Magic and Misperceptions
PART TWO: Appley-on-the-Green
Chapter 11: Werewolves of Appley-on-the-Green
Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling, Jane Austen, and their publishers.
By: AddisonJ
Beta: DeeMichelle
(A/N: Rosing, or, where Lizzy and Darcy get to know each other away from Netherfield and Longbourn. Sorry, no Lady Catherine.)
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To her knowledge, Hermione Granger had never met a werewolf in Britain. Werewolves were more out in the open in Beauxbatons where the headmistress, Olympe Maxime, was open-minded about them, but Hermione personally had not become close friends with any. Not due to any explicit action or belief of hers, they just happened not to be in her small set of friends.
She was now walking freely in the delightful little village of Appley-on-the-Green, full of thatched roof houses and a village green with a lovely creek running through it. It was the sort of village tourists would flock to, if they knew about it, but this one was for wizards only. And it was the most progressive village in Britain with regard to werewolves.
Rolf Scamander had given her the name of a key contact, Octavious Peasegood, the mayor of Appley. He was the champion of werewolf rights and changing the laws (or creating new ones). He was also Hermione's only contact, so she sincerely hoped that he was 1) talkative, 2) open to sharing more contacts with her. Or else she would have to Nancy Drew her way through town.
Her boss had sent a post earlier in the week to let Mr Peasegood know that a young witch would shortly be knocking on his door, anxious to learn more about his work. Hermione never did learn if Scamander received a reply, so she was a bit anxious when she knocked on the door of the lovely old thatched cottage near the centre of the quiet town.
"Who is it?" an older male voice enquired.
"Hermione Granger. From the Ministry. Rolf Scamander should have told you that I'd be coming by."
The door opened a crack, and Hermione saw an older, grey eye appear in the crack. The eye widened, she heard an "Oh!" and the door opened.
A very small wizard, balding with long grey hair on the sides, a prominent nose and less prominent chin, bushy grey eyebrows and a bend in his back held the door open for her. "Miss Granger! Please do come in! Would you like some tea?"
"That would be lovely; I'd much appreciate it. I just arrived and put my things in the inn. I hadn't a chance to sit for a moment."
"Oh, well you've come to the right place. Sitting is one of my favourite things!"
Hermione liked him immediately.
After sitting on an overstuffed chair covered with lace doilies on the headrest as well as the armrests, Hermione had a cup of tea with milk (no sugar) and nibbled a gingersnap.
"These are really quite good," Hermione said, trying to cover her mouth as she spoke. "Oh, you must excuse me. Usually my manners are much better than this. Please don't tell my parents!"
Mr Peasegood laughed affably. "Oh my dear, I consider it a complement. Actually, I had nothing to do with this, I simply paid for them. It's our wonderful bakery. Have you been down Market Street? Jojo's Bakery, next to the Quidditch shop. Best gingersnaps in Cornwall."
"I must try them."
Mr Peasegood smiled slyly, then put his teacup down carefully. "But that's not why you're here, is it?"
Hermione, judging the change in mood, levelled her teacup as well. "No, it's not."
"You want to know what we've been up to here in Appley-on-the-Green, don't you? Wondering how we're mixing things up."
"I'm not here to prosecute, incriminate or arrest. I'm here to learn."
"But your department regulates. Some of those regulations have not been … appreciated here."
"And I've not appreciated them either." Hermione shifted in her seat. "Are you aware of the laws regarding magical beings in France?"
Mr Peasegood raised his eyebrows. "I did detect an accent, didn't I?"
Hermione smiled. "Oui, je suis venu du Ministère à Paris. I came from the Ministry in Paris. Shacklebolt himself asked me to review the regulations here in Britain. The laws here are … trés different, n'est-ce pas?"
"Oui." Mr Peasegood's eyes were fixed on Hermione's. She shifted in her seat and took another sip of tea. The next few moments were crucial.
"So, Mr Peasegood, as I said, I'm not here to enforce current regulations. I am here to learn. I want to see the same sort of rights for magical beings not only in France but here in Britain as well. And I want an English model. It will be much more … satiable for British audiences to know that the framework is an English as a tea cosy, rather than as French as smelly cheese."
Peasegood raised an eyebrow and sipped from his teacup silently. Hermione continued.
"So. I'm here. With both Shacklebolt and Scamander's blessings. To learn. I have ideas, but I want to know what works and why, and how you have convinced the population here to agree with you."
Peasegood smiled. "I did not have to do much to `convince them' as you say. We have a history of tolerance here."
"Why here and not other places in Britain, or even Cornwall?"
"Cornwall is its own country. Appley is its own town. Don't tell the Ministry, but we don't always consider ourselves in its jurisdiction," Peasegood answered with a wink. Hermione laughed.
