Thank you, Aurabolt, for beta-ing this fic in the way it needed to be!
Standard disclaimers apply.
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Chapter Nine - Guidance from the Wise
In which Harry and Hermione consult their respective guardians.
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After Harry and Hermione separated at the Ministry the following morning, Harry hurried to his office in the hopes of getting there before Shacklebolt remembered to look for him.
Unfortunately, Shacklebolt was to his trainees as Mad-Eye Moody was to danger: Constantly vigilant, and within minutes of Harry's arrival, Shacklebolt had him rushing off to one minor incident after another.
Gail was with him the entire time, of course, but she was sensitive enough to be extra efficient that day and not chatter on too much about insignificant things. Harry tried his very best to be nice to her because he appreciated her efforts.
They returned to the ministry late for lunch and he wondered if he could still catch Hermione for the break. He flooed her and soon, he was looking at her through her tiny fireplace. Things would be so much easier if her fireplace was full-sized. He'd be able to step into her office anytime and he could speak to her face to face, but he supposed her workspace wasn't big enough to accommodate such a big hearth.
She was smiling at him and he couldn't help but smile back. He loved this woman to death and he didn't know what he would do when she left them for someone worthy of her.
"Hullo, Interrogator Granger. Had lunch yet?"
Her look was apologetic. "I already grabbed something in a hurry about an hour ago, Harry. I'd join you for lunch, anyway, but I promised Mr. Archibald I'd have a petition ready for him in about thirty minutes. I can't skive."
He was disappointed, but he understood completely. "Of course you can't. Are you still going straight to Hogwarts tonight?"
"Yes."
"Ron and I can drop by Hogsmeade later if you can squeeze us into your busy schedule." He hadn't consulted Ron on the matter, of course, but if Ron wasn't handy, he had no problem going to Hogsmeade all by himself to meet her.
Again, the apologetic look. "I'll floo you, alright? I'm really not sure if I can."
More disappointment, but he shrugged. "But you'll be back tomorrow, won't you? Promise me lunch."
Her bright, luminous smile returned. "Definitely, Harry. I'll try to drop by later at your office before I set off for Hogwarts. Hope you're there."
"You can blame Shacklebolt if I'm not."
She chuckled. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then, if not tonight. Take care while I'm gone."
"You too, Hermione." He wished he could reach through the fireplace and touch her.
The flames dwindled and her image disappeared.
He sighed. One day without Hermione and he was acting like he'd never see her again.
Pathetic, he thought, grinning in spite of himself.
He looked up from the fireplace and just about saw Remus Lupin turning a corner.
Just the person I need to talk to!
Harry hurried to catch up with him and caught him down one of the many hallways. "Remus! Got a minute?"
Remus turned and smiled. He looked tired, and worn, especially with his sloppy brown suit and drooping, lusterless hair, but then the poor man always looked like that. The lifestyle he led, werewolf that he was, tended to wear him out. "Of course, Harry. How may I be of service?"
Harry went up to him and moved slightly to let a witch pass them. "I was wondering if we can talk privately."
Remus seemed to give it a quick thought. "Well, I know Shacklebolt had you out all morning. Have you had lunch yet? Tonks and I were just about to go, but I can tell her you and I have to talk-"
"Oh, we can take her along. I don't mind if she doesn't." He trusted Tonks almost as much as Remus, the only exception being that Tonks couldn't apparate into Grimmauld Place. Harry had wondered about it for quite some time, until he realized Hermione probably didn't want Tonks stumbling into their home and blowing off parts of the house in the process. Hermione adamantly denied she was the one keeping Tonks from apparating, but Harry surmised one couldn't keep one's true intentions from the magic of the house. Harry actually thought it was funny, but Hermione thought it a spiteful subject.
"I would never be so awful as to keep Tonks from apparating into our home, Harry!" she had hissed. It was apparently a sore spot, so Harry hadn't brought it up again, even as a joke.
Remus smiled. "Excellent, then! We'll go somewhere quieter, so we don't have to shout above the noise."
Harry surmised they had probably originally planned on going to the Leaky Cauldron and he felt a little shy about changing their plans, but when Tonks was informed, she seemed quite pleased.
"Well, this is a nice change! I've lately grown tired of the Leaky Cauldron's fare!"
