Chapter Text
Her heels clicked as she sped to the meeting room. Curses muttered under Hermione’s breath as she wished for some loafers, or better yet, sneakers, but of course those wouldn’t be ‘dress code approved’. Stupid period typical sexist dress code. She wasn’t even allowed to wear a pair of damn slacks. Dresses or skirts only.
Sometimes she wished she didn’t care nearly as much as she did about creature rights, especially in the 1920s when they had nearly none. Then, maybe, she would have been able to get a job where it wasn’t required to spend almost two hours getting ready in the morning.
Maybe then she wouldn’t be going into this meeting with Mr. Newt Scamander stomach growing after having to push her lunch even further back. For probably the first time, Hermione wished someone had been a bit less efficient. When she’d owled him that morning asking when a good time to meet him would be, she hadn’t expected Mr. Scamander to get back within the hours.
But he had and after the sham of a trial she just had for a lycanthropic woman to keep custody of her child, she was running late. The only good news was she had been able to get a mistrial so she had time to, hopefully, find a new angle for the woman.
Rounding the corner, Hermione stopped in front of the meeting room and smoothed out her skirt. No reason to look frantic when meeting a client, even if she doubted he’d care. Anyone that worked with creatures stopped putting stock into being super presentable. Knocking, she didn’t wait for an answer before going in. Seeing the man sitting at the table, her first thought was ‘fluffy’ followed quickly by mortification at labeling a grown man, someone she admired , something she’d called Crookshanks.
“Mr. Scamander?” She asked. The only photos she’d seen of him were when he was much older, all old and grey. The man in front of her looked nothing like that.
He shot her an awkwardly hesitant smile as he stood, barely making eye contact before looking away at the wall behind her. He nodded. “Yes, you’re Miss Dubois? You sent me a letter saying you needed to speak to me about India?”
Hermione shut the door, letting the privacy wards all ministry meeting rooms snapped\\\ into place. “I did, please, sit back down. Might as well be as somewhat comfortable while I explain.” His smile dropped a little, probably due to nerves, while she summoned two glasses and filled them with the water pitcher from the side bar cart. She took the seat across the table from him. “Getting right into it, I was assigned your visa case mainly because of your wish to study magical creatures. Even with your new international travel license, other countries still have the right to bar foreign wizards. Some countries do not allow the English in their country, mainly due to colonization and guarding their own magical communities after seeing what the muggle governments have done.”
“And India is one of them.” He guessed with a sigh.
“Yes, India is one of them with a single notable exception.” Mr. Scamander’s head popped up from his disappointed staring contest with the table. She was, unwillingly, reminded of her old neighborhood pomeranian that used to trot around her parents home. “If you had a parselmouth that could travel with you, they have stated they would allow you in the country for two months.”
“I don’t…know any parselmouths.”
“Not a surprise. Most were killed or driven out of England due to prejudice many years ago”
Mr. Scamander rolled his lips, eyes to the table again. “So, I’ll not be going to India is what you’re telling me, Miss Dubois? No offense, but this could have been stated in a letter.”
She chuckled. “I said most , Mr. Scamander, not all. I just happen to be friends with what I believe is the last parselmouth in England. And she’s already agreed to travel with you, free of charge.”
“Truly?”
“A few stipends, of course. She wants to meet you first before anything. If you two don’t get along, there is no reason to make the trip miserable.” She started. He apparently agreed, nodding along with her words. “Second, there needs to be a stop in a remote part of India. It’s near Nagaland and the border to Myanmar. There is a rare plant that she needs to collect there.”
Mr. Scamander’s crook smile widened as he leaned forward. “Absolutely. Both conditions are completely reasonable. Nagaland was a stop regardless.”
“Perfect.” Hermione matched his smile with one of her own, a bit self satisfied. Pulling out the file with the forms he needed to sign out of her extended pocket, she slapped it down in front of her. “There are just a few forms we need and then I can start the process with the Indian Government. Hopefully you two can be in India by the end of the month.”
“The end of the month? It’s only the eighth.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, is my ability to get you access to a first of its time excursion between two hostile governments too slow for you?”
He reeled back, eyes wide as they stared at her ear. “Uh, no, I apologize. The end of the month works fine.”
