“It’s sort of like the Wronski Feint,” Ron was explaining through a mouthful of fish. Hermione sighed in annoyance while trying to look over Fred and George’s heads to get a good view of the window. She was almost sure she had spotted a small spec in the distance.
“That’s the third time it’s been used, ever,” Ron continued oblivious to the fact that Hermione had no clue what he was saying. And it wasn’t only because she didn’t care to understand Quidditch; an owl had indeed just entered through the open kitchen window.
She waited rather impatiently as it made its way over Fred and George’s heads and came to land in front of her. She was aware of Ron asking her which team she thought Harry should go for, as if she knew any teams to begin with, while she opened her letter with a confident hand.
“Hermione?” Ron asked, “Hermione, are you all right I asked you about Ha-” he had finally spotted the letter. Hermione sat there, barely able to understand what was going on around her as she stared at the big shining T right in the middle of her beautiful list of O’s and E’s. Troll. But surely that had been a joke.
Ron snatched it forcefully out of her grip. She suppressed an urge to slap him right there and then. She had been looking at it. There must be some mistake, she thought, some strange mix-up. Hermione just didn’t fail a N.E.W.T, she didn’t fail any type of test. Sure she had known that her grades would be affected by spending most of her time hunting Horcruxes with Harry, but to fail. It was definitely a mistake.
“It’s one measly N.E.W.T, Hermione,” Ron’s voice broke her thoughts, “One N.E.W.T.”
That wasn’t the point.
“I failed five, Hermione, five,” he continued almost desperately it seemed to Hermione, “And I attempted three less than you in the first place.”
Yes well that was easy for him to say, it made no difference to him, he’d already received an acceptance to the Auror program based upon his war record.
“Look you have three career options left, and I mean actual careers that make sense not stupid things. Look,” he waved the pamphlet before her.
Harry hadn’t spoken yet. He was looking extremely guilty. As if it was his fault she’d decided saving the world from Voldemort was more important than school. As if it was his fight when she was the Muggleborn in the group.
“Everyone failed N.E.W.Ts this year, it’s expected with the war going on, they can be redone over the summer,” Charlie piped up.
“Yeah it’s not the end of the world,” Ron looked like he was scared she would cry. They all failed to understand why she was upset. It was the principle of the thing. She, Hermione Granger, just didn’t get T’s on her N.E.W.Ts. Hermione Granger had never seen a troll before nor should she have ever seen this one. She smiled wryly. No, that wasn’t completely accurate.
She was aware of all the eyes that were on her now. She didn’t have time to be angry with Ron for being so loud about it, because she was too busy remembering her first troll, remembering that it hadn’t been the troll that had made her cry. She hadn’t cried for the first troll, so why should she now. She still had options.
She looked down at the pamphlet Ron was waving before her glazed eyes. Focusing her eyes properly she allowed herself to take a peek at the ones he’d circled with his messy, smudged hand. She’d have to talk to him about that later. Professor: five different subjects were circled; Ministry Secretary: she liked her life the way it was actually liking parchment thank you very much; and Reporter: the name Skeeter was suddenly dancing before her eyes in big red letters.
It wasn’t Ron’s lack of judgment on the matter though; all three were from her original list. She remembered the day she had made her list of acceptable professions (real Professions she’d labeled them), and she had told herself that she wouldn’t mind them just incase. But incase had never really meant incase she failed and couldn’t choose from her more favorable options. It had always been incase she changed her mind, or incase she was too severely injured in the war to be able to do any of them. Never incase she got a T.
“Hermione, come on, you’ll see… it’s still early, you may get letters like me and Harry yet,” Harry and I, she corrected in her head automatically, but she was too deep in thought to voice it right now.
It was true they had only received their letters a few days ago, and the N.E.W.T results had come early this year to give people time to plan, but again, it was the principle of the thing. She didn’t want to get special permission. Or be babied because they knew she could do it but had been too busy with the Horcrux hunt. She wanted to get a list of nice shining O’s and E’s and then choose herself, after she’d proven she could handle it, all of it, fighting Voldemort included.
