if I have to use every Magical Law in these crotchety shelves!�

Heartcomb scoffed. �We�ll
see about that! Thane, we will consider
Miss Granger, won�t we?�

�We
will,� said Archibald. �At the very
least, she was tenacious enough to find the office door. Most applicants just miss it altogether.�

I
wonder why, thought
Hermione wryly.

Heartcomb nodded. �We shall
send you an owl, Miss Granger, informing you of our decision. Good day to you.�

Hermione
nodded. �Good day.�

She
was feeling good enough to give each of them a firm handshake. This initially dismal prospect was beginning
to look terribly interesting; in fact, she believed that she could actually
love this job.

She
left the office proper and climbed out of the hole in the wall. Shoes clacking smartly on the stone floors,
she headed to the Legislative Committee, her smile growing wider as she
went.

Thank you, Professor McGonagall!

000000000000000000000000

Hermione
left the Legislative Committee�s office with her cheeks aglow. She had learned during her past dealings with
the committee that her proposals were considered no more than nuisances in
their dockets. She had learned that
while she can convey her convictions through constant submissions, follow-up
and lobbying, she couldn�t very well yell at any of them, whether she had
reason to or not. She often kept her
cool, letting her cause and proposals speak for themselves, but it didn�t mean
that the condescending tones and acidic comments they made at her expense
didn�t affect her.

By
all things magical, Hermione had dealt with worse, what with Malfoy and his goons calling her �mudblood�,
but she hated it when she was being patronized.
At least with Draco, she knew that his disdain
stemmed from his being threatened by her; because she was brighter, and better,
but the flunkies at the Legislative office didn�t care if she was the brightest
witch of her age. They didn�t care that
she had helped defeat Voldemort. They didn�t give a damn that she was friends
with the great Harry Potter. All they
knew was that she was an annoying young lady who was fighting a cause no one
cared to support. She was a fly in their
ointment; a bother to their busy lives.

It
made her want to scream, and it was enough to throw ice-cold water on the good
mood she had built up after her meeting with Heartcomb
and Archibald.

Her
foul temper churned within her as she left the Legislative Committee�s office
and headed for the fireplace that would take her to the Atrium.

She
considered passing by the Law Enforcement Squad�s office to see if Harry was
free to have an early lunch but decided against it. He would surely notice her bad mood and she
probably wouldn�t be much for company, anyway.

Grumbling,
she turned a corner and ran right smack into a wizard. She felt the jarring collision through her
body, like she had ran into a stone wall, and she stumbled back, barely keeping
her poise as she felt her head spin. It
was the oddest thing, to be so bowled over.
She hadn�t been walking that fast,
and the man she ran into wasn�t that big,
but there she was, feeling lightheaded, like something taken her by the legs
and shook her like a rattle.

Someone
steadied her with a firm grip and she believed it was the only thing keeping
her on her feet.

�Shhhham it!� she cried, beating down the flare of pain from
her knocked forehead by sheer will. She
didn�t care if she was partly to blame.
She was in a bad mood, dammit, and she hated
it even more that this wizard had an entourage of official-looking men all
scuttling to see to him when she was the one who felt like she
had been hit by a cannonball. �Watch
where you�re going!�

�You
watch where
you�re going!� said one of the haughtier robes.

She
sneered, glaring at him. Oh, she knew
these types of wizards; looking and smelling like galleons a mile away; in-love
enough with money to let themselves be yes-men who would kiss their employer�s arse if their employer so required. Too much like Malfoy
for her not to judge them. She was about
to spit out, �Paid you to say that, didn�t he?� when she set her spinning gaze
to the wizard she had collided with.

She
promptly hated herself for thinking that he was quite the gorgeous
specimen. Sure, he looked, at first
glance, to be the type to call her �mudblood�, what
with his polished, platinum hair, but his eyes�they were the kindest, warmest
eyes she ever did see� or something like it.
They were a peculiar shade of purple; beautiful, shimmering and sincere,
and if she were the slightest bit inclined, she would have been content to look
at those magnificent orbs forever. But
she pulled her gaze away, almost afraid to get lost in them, turning her eyes
instead to the rest of him. And when she
was done admiring the finer features of his nose, mouth and forehead, she found
her gaze traveling to the svelte shape of his build.

It
was astounding that he had seemed so strong when she ran right smack into
him. Looking at him, he seemed almost
delicate, like he had gained strength from dancing instead of�say�Quidditch. But she
recalled how firmly he stood his ground, how his grip had held her steady, and
now he was holding her, it seemed, blocking her body against the haughty �yes
man�.

�Favisham,� he said in a softly reproachful voice. �Do mind your manners.�

It
certainly took the fight out of her. Gingerly,
she slid out of his grasp, stepping back and regaining her dignity; thankful
that she hadn�t �spat� her words at the so-named Favisham. It was then she realized that the wizard
looked somewhat familiar, though it was difficult to put a name to him,
considering she was still reeling a bit from his devastatingly good looks. Amazingly, she didn�t stutter when she said,
�Well, I�d say it�s rather too late for him to do that. Excuse me.�

She
made a motion to leave.

