‘The same problem, Fernsby?’
‘The very same, Minister.’
The Minister for Magic had got used to Fernsby’s presence in her office by now, as she’d been stuck with the same problem with him for quite a while. He seemed like he started getting bored with it, but the Minister couldn’t blame him; she started getting bored too. Nevertheless, she felt a certain yearning to her father-in-law, Arthur Weasley, whom, she was quite sure, would’ve been more than pleased to take over this case and investigate himself, a couple more times than he had originally planned notwithstanding.
The Minister sighed and pushed the file she was checking away. She’d be kidding nobody but herself if she said that she wasn’t expecting this problem to last for quite a while; it had looked suspicious since the very beginning.
Fernsby seemed to sense his boss’ impatience bubbling and threatning of spilling out all over him, so he took a step forward and handed her an emarld file. The Minister took it and examined it with the corners of her eyes suspiciously, highly aware of what it was and the purpose it was sent to her for. Even though, she put it aside and raised an eyebrow at Fernsby.
He cleared his throat. ‘Skye Grace has requested to have her CV given to you, Minister. She said that the CV is a-’
‘I know what that is, Fernsby. If you haven’t noticed, I'm Muggle-born.’
Fernsby winced, an ashamed expression taking all over his face, as if he had just insulted the Minister - or perhaps it was because that he was ashamed that a Muggle-born is the Minister, is his boss?
He shifted on his feet. ‘Of course, Minister - I - Forgive my -’
But the Minister wasn’t listening. An idea had just occured to her, and she sat straighter in her seat. ‘Fernsby, have you - Are you quite sure - Have you checked that Skye Grace isn’t a witch?’
He looked disappointed after he looked quite delighted at the Minister’s sudden burst of excitement. ‘We did, Mini-’
‘Are you sure that her name is Skye Grace, then?’ The Minister pressed on.
‘I —’ Fernsby took a moment to consider it. He finally got to a conclusion, and shook his head. ‘I am, Minister. We’ve got her whole family questioned, forced memories of her childhood out of them, and under your orders, we have checked her paperwork with the Prime Minister of the Muggles. All seems well.’
The Minister exhaled imptiently, then lept up to her feet. She paced through her office, muttering to herself, ignoring the very bewildered Fernsby watching her.
She went all over everything she knew so far.
‘A month ago, a Muggle got into The Ministry of Magic. She didn't Disapparate or use the Floo Powder or the telephone box, but got in like ordinary Ministry workers; by the toilet things. She skipped having her wand checked — as, for obvious reasons, she had none — and it went unnoticed by the guard.’ The Minister stopped, she seemed like she was getting somewhere. Why hadn’t the guard noticed her? ‘She met me at the escalators, asked if I was the Minister for Magic, then requested for a job at the Ministry.
‘We thought this was some sort of a joke. She was checked for any jinxes, hexes, or curses, but none were found on her. We couldn’t explain how she knew everything — about Hogwarts and magic and the Minsitry. We asked how she knew about us and for how long, but she wouldn’t reply but insisted on having a job given to her. She didn’t seem to understand quite how things ran at the wizarding world, and yet, she seemed to know exactly what she was doing, what she was asking for.
‘She was investigated with, asked how she knew so much as with how to enter the Ministry safely, and her reply was simple, yet perplexing; she watched. She explained how extraordinary she was. How cleverer than most Muggles, she noticed the smallest details everywhere — on the news and on the street. She’d been asked whether or not she had confided her secrets — our secrets — with anybody else, and she said that none knew.
‘As an extra precaution, we had checked and modified her family’s and friends’ memories — though they knew nothing, just like Grace told us. Since that would mean one less thing to worry about, we modified Grace’s memory too.
‘However, in the very next day, Skye Grace reentered the Ministry — though noticed by the guard this time — and demanded for a job yet again, leaving everybody in shock, wondering how on Earth she still knew, still remembered. We convinced ourselves that something must’ve went wrong, and we modified her memory yet again, setting a more powerful wizard to the job.
‘But Skye Grace reappeared again, and again, using more and more powerful wizards till it got down to me to modify her memory, but still, no use.’
She rounded back to Fernsby, her chest heaving up and down with the effort of reciting her tale quickly under her breathe and pacing to and fro her office at the same time. She felt a certain type of weird — the not very weird, but very, very weird type — having finally acknowledged the tale after a whole month. She stood up straighter, the air of being the Minister for Magic coming back to her. When she spoke, she was loud, clear, and formal, and Fernsby straightened up at her sudden change of mood.
‘So where do you think we have exactly went wrong, Mr Fernsby?’
He took into the sight of the Minister as long as her office, clearly having a painful internal battle. At last, he cleared his throat. ‘With all due respect, Minister, I think we have underestimated the Muggle Skye Grace.’
The Minister raised an eyebrow, her mouth twisting in something Fernsby suspected to be a smile — he never knew what the Minister’s smile looked like, she never smiled.
‘The Muggle?’
