All Bets Are Off

Chapter 8

October 2002

Hermione scrambled around her office, gathering up the last of her things. Her hair was a frazzled mess of curls, her neat bun long gone after hours of nervously running her hands through her hair. A knock on her door made her squeak in surprise. Her co-worker, Linda, gave her a sympathetic smile.

"It'll be okay sweetheart. You're stressing yourself out over nothing," Linda reassured. Hermione couldn't speak at the moment so she just lamely nodded her head, fighting to steady her shaky hands. Linda continued, "With all my years here, I've gone through this many times. It's all standard procedure and it'll be over before you know it."

"Yeah, I know," Hermione said, her voice barely an audible whisper.

"My advice- go home, pack, and take a shot of something strong. It'll help calm your nerves."

Hermione managed another feeble nod and hugged Linda tightly before making her way to the Ministry's floo network to get home.

Once back in the flat, Hermione shed her work clothes and dressed in several layers of warm clothes. She shoved another set of warm clothes into a rucksack, not bothering to notice if it was a matching outfit or not. She pulled heavy woolen gloves, a winter cap, and her Gryffindor scarf from her closet and tucked those into her purse. Finally, she tamed her hair into a hasty ponytail and then apparated to Wizard Wheezes.

Before heading inside, she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. She was already nervous enough and she didn't want anyone else worrying about her. She'd only be gone for a day and then would get to come right back home. She steeled her face into what she hoped was a look of confidence and control, then opened the door.

The bell above the door jingled and Fred looked up from the register. The look her gave her told Hermione that she had failed at looking calm and cool. Fred quickly finished up with his customer and motioned her over.

"What's wrong, Min?"

"What makes you think something is wrong?" Hermione asked, holding her hands tightly against the counter to hide their shaking.

"Well, for one, you look like you're ready for an Arctic trek," Fred started, reaching out and squishing the layers of fabric covering Hermione's arm. "Two, your bottom lip is chewed to hell, which usually means something is on your mind that you can't shake. What's up?"

Hermione's top teeth instinctively went to nibble her bottom lip, but she quickly pulled them back. "Do you have any Firewhiskey?" she blurted out.

"I'm sure George has some upstairs. Gimme a second." Fred disappeared behind the velvet curtain. He reappeared a minute later with a bottle of Ogden's, a glass, and his twin. He poured out a finger of the amber liquid and said a quick, "Cheers," as Hermione gulped it down.

Hermione rarely drank anything that strong, but the alcohol worked it's magic as Linda had promised. As the burning sensation subsided from her throat, her mind calmed down and her hands stopped twitching.

"Rough week?" George asked, taking the glass from her.

"Rough day," Hermione answered. She turned to Fred's anxious face. "I won't be home tonight. My name came up for the Ministry's bi-annual Azkaban inspection."

Fred and George's face fell in unison, and George placed a hand over hers.

"What? Why you?" Fred demanded, making Hermione flinch.

"Everyone has to at some point. I've just gotten lucky the last few years that my name never got drawn," Hermione explained.

"How do you even get there?" George wondered.