The new chapter 2 is here. I especially wanted to include Moran's interview. I was going to simply allude to it later, but I really wanted to write it. There isn't much excitement (ie sex), and what started out as a fun chapter sort of became a chore. I'm really more interested in writing the trio's reaction to Moran (especially Ron, who really has a gift for saying the wrong things), and Neville becoming increasingly scared of her.

medievalwoman2: Sexy!Neville will be back.  But, of course, he will be briefly replaced by Nervous!Neville, Selfconscious!Neville (and his twin LowSelfEsteem!Neville), and Angsty!Neville before he can even get to the delicious Sexgod!Neville stage.

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II. Recruitment

Lupin and Neville flooed directly to Professor McGonagall's office. Neville was surprised to find out that the interviews would be taking place in the Room of Requirement rather than the Headmistresses' office.

The room was small and bare, and, like the DA's practice room, was filled to the brim with dark object detectors and foe glasses. An uncomfortable-looking chair was placed in the center of the room. Next to it, the Sorting Hat dozed on a small, conjured pedestal.

"I know it looks quite awful," Professor McGonagall told the two, "but it is necessary." She gave an embarrassed little cough before turning to Lupin and Neville. "I assume you both can construe why Professor Slughorn has not been invited to join the Order, and why he will never be introduced to the Come-and-Go room?"

Lupin let out a soft snort, and Neville again reminded himself that his genteel former Professor had once been a Marauder, as Harry had told him.

A hesitant tap sounded at the door. "Come in," Professor McGonagall called, once again severe. At Professor McGonagall's silent request Remus and Neville took up positions against the wall behind the seat, their wands ready at their sides.

A small, graying woman entered, clutching a sagging handbag and a flat stack of parchment. "Minerva?"

The formidable Headmistress inclined her head politely. "Agatha, thank you for coming. Please be seated for your interview."

Agatha perched herself nervously on the chair. "Ms. Jones said you were interested in a potions assistant?" she began timidly. At McGonagall's nod, she continued. "I am an adequate brewer, with six post-graduate years of study with Master Barnett in Plymoth. I have references," she added, extending the parchment to Minerva.

"Agatha," Professor McGonagall continued, in a kind voice. "If you would roll up your sleeves above your forearms."

The parchment trembled slightly. "Why?" At her hesitation, both Neville and Lupin grasped their wands a bit more firmly.

"I'm afraid we need to check if you have been marked by Voldemort," McGonagall said firmly. Neville was impressed that she hadn't stumbled over the dreaded name.

"V-v- You- know- who?" Agatha gasped, her frail shoulders shaking violently. "I- I would never. I live two houses away from where Amelia- Amelia Bones- and I saw what they did to her. I wouldn't!" Her voice had risen to a thin shriek.

Professor McGonagall's shoulders had slumped slightly. "I'm so sorry, Agatha."

"S- sorry?"

McGonagall suddenly pointed to one of the foe glasses. "Oh, my! Look at that!" she exclaimed, in what appeared to be a genuinely surprised voice. Not only Agatha, but Lupin and Neville were also startled into glancing at the empty foe glass, and they only turned back in time to see Agatha's handbag fall to the floor as the Headmistress softly spoke, "Obliviate."

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The second interviewee was a middle-aged man with a ready smile and a dubious resume as thick as Hogwarts, A History. Neville was vaguely reminded of Lockhart as Jim Reeds heartily shook the Headmistress' hand. The irritated purse of her lips, with which Neville was well acquainted (as was Lupin, who had looked vaguely sheepish before apparently remembering that he was not going to be assigned detention), was blithely ignored by Jim, who had seated himself confidently without a second glance at his two amused armed guards.

This time, there were no first names. "Mr. Reeds." The man's smile faltered; he was young enough to have been taught by Professor McGonagall. "I will be placing the Sorting Hat on your head."

"What?"

"We are hoping to determine whether or not you are a trustworthy candidate for-" McGonagall began, before the Sorting Hat opened its mouth and began bellowing in a manner that would have made Mrs. Black's portrait proud.

"Traitor! How dare you walk into my school? HE TOLD THE DEATHEATER LESTRANGE ABOUT THIS INTERVIEW! I ought to sort you into Azkaban!" the hat said, after adding a few choice expletives. "Oh," the hat continued, much more softly, "and more than half of his resume is fake."

