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Of Wolves and Ravens by fenriswolf
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Of Wolves and Ravens

fenriswolf

Of Wolves and Ravens

by FenrisWolf

Disclaimer - I don't own anything, J. K. Rowling does - damn it.

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Chapter Three

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"Hermione, I'm home! Are you decent?" It was a fair question; ever since their little adventure on the St. Tropez beach, the two of them had fallen into a game of 'Who can shock who?' all planned with, or so Hermione claimed, the intention of keeping their attitudes flexible for their upcoming honeymoon. Harry didn't know about how flexible their attitudes were, but a day didn't go by that he didn't thank the Hundred Little Gods for Hermione's newly revealed obsession with yoga…

"I'm in the kitchen, Harry!" Hermione called back. For the time being they were both calling Hermione's apartment home; Harry's 'pad', while comfortable enough, was fairly limited in its amenities, and for the sake of her library alone it made far more sense for him to move than to shift Hermione's things. Besides, it wasn't as if Harry hadn't been picking up half of the rent on her place all along, a little tidbit of information that had been the focus of their first major fight post getting together.

Harry had spent an uncomfortable week sleeping on the couch until she cooled down, but once she did, that was the end of it. Actually, considering how strong-willed they both were, there had been very little friction involved in the transition from best friends to lovers. Well, that wasn't precisely true, Harry thought with a smirk. There'd been lots of friction, but only in a good way, and besides, that's what flavored massage oils were for.

Stopping briefly to hang up his cloak and neatly deposit his stack of scrolls in his office (learning to be less slovenly had gone a long way towards ensuring the continuance of good vs. bad friction), he followed the sounds of running water and clattering pans with a certain amount of dread. If the noise was any indication, his fiancée was feeling domestic again, which meant that he was going to have to manfully play guinea pig for one of her 'experiments'.

As far as Harry was concerned, any doubt that the Master Planner of the Universe had a perverse sense of humor was dispelled the first time he sat down to a Hermione-cooked meal. Nothing else could explain the unarguable fact that, of all the sources and materials in all the reference libraries in the world, the one type of book from which Hermione Granger was incapable of absorbing knowledge was a cookbook.

Nor did personal instruction seem to make a difference; he knew from listening to Ron's tales of woe in the past that Molly Weasley had attempted on several occasions to take Hermione under her culinary wing, in the hope that she might be able to prepare a few of her son's favorite dishes. Mrs. Weasley's skills with domestic charms were legendary, and while she might use magic to replicate some of the more common laborsaving devices, the actual preparation of the food was as Muggle as it came. She claimed it tasted better that way. Unfortunately Hermione had no better luck under private tutelage than she did with a book in her hand, and after Ron's desperate pleas for mercy, Molly gave it up as a lost cause.

Now that didn't mean that anyone sitting down at Hermione's table faced a choice between starvation and food poisoning, far from it. So long as the preparation was done solely by charms or transfiguration, Hermione could 'cook' a meal to put a House Elf Master Chef to shame. But take away her wand and put a measuring spoon in her hand, and all bets were off. That didn't keep her from trying, and one of the few downsides to their new intimacy was that Harry was no longer allowed to duck and cover when she found that new recipe that surely would turn out better this time.

Harry sighed as the sight of piled ingredients, bubbling pots and simmering pans confirmed his worst fears. Hermione stood next to the stove, one hand busily stirring a large kettle while the other hand supported the open book she was studying intently. Her hair was held away from her neck by an oversized plastic clip, and she was in one of her comfy loafing-around-the-house outfits comprised of a pair of soft, baggy sweatpants that hung low on her hips, and one of his old Muggle tee shirts, a little worn and frayed and around two sizes too big for her, which was fine by Harry. He never understood the preference for tight-fitting clothing some men voiced, loose garments made it far easier to go exploring during a really good snog session…

"Dinner should be ready in about half an hour, Harry," Hermione said brightly, not turning away from her work. She carefully set the cookbook down and, stretching up on her toes, grabbed a jar from the collection of spices on the top shelf of the cabinet. Three precise shakes into the pot she was stirring later the jar was returned to its place, and another step had been completed without mishap.

Harry resisted the urge to come up behind her and devour her neck, never a good idea around someone working with pans filled with scalding hot concoctions, and especially not when the cook was as disaster-prone as his girlfriend. Instead he snagged a bottle of butterbeer from the cooler and took a seat on the far side of the kitchen table, close enough to watch her but far enough away that there should be no way he could unwittingly trigger an accident. "So, what's for dinner tonight?" he asked casually, hoping to get a feel for just how strong a stomach remedy he was likely to need later.