Remus looked a little distraught at this declaration. Apparently, he would've wanted Tonks to have been more honest about it sooner.
Tonks had a hankering for Spanish food, so they ended up apparating to a secluded street by the muggle restaurant Cocina de la Madre.
Hermione had brought him and Ron there once, under Ron's protests, but she had a mission to "broaden their horizons" and she was absolutely insistent. As it turned out, Ron rather liked the food, as did Harry.
They were settled in a cozy spot to the side and the low murmur of conversation was just perfect for a nice, relaxing ambience. No one was ogling him, which was excellent. In Muggle London, he was just another four-eyed bloke. Tonks got stared at more with her pink, stand-on-end hair; then again, not by much. There were many muggles in London who wore pink, blue and green in their hair.
"Well, Harry," said Remus. "I see you practically everyday and I don't know a thing about what's happening in your life!"
"That's Shacklebolt's fault, dear," said Tonks, almost knocking her drinking glass over when she reached for it.
Harry blushed, knowing that in spite of the truth in Tonk's words, he had his own share of the blame. "I'm sorry, Remus. I've been preoccupied."
Remus smiled. "Of course you are, Harry. I remember when I was training. The only days I had off was when I had to cope with my Lycanthropy. You'd understand why I never considered them holidays. It's alright. I'm just glad we had this chance to catch up. How have you been, Harry?"
Harry knew he at least owed Remus a personal account of his life. So he told Remus and Tonks as much as he could recall, and it was easy conversation.
Their food came in a bit and it was a pleasant break in his story telling.
Tonks eagerly piled beef stew on his and Remus's plates before she took some for herself. Never mind that some of the sauce splattered on their dress shirts.
"So, Harry," began Tonks with a twinkle in her eyes.
Remus saw it and obviously knew what it meant. "Now, Tonks, sweetheart-"
"Oh hush, Remus. Let me have my fun," she said loftily. She turned to look at Harry. "Have you been seeing anyone in particular, lately?"
Harry grinned but eyed her suspiciously. "No. Why?"
She smiled. "Well, I happen to know a whole gaggle of witches just dying to meet you and make you happy, Harry Potter."
Harry could have laughed as he exchanged looks with Remus. "You think I'm not happy?"
"Oh, it's not that. Just that I know for a fact that there are things in life that become infinitely sweeter in the company of a loving witch, is all!"
He grinned. "Hermione takes care of that part, thank you."
Tonks and Remus's eyes widened and Harry immediately realized he had been misunderstood.
"We're not-you know-dating or anything like that," he stammered. "She's my best friend and… just that-that is to say, she takes good care of me, is all…"
"Oh," said Tonks.
"We knew that," said Remus, who was suddenly very interested in his food.
Harry sighed. "Honest!"
Remus smiled. "And how are Hermione and Ron?"
Harry didn't know if Remus meant to ask about "Hermione" and "Ron" or "Hermione and Ron."
Tonks was less subtle, or else just tactless. "Have they finally gotten together, then?"
Remus tossed her a disapproving look.
"What?" she asked.
Harry's grip on his fork tightened. If he had a knut every time someone asked him that… "They're not together. They won't ever be. Ron and Hermione don't fancy each other anymore. They told me so."
"Well, that's tragic," said Tonks. "They seemed so right for each other."
Harry scowled. "Apparently they thought they weren't."
Remus's eyebrow arched. "And of course, they-of all people-would know that. But I think it makes sense. Those two never agreed on anything; not like you and Hermione who seem to agree on everything."
Heat rose up in Harry's cheeks. "We don't always agree," he muttered.
Remus coughed. "Well, of course not always always, but often enough. Lily and James sort of had that same dynamic. They'd argue, but only so they could come to an agreement. Unlike Ron and Hermione, who only argue for the sake of it."
Harry couldn't seem to look Remus in the eye. "Right."
He turned his gaze and caught Tonks staring at him with an arched eyebrow all her own, as if she was just realizing something.
Suddenly, that restaurant seemed very small. He shoved food into his mouth and drank some wine to wash it down.
"Bright witch, that Hermione," said Remus. "Always admired what she could do. I had a notion before that she would be right for you, Harry, but then I had supposed that if you ever thought that way of her, you'd have done something about it already."
Harry almost choked on his food and Tonks had to slap his back several times to help him get the food down the right way.
