The Third Problem

She didn't get her bureaucrat.

She didn't even get to return to her office when the sun rose – and even here, deep beneath the Ministry, she could feel the subtle shifting of the earth.

Oh, no. Instead, she had been installed in a conference room, at a table, and was being tortured.

By what looked like a Muggle PowerPoint on the relationship between Muggles and Wizards and what had been termed "Phenomena Muggles Believe In, But Shouldn't" – to wit: werewolves, vampires, fairies, orcs, ents, pookahs, leprechauns, pixies, dwarves, goblins, dragons, toast landing butter side down, and the perfect balance between breakfast cereal and milk.

She wanted to bury her head in her hands, but every time she so much as moved to make herself more comfortable, Snape would hiss a warning and poke at her with his wand.

Just as she was falling asleep – unable to maintain even a semblance of interest, because really, this was worse than Divination – half of these creatures weren't even a problem, she was sure, given the advances in the treatment of lycanthropy, for example – Snape poked her again with his wand.

"Would you stop that?" she demanded. "It's quite annoying."

"No, I will not stop it," Snape replied. "What's got into you Granger? You used to suck this sort of useless information up like a sponge. Surely your transition to vampire hasn't killed off the swot you used to be?"

"Really!" Hermione huffed. "I'm... well, if you must know, up yours, Snape!"

"Professor Snape." He sounded almost bored.

"Whatever – you're not my professor. And there's no sense in me watching this dreadful waste of time – and in PowerPoint? Really? I know all of this already. I learned it all in third year, when Professor Lupin taught Defense, once we realized who he was, of course."

"Oh, so he's Professor Lupin, but I'm just Snape? Is that how it works?"

"He died an honorable death..."

"Right – abandoning his wife and child – and oh, nobody gives a Fwooper's turd about poor old Snape, who got his throat ripped out by a great bloody snake!"

"It's not like that. Harry idolizes you. He named his son Albus Severus after you and Professor Dumbledore, the two greatest wizards he ever knew."

"But you..."

"I think you're an emotionally immature git. And if you hadn't noticed, I'm not thirteen anymore. Or however old you think I am. I've been around the Ministry a long time, and know a great deal more than you think I do. So you can just fuck off, Snape, because I'm going home to sleep."

"Oh, really?" Snape asked with eyebrow raised. "And just how do you think you're going to leave, o experienced one?"

Hermione spun. The door through which they had entered the conference room was gone.

"Very funny," she snapped. "Reveal the door."

"No."

"What?"

"Have you suddenly gone deaf, Granger? I said no. You're not leaving. You have seven more hours of training."

"Seven more hours! And I never agreed to..."

"Actually, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"I didn't."

"You did. You DID! When you chose to follow me down the corridor and join the GGGWSB, you made your commitment. Don't you feel even the slightest bit of a sense of duty to follow through? Or has that Gryffindor side of you been completely obliterated by your unfortunate vampirism?"

And of course, Snape was right.

Damn him.

Hermione glared and flopped back into her seat.

"Okay, so. Fine. I'm stuck here working for you GGGWSB. I'll even concede that maybe, just maybe, you can be my trainer, but I demand that..."

"You're not in a position to demand anything, Granger. You're going to sit quietly through the training and orientation, and then I'm going to show you to your new cubicle and you're going to start working."

"But what about my real job?"

"What real job?"

"Harry!"

"Taken care of – believe me, Granger, you're going to have enough on your plate without haring after that blasted Potter all the live-long day."

"Night."

"Quite. In any event, Granger, you will be much too busy with your own work to worry about Potter's blundering. Now sit up and pay attention!"

"One question."

"What?"

"Why Muggle PowerPoints?"

Snape drew himself up and looked down his not inconsiderable nose at her.

"There are some things in Muggle and Wizarding heaven and earth, Granger, that are beyond even your philosophy."

"What?"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Microsoft gives us a discount, you stupid girl. It's part of the GGGWSB's agreement with them – we keep them relatively free of Dark influences, and we get discounts on their products. Now shut up and pay attention – this part's important."

Hermione sighed as the lights in the room dimmed and the next PowerPoint started: a history of containment spells for Creatures Muggles Believe In But Shouldn't flickered to life.

Ninety minutes later, Snape allowed her a tea break – or more to the point, a lukewarm mug of obviously warmed-over pig's blood and a biscuit.

"Come along, Granger," he snapped when she had eaten the last of the biscuit. "Bring your blood. I'm to show you to your office now."

The term "office" was a bit of a misnomer. Really, it was a cubicle – a very Muggle-looking cubicle, actually – piled high with files and dusty papers.

Hermione looked around her at all the other cubicles. They were neat and tidy and completely deserted.

"Okay, what's the joke?" Hermione demanded.

"No joke, Granger," Snape replied. "This is it. Your new job. What you see before you are all the files that the GGGWSB has accumulated over the last century and a bit regarding unexplained sightings by Muggles of things they shouldn't have seen. Your job is to create a filing system based on chronology, geography, the urgency of a follow-up, and any need for damage control."

Hermione poked at one of the piles. It swayed dangerously and then slithered to the ground in a cloud of dust and paper.

"Snape! This is dated nineteen-fifty! And it's from Teesside! And it's about a UFO, not any... real magical thing!" Hermione protested.

"Unfortunately for you," Snape said with a leer. "UFOs also fall into your remit. Mostly because they're not space aliens, but Morinulae, closely related to Cornish Pixies, who like to fuck with Muggles. And us."

"Oh, for..."

"I'd suggest you get started, Granger. There are a lot of files for you to sort."

"I thought you people wanted my special skills," Hermione protested.

"We do." Snape smirked.

"But this isn't utilizing my vampiric ability at all!"

"No, it's not."

"Then what..."

"Your spreadsheet, Granger. We were all very impressed by your spreadsheet. Carry on! I'll check on you in a few hours and then you can go to whatever bolt-hole you call home."

And then Snape spun on his heel in a flourish of robes (did he really think that was impressive any more?) and flounced out of the office, leaving Hermione alone with her files.

After twenty minutes of fuming, Hermione realized several things: the first was that the work was fairly interesting – the reports, especially from Muggle papers, were hilarious. The second was that she wasn't actually alone – people did flicker in and out of the office – but not with the same loud "pops" that Apparation made. And thirdly, that this was actually, for being filing, the most challenging job she'd seen in... well, quite a while.

It might even be... interesting.

So when Snape showed up to escort her back to her nicely appointed, sun-proofed, spacious flat, she was actually beginning to look forward to coming into work the next evening.

Because, really, this project had the potential to be something exciting. And interesting. More interesting than being Harry's pet brain-in-a-jar, for example. And, if the truth be known, she was running out of bureaucrats at the moment. Six years wasn't a very long time in terms of government work, but it had been long enough for somebody of Hermione's efficiency. Not that she'd tell Snape that. Ever.