�Miss
Granger?�

She
was quite used to people recognizing her, by now, but she wasn�t enough of a
diva yet to ignore those who called her by name. It also struck her how the sound of this
beautiful stranger�s voice saying her name caused a panicked flutter in her
heart. Not trusting herself to say
anything very complicated, she put on a mask of martyr-like patience and turned
to look at him. �Umm-hmm?�

He
was smiling. How she despised herself
for thinking the smile swoon-worthy.

�Hermione
Granger� brilliant,� he said in his honeyed tone. �How I�ve wanted to meet you for so long. I should have known I would find the
opportunity here in the Ministry. Your
proposals on Elf Rights are a fascinating study in slavery and its abolition.�

She
blinked; shocked, really. �You�ve read��
She stopped, frowning as realization struck.
Of course he hasn�t read it.
Who has? Even the flunkies at the
Legislative Committee�s Office haven�t bothered! And of course he knows about my efforts on
Elf Rights; I mentioned S.P.E.W. in my Wizard�s Compendium interview! �Well, that�s the most insightful pick-up
line I�ve heard so far! Not creative;
insightful. Goodbye, Mister��

�Lysander Athanasius. I am so very pleased to meet you.�

She
glared at him. �I wasn�t planning on
knowing your name.� She turned and
stalked away, thinking, where have I
heard that name before?

�Your
accompanying thesis on Elf vs. a Corporation as a Legal Entity was judiciously
enlightening, Miss Granger. I especially
liked your point about Corporations establishing a non-corporeal existence
based on laws originally intended to free slaves from bondage.�

That
actually got her to stop in her tracks. That hadn�t been in the
interview. �You��

�Read
it, yes. They�re open to the public at
the Legislative Committee�s archives.
I�ve developed a habit of looking forward to your submissions. You submit a new one every Friday, don�t
you? So I assume you came from the
L.C.O.�

She
stared at him, mouth agape. His smile
widened, perhaps knowing he had finally made a positive impression.

She
blinked and she wracked her brain for a reason to tell him off. She couldn�t find one, at least not in the
state she was in. Here was someone who
actually had respect for her beloved S.P.E.W., and she was suddenly ashamed for
wanting to bite his head off earlier.

Letting
the astonishment diminish, she told herself that of course, there were people
out there who could actually think beyond themselves and be more than what was
expected of them.

She
finally graced him with a respectful nod, her features softening. �Thank you.
I worked particularly hard on that thesis. Nobody has�thank you.�

�Nobody
has appreciated it,� he finished for her.
�Please, Miss Granger, let�s start over.� He stepped towards her, straightening his
robes as he extended one hand. �Lysander Athanasius. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.�

She
blushed fiercely as she took his hand.
�And I�m glad to have met you, Mr. Athanasius.�

�Please
call me Lysander,� he said, the gentle but firm grip
of his hand distracting her ever so slightly.
�And you were right, you know.�

She
arched an eyebrow. She wasn�t sure about
what he was referring to. �Right? About
what?�

He
hadn�t let go of her hand, turning her palm over with the least demanding
touch. �About the pick-up line. It wasn�t creative. But given the circumstances, I was too
flustered to spout anything worth your intelligence. Forgive me, but I was too desperate to meet
you.�

�Mister
Ath��

�Lysander.�

�L-Lysander, that�s quite alright. I think�I think my opinion of you has
changed, anyway�� Hermione almost
widened her eyes at her forwardness. As
much as she loathed playing mind games when it came to attraction, she at least
wanted to come off as a bit mysterious, particularly with someone she just
met. How
very dowdy of you, Hermione Granger! �Well,
anyway, I must be going!�

�Of
course you must.� He gracefully bent
over her hand as he brought it to his lips.

Oh Merlin, he�s�he�s kissing my
hand! Who DOES THAT these days?

He does, apparently; probably to
every fluttery bird he mesmerizes in government facilities.

Trying
not to seem overly uncomfortable, she took her hand back, gave a stiff nod to Lysander and his posse and strode to the fireplace without
looking back.

As
she stepped over the hearth, she turned to face the hallway with complete poise
and saw Lysander�s gaze still on her. She kept her demeanor cool and composed as
she said, �Atrium!�, secretly cheering for how she handled the walk-away.

Nice save, Granger! She thought, grinning.
At least you didn�t look like a
total Hermio-ninny!

Oh, but the eyes on that man! I simply couldn�t be blamed for screwing my
part up so badly. Made me forget I had a
brain at all.

She
paused in her musings as a new thought began to form.

Made me forget, period�

And
that, she realized, was his strongest allure.
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Hermione Full of Grace

Chapter One � Brilliance of His Gaze