"Good heavens, Harry! Have some water!" cried Tonks, shoving a glass in Harry's hand and sloshing half of it on his lap.
"I-I'm fine," Harry croaked, downing what remained in the glass. He pounded a fist on his chest to force it to find its natural rhythm again. "Food just went down the wrong-what was that you were saying, Remus?"
"I was just saying that if you liked Hermione at all, you would've done something already. You know… asked her out, maybe." Remus took a long drink of his water before pointing to his plate. "Oh, these sirloin strips are delicious, Tonks dear. Have you tried them?"
She smiled. "Oh, yes. So, Harry-Hermione's single? That's fortuitous! I happen to have a slew of wizard friends-"
"No!" he snapped fiercely.
Tonks and Remus froze, shocked at his tone.
Harry's eyes widened at his own vehemence. "Oh shite… s-sorry! I didn't mean to-that is-Tonks…"
Her features softened. "That's alright, Harry. So… how long has this been going on?"
Harry sighed at his own careless show of emotion. There was no use playing dumb. He knew what she meant. He wasn't surprised Tonks figured it out. She was an auror whose powers of deduction had been honed by years of experience. Besides, he had been so obvious. "For a while, now."
Remus cocked a faint smile. "You should tell her."
Harry shook his head. He told them about how Hermione thought of him, and he told them a bit about his talk with Ron. But before he knew it, he was running off at the mouth about Lysander.
His anger and jealousy became apparent enough, but Remus didn't judge. Neither did Tonks.
"Am I looking at Imperius, Remus?" Harry asked. He didn't need to tell Remus this was what he had wanted to talk about when he asked a moment of Remus's time.
Remus thought for a moment before he shook his head noncommittally. "I don't think so, Harry. Someone under an Unforgivable would act-shall we say-stranger than that. You and Ron know Hermione better than anybody. You would have noticed and you, of all people, would've been sure she was Imperiused. The fact that you're in doubt now…"
Harry nodded miserably. "Then she probably isn't. I know. Have you encountered anything in your studies to suggest that there's a more subtle spell than the Imperius curse?"
Remus gave him an understanding smile. "Amortentia, I suppose, is the closest we've come, but that requires continuous dosage, and if the potion is potent enough to last for days at a time, that would have meant she ingested a relatively strong mix, so you'd still know there was something wrong with her, yes?"
Harry remembered how Ron had acted when he ingested those laced chocolate cauldrons during their sixth year. It hadn't been a very pretty sight. Nauseating, actually. He wondered if Lysander could have slipped her something that time Hermione went to see him in the Gallery. "Can amortentia have more subtle effects?"
Remus shrugged. "In small doses, I suppose, if given on a regular basis. But then that would require an even more consistent administering of the potion. Has Hermione been taking anything regularly? Anything he might have given her like candies and wine?"
He shook his head. "No. Nothing like that." At this point, Harry wished there was something like that. At least he'd know where the problem was. "Are there any bespelling charms that he could have used? A combination? Heck, do you think he made a spell of his own?"
Tonks winced. "Assuming he did, he'd have to be better than the hundreds of wizards who have tried."
"Theoretically," Remus said. "It doesn't seem possible. Wizards have, throughout time, tried to improve on amortentia. They've mixed spells and charms to come up with variations to the usual love potion. They've made amulets and artifacts, and most of those objects ended up becoming accursed, killing their owners or driving them mad. The quest to find true love and desire amidst spells and potions is an elusive one, and the closest any of these fools have come are those faulty persuasion spells. The problem of persuasion spells, as you well may know, is that if you're going to go through the trouble of casting a persuasion spell that will require the caster to go through the motions of wooing the object of their affection in the first place… why not just try to woo them without the assistance of magic?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, the magic assures success, I suppose."
"Then that defeats the purpose of finding true love. It will just be like amortentia, but with more work."
Tonks chuckled. "And we're back to square one."
"That's correct," said Remus, affectionately pinching Tonk's chin. "The muggles have a peculiar way of expressing it… Catch-23, I think?"
Harry sighed. "Catch-22."
"Yes, something like that."
"What does that mean?" asked Tonks.
Remus cleared his throat to explain in his usual professorial way. "Oh, it's very interesting, this expression. A Catch-22 means a situation that is inherently self-defeating upon which the very act of performing it prevents it from happening."
