Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction. Please let me know what you think. Opinions and reviews are valued. And, obviously, I'm not J.K. Rowling. And any non-canon characters are simply characters. If someone reads this and has a name I use, my bad.

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To many, at 19 years old, you have barely accomplished anything. You are finding your way in the world and discovering who you are and what you want to do with your life. At 19, you opinions don't matter as much as those who have "been around." In the grand scheme of things, you're in the background – the understudy to a minor character.

This did not apply, in any sense, to the life of Hermione Granger. To anyone who knew her growing up, she was a bright and ambitious child. When she got her Hogwarts letter at 11, her family knew she was off to make them proud, even if they couldn't be a part of her other world. By her first year, she had helped her two best friends through a series of magical obstacles that were set for full-grown wizards. By fourth year, she had discovered Salazaar Slytherin's secret monster, had gone through time to save innocent lives, and was the driving force behind Harry Potter surviving the Triwizard Tournament. By seventh year, she had not only battled dark wizards and full-fledged Death Eaters many times, but she was one of the trio that led to the downfall of He Who Must Not Be Named, and led the wizarding world to a peace that had not been seen for many years.

At nineteen, Hermione felt her life was at a standstill. Her life leading up to this point had been so dangerous and hectic, but at least there was always something happening, something to look out for. Now she was in a mundane job, terribly bored with her life, and on the brink of depression. What had happened? She knew the answer to that – all the danger had been removed, and in her struggle to find a new meaning to her life, she got lost.

"Granger, remember, that report has to be in by five."

She sighed and looked up at the man at her cubicle. Andrew Wright stood, in his black pinstripe cloak with his overly gelled hair, tapping his foot impatiently for the fourth time that day. He was short, at 5 foot 3, and made up for it by being as pompous and arrogant as possible. Hermione would have called it the Napoleon Complex, but she knew a snide historical reference would be lost on those in the wizarding world.

"Yes, I know Andrew. I'm almost done. It's just terribly difficult to try to finish it when I'm constantly interrupted."

"Who's interrupting you? Don't they understand how important this is? Tell them to bugger off."

If only.

"Thank you Andrew, I'll get right on that."

'Thankfully, that man is so obtuse he doesn't even catch my sarcasm,' thought Hermione as Andrew left with an unneeded flourish of his cloak.

This job was probably one of the main things in Hermione's life that was bringing her down. After all her work for Hagrid trying to get Buckbeak freed, and her constant efforts on S.P.E.W., Hermione thought working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was the place for her. Unfortunately, she should have paid a bit more attention to the name. "Regulation and Control" was certainly right. Her proposal for hippogriffs to be labeled as "Somewhat Dangerous Creatures" instead of their present "Highly Dangerous Creatures" status was simply tossed out, and her plea for house elf freedom and subsequent payment was laughed at. Her dream of changing the world and making it a fairer and happier place for magical beasts and beings was being crushed in front of her daily. It felt like someone had given her a backstage tour of an amusement park as a present, and had subsequently shown her that all the magic and beauty was fabricated, and that the park was run by people who hated children.

Now she was stuck as a low-ranking member of staff whose job it was to write memos and reports on things the higher-ups were too lazy to read on their own.

Merlin, she hated this job. She wished she could just have a little excitement, something to toss up her mundane existence.

She should have been careful what she wished for.