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The acting head of the Department of Mysteries was certainly not excited for the day – unlike most of her newly founded duties, Jacqueline Devereux was not looking forward to this particular one. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the French witch did not have much love for each other, that much was clear. She’d had a stint as the History of Magic professor once upon a time, under the leadership of Analiza Snark – another lost head of the DoM and a fine, upstanding witch in Jacqueline’s most biased opinion.

Needless to say, she hadn’t lasted very long as an educator, though this was mainly due to the difference in teaching philosophies between Hogwarts and Beaxbatons, where she’d also taught for a short period. It was a huge relief to Jacqueline, then, when she was able to take the most serious of oaths and descend into the bowels of the Ministry of Magic to take up being part of the team known aptly as ‘Unspeakables’. She’d kept her head down, she’d done her duties – and when Gamp had been removed, it was with fierce joy that Madame Devereux took on the reigns of running the department.

Normally she would have sent a few low-level representatives to scout the soon-to-be graduated students, instead of coming herself. Her time was too valuable, but in this case she had zero choice. Gamp had kidnapped fourteen of the children, some of them never to return, and had held them prisoner within the department while performing heinous experiments on them. To save face, it was important that the wizarding community at large saw an active, normal presence from the leadership of her department.

The long table set aside for her staff was decorated with several interesting items and a large stack of pamphlets. Almost every area of research was displayed – a large pensieve stood prominently in the middle of the table, silvery thoughts swirling beside a scaled, moving model of the galaxy. To the left, a small glass jar held a single flower, starting from a seedling, the plant would grow to a full blossom before the petals fell and the process began over again. A small, bubbling cauldron sat adjacent, pouring smoke and emitting a strong smell of butterscotch.

The scene was as ready as it could possibly be, and as the witch stood back to admire her handiwork, a smirk lifted her features. So Level 4 had brought live beasts, and 3 had brought food – Jacqueline’s demonstration was much more fun. Then again, if she wanted even one student to approach her booth, it needed to blow everyone else’s out of the water.

Jacqueline ran a hand through her stark white hair and offered one last glance around the room at large before walking around her table to wait for the students to arrive. Surely, even if some had bad tastes in their mouths, they’d keep an open mind about becoming an Unspeakable. It was truly being in the cutting edge of magical research – and she would only accept the best.

He had done what duty commanded - and then some - by making rounds to take photographs of various booths. Their editor-in-chief would have more than enough to choose from when she eventually sat down to organise their yearbook. Virgil had put aside his personal interests to do this, although perhaps he had stopped longer than necessary at his father's theatre stand. And there was nothing even remotely professional about having a smoke[1] with Cepheus Gamp.

Whatever. Nobody else needed to know about that.

It was with a light step and a quiet, cheerful mood that he approached Level Nine's area. Virgil already knew he was going to apply to the Department of Mysteries. Even so, it would be wise to do some reconnoitring and to exhibit how even a victim of the kidnappings was unafraid of the department.

His gaze skimmed over the heads of timid, excitable younger years who were examining the magical displays. The smell of butterscotch drew quite a crowd, so he did not pause there or even at the undying flower. He had already eaten lunch after his smoke and was full anyway. Virgil found himself curiously examining the pensieve.

Whose memories were they, he wondered? The Slytherin looked up at the witch, whose silver hair caught some of the dim light coming in through the Hall's windows.

"Are these yours?" he asked, recognising her face from the papers as the newly appointed head. She either had too much in common with Mortimer Gamp... or very little at all. "Or are Unspeakables not allowed to share their memories outside of the department?"

1.	I'm not Here, nor Anywhere