He hydrated his lower lip using his tongue, examining the Minister’s smile. Was this a trap? Does this have something to do with her being a Muggle-born?
‘Minister?’ He prayed that his cluelessness had reached to the Minsiter through his question, and it seemed like it did.
She sat behind her desk yet again, then took Skye Grace’s CV to examine it closely for the first time. ‘I think we have understimated Muggles, Fernsby. What do you think?’
***
With a faint pop, a man in his early forties with greying hair appeared, wearing a dark blue cloak and looked ordinary really, perhaps except for the lightning bolt of a scar on the upper left of his forehead.
He straightened his cloak as he made for the door he Disapparated in front of, then knocked twice. He counted the seconds till the door swung open in front of him, and there, in front of him, stood a young lady with dark hair and green eyes.
‘Good morning,’ Harry said.
She studied him for a moment, and she tightened her grip around the door knob from the inside. ‘How may I help you, sir?’
‘I believe you're Skye Grace?’
She narrowed her eyes as she studied his scar. ‘Who’s asking?’
‘I’m Harry Potter, ma’m, the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department at the Ministry of Magic.’
She frowned, shifting on her feet. ‘I didn't quite — pick that. Ministry of Magic?’
‘Shall I?’ he asked, making some way for him to enter. He studied Grace’s living room details, finally settling down on the sofa, as Grace gave him another quizzical look before she went into the kitchen.
She emerged, moments later, with a tray holding 2 cups — one of water, the other of tea. She sat in front of Harry, offering him the cup of tea, and he gladly accepted it.
He took a sip then put the cup aside, suddenly professional. ‘As I’ve previously informed you, I’m Harry Potter, the He —’
‘The Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department at the Ministry of Magic, yes.’
He smiled, glad that she payed attention to what he said and picked up information that quick. ‘Very well. I’ve come here against Herm — against the Minister for Magic’s orders, and I wish that you would keep our meeting a secret.’
Grace caught her head while nodding, thought a bit, then completed it. ‘As I take it, you’re — a wizard?’
Harry raised an eyebrow. Okay — he knew that she was cleverer than most Muggles, and indeed she is, but catching up that fast?
‘Is that the usual costume of wizards, Mr Potter? Or is it a formal clothing?’
Harry glanced at his cloak then back again at Grace, his smile vanishing little by little — for he never could’ve imagined that she could deduce so much about him. He remembered Hermoine’s warnings, and knew now that they were not in vain.
He shifted in his place, reaching for the wand that was held tight beneath his cloak. He took it out, and Grace leaned closer to him to examine it.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘A wooden stick?’
‘A wand,’ he corrected her. ‘It’s what we use to perform magic.’
She sat back in her place, eyeing the wand suspiciously. She might’ve been weighing the chances of getting cursed for all Harry could know.
‘You have had the Ministry turned upside-down, Miss Grace. You’re probably the strangest case we had encountered in a century.’
‘How so?’ she asked, and her tone didn’t betray a single sign of bewilderment — she might have not had her memory modified at all, and was just messing with Harry.
Harry told her her own tale, how she confused the whole ministry, forcing them to obey her orders in the end. And just after two weeks, asking for having her memory modified.
‘Working at the ministry didn’t seem up to your expectations,’ Harry ended his story, checking her for any sign of bewilderment or confusion, but finding none. She held the same cool expression, and Harry never noticed her flinching with the corner of his eye. If anything, she just sat straighter at the mention of her own tale.
‘Clearly,’ she says, ‘Which leaves me wondering why you’ve come all that way to meet me, Mr Potter, even against the Minister’s orders.’
Harry smiled — he was glad she asked. He took out his wand, waved it around a little, then tapped Grace’s forehead. Her eyes kept turning to darker shades of green, till it finally settled on black, then with a pop and a puff of green smoke, her eyes were back to its perfect shade of emerald.
Harry knew that his spell had done its job — Grace’s reaction had, finally, changed.
‘Hello, Mr Potter. Its nice to have my memory back. To what do I owe the pleasure?’ She waited for a beat before she said, ‘How’s Ginny?’
Harry smiled, remembering that his wife was rather friendly with the Muggle. Nevertheless, he chose not to waste anymore of his time. ‘You have asked me why I went through so much trouble to see you.’
Grace’s face darkened, and Harry’s suspicions were confirmed right — she knew why he was here, what he wanted. ‘There’s no need for answering my question anymore. ’
Harry waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Why don’t you save both of our efforts then, Miss Grace? You’re going to tell me eventually, you know you will.’
She sat even straighter. ‘I’m afraid that your tea is getting stone-cold, Mr Potter.'
Harry looked at his abandoned cup of tea — he had forgotten all about it with the excitement of getting so close to what he had treasured finding out for so long.
Grace drained the last of her cup of water. ‘I believe you’re — curious?’
‘Indeed I am.’
Grace bit her lower lip as she exchanged eye contact with Harry - he indeed seemed pretty determined to know, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Grace sighed then shifted in her place so that she completely faced Harry.
‘I’m glad that I'd be telling you this, Mr Potter.’
