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"Susan Bones!" Gawain Robards' voice boomed across the MLE waiting area, startling several applicants into dropping their notes despite its joviality. Susan barely had time to note Morag MacDougal's jealous glower before she was obliged to stand and do her best to return the Head Auror's crushing handshake. "Almost didn't recognize you without the braid. Welcome back. Been a while, hasn't it?"
"It has." No need to cite the exact length of time, or remind him that she'd been sporting a much shorter, more ragged hairstyle at the funeral, back when funerals were still singular, isolated affairs. "Good to see you again, sir."
"Likewise. Savage is out on assignment, so we'll be conducting the interview in his office." Relinquishing his grip at last, he strode to the door separating them from the rest of the department and held it open for her. "You remember the way?"
She did, though the slight changes that had been made to the common space since she'd seen it last were almost more jarring than a complete overhaul would have been. At least then, she could have made a clear distinction between past and present; this felt disconcertingly like rewriting memories.
Thankfully, Savage's office remained nondescript as ever, which was why she suspected Robards had chosen it. While she took her seat, he laid open the manila envelope lying on the desk between them. "No need to ask your background, and I have your school records, so let me get straight to the point. Why do you want to be an Auror?"
Susan took a deep breath, reminding herself to strike the right note between polish and sincerity. Not that she anticipated any difficulty with the latter. "I've seen firsthand what happens when evil is allowed to run unchecked. I know what it's like to hold on to what's right in a world going mad, and to fight for it. I don't want anyone else to have to live through that. Before another would-be conqueror tries to bring us to that point again, I want to be there to stop him."
Her interviewer looked as though he'd been rehearsing his smile, too. "Excellent answer. Unfortunately, I've heard more than a dozen variations on it this past week alone. What do you have to offer us that other candidates don't?"
"I suppose if I had to choose, I'd start with my Outstanding marks in Charms…" The list and illustrative examples, unfortunately, seemed to be coming off as more rehearsed as she rattled through it. But while she'd known on a practical level that her initial answer wouldn't be enough to bring Robards to his feet with a second handshake and an offer, she'd apparently been harboring enough hope that the interview would end there that she'd avoided putting as much investment into preparation for the subsequent questions.
Well, all but one. But she refused to worry about that now. It would only throw her off further.
"Mmm-hmm." Robards' expression was unreadable as his eyes scanned her file. "And how would you address your shortcomings?"
"I know I'm missing the Potions qualification, but what with the war...."
"The rumors are true: we're short-handed at the moment," Robards interrupted. "And much as I wish you and your classmates didn't have practical experience to offer in place of NEWT results, we're taking it into account." He set the file down and steepled his fingers. "But Potions isn't my concern with you, Miss Bones. Tell me, how close are you to passing your Apparition exam?"
Here it was: the question she'd known was coming. She'd practiced her answer a dozen times over in the mirror, refining variation after variation. But the mere reminder of that first instant of constriction pressed all memory of those rehearsals out of her head, and drew the blood from her face so rapidly that she could feel herself turning pale. "I—"
"That's what I thought." Flipping the file back open, Robards tapped an unfamiliar but official looking document for emphasis as he spoke. "I took the liberty of obtaining the records from your last three attempts. According to the examiners, you haven't gotten beyond the first couple of wand strokes before you panic and refuse to go any further. Now, I also see that on your very first try, you wound up Splinching your leg, but…"
"It's not the Splinching," Susan blurted, struggling not to pick at the suddenly chafing sleeves of her robes. She was starting to wish she'd worn the old black ones instead, except that they would have made her feel even more like she was still in Hogwarts.
"But is it something you can work through?" asked Robards with a raised eyebrow, after a brief silence during which Susan failed to volunteer any further information.
"I was in Hufflepuff, sir. I'm not about to just give up." Although she met his stare head-on, a tiny quaver in her voice betrayed her. "But I honestly can't say how long it will take me."
Robards sighed. "Then until you can, I'm afraid it doesn't make much difference whether the Splinching's to blame or not. An Auror has to be prepared to arrive on the scene – and if necessary, retreat – at an instant's notice. Time spent waiting for Portkeys or negotiating a Side-Along means missed clues and lost lives. You see?"
"Yes, I do." So that was that. She stood, fighting to keep her head up and her hand out, half afraid the effort might shatter the eerie, calm blankness inside her – and her with it. "Thank you, Mr. Robards. I appreciate your time."