"Can you tell me how it started then?"
"Do you want the long version or the short version?"
"I'll be in town for a while. You can give me the overview and then the details."
"You're very efficient, aren't you?"
"That has been rumoured."
"Miss Granger, I suggest you get comfortable. Another cuppa?"
"More gingersnaps, actually."
"Coming right up."
"Let me help," Hermione stood up and Peasegood waved her back down. "No, really."
"You want to know where I hide the gingersnaps, don't you?"
Hermione laughed. "I'm caught!"
"Please sit back down. I'll be out in a jiffy. I'm actually quite pleased the Ministry has come, and surprised it's taken so long to get their notice."
"We don't actually move at a fast pace in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Beings."
"Well, that's worked well for all of us, hasn't it?"
After he returned, Hermione sat down and listened to a story. A story about a young Peasegood who had a best friend who was bitten by a werewolf. And how he saw his friend face not only the fear of hurting his family and friends, the monthly physical agony of the transformation, but also, what was most distressing and most out of his control was the ostracism of former friends and neighbours when his secret was discovered. And how Peasegood vowed that he would do everything in his power not only to make things right for his friend, but to make it so that no one else should endure the pain that his friend had endured. It wasn't a surprising story, almost clichéd, predictable that way. But Peasegood spoke with such emotion, such fierceness, describing events of decades ago and how it blended into the work of today, it had a power Hermione did not expect. She was fascinated, and clung to each and every word.
Peasegood ended by giving her numerous names of people to meet. He planned to personally introduce her to many in the neighbourhood: the apothecary who delivered Wolfsbane to the werewolves at a reduced rate, the school teachers who assigned lessons around the phases of the moon, the employers with flexible work arrangements around the full moon as well. Hermione jotted details in her notebook, realising that several weeks would be needed for this work, and thankful that her boss had realised this before her own request for more time.
Hermione had a thousand questions, covering the entire lifespan of a werewolf and the impact on the community. The working environment, the schooling, the neighbourhood, the police enforcement, full moon impact, Wolfsbane impact, dealing with rumours, misconceptions and paranoia. Above all, community safety. And Hermione not only wanted to discuss with the Peasegood fan club, but detractors as well. She needed the whole story, because she knew it would be a tough sell throughout the rest of Britain, and she needed as much ammunition as possible.
* * *
Hermione soon had a schedule. She spent her mornings at City Hall and the local library. She reviewed the new laws, compare to current laws, review the differences and get reactions. The afternoons would be field research. She visited the references Peasegood had mentioned as well as just get acquainted with the town and the people.
Her free time was spent walking along the beach. The coast was rugged but beautiful. The loveliest beach was outside of Appley in the small city of Linnet. Hermione could be anonymous in Linnnet. It was a part Muggle town, with a magical section Hermione would only occasionally visit. What really drew her was the seashore. There was a wide sandy section by some dramatic steel grey cliffs. The wind was fierce there, and it would refresh her mind to face it. It cleared her head.
The locals paid her no mind, which was perfect. In Appley, she felt under a microscope. It was a small town, and word soon spread of who she was and why she was there. In Linnet, she was nobody.
She did attract the attention of one young man one day. As she passed along a narrow rocky path leading down to the sands, a young man was approaching and simply stared at her. She looked at him, he simultaneously looked familiar and looked like a stranger. He had tousled brown hair, big blue eyes and nondescript features. He had a lean build and carried himself like a Quidditch player (Hermione knew enough of them that she could recognise the signs.) Their eyes met, and Hermione saw a brief flash of recognition in his, that disappeared immediately. He kept walking. Intrigued, Hermione stopped and watched him ascend the path. He managed to avoid turning around and looking at her again until he reached the summit. She stopped herself from waving at him.
A day later, Hermione received an owl post from Scamander that she would be visited by an Auror, Kyle Reilly, who was on assignment in the area. Since they were both there on Ministry business, he wanted to give her advance notice that he would be contacting her, and the codeword he would be using so that she would know that he was indeed who he said he was.
When Hermione met Auror Reilly, she had half expected him to be the young man on the beach. Instead, a shorter, stouter wizard with strawberry blonde hair and the nose of pugilist greeted her.
"Granger!" he said affably. He has a wide, easy smile. Hermione was surprised he was an Auror; he had the personality of the greeter at a swank casino.
"Reilly!"
They had agreed to meet for a walk in the local park. It was less obvious when Reilly put a Silencing charm around them in a park than a small cafe, and they did not want to attract attention or create gossip for the locals. Reilly was on assignment following rumours of Death Eaters in the area. He had a colleague here as well whom she would be meeting the next day.
