Chapter 2

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"Alright, Hermione, let's go over this," Harry said, sipping from his coffee before it went cold.

Faced with the terrifying prospect of having to talk to people that may not necessarily want to talk to her —and faced with the fact that she really didn't know a lot of people her age in the University—, Granger had desperately resorted to the one person she knew could always help: Harry Potter.

An easygoing man with permanently messy black hair and green eyes behind thick glasses, Harry had degrees in both law and philosophy, but rather than become a defense attorney like everyone had expected him to, considering his brilliance, he had preferred to teach others the very skills he was so gifted at. In another defiance of expectations, he hadn't pursued a PhD, arguing that the amount of coursework involved in the program would've kept him away from his students —and from the football pitch— too much. He was a well-known figure on campus and one of the most approachable people the University faculty had to offer: everyone loved Harry, and everyone knew Harry— but, more importantly for Granger, Harry knew everyone too.

So, when she'd called and asked for help, he'd gladly agreed to meet with her at their favorite coffee shop and draft a list of people Harry knew and Granger could talk to. Harry knew people from a broad range of fields— which was exactly what Shacklebolt was looking for. And that's how they'd ended up crowding over a small table with steaming cups by their elbows, poring over Harry's extensive contact list and choosing those who they thought would be the best fit.

"So, we've got Luna Lovegood down for Psychology. She's only an undergrad, but she's a smart girl and she'll happily talk to you, she's very friendly— mind you, she can be a bit... odd at times," Harry said, ticking off a box next to her name. Granger was intrigued by what exactly he meant by odd, but she didn't think she'd have to do much guessing: she'd seen a blond, wild-haired girl wander around campus, invariably donning some eccentric garment and decorated with jewelry she thought could've been made out of plants, and she could take a good guess as to who that could be.

"Now, we've got Neville Longbottom down for Biology, he was in our year when we started uni..." Harry continued, and Granger could picture him: a plump man with a gentle disposition and a permanent smile, who Granger had exchanged some pleasant words with on a few occasions. "Neville will also happily talk to you. Mind you, he's a bit forgetful, so you should be ready for your recording to be interrupted with him randomly calling out things he's only remembered, or trailing off trying to do so. But, a good man," Harry smiled: Neville was a close friend of his.

He moved the pencil down to a name that he pronounced as sharply as it seemed to be written: "Draco Malfoy. Chemistry." Seeing Granger's intrigued expression at his last name, he quickly explained: "It's French. Malfoy's a bit more trouble, we used to hate each other but he owes me a favor... He can be a bit of a prick, though, but he respects those he thinks measure up to him. Just don't get nervous around him, be your usual strong self and you should be fine." Granger could picture him: a sneering, white-blond guy who kept mostly to himself.

Harry paused to take a sip of his coffee and grimaced— from the memory of an enmity long past, Granger thought, not from the bitterness, since he took his coffee with spoonful upon spoonful of sugar. Hermione much preferred tea, and her floral infusion was steaming beside her. She picked it up and sipped from it, waiting for Harry to resume talking. Harry took another sip and then turned his attention back to the list, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose the way he did when he was trying to regain focus.

"Next up is Dean Thomas. Nice guy, great artist, he's a Fellow of Architecture now. He's one of the chiller picks on this list, he'll hardly give you any trouble or weird vibes. And this here," he said, moving his pencil down another name, "is his friend Seamus Finnigan," he said, without pausing to explain the suggestive emphasis he'd placed on friend, but his raised eyebrows and a hint of a smile gave Granger a clue. "I hope he counts, he's not a postgrad, he finished his Bachelor's in Computer Science and now he works for the University's IT Department. He also digitalizes Dean's sketches for him, good lad, and he's on the football team..." Harry trailed off, the way he usually did when he thought about football, his life's singular passion after his teaching, where he played striker on the University team.

Granger knew he'd take a few moments to stop daydreaming about getting back on the field, but when he took a bit longer than she expected, she cleared her throat and butted in: "Yes, Harry, I think Seamus should be fine, it doesn't matter that he's not a postgrad."

Harry was pulled out of his daze briskly, and looked back at Granger confusedly for a second before regaining his train of thought and, once again, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Fantastic, he'll be very pleased. And, while we're on the topic of the football team, I think you might want to talk to Ginny— she finished her Bachelor's in gender studies last year and she's starting up a Masters in statistics, so that should cover two academic fields for you. God, she's so smart..." he started to trail off again, a particular fan of boasting about his girlfriend's achievements, but Granger was quicker to yank him out of his thoughts this time.

"Great, Ginny was on my list from the get-go. Anyone else?" she said, combing over the list with her eyes. Suddenly she clapped a palm against her forehead: "Oh, we don't have anyone from the physical sciences..."

"What do you mean? There's Draco and Neville already," Harry said, tapping their names on the list with his pencil.

"Yes, but I'd love to get someone from physics, just to sort of make up for the fact that we don't have any hard mathematics— don't look at me that way, Harry, statistics is most definitely maths, but it's not the theoretical kind I know Shacklebolt was referring to when he spoke about the maths people," she said, anticipating the look of indignation at what he could've perceived as an offense to Ginny.

"You do have a point," Harry said, the momentary indignation vanishing into thoughtfulness. "I suppose there's always—"

"No," Granger deadpanned. She knew who he was thinking, but she refused to be around him more than she absolutely had to. "I'm not asking McLaggen. Are you sure you don't know anyone else in the physics department?"

"Well..." Harry began, and Granger shifted in her seat. His expression had changed from when he was listing out his other friends, somehow looking more jovial now. "There's Ron —you might know him, red hair, always a mess—, who's a quantum physicist. He's my best mate —Ginny's brother, actually, he introduced me to her— but I haven't talked to him in a while (you know how physics research goes, his schedule's a nightmare). Y'know, he'd be happy to talk to you too, and he's a much better pick than McLaggen, now that I think about it."

Granger was a bit suspicious: if this Ron was his best mate, why hadn't he recommended him first? Why was McLaggen the first option? It couldn't be because of a matter of personal bias— he had jumped to offer up Ginny, after all. However, her cavilations were interrupted by the sheer relief of not having to speak to McLaggen, who'd been trying to get in her pants since they were undergrads and never took no for an answer, and she decided that whoever this Ron person might be, even if there was something shady about this all, was a much better option.

"Sounds good," Granger agreed, and Harry nodded before grabbing his pencil and scribbling RONALD WEASLEY, PHYSICS at the bottom of the page, giving it a swift underline. And as Granger looked over the list again, her eyes fixed upon that final name, thinking it sounded familiar.

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