To her surprise, a strong hand encircled her wrist. "Just a minute there, lass. If all I'd wanted to do was crush your dreams, I'd have sent a rejection slip by owl." Robards' tone and grip softened simultaneously. "Your aunt was the senior Auror on my first investigation, just before they promoted her. Any good I've managed to do since I took this job, I owe to her example. It might not be field work, but so long as there's a soul in this department who remembers Amelia Bones, you'll always have a place here."
Whether it was her own memories or the thought of a future in which Aunt Amelia could be forgotten, Susan couldn't say, but suddenly it was all she could do to channel a threatening onrush of tears into glittering-eyed determination. "With all due respect, sir, I'd hoped to earn one on my own merits."
Robards let go and chuckled, the sound still disarmingly gentle, if a touch disappointed. "Exactly what she'd have said in your place, I imagine." He located a spare scrap of parchment, scribbled something on it, and held it out to her. "Here. I've already put in a word for you with Administrative Services, but if you're determined to do something more hands-on, give this note to Arthur Weasley. He's a good fellow, and his department could use some fresh blood with an aptitude for Charms."
She tucked it into her pocket automatically. "Thank you."
"I won't tell you good luck or best wishes, because I'm guessing you expect to earn those, too." He walked to the door and held it open for her. "But know you're wished them, all the same."
Handshake completed at last, Susan strode back through the waiting area and out into the Ministry hallways without so much as glancing at or acknowledging the other applicants. No, the applicants. After all, she couldn't count herself among their ranks any longer. And yet, she still couldn't seem to summon anger, or self-recrimination, or the sorrow that had only fully materialized when Aunt Amelia became a part of the conversation. Instead, her primary reaction seemed to be one of bemusement, focused on a single question.
What was she going to do now?
Oh, she knew her options. She just didn't care for any of them. Robards didn't need to reassure her of Arthur Weasley's decent nature: if Ginny's proud accounts of her family's efforts during the war hadn't won Susan over, then the sympathy he'd expressed to her and her parents as she awaited treatment for her minor wounds while his own son still lay among the lost on the battlefield would have more than sufficed. But a few moments of gratitude were not enough to compensate for the prospect of a career where the worst threats she'd be able to avert on a daily basis still came in the form of biting teakettles, any more than her father's undoubted relief if she told him she'd changed her mind about applying to Gringotts was enough to resign her to endless rows of ledger entries.
No, it would have to be Administrative Services. She could still assist the department to the best of her ability while she earned enough experience for a senior-level promotion to working with the Wizengamot. Or maybe she'd manage to spot a critical clue in one of the files that the Aurors had missed, and find a way to rush to the scene in time, and they'd realize how much they needed her….
And as long as she was daydreaming, maybe Martin Miggs would spring from the comic book pages and invent some Muggle contraption that completely eliminated the need for Apparition. Sighing aloud, she shook her head in frustration at her unwillingness to just accept the situation.
The stranger must have chosen that moment to round the corner and begin his trek down the corridor, because the next thing Susan knew, she'd been knocked off-balance and nearly out of breath. Opening her eyes, she spotted a hunched-over figure struggling back to his own feet.
"I'm so sorry," she gasped out, stumbling over to help.
"Not to worry," said the man, righting himself without her assistance. He was tall, and wore the rumpled black robes and salt-and-pepper beard just a day or two past optimal maintenance typical of career Ministry employees, with the grizzled voice to match. She could easily picture him huddled with Robards and Mad-Eye Moody as they shuffled bits of evidence around a conference table, except she was certain she'd never seen him before. From the way he was eyeing her, though, she wasn't sure the lack of acquaintance was mutual: a doubt confirmed when he spoke again. "Bones, isn't it? I'd know that chin anywhere."
Well, that was definitely a new one. "Er…thank you?"
"Don't sound so uncertain, girl. A jawline like that signals confidence. Never be afraid to live up to it." He narrowed his eyes at her obviously visible confusion. "Or is that the sort of thing you're not supposed to say to young ladies…pardon me, young women in the workplace these days? I keep missing the sensitivity seminars."
Susan couldn't help raising an eyebrow. "I believe starting with introductions helps."