It was silent between the two except when she explained the forms he was signing. Basically they included there was the agreement to get any extra immunizations India required, to agree to a person and belonging search into and out of the country, an agreement to not ‘steal any sentient creature, persons, or thing native to the country of India’, and that India reserves the right to kick him out at anytime in the two months he is there.
All were pretty understandable considering how hostile, even if nonviolent, India was towards England at this time. Azalea would have to sign the same ones. Or she had thought they were understandable but apparently Mr. Scamander was more alike to Azalea than she assumed since, after reading them through, the first words out of his mouth was an attempt at a loophole. “It says I can’t steal a sentient creature, what if it chooses to come with me? Would that break the agreement?”
“Mr. Scamander, if you decide, for whatever reason, you need to take a native Indian creature out of India , I beg of you, please , just don’t get caught.”
“You’re not going to tell me to just not do it?”
“I have a feeling telling you not to nick a creature is a battle Merlin himself would lose.”
Despite turning a pink color, he didn’t refute her words, just focusing on the paper, signing his name one final time. Double checking everything, Hermione nodded. With a wave of her want she sent the folder with the now signed papers to her office.
Grabbing the blank legal pad, she scribbled down Azalea’s owl address and slid it across to him. “This is my friend’s owl address. I’ll leave it to you to send her a letter.” He stared at it, eyebrows furrowed. Protectiveness rose at the perceived slight to her best friend. “Is there a problem?”
“No, no I-” Whatever he was going to say, he changed his mind. “I’ll message her, thank you. For everything. You went out of your way to help me.”
Hermione stood, her legal pad making its way to her pocket. “It’s no problem, Mr. Scamander, after all, you aren’t the only one that believes magical creatures deserve a kinder reception."
Signing her name one final time, Hermione sighed and leaned back in her office chair. As the only lawyer full time in the Magical Beast Department she was constantly busy. Not only with Ministry cases but pro bono cases, then there were auror cases that dealt with creatures she was required to look over to determine the best course of action. To put it plainly, Hermione was swamped. Swamped in a way she’d always thrived, but swamped nonetheless.
Doing a quick tempus , she couldn’t stop the curse. 6:30pm. She’d promised Ron she’d be back an hour ago so they could go to dinner. The two of them hadn’t been able to spend much time with the two of them with their jobs. Ron was still a new man in the Auror department, which grated on him for multiple reasons, but it also meant he had to deal with the jobs and hours no one else wanted. That coupled with her own long hours mean the two of them had seen each other alone for maybe 3 hours total this week.
Packing her paperwork into her bag, Hermione hoped if she made it home quick enough the two of them could still have that dinner. She had just slipped on her deep maroon overcoat when a knock came from her door. Eyes shutting in exhaustion, she sent a silent apology to Ron. If someone was coming to her this late, it was probably important.
Turning around there was a tall, well-dressed man in her doorway. Light freckles dusted his pale nose and with wavy brown hair, he was, admittedly, quite handsome. Not that looks had ever meant much to the woman. If they did she’d have caved to Mclaggen her 6th year.
The two of them were silent as they watched the other. Finally she got tired of waiting. “Yes, can I help you?”
The man seemed startled, shaking his head as if to dislodge his thoughts. He cleared his throat. “Oh, I was told this was the office of the Magical Beast’s solicitor, is he in? If not, could you tell me when he will be in?”
“ She is right here.” Hermione was certain her smile could cut diamond at the moment. It wasn’t the first time someone had assumed she was a secretary, wouldn’t be the last. Too brown, too muggle, too female, whatever it was Hermione was never what people expected. Or wanted. “What is it you need?”
The man’s eyes, blue and pretty she annoyingly noted, widened in no small amounts of embarrassed shock. “I apologize. I came in and, well, made an assumption which I know I shouldn’t-”
“Sir,” She cut him off. “Did you need something or did you just come here to insult me?”
“I certainly didn’t-” He stopped his defense of himself at her glare. “I heard Solicitor Dubois, you, take pro bono work if you can and feel like a magical being is being unfairly prosecuted. I believe I have a case for you.”
“Leave it on my desk and I’ll look over it tomorrow if I have time.”
The man winced. “That’ll be too late. I believe the woman this is about only has twelve hours, fourteen at best.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed but she sat her bag back on her desk. “Explain.”
“Three months ago I got a case; every full moon for the past 6 months, St. Mungo’s was getting an influx of werewolf infection bites. More than normal, all under twenty-one, some magical but not all. One or two bites on a full moon is normal. The first month they had seven, the second, ten until the month I got the case there was twenty-two bites the weekend before.”