Tonks seemed to understand somewhat. "I see, but why call it that?"
"Oh, some muggle author wrote a whole story based on this circular logic and entitled it Catch-22. Supposed to be some kind of Military Law designation of some sorts."
"You can ask Hermione," said Harry. "I'm sure she'd know. She knows everything."
Tonks smirked.
Harry frowned. "Well, she does!"
"I assure you," said Remus, "that we are well aware of what Hermione knows. Which brings me to this point: Can't you talk to her about this bespelling?"
Harry shook his head. "I just can't. Trust me when I say that."
Remus and Tonks didn't look like they agreed with him, but they said nothing, and Harry was content, for the meantime, to leave it at that.
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When Hermione left the WizCOF that evening, Harry was not at the Auror Department. She was gravely informed by Kingsley Shacklebolt that Harry had been assigned Hit Wizard duties that evening.
Hermione frowned, extremely displeased. Another headache was blossoming at the back of her eyes. "Hit Wizard? But he's not-"
"Tell him that," muttered Shacklebolt. "Addicted to danger, that man. Requested the assignment himself, and his hair-brained partner just up and went with him. Isn't content with tracking down Dark Wizards, that. He just has to go Hit Wizard and capture petty criminals…"
Hermione was getting frantic, and a bit angry. It was just like Harry to dig up his own trouble. Why he did it, she still wasn't sure. She already had a notion that Harry was, as Shacklebolt said, "addicted to danger" but it was just so preposterous that she always discarded the theory… until he does the unthinkable again and gets himself half-killed. She was about to go into a rage when Shacklebolt continued on his tirade.
"I don't know why he bothers so much with Mundungus, anyway. Not like Old Dung could nick anymore silverware from Grimmauld Place."
Hermione blinked. "Du-I mean, Mundungus got out of Azkaban?"
"Yes, would you believe it? I tell you, Azkaban used to be a prison. Now it's some kind of half-way house before criminals could escape completely."
Now Hermione understood why Harry went off. Well, mostly…
She wasn't exactly sure about how Harry felt about Old Dung. Sometimes, she had the impression that Harry was disgusted of him, and then there were other times she thought she saw a soft spot for the pilferer from the look in Harry's eyes. She supposed it had to do with Mundungus giving Harry the locket hocrux out of the goodness of his heart. When Mundungus first gave the Slytherin locket up without asking anything in exchange, they were all very suspicious of him. He said something about nicking it from Grimmauld Place anyway, and that technically, it belonged to Harry. He said he didn't want to be stealing from the man who was going to save the Wizarding World. At the end of everything, it turned out that he really did give the locket up out of the goodness of his… something. Whatever his reasons, Harry appreciated him for it.
Going after Old Dung himself would at least ensure that Mundungus got fair treatment, whatever his crimes were this time. Didn't necessarily mean Harry wasn't going to hurt him, but in that sense, Harry probably felt that he was the only one who had a right to.
Defeated by Dodgy Old Dung, Hermione accepted that she wasn't going to see Harry that night.
She scribbled a quick note using some parchment and the quill on Harry's desk. She didn't bother to cast a masking charm on the letter. It wasn't exactly top secret information. She folded the note, signed her name and charmed it to hang suspended above Harry's desk in a mist of glitter and a hint of vanilla scent. The note spun lazily in its place.
Shacklebolt saw it, sniffed disdainfully at the wisp of vanilla floating in the air and arched an eyebrow.
Blushing, she gave her thanks and left the department, making her way to one of the bigger fireplaces.
She decided she would floo to the Three Broomsticks and just go to Hogwarts from there. She prayed it was one of Madame Rosmerta's good days.
Ever since Rosmerta recovered from the Imperius curse in sixth year, she hadn't been quite the same. It wasn't that she had gone batty, but she had certainly lost her carefree outlook, grown bitter each passing season. It seemed that saddled with the guilt of Dumbledore's death, she had chosen a kind of self-punishment, loathing herself and believing everyone else felt the same way about her.
Her attitude had taken on a repulsive sheen, and only out of kindness did those who knew her before the curse associate with her. Those who never knew the old Madame Rosmerta thought her vile, spiteful and incapable of the smallest pleasantry.