"Of course! My apologies." The stranger held out his hand. His grip was less overwhelming than Robards', but every bit as firm. "Ezekiel Harding. 'Zeke,' to friends. Been closely acquainted with the family for so many years, it never occurred to me you might not know me."
Under other circumstances, Susan might have found herself reluctant to engage in a conversation involving her relatives after her most recent brush with the subject, but curiosity overcame any objections or outbursts. "Forgive me, sir, but I think I'd remember meeting you with Aunt Amelia."
Harding– she had to admit, 'Zeke' fit, but she couldn't say she felt comfortable using it – rasped out a laugh. "Oh, I'm not talking about your aunt, gi–miss. I mean your uncle."
Susan could feel her jaw drop, and the rest of her body tense as though jolted by lightning. She didn't care enough to conceal it. "Uncle? Uncle Edgar? You knew him?"
"Supervised him his first five years on the job, and took him on as my partner for the last nine. Best one I ever had."
"Partner?" So he'd been in MLE, too? Why hadn't Aunt Amelia or her father ever mentioned that? "What department did…do you work for?"
Harding narrowed his eyes again, this time with something like pity. "They didn't even tell you that much?"
Susan shook her head. The most she'd ever been able to get out of her family concerning Uncle Edgar, other than that he was brilliant and loved by everyone (apart from his murderers, she assumed), was that he'd been suspected of involvement in some clandestine group opposing the Dark Lord – maybe the mysterious "Order" Ginny would sometimes reference in DA meetings – and that was what had gotten him killed. That bit of information had been her father's trump card in his attempt to persuade her not to return to Hogwarts after Dumbledore's death, and it had backfired miserably. From what little else she knew of him, how could she not be proud to follow in his footsteps, loyally protecting her friends?
"Hmph," Harding grunted. "I've been with the department for more decades than I care to count. You'd think it would've stopped being a surprise when people take the title literally, but no."
It took Susan a moment to catch on. "Unspeakable," she whispered.
Harding smiled approvingly. "Sharp girl. Can't tell you how disappointed I get when I have to explain the joke, and it happens far too often."
Unspeakable. It fit. Or at least, she thought it did. The Department of Mysteries dealt with the very forces that shaped magic, and Uncle Edgar had been an exceptionally talented spellcaster by all accounts – the few in which she'd been allowed any share, that was. "I have so much I want to ask you."
"I'm sure. But I don't think you'd be able to hear the answers over my stomach growling, and I'm hoping to get to the cafeteria before they run out of liverwurst again." He cocked his head back down the hallway, nodding an invitation to her. "My treat, if there's enough left."
As it turned out there was more than enough liverwurst to go around, had Susan wanted any, which she did not. Instead, she picked at her salad, trying to muster up an appetite while Harding wolfed down his second sandwich.
It wasn't until he'd gotten halfway through the third that she finally gave up and set the fork down. "I could be wrong, but didn't we come here to talk?"
Harding polished off his last mouthful with a loud gulp and dabbed at any lingering crumbs with his napkin. "Edgar Sebastian Bones. Maple wand; unicorn hair core, I believe. Nearly accepted an offer with Zonko's before he found his way to us – or, rather, we found him. Dabbled a little bit in every specialization, but focused mainly on the study of death and related spells, especially in the last few years. Favored peppermint tea with extra milk, and didn't care who made fun of him over it. Worked so many innocent quills to death that we all chipped in to buy him a Muggle fountain pen for his birthday, only he managed to wreck that, too. Once organized such a raucous departmental Christmas party that old Nobs himself – that's Nobby Leach, who was Minister at the time – overrode our security charms and barged in with half the Aurors demanding to know what was going on. Fancied himself an operatic tenor at times, though I'd sooner have listened to a Fwooper without wearing any earplugs. Oh, and one of the bravest, most brilliant, talented wizards I ever knew, though I suspect that's not news to you – and if it is, it shouldn't be. Anything else in particular you wanted to know?"
Plenty, though for the moment, she was content to drink in what she had been given. But one point refused to be digested easily, like an ice cube at the back of her throat. "You said he mainly studied death? Why?"
"Not the sort of person you'd expect to take an interest in the dark and morbid, you mean?"
A vision of the late, largely unlamented Professor Snape sprung up in Susan's mind. "Exactly."
