July, 2002

Hermione Granger picked up the letter and read it for the umpteenth time.

“Dear Miss Granger,

It is with the utmost pleasure that the Board of Governors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would like to offer you the position of Professor of Ancient Runes.

As you may be aware, the present incumbent retired at the end of June. We would be honoured if you would consent to take up his post. We are very aware of your credentials, Miss Granger – you come highly recommended by both Headmaster Dumbledore and your current employer, Mr. Jasuit (who, we would like to add, was less than polite when we raised the subject of references. We are under the impression he wishes you to remain in your current role. Rest assured that no further references were required).

If you are agreeable to the position, please read over the enclosed contract and return it to us by owl no later than the 1st August. Term begins on 2nd September, and all teachers are encouraged to be on school grounds a few days before the start of term.

We feel you are highly qualified for this role, Miss Granger, and would like to emphasise how keenly we wish you to join the faculty.

Yours faithfully,

Olaf Pensington-Smyth, Board of Governors”

She had, of course, read the contract. Then she had signed the contract and posted it immediately, not allowing herself the luxury of further thought.

Albus Dumbledore had approached her at the end of June with an informal offer to take up Ancient Runes. Initially she was reluctant to take the job – being an Unspeakable, working for the Department of Mysteries, gave her immense satisfaction and suited her talents. It also earned her an obscene amount of money, most of which she squirreled away in both Muggle and Wizarding banks around the world.

She hadn’t set out in life wanting to be an Unspeakable. After the horrific losses she’d suffered during the final war against Voldemort she’d desperately wanted to make a difference in the world. She’d joined the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, but the sheer bureaucracy of the place – coupled with Ron Weasley’s infidelity – had sapped all her enthusiasm, leaving her depressed and vulnerable.

And then, when she’d thought she could stand it no more, an angel had appeared.

Jonah Jasuit wasn’t the kind of man one would normally associate with the word ‘angel’. He was tall and lean, with wiry muscles, square shoulders and the kind of reflexes one might normally associate with a rat or snake. He had an angular face, with a sharp nose, dark, penetrating eyes and rock-hard chin. His hair was shaped in a Muggle, military-style crew cut; dark steel-grey relieved only by thick bands of paler grey at his temples. His skin was tanned like a nut and lined with experience. He could have been anywhere between forty and sixty.

Jonah Jasuit was a survivor. Becoming Head of the Department of Mysteries shortly after it had been infiltrated by a band of teenagers and Death Eaters, he’d shaken the department by its roots and straightened it up. He’d added layer upon layer of security, personally vetted all his employees, and rode out the storm of Voldemort’s war.

He’d offered the nineteen-year old Hermione a job as an Unspeakable, the youngest such in history. She’d taken to the job like a duck to water, using all her powers of investigation, all her intelligence and bravery to achieve her goals. All under the less than wholesome tutelage of another Unspeakable, John Gildersome. She had respected him at first, listening to his wisdom, learning from him.

After a very short time, she’d learned he was a monster.

Hermione found herself spiralling into an abusive, unhealthy relationship with the man. Switching from one job to another had only solved the most basic of her problems – soul-destroying boredom – but she hadn’t let anyone see what really troubled her.

Immediately after the war, the wards on her parents’ house had been relaxed. The Ministry had thought them safe.

Rogue Death Eaters broke in and murdered them both.

Hermione had been out of the country on Unspeakable business, unreachable for weeks. Her parents were already buried when she’d finally returned home. The guilt and self-loathing proved more than she could stand, so she’d thrown herself more deeply into her job – and more deeply into her destructive relationship with Gildersome. She’d questioned her own self-worth, and he was more than happy to debase that diminishing value even further. Periodically, she would end their relationship, but he would always talk his way back into her bed.

Hermione spiralled deep into a pit of depression, losing weight and sleep in equal measure.

Her problems increased dramatically, however, when she uncovered an ancient artefact – a magical Key, carved into the shape of a star, literally crawling with an ancient script called cuneiform. A short time later she’d hit an Unspeakable jackpot in the form of the Ishtar Gate of Babylon, which, combined with the Gate Key, would open the way to the most momentous discovery of the twentieth century – the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Unfortunately, lengthy possession of the star-shaped Key had caused horrific nightmares, until Hermione could barely sleep at all. She lost more weight, threw herself more deeply into her work, and ignored the rack and ruin to which her body was falling. She was oblivious to it all.

It was at this point Jonah Jasuit stepped in yet again. After ordering her to have a full medical examination, she was advised to see a Ministry-approved Legilimens in the form of one Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts. He diagnosed the Key as the source of her nightmares and, with help from Jonah, forced her to relinquish it.

John Gildersome, however, had other plans. He had no interest in the Gardens. It was what they had been built to protect that caught his attention, that occupied his every waking thought, that eventually consumed his sanity – the fabled Dark Chest of Wonders, supposedly the source of all magic.