Hermione couldn’t help the gasp that left her, mind flashing back to yellowed teeth and feral eyes. Grey back hadn’t been born yet but that didn’t mean the fear he’d installed in her disappeared.
“You get it. Someone was purposefully infecting more and more people. And getting good at it. Except the next month they slipped up. The last person they bit was right as the moon went down. He was still conscious as the werewolf changed back. He was able to give a description. Medium brown hair, skinny, unhealthily so desperate air, certainly female.” He paused, biting his lip as he glared at the wall.
Before she could say anything he continued. “I asked around, some of the wolves in Knockturn owed some favors and I was able to get a name; Sylvia Peacewood. Took a team to her apartment and arrested her. She didn’t even put up a fight.”
She shook her head, confused. “If you got her, why are you bringing the case to me? Why get her an attorney?”
His eyes met hers. Fierce. Angry. Certain. “I don’t believe she did it. The werewolf that bit over 60 people had confidence. She was a fanatic. The woman I interviewed was shy, terrified in a way she couldn’t fake. Despite that she was insistent she was innocent. No matter the pressure I put on her.”
“So tell your boss that. Don’t take her to trial.” Hermione stated.
He frowned. “I tried. He said that the evidence was against her and he couldn’t let her go ‘on one man’s hunch’.”
“Meaning the minister is pressuring him to close the case.” She hissed. No matter the time period, she could always count on the ministry being the ministry. “There’s nothing you can do to help her? No contradictory evidence?”
He sighed like he already knew what she would ask. “Maybe. Sylvia said she may have an alibi for one night. Only problem is said alibi is a Hag.”
“And a Hag wouldn’t talk to an auror to save her own life, let alone someone else’s.”
“Now you see why I brought the case here.”
Hermione groaned, cursing Azalea in her head. Her damn savior complex was infectious. She purposefully ignored all the evidence in her past that said this wasn’t a new issue for her. Pulling her coat off, she hung it on her chair as she sat down. Gesturing to the chair across her desk, she raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Well, take a seat. You want to bring me a case this late, you get to play assistant..”
Blue eyes blinked at her. “Uh, are you-”
“Sit.”
“Yes ma’am.” He hurried to the seat, sliding the file over to her. I’m Theseus Scamander, by the way. Figured an introduction was in order at this point.”
Hermione’s lips twitched at the familiar surname. What are the odds? “Nice to meet you, Theseus. Hermione Dubois, call me Hermione.”
The two nodded, determination shining.
Theseus and her had worked on getting Sylvia a semi-decent defense argument for hours. Since he had been the main investigator, Hermione had had him run through everything he’d done in his own words before ever getting into the files.
As the victims were random, they had to lean on alibi, motive, means, and if Sylvia could even do it. Lucky for them, all the evidence was circumstantial at best. That meant Hermione could get, at the very least, an extension to review the evidence and talk to Sylvia.
While she was doing that Theseus said he’d look into other leads and keep her updated.
All in all, they didn’t feel terrible about the werewolf’s chances, although that strange hope could be a side effect of still being awake at 3 AM.
Apparating on so little sleep was stupid for the average wixen, but if she could do it all over England at seventeen with no sleep, no food, and more anxiety than a person should ever feel, she could make it to her front step. Something she assured Theseus of when he’d voiced his worry.
But everyone is wrong once in a while.
Stumbling on the landing, Hermione reached out to steady herself so she didn’t fall down her front steps. Accidentally grabbing the doorknob, she winced as the front door swung open, loud thump echoing through the house as it hit the wall. So much for not waking Ron.
Decking to still silent enter on the off chance he was still asleep, Hermione hung her coat on the rack. Turning the corner, she barely held back a hex at the red hair in their otherwise pitch black living room. “Merlin, Ron, what are you doing in there? Why aren’t you upstairs in bed?”
A lamp turned on, illuminating a frowning Ron, had rubbing sleep from his eye. “ What am I doing here? I should be asking you questions. Where were you? We had plans, Hermione. Were you so busy you couldn’t send a damn patronus?”
She flinched as her stomach sank. He was right. “I’m sorry, Ron, I was leaving but then a case came up.”
He rolled his eyes. “A case came up. A case always comes up. It couldn’t have waited a couple of hours?”