Hermione found Reilly charming. His blunt face masked a very alluring man. She could consider him a heartbreaker if he were more her type (tall, dark and handsome). They spent a pleasant hour exchanging stories. She noticed he had the Auror habit of not revealing too much about himself but instead trying to have her open up. Then she knew he was the good cop of the Aurors, the one who buttered up the informant after the bad cop tried to break them down. She guessed that his partner, Hank Pilsner, would be the bad cop.
She found out the next day. Reilly suggested they go for a stroll along the beach, and Hermione recognised Hank Pilsner immediately as the young man on the beach. He recognised her too as they shook hands.
"Granger, good to meet you," he said in a North American accent.
"American?" she asked.
"Raised there. Mother is English. Came back," he replied brusquely.
Hermione paused. Something did not add up. And although he was a stranger, she felt a strong connection with him. She was a witch who was ruled by logic, but she was old enough to know that sometimes logic did not work and she had to work from her gut.
"Is your mother living?"
"No, I'm an orphan actually."
How did she already guess that? "So sorry."
He waved on her words. "You're French?"
"My mother is. Both of my parents are living in France at the moment. Aging parents."
"Understood."
The conversation was so stilted, that Reilly jumped in and did quick work of trying to lighten the mood, telling amusing stories of an assignment in New York and the glories of thin crust pizza (he was careful to mention an assignment, but then discuss such general topics such as food, weather, the loveliness of the ladies and comparisons of beer and ale so that nothing even slightly close to confidential was ever uttered).
Pilsner stayed quiet during most of the conversation, and Hermione would notice him noticing her in between making comments about Reilly's stories. She felt in her bones she must know this wizard. Perhaps he was a Beauxbatons student under a Disillusionment Charm? Yes! That was surely it! But who?
Hermione looked for tells. She knew for certain at that moment he was not American. The accent didn't seem quite right, and the way he carried himself did not fit that nationality either. He was certainly English. She tried to be as surreptitious as possible, trying to draw him into the conversation, hoping he would reveal some information.
She suddenly glanced at his forehead. Could it be?
"You must work with Potter then?" Hermione asked suddenly during a pause in a conversation about restaurants near the Ministry.
Reilly raised an eyebrow; Hermione saw a quick clench of Pilsner's jaw. "Yes, what brought that up?"
"God, that man's a prat! I mean, saving the wizarding world is one thing, but that's no excuse to shag every fangirl in the world. Couldn't he keep it in his pants?"
Hermione received the intended reaction. Reilly stared at her, saw the glint in her eye and burst out laughing. "Gods, you're good! How could you tell? You're the first to recognise him!"
Meanwhile, Pilsner went from shock to rage. Before he could explode, Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "Relax, Potter, I won't say anything. It was the first utterly untrue, outlandish thing I could think about you just to get a reaction."
"But how-" Pilsner/Potter stuttered.
"You could be in counter intelligence, Granger! Well done!" Reilly laughed.
"No one has ever guessed any of my Disillusionments!"
"I honestly hadn't a clue. You're quite good, but the American accent wasn't quite there. More Canadian. Otherwise, I have no bloody idea why. I knew I knew you, and it just popped into my head."
"Even Ron can't recognise me when I'm in Disillusionment," Harry replied.
Hearing Ron's name nearly gave Hermione a wince, but she knew that could be pursued another day, another time.
"Can you tell me why you're really here?"
"What I've said is true. Rumours of Death Eaters. Cornelius Phelps for one. He's supposed to be recruiting, so we're on assignment to trap the whole lot of them. Information gathering now, rather like you," Reilly replied.
"Let me know how I can help."
Over the next few days, they became a threesome. Hermione found Reilly charming, and reconnecting with Harry under Disillusionment actually helped. For some strange reason, speaking with Harry-who-does-not-look-like-Harry helped her get beyond her prejudices against him and actually take time to notice what she liked about him. His loyalty. His bravery. His intelligence. The way his body moved, like a Seeker, quite nimble. These aspects were often not noticed when meeting the Great Harry Potter. Hermione got to know Harry the person, and she was impressed.
Reilly seemed to notice as well. Threesomes for lunch soon became twosomes as Reilly would suddenly find reasons to leave. It wasn't subtle, but it was appreciated. Hermione could not believe she might be falling for Harry bloody Potter.
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Next Chapter: Harry falls for Hermione
(A/N: Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam is an OC. I couldn't think of a character to portray him, since he is charming relative of Darcy/Harry who comes from outside the Netherfield/Longbourn, Hogwarts/Beauxbatons circles. If you have an idea of who should have been Colonel Fitzwilliam, please review and let me know!)
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