Besides, she knew she’d never get a letter anyways. Harry was Harry, and Ron was Ron, no one gave you a job because you had figured out an obscure spell that had been used to destroy the fifth Horcrux. Or brewed the complex potion that nearly saved their hides several times. It all, ironically enough, depended either on the outstanding schoolwork or the valiant heroism in war. Not the practical and coolheaded application of your knowledge to get out of tough situations and solve the riddles of Voldemort’s hideouts. That had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Just then Dobby entered the room with dessert. She noticed her still-full plate of fish and wondered when she had managed to squash her potatoes to a pulp.
“Come on, Hermione, there’s loads of choices, you could- look, you could become an Unspeakable too, why wasn’t that on your original list?”
‘Because I’ll lose my ability to speak along with a couple of limbs, or be terrorized into keeping their dirty little secrets,’ she answered in her head.
“Don’t be silly Ronald,” she said finally, her eyes still fixed on Dobby’s small, shuffling form as he hobbled out of the room under a teetering pile of plates. No, she decided, she had never really wanted to be a Healer in the first place.
“Don’t be silly Ronald,” she repeated snatching the pamphlet out of his hand and stowing it safely under the jug of pumpkin juice, “I know exactly what I’m going to do.”
Five minutes later Hermione’s face suddenly relaxed and she looked down at her chocolate cake.
“Seven years,” she announced matter-of-factly, to no one in particular, and promptly dug into her cake with relish.
………………Five Years Later……………………..
Ron looked up from his maps and papers with a jolt. Harry had burst into the room brandishing the latest copy of The Daily Prophet.
“What is it Harry?” Ron demanded, “Have they found her?”
“No listen to this,” Harry began.
“Harry, I have to work on finding Hermione alright, I don’t have time if it’s something else-”
“Hermione told us she was going on vacation Ron,” Harry protested.
“Yeah right, Hermione does not take a three month vacation from work, Harry, she just doesn’t,” Ron sighed dejectedly trying not to think about all the terrible things that could be happening to her right now.
“Just listen will you!” Harry cut him off loudly, “Rosalyn Orphange, founded by the late Mrs. Rosalyn Nott after the first Great War is moving into the new expanded quarters later this week.”
“Harry, I really don’t have time for Nott’s deceased mother right now.”
“Just shut up and listen Ron,” Harry said loudly, barely able to hide an excited gleam in his eye.
“The orphanage is now sharing quarters with the new society, S.P.E.W, otherwise known as the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare. This society, founded by the well known Hermione Granger, best friend to Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley….bla bla bla,” Harry skipped over the details of their friendship and their deeds in war, while Ron spluttered incoherently, his attention was now wholly concentrated on Harry’s words.
“She has earned herself a name among the Wizarding World’s finest Investigative Reporters for exposing many rebel Death Eaters and their activities since the fall of You-Know-Who, and especially for exposing many instances of, in her words “Terrible injustices and abuse of house-elves.”
“While it has been no secret that Miss Granger has always harbored these feelings towards House-Elf rights she is joined in her new efforts by many others like Mr. Theodore Nott, son of the late Rosalyn Nott, …filty rich yeah yeah yeah…”
“And Mr. Neville Longbottom who has just returned a few months ago from Brazil. Mr. Longbottom is responsible for the discovery of the Alice Root, named after his own mother Alice Longbottom. For details on the medicinal uses of this root turn to pages three, four and seven…”
“Neville!” Ron exclaimed, “What’s he got to do with Spew?”
“Hannah Abbot, St. Mungo’s Healer,” Harry continued down the list excitedly, “Who lost her ability to walk during the war.”
“What they need a special healer for the House-Elves too!” Ron was becoming angry, but not so much with S.P.E.W, which he knew Hermione had never really given up on, as with Hermione’s failure to mention the real reason for her ‘vacation’.