"Fettuccini Alfredo with oyster sauce," she replied absently, and then continued before he could speak. "And yes, I remembered to take the oysters out of their shells this time, and yes, I checked the expiration dates on all the dairy products, and yes, I checked the pasta for weevils, and yes, I copied all the measuring abbreviations out in longhand…anything else?"

Harry chuckled as she catalogued all the things that had contributed to earlier disasters and smiled. "No, love, not a word. I know you're far too stubborn to give up on this; you'll keep trying until you succeed."

A small smile played around her lips and she glanced at him before returning to her work. "No whinging, Mr. Potter, you knew very well what you were getting, the good and the bad, when you seduced me."

"Far more good than bad, Ms. Granger, and just who seduced whom? I seem to vaguely recall someone else's robe hitting the floor before mine did…I could be mistaken, of course; I believe I was suffering a severe shortage of blood flow to my brain right about then…"

She laughed and threw him a saucy wink over her shoulder before returning to her work, and he grinned. Lord, she was stubborn! A small frown briefly crossed his features; her stubbornness was part of what made her so special, but every once in a while there was a backlash. Her culinary disasters were just one example; the early days of S.P.E.W. and the piles of rejected knitted hats had been another, and the developing problems with Q still another. Atrocious cuisine he would consume out of love, the flaws with her crusade for House Elf Rights had been resolved, and as for the latest problem, they would talk it out like they always did.