Harding picked up his tea – no milk in it, Susan noted – and took a swallow. "Calling the concepts and constructs we deal with on a regular basis 'complicated' is a gross understatement. It's easy to lose your way if you're not careful. Death's a particularly dangerous one to explore unless you have a strong anchor to life. And Edgar had that." His voice lost a good deal of its bark, though the lower volume made the words even more difficult to catch. "In abundance."
Susan hesitated, the suspicion forming almost as she spoke. "Do you think his research might have had anything to do with…?"
"It's possible." The teacup narrowly avoided shattering as Harding brought it back down. "I wish it weren't, but there was a spy in the department. Rookwood. Assigned to study love, of all things. He was never hostile, but I doubt he would've minded taking a spot like Edgar's if it became available. Maybe that was all it took to turn him. But there was never any evidence connecting him with that night, and Edgar wasn't exactly quiet about his politics. He couldn't be. Not with the way he loved Joan."
Joan. Susan's Muggle aunt: an even greater cipher than Uncle Edgar, if such a thing were possible. "Did you ever meet her?"
"Once or twice. He couldn't bring her into work easily, with all the wards, but they had me over for supper. Out of respect, I won't touch upon the quality of the cooking, but that home of theirs…being there marks one of the few times I've ever regretted not having a family of my own."
This time, Susan had no conflicting feelings regarding the long lapse into silence. Still, she felt it incumbent upon her to change the subject, if only for the moment. "Who do you work with now?"
Harding appeared to seize upon the topic gratefully. "No one. We're not much for ranks, but let's just say I have a fair amount of seniority. And these days, the bulk of my duties tend to be administrative."
"It's hard to imagine love and death needing an administrator," said Susan, unable to suppress a tiny laugh at the thought.
"Someone has to report to the Wizengamot on what we do without confusing or scaring the ever-loving bejeezus out of them," Harding shrugged. Before Susan could figure out a way to inquire tactfully about his particular fitness for that task, he continued. "Besides, there are other odds and ends that need handling. Inventory. Resource allocation." He stared straight ahead at her, unblinking. "Recruitment."
Susan had been about to raise her own teacup. She lowered her hand instantly, grasping instead at the significance of Harding's words. What was it he had said earlier about her uncle? We found him. And the incredible coincidence of her literally running into someone who would be in a position to share such stories in the first place, immediately on the heels of a failed interview. Too incredible to be mere coincidence, now that she thought about it.
"You can't be that impressed by the family resemblance," she said at last, faintly.
"Not in the physical sense." Harding drew his wand and some other small object from his pocket. He gave the latter a tap, transforming it into a twin of the manila folder from Robards' office. "I'll admit I didn't spend too much time with your school records; honestly, you and your uncle were both overqualified on that score. Standard examinations aren't always made for or by students who think the way that we need. Out of curiosity, though, what made Potions such a sticking point for you?"
"I think I spent too much time fiddling with the procedures in class," Susan admitted, unconsciously falling into her interview voice for a second before catching it. "I never really understood why certain things had to be done in what seemed like the most inefficient order possible when there weren't any obvious side reactions or notes. And it wasn't like Charms, where I could just sort of…sense what could be tweaked and what couldn't."
Harding nodded, as though this was what he'd expected. "Flitwick wrote you a nice letter. You should read it sometime, if you haven't already. But I was most interested in what he had to say about your contributions to the war effort." He cleared his throat and launched into what seemed to be a direct quote. "'Throughout the troubles of the previous year, Miss Bones' resolve and convictions remained steadfast. She watched over classmates less capable of defending themselves without regard for personal safety, and remained to protect them long after many other leaders or suspected sympathizers of the resistance had been forced to flee, despite undoubtedly knowing that her family history made her a target. During the final battle itself, I have it on good authority that she was directly responsible for saving the lives of at least seven disarmed allies and a group of younger students who had ill-advisedly returned to the school, dropping her Shield Charm and sustaining an injury which took her out of the remainder of the battle only after reinforcements had arrived to deal with all but one of the encircling Death Eaters.'"
He snapped the folder shut and shrunk it again, tucking it back into his pocket. "For all the stink that gets made about calling that class Defense Against the Dark Arts, MLE typically places more emphasis on aggressive acts. Hexes or jinxes, so long as they're 'good' ones. Quick immobilizations. They might not see the art or instinct required for a lone witch to stretch a basic Shield Charm that close to its breaking point and have it hold. And by undervaluing the defensive actions, they'll also overlook the question that leaps out at me."