Hermione soon found herself grasping for equilibrium as the floo delivered her to the Three Broomsticks fireplace. Steadying herself, she stepped out of the fireplace and shook off some of the soot that got on her robe.
Regaining her poise, Hermione looked up and found Madame Rosmerta leaning over the bar, a stiff frown on her face.
Rosmerta gave a crisp nod. "Granger."
Hermione flashed a hesitant smile. "Hello, Madame Rosmerta. How are you doing?" You know, these days that you're bitter and angry at the world?
"As well as could be expected."
Which must be miserable. "Ah, good," said Hermione, for lack of something better to say. She wanted desperately to hurry out and just get her business over with, but she supposed common decency prompted her to at least stay for one butterbeer.
She settled on one of the many unoccupied tables. Business was, it seemed, slow. It was never this empty before, even on week days. But then again, she'd never much been here during the summer.
Making herself comfortable, she respectfully asked for a butterbeer.
Rosmerta tossed a towel on the counter, wiping purposefully. She took her sweet time before leaving the counter to get Hermione's order.
Hermione sighed softly, blowing hair off her face from the corner of her mouth. The silence in the bar pounded soundlessly in her ears and she wondered when the Three Broomsticks had ever been this heavy with regret.
What in God's name am I doing here?
You're keeping an old friend company, that's what.
Rosmerta isn't your friend. She smiled at you once or twice before, in fourth and fifth year. Sixth year doesn't count; she was possessed then. But fact remains: You never really spoke to her before…
She needs a friend.
She doesn't want one.
Rosmerta returned with a butterbeer.
"Thanks," said Hermione. "Umm…"
"Anything else?" Her tone was impatient, like "God, what now, Miss Snooty?"
Hermione tried her best to smile. "Won't you have a seat?"
Rosmerta rolled her eyes. "Spare your pity for orphaned young boys with scars, alright?" She left.
Well, that went really well.
Spiteful witch.
Sad witch.
Hermione sighed. Miserably, she drank her butterbeer alone.
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Hermione walked the empty hallways of Hogwarts and smiled.
Her footsteps echoed off the walls and her multiple shadows, tossed here and there by the candles lighting the way, seemed strangely welcoming.
Even in its silence, it felt like home. She had, after all, spent many nights as prefect and Head Girl roaming the halls by herself, making rounds. She couldn't even count how many students she had caught snogging in the corners and shagging in the broom closet. And contrary to popular belief, she did not derive a perverse pleasure from catching the lot of them. Finding couples in a passionate embrace, barely decent, had been a constant reminder of her own lack of love life, or maybe even just sex. It also reminded her of the sordid fact that the only boy she'd ever let herself be caught snogging, or shagging, didn't see her as anything more than a best friend. She wasn't even sure he saw her as a girl, let alone the object of sexual desire. It had been depressing, and she recalled how each time she caught offenders in the shadows, she got this look on her face, like she was bored to death, and she'd say, "Oy, you two there. That's right. Head Girl coming through. Get your robes back on so I could at least tell which house I'm supposed to deduct points from. That's it, now. Don't forget your knickers."
She thought maybe her emotionless tirade ticked students off more than if she had been shrieking for them to put their damn clothes back on.
It was a blessing Harry had been single in seventh year, at least. She didn't know how she would've handled it if she caught him with his pants down, so to speak.
"Who's there?" came a tragic voice, mildly startling her. "Oh, Ms. Granger!"
Hermione turned and smiled to find the gruesome spectral remains of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, better known as Nearly Headless Nick. The bit of skin holding his head swayed morbidly to the rhythm of his body. The ruff was a prop, she thought; a sad attempt at hiding the debacle that was his execution. "Hullo, Sir Nicholas! How do you do?"
"Well, dead like always, but enduring," he said in a melodramatic tone.
"That must be horrible," she obliged.
He sighed and nodded. "Yes. Yes it is… will you be coming back to Hogwarts, Ms. Granger? Applying for a Professorial position? The school is in desperate need of a Transfigurations professor to match Headmistress McGonagall."
"Is it? That's tragic. But I'm not applying for anything, Sir Nicholas. I'm just here to visit the good Headmistress. I badly owe her a visit."
Sir Nicholas nodded. "Very well, then. I'll let you go on your way. I dare say I'm not the most interesting company. Haven't been in the last five hundred years, really. Death can do that to a person, you know."