“Listen to this Ron, and fellow reporter Miss Luna Lovegood of the Quibbler, who had recently returned from her search for the famed Snorkacks,”
“Oh, now they’re going to take her seriously,” Ron said sarcastically, “Loony Lovegood!”
“…bla bla bla….The Squib Liaison Office,” Harry continued to read ignoring Ron’s comment, “Which hopes to close the gap between the Squibs and the Muggle world. On this issue Mr. Nott jokes, ‘Of course It’s a wonderful idea, how many of us would have slept easier as first and second years if Filch hadn’t been a bitter old freak, the Squib, but enough bashing his memory, man’s dead after all.’”
“I told you she wasn’t missing, Ron,” Harry concluded handing Ron the paper.
“I told you she doesn’t take three month vacations, Harry,” Ron quipped, fishing for his sack of Floo Powder.
……………………………………………………………………
Ron landed rather ungracefully on his knees in the old headquarters of Rosalyn Orphanage. The room was filled with busy witches, wizards, and house-elves milling about and levitating furniture.
“Mr. Harry Potter,” a squeaky voice came from his left, “Mr. Wheezy, Dobby is so glad you came. Let Dobby show you around.”
“Alright Dobby,” Harry agreed. They followed Dobby outside earning themselves many curious and excited stares on the way. The small orphanage behind them was nothing comparing to the gigantic wooden structure before them. It was, Ron thought excitedly, larger than several Quidditch pitches put together.
They entered through large double doors with a sign above that read In Loving Memory: Rosalyn Nott, in large silver letters. Ron looked around him in awe.
“Nott must have spent half his family’s fortune on this,” he said in awe.
“Actually he didn’t Mr. Wheezy,” Dobby said, “Master Nott owns the land, but he owns only half of this. Miss Lovegood, Miss Granger, Miss Abbot and Mr. Longbottom insisted on paying half of the money. It was built by house-elves.”
“This is where the abandoned house-elves sleeps, until they is found a new position,” Dobby pointed down a long hallway, “The ones that used to serve Death Eaters or got fired. And the children sleeps upstairs on the second floor,” he pointed to a wide staircase.
“The third floor is the rooms for rent, they is renting them to any witches and wizards to pay for the expenses of the House-elf services, they is not asking the house-elves to pay of course.”
They soon found themselves outside again in a large courtyard. Many strange plants were being planted all around, and they spotted none other than Neville Longbottom, trying to push away a reporter who was taking pictures of one of the plants. He spotted them and waved, then realized that the reporter had seized the opportunity to move closer to the plant.
“No, no, no!” his angry voice rang across the courtyard, “It doesn’t like…”
“Mental!” Ron commented as they followed Dobby across the courtyard. To their right and left they could see waiting rooms for the offices through the glass walls. The chairs and counters in the room they were approaching were quite small.
“Daddy,” a small witch almost knocked Harry over, she continued on her way without a second backward glance and threw herself at a wizard standing in the doorway under the S.P.E.W sign. He picked her up and continued talking to the reporter whose quill was scratching furiously.
“A powerful wizard doesn’t need to terrorize his house-elves in order to maintain control,” the man who Ron vaguely recognized was saying, “My mother never believed in all the self-punishment crap, it not only makes the elves unable to do the rest of their jobs properly until they’ve healed, but also ends up destroying valuable household items.
“I have been paying my house-elves a small wage for the last five years and they all know that if they misbehave they’ll have it cut; I haven’t had a single problem with my elves since. It works, that’s what most witches and wizards are slowly coming to realize, and the house-elves, contrary to popular belief, are much happier about it themselves.”
He looked up and noticed Ron and Harry standing and listening to him. Winking his left eye he pointed to the opposite side of the courtyard before turning back to the reporter. Dobby steered himself around and headed towards the large red and gold sign: Library.
“Harry,” Ron asked aloud, “Was that just Theodore Nott, the scrawny little…”
He didn’t get time to finish because as soon as they walked through the door they spotted Hermione standing on a small stool shelving books, her eyes dancing with excitement.
“Ron, Harry!"