"Which is?" Susan asked, willing herself to focus. Although she'd used the Shield Charm as an example in her interview with Robards, she hadn't been able to visualize the moment while she spoke. Instead, she'd been skipping ahead to the part where she came to only to find the battle over, her chance to be useful lost. That, too, had factored into her MLE application, even if she hadn't mentioned it directly. But here was someone other than her parents saying she'd done what was required of her, and more, and it felt…good. Freeing. Believable.
Harding leaned in, less in the spirit of intimidation than to keep his voice low. "What is there about Apparition spells that so terrifies a young woman who would place herself directly between her classmates and the most dangerous members of a pack of Death Eaters? Because clearly, it's not the Splinching."
Susan took a deep breath. She'd known Robards most of her life. She'd met Harding this afternoon, and he'd only just bothered to reveal his true motives to her. And yet the explanation flowed from her without effort, despite the fact she'd never put it into words before, for anyone. "Apparition is supposed to be instantaneous. Just - pop! - and there you are." She shuddered involuntarily. "It's not like that. Not for me. There's no darkness. There were tunnels, and paths, and…I can't even describe some of the things I saw. I don't think they can exist in this world. They shouldn't exist. And on top of all that, everything kept shifting around. I'm lucky I only got separated from my leg. I'm afraid if I try again, I'll lose something for good." Her voice faded away to a quavery whisper. "Like myself."
"The technique for Apparition was first set down by a scribe in the fifth century BC whose name has been lost to the ages," Harding said, after she'd had a second to compose herself. "Despite the considerable talents of our time specialists, I can't claim to have met him, but I suspect he was a lot like Edgar. Brilliant, but not very good at explaining the nuances of his work to others."
Susan blinked, startled. "I thought you said he was the best partner you ever had."
"Oh, he was. We complemented each other well. But if we'd found some way to really combine our talents in one person – his creativity, intelligence, and ability to relate to people with my practicality, determination, and ability to focus – well, we'd have had damn near the perfect Unspeakable already. Know anyone who might fit that description?"
She could feel herself blushing under his stare. "Maybe."
"What'd I tell you about confidence earlier?" Harding chided lightly, before turning serious again. "I'm not saying it'll be easy. Apprenticeships are long, and assuming your colleagues don't drive you over the edge first, deciphering the big mysteries is the work of a lifetime. Several lifetimes, in fact, unless the prophetic forces are on your side – and sometimes they are. Maybe you'll figure out the real reason Apparition works. Maybe you'll solve where monsters like the Dark Lord come from and how to stop them. Hell, you may end up being the one to finally take my job. But wherever we send you, or wherever your own path takes you, I promise we'll make sure you have your anchor first."
"You seem pretty sure I'm going to accept," said Susan, aware of the lousy job she was doing at hiding her smile, but not much caring.
Her prospective boss stood. "Before they essentially kicked me upstairs, my specialization was thought. And in case you aren't already aware, Miss Bones, you've accepted. You're just trying to think of the snarkiest way to do so." Harding – Zeke – smirked. "Your uncle would be proud."
"Bones!" Robards looked up from the stack of paperwork at his desk, setting his quill down to wave her inside without having to stand. "Come in, come in!"
Susan sidled inside, barely registering the changes that had been made to the Head's office, but accepting those that did with a sense of preternatural calm. This was not and never would be the MLE department of her childhood, but she did not need it to be. Not any longer. "Thanks, sir. I hope you don't mind me dropping by before I leave for the day."
"Not at all. I've been looking forward to an update." Robards rubbed his hands together. "'For the day,' eh? I take it things went well with Arthur? Or did you end up going to Administrative Services after all?"
"Neither, actually. I've been offered something with a different department altogether."
"Oh?" He frowned: whether out of confusion or some small degree of hurt or both, Susan couldn't tell. "Who?"
She smiled. "Let's just say I'd prefer to maintain an air of mystery for now."
Either Robards had heard the joke before, or it took more sophisticated wordplay to confuse an Auror, because he returned the smile almost immediately. "Good for you, Bones. Just take care of yourself, all right? Things can get…intense over there."
"Don't worry, Mr. Robards," she called back to him, as she walked out the door. "I'm confident I can handle it."