Both Lupin and Neville had sent twin stunners into the man's back after the Sorting Hat's first word. Once he had been trussed up, Obliviated, and rolled into the corner, McGonagall flooed Kingsley at the Auror's office. A few hints, and Veritaserum would be utilized by his interrogators. Kingsley assured the trio that Scrimgeor was paranoid enough, and desperate enough to have caught a legitimate Death Eater, to use the potion on anyone who possibly could have become allied with the enemy.

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The third interviewee did not show up. A week later, the Daily Prophet announced that a Ms. Amanda Pierce of Devonshire, age 34, was apprehended at a muggle park. Her wand showed the recent use of an Unforgivable, and her forearm bore the tell-tale black skull and snake.

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By the fourth interview, Neville was actually becoming confident that his presence was necessary, and that he was a real Order member. He was secretly satisfied by the fact that his stunner had hit Jim Reeds at the same time Lupin's had. He was therefore standing tall and proud when McGonagall invited the next interviewee into the Room of Requirement, a very young woman with short dark curls swinging around her face. Neville thought she looked vaguely familiar.

"Miss Moran," Lupin greeted her. "I don't believe I've seen you since your sixth year in Defense."

"Professor." Lupin was briefly taken aback by her cool tone, but he gracefully regained his poise. "I'm afraid I dropped out of Defense," she continued. "The only reason I even passed my OWLs was because the examiners felt sorry for poor, maimed Lockhart's students." Both McGonagall and Neville smiled involuntarily at her sarcasm, but as the Headmistress was standing behind her, only Neville was pierced with a scathing glare.

His newfound confidence immediately withered.

McGonagall cleared her throat before glancing over the proffered resume. "Miss Moran. You have little experience in your field. Why should we consider you for the position of assistant?"

Miss Moran's chin was raised an inch. "I studied for three years under Mr. John Langwood in his shop. In that time, he supervised my production of many difficult potions. While I do not have theoretical training, I have practical experience, and my potions were more than adequate for sale to the public."

McGonagall's face was unreadable. "John Langwood was not a Potions Master."

"He could have been," she replied coldly. "But he chose to run his family's shop instead. His publications were well-received, as I understand it, whether or not he had his mastery."

McGonagall was already tired from the morning of failed interviews. "Miss Moran, please put on the Sorting Hat," she snapped irritably.

The cloth settled easily over her head. There was a long pause before the hat's folds opened to speak. "She won't betray you. But if this war lasts longer than a year, you'll need more than a half-trained apprentice to stock your shelves."

Miss Moran's jaw dropped in outrage. "Why, you disgusting moth-eaten castoff, I ought to-"

"And she's a stone-cold bitch to boot." Her hand was raised to rip the hat off of her head when it added, "He tried to recruit her, too."

McGonagall's head snapped to the side. "What?" To Miss Moran, she drew her wand in an impressively swift motion. "Don't you dare take off that hat." With McGonagall's wand trained steadily on her, Miss Moran's slowly lowered her hands from her head.

The hat continued grimly. "Snape." McGonagall hissed, much like a cat, at the mention of her former colleague. "He offered her an apprenticeship after-"

"After they killed my master," she snarled, interrupting the hat. "He used the killing curse on John, stole from our shop, and then had the audacity to-"

"Proposition you?" the hat said, slyly.

"That is not what happened!"

If the hat had shoulders, it would have shrugged. "That's what it looked like to me."

"I'd kill him first," she said, with absolute conviction.

"Get in line," Neville muttered, and then flushed as everyone turned to look at him. Miss Moran, especially, seemed to be sizing him up. "Sorry." But Neville could tell, by the sudden tenseness in both his former Professors as well as the downright bloodthirsty look in Miss Moran's eyes that everyone in the room had approved of that statement.

Lupin sighed. "Hat, do we have to stun her or not?"

"Don't stun her," the hat replied, grumpily. "And my name is not Hat."

McGonagall ignored the last comment. "I'm afraid the original job offer was only a front. There is no assistant's position available at Hogwarts at the moment."

The hat was removed and unceremoniously thrown to the floor. Neville stooped quietly and placed it back on its pedestal; he still felt like he owed the hat, since it had put him in Gryffindor. "If there's no job," Miss Moran hissed through gritted teeth, "then what the hell did I just interview for?"

"Miss Moran, we would like you to join the Order of the Phoenix."

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