‘You are?’
‘I am. I don’t believe anybody could understand me as much as you would, having had extremely Muggle-ish parents raising you on crusts of bread and the remainder of their dinner. Of course, I didn’t recieve such treatment when I was child. In fact, I was extremily . . . well-payed on. But I guess that, if you never heard of being a wizard you’d never long for Hogwarts, would you? People can’t miss what they haven’t got, Mr Potter.’
Grace stopped, staring at her own tangled fingers now. Harry didn’t know where this conversation was going, but he remained silent. Perhaps, hopefully, his silence would invite her to complete her tale.
Grace jerked her head up to look at Harry, a different expression on her face now. ‘I have always been clever, Mr Potter. Full marks in all my subjects, winning extra-curricular comptetions, I was stood out. And people always laughed at my theories — although of course I haven’t confided them with many. I have always known that something was up, that the Ministry was hiding something. Strange accidents and unexplained death was how I was raised till I was 3, Mr Potter. My grandfather was found dead, although untouched. All his money was in his pockets, his golden chain and ring remained. And my sister —’ her voice trembled. ‘— my sister was inside that fallen building. And there were no explanations whatsoever, nothing. We were left just to mourn their deaths.
‘But I — I never agreed on turning a blind eye on this, and I kept investigating, I kept going into and looking over every single unexplained case of murder and catastrophe, till I finally found out your secret.’
Grace held her breathe as she stared at Harry, expecting a certain expression from him. Whatever it was, she was left disappointed.
‘I made a friend along the way. He helped me, he was just what I wanted — at least, until I knew that he was a wizard too. He confessed that I was extraordinary, that I ought more than anyone else to know the truth. And so he helped me get into the Ministry untouched, even put a Disillusionment Charm on me a couple of times, and whenver you put a Memory Charm on me, he’d lift it up, although it git harder and harder for him as time went on. I had help and a lot of support, Mr Potter.’
She stared at his deadly calm eyes, her chest heaving up and down. Harry had a prediction of what might come next, and the sparkling of tears in Grace’s eyes confirmed it.
‘I worked hard. I worked harder than anybody, and I knew I deserved some sort of prize for it. Working at the Ministry wasn’t enough, blinding in with the wizarding world wasn’t enough. Not even marrying the wizard who have helped me and supported me through thick and thin was enough.’
The first prickle of tear took its way down her cheek, and she tangled and untangled her fingers continuesly, staring at them. Harry thought of how much treasured herself, how much she knew of her own worth, and he was sure she would be a great Slytherin.
‘I wanted to be a witch, Mr Potter. I wanted it more than . . . anything in the whole damn world, more than — than you could’ve possibly imagine. I tried —’ talking became hard between her sobs. ‘— I tried squeezing it out of myself, I read and read about Transfiguration and Charms. I tried making some potions but all I could do was some dark, awful, poisonous soup —’
Harry didn’t allow himself to think of how she knew it was poisonous. She hadn’t tried her on herself, surely?
‘— and I never bothered to bring a wand because I couldn’t even see where Diagon Alley was. There were times, Mr Potter, when I looked at myself at the mirror, examining the face that was looking back at me, and I didn’t know her. I didn’t like what I saw, Mr Potter, I totally despised the Muggle that was staring back at me. And I couldn’t stand it, I almost fought daily with my husband, and we ended up divorced.
‘I’ve read about wizarding history, of course. I read a lot, but the most topic that intrigued me was the Death Eaters case against Muggle-borns, the fact that they stole magic out of a wizard.’
Her eyes were red and puffy by now, and Harry felt the corners of his eyes prickling him too. He wondered how she could keep such a straight voice.
She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. ‘If that was true, if it could’ve been done, I would’ve, Mr Potter. I would’ve forced magic out of a wizard or a witch, because at this point? I don't bloody care anymore.’
They shared eye contact, and for some strange reason, Harry couldn’t take his eyes off hers. He kept wondering whether he was staring at a future Dark Lord — with a brain like hers, she could find a way to squeeze magic out of somebody.
But he couldn’t blame her, and he hated himself for thinking so low of her. If it was him who was in her shoes . . .
He thought about his days back at the Dursleys, how he always felt that something was missing, that something wasn’t quite right. Grace was right though — if he never knew about Hogwarts or magic, he would never have missed it, although he would’ve forever be left with that empty hole in him.
‘I’m a threat, Mr Potter, to myself and to others. That’s why I need my memory to get modified.’
He stared deeper at her, and he found himself understanding her pain and the reason why she wanted her memory modified — it would save her a lot of pain and suffering. But still, he couldn’t get himself to do it.
‘Are you sure, Miss Grace?’
She nodded. He raised his wand, flicked it around, then tapped her forehead twice. Her pupils darkened till they reach black, and once they did, she inhaled deeply and closed them. No smoke appeared — but Harry didn’t seem to mind that his charm hadn’t made its job properly. He put her in a more comfortable position, wiped tears off her cheeks with his cloak, then set off for his way home.