Against all odds, Hermione and Snape became close during their association, and eventually lovers. Gildersome suffered insane jealousy of their burgeoning relationship, and vowed two things – to reclaim the Dark Chest, and to punish Hermione for her defection. He stole the Key and fled through the Hanging Gardens, Snape and Hermione hot on his heels, desperate to get to the Chest before them. Upon opening it, however, he found it was empty. After a short, bitter struggle, he was restrained and taken to Azkaban.

That had been only a few short weeks ago. Dumbledore had offered her the position at Hogwarts just a week after term ended, and she’d given it considerable thought before the official letter arrived. She enjoyed being an Unspeakable – always had, even with Gildersome’s unsavoury presence – and enjoyed it still. But she was under no illusions; the job was highly dangerous and came with no guarantees. There were no back up teams, no last minute rescues. Life expectancy among Unspeakables was short, and Hermione became increasingly aware of this as the days passed.

She knew she could be a good teacher, if she could adjust to the different pace of life at Hogwarts. There wasn’t a thing about Ancient Runes she didn’t know. She was patient with pupils – or at least, she had been with Neville Longbottom, Ron and Harry.

Perhaps Hogwarts was the places were she could really make the changes she had spent all her adult life trying to effect.

---

“Granger!”

Hermione groaned and, refolding the letter from the Board of Governors, stuffed it into a pocket of her long leather coat. Her feet, encased in knee-length boots, were up on the desk and crossed at the ankle. She grabbed what she was supposed to be working on – a translation of an Old Kingdom Egyptian treatise – and tried to look studious.

The door to her office banged open, and Jonah Jasuit’s glowering figure filled the frame.

“Finished that translation yet?” he barked.

“Working on it,” she replied, short.

“Like hell you have. You’ve been reading that damned letter again, haven’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him “What does it matter if I have? I’ll be gone in six weeks. Then you won’t have to bother about me.”

Jonah sighed and closed her office door behind him. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

“You might not believe this, Granger, but I would be happier if you remained an Unspeakable,” he told her. Hermione snorted. “You’re the finest we’ve ever had, and with that leech Gildersome under lock and key, you’re free to flourish.”

Hermione swallowed against the lump that formed in her throat. “But what if where I want to flourish isn’t here?” she murmured.

“I have no choice but to let you do what you want,” Jonah scowled. “I don’t chain my staff to their jobs. If you want to leave, so be it.” He regarded her, dark eyes softening. “Listen – if it doesn’t work out for you at Hogwarts, you can always come back here. I don’t normally take Unspeakables back if they leave, but you’re different. You’re special, Hermione.”

Tears pricked her eyes and she bit her tongue to hold them back, not trusting herself to speak. He so rarely used her first name that, whenever he did, he always got her attention. His offer touched her to the core.

“Thank you,” she rasped, when she felt she might be able to trust her voice again.

“So,” Jonah barked, all business again, “seen that old bastard Snape again?”

Hermione heaved a sigh of her own. “Only twice,” she replied. “The first time was just after he’d been healed at St. Mungo’s – we spent a few days in Louisiana.” Jonah nodded. He knew she had property in a small, magically protected bayou, ruled by a voodoo-practicing swamp witch called Mama Delilah. “It was good,” she added, a secret smile playing about her face.

“The second time?” Jonah prompted.

“Last week.” The smile left Hermione’s face. “He was a bit… I don’t know… distant. Not rude, or mean, or… anything, really. It was as if a part of him wasn’t there.”

“Maybe he’s got something on his mind.”

Hermione grimaced. “I thought so, too. I want him to feel he can tell me anything – like I did with him – but I suppose trust like that takes time to build up…?” she finished, uncertain.

Jonah nodded, but he had doubts. “Snape’s spent his life trusting no-one. He’s got to learn how to interact in a relationship.”

Privately, he had a very different opinion – that Severus Snape was trying to distance himself from the young witch who clearly held him in high esteem. He would have his reasons, of course – the difference in their age, his past, her emotional vulnerability. He was going to get all noble and tell her that he didn’t deserve her, that she should be with a better man.

It was bloody annoying! They were perfect for each other, both intelligent, driven people, stimulated by the other’s company. Hermione wasn’t in love with him yet, but Jonah knew she would be soon; he could see her hovering on the edge of that deeper emotion. And now the idiot was getting ready to turn her away! It set his teeth on edge, but he wasn’t going to interfere.

Well, not yet, anyway.

Hermione rummaged on her groaning, overburdened desk and withdrew a tightly rolled length of parchment. She tossed it to Jonah, who caught it with one deft hand.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A translation of this boring Egyptian treatise,” she grinned. “I finished it two days ago.”

Jonah rolled his eyes. “Right, missy, if you can get through garbage like that with such ease, I’ve got a stack of Norse stones for you to translate! Honestly…” He shook his head as he slammed out of her office, but there was a smile on his face.