Finally reaching a point where she could safely turn away for a minute, Hermione grabbed her own bottle of butterbeer and perched on the chair opposite Harry. "So, how was your day?" she asked, her eyes bright. Yes, they'd talk, Harry thought as he returned her smile, but not until later in the evening. Right now the moment belonged to the two of them, friends and lovers who had found each other at last, and the rest of the world could go screw itself…

~~~~~

After dinner they sat in front of the fire, relaxing and enjoying each other's company. Much to his surprise (though he'd never admit it, he valued his skin) the meal had been quite good. True, the noodles had been a bit starchy, the oysters a bit rubbery and the sauce a bit thin, but no worse than many a Muggle restaurant served on a daily basis. It might not have been anything that any self-respecting house elf would serve to a master, but it was far better than many a Muggle newlywed ever saw, and Harry was properly appreciative. It seemed that, here at least, Hermione's stubbornness was paying off.

Elsewhere, unfortunately, was a different matter. "Hermione?"

"Hmmmm?" she replied, snuggling closer. They were fast approaching the 'dessert' portion of the evening, and if he wanted to keep his wits about him, he'd have to start talking before she…too late. Her lips were on his neck and her hands were wandering towards interesting places, but with a tremendous burst of willpower he managed to arrest the proceedings. "There's something we need to talk about."

"Right now?" she pouted. "And I was just thinking about trying out for Seeker again…"

Harry felt his brain try to seize up but manfully fought his way back to coherence. "We can hold tryouts for as many positions as you'd like…later," he said firmly, disentangling himself. "Hermione, this is important."

She huffed and rolled her eyes before sitting up straight. "Oh, all right, I guess I knew this was coming," she replied. "This is about what happened in the Research department, isn't it? I suppose Q came to see you?"

"Did you expect anything less? According to him, Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are ready to walk out in protest over your interference with their work."

She just snorted. "That type always does the martyr to science act well," she said. "I wonder if Creative Histrionics is a required course at Uni when you go for your doctorate?" She smiled and patted his arm. "Don't worry, Harry, those two will never quit on their own…not that it wouldn't be better for everyone if they did."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her gaze ducking away for a second. "Harry, do you trust me?"

He stared at her, amazed and just a little insulted that she would ask. "That's a hell of thing to say; of course I trust you! I'd trust you with my life, you know that!"

"Then will you promise me that what I'm about to tell you will stay between us, no matter what?" she pressed, her eyes searching his.

Harry opened his mouth to toss off a flippant answer, and then realized how serious she was. He paused and gave the question the serious consideration that she deserved. Finally he answered, choosing his words carefully. "I promise that I will not reveal what you tell me to anyone else, unless by keeping silent I run the risk of causing someone else harm, and I promise that if I do come to that decision, I will tell you first before I speak to anyone. Fair enough?"

Hermione thought about his words for a moment, and then nodded. "I can live with that; thank you, Harry." She took a deep breath before continuing. "You know I've been exploring job opportunities at the Ministry, seeing which openings best suited my talents?"

Harry nodded; the various departmental headhunters had gone into a feeding frenzy when she sent in her application. Hermione's reputation had only grown since their days at Hogwarts, and the various divisions were all vying for the coup of having Hermione Granger's name on their masthead.

"Well, obviously I want to work where I can accomplish the most good, so I started researching the mission statements of the different divisions." At this point Hermione's tone shifted to one of incredulous disgust. "Harry, the bureaucracy within the government is-is-unbelievable! I know, that sounds silly coming from a Muggle background, but honestly, Muggle government is a shining example of efficiency compared to the way wizards run things."

She paused and went to her desk, coming back with a stack of folders over a foot tall, each one filled to bursting with reams of paper. "What's all this, then?" Harry asked.

Hermione set them down with a small oof and frowned. "These are the prospectus I compiled on the different divisions, trying to work out the organizational charts and how the various responsibilities of overseeing the Wizarding world are divided. In the 500 years since the Ministries were established, it's all become rather convoluted. And then there's this," she said, lifting the top folder, which only seemed to hold a single sheet of paper.

"What's that?" Harry asked, curious.

"This is all I could find out about the Unspeakables by going though channels," she replied, holding up the paper for Harry to read. On it were four words, written in plain, block letters: 'MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS'.

Her fiancé frowned as he turned the single sheet of parchment over in his hands. "Damnit, I told them-sorry, Hermione, I specifically told all my subordinates that you had been given full clearance. As soon as I get in tomorrow, I'll collect a few heads and see about getting you the records you requested."

"Um…don't bother." If anything, she seemed even more nervous.

"Excuse me? My subordinates defy a direct order and you tell me 'don't bother'?" he asked, his eyes widening.

"Oh, well, of course you want to straighten your people out; you're right, they shouldn't be allowed to think they can get away with something like this. What I meant was, don't bother with the records. I already have them." She rose and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a large, leatherbound volume. She sat down next to Harry, the book in her lap, and Harry noted that a large circular design was embossed into the cover.

It took a few seconds to make sense of it; three figures were interlaced in the old Viking 'gripping beast' style, each one taking up one-third of the pattern. After a bit of work he recognized wings, beaks, and talons, and a nagging suspicion formed in the back of his mind. "Hermione, those wouldn't be…ravens, would they?"

She sighed. "Yes, they are, and to answer your next question, yes, it came from the Sisterhood."

Harry felt a bit of a headache coming on. His feelings about the Ravenclaw Sisterhood were mixed, to say the least. As the head of the Unspeakables, he was required to regard any large, efficient, and only quasi-legal secret organization with all due suspicion. As just Harry Potter, he knew he owed them a debt of gratitude he could never repay for the wonderful woman who even now seated next to him with a look of concern on her face.

Then there were the other complicating factors to consider. Due in part to their efforts on his behalf, his best mate was now married to a Sister (and deliriously happy), his unofficial uncle and the closest thing he had to family was dating a Sister, and his fiancée was becoming close friends with the same.

Harry looked at the book again and rubbed his temples, trying to reach some decision. If, as he suspected, that book was a prospectus of the inner workings of the Unspeakables, then the Sisterhood represented a major security risk, which he should correct. It was common knowledge in the Intelligence departments that the Ravenclaws kept tabs on such things, but it was more or less overlooked because they were usually extremely circumspect about with whom they shared their knowledge. Letting such a book out of their possession represented a major change in their normal methods. Clearly, he needed more information… "Can you tell me how you came to have that?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