“Do you think I would have stayed if it could? A woman could die, Ron, an innocent woman and I could help her.” She tried to explain. This was a familiar argument. Ever sense they’d settled into their jobs it was like all Ron wanted was for her to be at home or available at all times.
“And next it’ll be a Kelpie being shoved into an unfair contract, or an underground creature fighter needing legal representation, or some other manner of being pulling all your attention.” Ron rubbed his hand down his face with a sigh. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve dragged Azalea into your creature mess. What were you thinking, agreeing to watch Teddy for two months just so she would go traveling with that Newt guy?”
Nostrils flaring, she tried to squash her immediate indignation like the therapist said. “Of course it’ll be another case next. That’s how a job works. You think you don’t do the same? ‘Oh, sorry, ‘Mione, I gotta do a stake out with Benson.’ or ‘Sorry! I’ll be late gotta go pick up this unregistered animagus’ I am not the only one working late!”
“But you are the only one skipping dates!”
Growling, she ignored his interruption. “As for the Azalea thing, she deserves this. After everything she’s done, literally dying, she deserves to travel. She’s dreamed of it since first year and if I have to frame it as a favor for me then I damn well will.”
“Of course, I know that, that's not what I meant."
“Then what is it? What do you mean?”
Ron stood, studying over to her. “I mean why do you want to do everything but spend time alone with me? Ever since the Incident, it's like any attraction or romantic feeling are gone.”
She couldn't help the flabbergasted look she sent him. That was his problem? That she didn’t show enough affection? “You’re joking, Ronald, I’ve been a bit preoccupied with traveling eighty plus years into the past and setting up whole new lives for us all. Or would you like to help actually figure something out instead of just letting Azalea and I do everything?”
Fist clenching in anger, Ron wouldn’t help the growl that escaped. “Who made sure we had food? Who made sure the two of you slept and functioned as people? Who took care of Teddy while the two of you barely pulled your heads out of obscure text and arithmetic calculations? Me! I did that!”
“Congratulations. You stayed when the going got tough.” Despite everything in her body telling her not to, Hermione couldn’t stop herself. “ For once .”
She knew her words hit how she wanted as Ron’s glare transformed into hurt. Just like Molly, he tended to purse his lips in an effort to keep said hurt inside. “That’s low , Hermione. You know how much I regret that.”
Hermione slumped, anger melting in the face of his words. “I’m sorry. It’s late. We’re both tired. Let’s just go to bed and we can talk when we both have our heads on correct.”
“You’re right. We can talk tomorrow. “ She must have cringed or something because his glare quickly came back. “Or not?”
“I’m helping Theseus with the case. The one I was late over? It’s time sensitive.” She tried explaining softly.
Not that it helped if his scoff said anything. “Theseus? My boss, Theseus? Is that who you were with tonight instead of making it to our date?”
“Honestly, Ronald. It’s not like that and you know it. He caught me right as I was leaving. What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, sorry, no can’t help save a woman’s life. I have to go shag my boyfriend.’?”
“No, but you could ask if it could wait.”
“I told you it was time sensitive! It couldn’t wait!.” Hermione was certain her voice had reached an octave even silencing charms would have trouble silencing. “Why do we have to fight about this? I’m sorry. Truly. I am. Can we please just go to bed and talk about this later? I have to be up early.”
Ron nodded, lips pursed in anger. “Yeah, work with Theseus, ” he muttered. “Sure, Hermione, we can go to bed. I’ll go upstairs and you can take the couch.”
“Ron.”
“No, until we can have that conversation, you can sleep here.” Ron didn’t let her explain, storming right past her and up the stairs.
Hermione stood there in disbelief. She knew the two of them were strained, but she never thought they would have a fight reminiscent of 3rd year. Not after everything.
How he thought she could just ignore a woman, facing probably death if not helped, to make sure she made dinner reservations? Or did he not care? Expecting her to ‘mellow out’ when not actively at what.
Sliding forward, Hermione dejectedly grabbed Ron’s discarded blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders. Vanishing her outer clothes to the laundry room, she barely remembered laying down. Just one moment, sad, the next; dreamland. Not as fun as candyland, but occasionally she didn’t wake up with her heart pounding on her chest, stomach in knots with worry, so, waking up the next morning with none of that, she’d count the win.
Probably the only one she’d be getting when it came to her personal life.