Seeing that he was still willing to listen, Hermione relaxed just a bit before answering. "A couple of months ago I was having lunch with Narcissa, and I told her about the stonewalling I was getting from some parts of the Ministry. I was really just blowing off steam, I'd planned on talking to you that evening about it, but she asked me to give her a couple of days to see what she could come up with though her sources." She shrugged. "I figured it couldn't hurt to see what she managed, and if it kept you from having to play the heavy with the people you have to work with, so much the better.

"That weekend she Flooed me and asked me to meet her via portkey. When I arrived I found myself at a large manor house; I'm not certain where, other than somewhere on the coast, as I could smell the ocean. There was a meeting of the Sisterhood's Inner Council going on, and I had been invited so they could ask me a question."

"What did they want to know?"

Hermione looked a bit puzzled. "They wanted to know what the Sorting Hat said to me when I was Sorted, whether it had said anything beyond putting me in Gryffindor. When I told them the hat had suggested that I'd do well in Ravenclaw, but that I insisted on being placed in Gryffindor, some of them became excited. Narcissa asked me to wait outside, and a few minutes later they called me in and offered me an Honorary Sisterhood."

"Which you accepted."

"Which I accepted," she admitted. "Harry, it's not what you think; I haven't sworn some sort of blood oath or become a Ravenclaw version of a Death Eater, I just promised to treat with them as honorably as they treated with me. And Harry, they do have a lot to offer. That book was just one example, they specialize in gathering and collating information."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, I won't pretend I'm thrilled with this, because I'm not, but it's not my place to tell what or what not to do. Just…be careful, please? I don't want anything to happen to you."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Harry, I don't want anything to happen to me, either. Besides, Narcissa is watching out for me."

"Not the greatest of confidence builders, there," he said drily, and she punched him lightly in the arm.

"You know perfectly well how much we already owe her," she scolded, "and Remus adores her. She's really very nice, once you get past the prickly defenses she uses to keep people at bay."

"I know, I know," he relented. "It's just that every so often the little fact that she's Draco Malfoy's mother rears up and bites me on the nose. Silly of me, I guess."

"Not silly, Harry," Hermione disagreed, "and it might help you to know that Narcissa probably is even less happy about their connection than you are. I think she considers Draco to be a lost cause, and if it's one thing I've learned about her the last few months, is that she hates to fail at anything."

"Yeah, that does help a little," he admitted. "All right, no more Inquisition about your involvement with the Sisterhood, and unless something happens to suggest they present a threat, I won't ask for any details about your contacts with them. That being said, can we move on to what Q was talking about?"

"Well, let's see…you know I've been vetting the various departments, we talked about that earlier. One of the things that bothered me was, in addition to the basic inefficiency of the way things are organized, there also seemed to be a lot of funds flowing into the Ministry, much more than the penurious salaries they pay would account for. So I did a little checking, and discovered case after case of large amounts of funds being allocated for research, with very little to show for it. And once a program gets rolling, there doesn't appear to be any kind of oversight in place to terminate it when it's no longer useful. Would you believe there's still a study group investigating the feasibility of disguising wands as buggy whip handles?"

"You're joking!"

"I wish I was; and Harry, it's even worse in your division."

"I get the feeling I'm not going to like what I'm about to hear," he replied, his expression darkening.

"And you'd be right," she agreed. "The Unspeakables receive more funding on a per capita basis than any other division, but the average pay is a good 25% below the rest of the Ministry. All those funds have to going somewhere, and thanks to the Sisterhood, I now know where it is."

"Let me guess; Rosencrantz and Gildenstern?"

"They're two of the worst, but they're not the only offenders. The only research departments you have that actually seem to produce results in keeping with their expenditures are those overseen directly by Q. There are at least a dozen others that he's in charge of on paper, but that are autonomous to the point of absurdity. They don't even have to tell him what they're working on, just file annual requests for funds along with a deposition that their work is 'progressing'."

"Wonderful," Harry muttered. "So how did you find out-?"

"Harry…" she said warningly.

"Sorry, conditioned reflex," he apologized. "Instead of how, can you tell me what you found out? Like, what the Shakespeare Twins are working on?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "According to the papers I received, they're working on a project designed to, and I quote, "explore the possibilities of expanding the boundaries of theoretical transfiguration and charms formulae based on flaws determined to be preexisting within accepted Ptolemaic Theory.' End quote."

"Huh?"

His fiancée chuckled. "Sorry, I forgot you haven't had any training in translating Egghead. What they claim to be working on is a whole new branch of magical theory based on the discovery of a significant flaw in existing scientific theory. The potential advances in would be extraordinary, and would revolutionize magic as we know it."

"But that's fantastic, Hermione!" Harry said, feeling excited at the prospect, before his thought processes caught up with his emotions. "All right, drop the other shoe." She tried to give him an innocent look, but he just snorted. "If that's all there was to it, you wouldn't have gone off on them, and Q wouldn't have been hammering on my door. What's the catch?"

"Well, there is one thing…it can't work." She grinned as he looked at her in shock. "Zero. Nada. Zilch. And what's more, they know it can't work, and have known from day one."

You're sure about this?" he asked.

"Pretty sure," she replied. "You see, the whole system they're talking about is built on one concept that was postulated by a very small group of wizards in the 1400s, that there was a small flaw in Ptolemy's original work."

Harry's eyes narrowed. He knew that tone from their days at Hogwarts, when Hermione would pull out some small tidbit of knowledge that would like as not prove he and Ron had wasted hours on three or four feet of homework that would now have to be done from scratch. He hadn't enjoyed it then, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to enjoy it now. "All right, I'll bite; what was this small flaw?"

"Oh that; just that the Earth isn't really round, it's flat."

"WHAT!?!"

~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: We have a winner! blif00 correctly identified the origins of the inspiration for Doctor Scarabus, and wins the chocolate covered snozzberries…

Kind of an awkward place to break, but I wanted to post this tonight, and it was stop here or go on for another thousand words. More to come, I promise!