"I'd imagine so," she said gravely.
Sir Nicholas drifted away in a dramatic exit.
Hermione was beginning to feel that people (and ghosts) were feeling too sorry for themselves to stand to be with her for very long.
She reached the bottom of the Headmistresses office and Hermione looked up at the gargoyles guarding them.
"Registered Animagus," she said, grinning.
The column spun to reveal the secret stairway.
That's rule-abiding Minerva McGonagall for you, she thought, chuckling.
She climbed the steps and arrived at the top with the portrait swinging open to let her through.
McGonagall was out of her desk towards one of the many tables, having what appeared to be a stern conversation with her cat. "I have told you that rats are unsanitary things and if you must eat them, eat them outside my office."
"Oh, but cats will be cats, Minerva," said Dumbledore's portrait, eyes a-twinkle while he tapped the tips of his fingers together. "And I've heard that rats are quite the delicacy. Ah, Ms. Granger!"
Hermione smiled at the portrait, then at the Headmistress who peered at her above her spectacles.
"Oh, hello, Hermione," said McGonagall, like it was the most normal thing to suddenly have Hermione in her office. She transferred her gaze to the fat, gray tabby. "We'll discuss this later. You may go."
The cat did leave, rather forlornly, with its tail trailing low behind him.
Hermione stifled a laugh. Nobody could elicit so much shame for rule-breaking like McGonagall can. Sinners beware.
McGonagall bustled to her desk, waving her wand to get some tea ready as she did so. "Do sit down, Hermione. You must excuse me for being a bit disheveled. I had to scourgify a rat off my floor after its remains under my desk surprised me."
Hermione sat, chuckling. There was nothing disheveled about McGonagall. Not ever. Dumbledore's portrait grinned and nodded, exchanging knowing looks with her as McGonagall levitated cups and lumps of sugar.
"How have you been doing, dear?" She sounded a bit preoccupied, making the tea just perfect, and for all intents and purposes, there was hardly anything warm about the "dear", but Hermione knew her favorite professor-well, Headmistress now-enough to hear the affection in the even tone.
"Very well, Minerva, especially after I got that job at the WizCOF." There was no point in saving that for last. "Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."
The barest hint of a smile touched McGonagall's lips. "I'm happy you're pleased. I thought maybe you would be, though I'd imagine Winston and Thane gave you a hard time of it. Batty, those two, but I assure you, it's all an act."
"I figured as much. I'm grateful you thought highly enough of me to get me that job."
"Pish posh, you deserved it," McGonagall said while waving away Hermione's words. The tea was ready and McGonagall served the cups. "You would have been a most welcome choice if they didn't take so badly to your Elf Proposals."
Hermione took her cup and turned pink at the cheeks. "Do they hate it so much?"
"With a vengeance, but they believe they can beat it out of you."
"They can't."
"I know, but I'll let them figure that out."
Hermione laughed softly, drinking her tea. Even if she knew McGonagall wasn't exactly a S.P.E.W. supporter, the stern woman never really said anything to discourage her. Must be the professor in McGonagall; letting students learn from their own "mistakes".
McGonagall, in her seemingly detached way, continued to ask Hermione about other matters pertaining to her life, and they flowed into easy conversation, with Hermione asking McGonagall about the Headmistress's on-goings. Talking about Hogwarts was a welcome topic. They both, after all, loved the place, and Hermione was interested in how school was going to be conducted in the coming school year.
Hermione hadn't quite lost touch with who the students were. After all, being Head Girl in seventh year, she felt it her obligation to at least be aware of who the students were, first to sixth years included. She'd only been away from Howarts a year, so she still knew who was who now that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had taken themselves off the running.
"You recall Millificent Nettles?"
"Slytherin?"
"Yes. She's up for Head Girl."
Hermione cocked a grin. "Well, I suppose that's not bad. She's terribly ambitious, but not particularly nasty. Lots of people listen to her and follow her lead. I can live with that choice."
Fellow Gryffindor McGonagall offered a knowing smile of her own. "Trent Horton, however…"
"Head Boy?"
"Quite. I think they're-well-involved."
"Oh, goodness! Gryffindor and Slytherin! What has the world come to?" Hermione laughed.
"Not that it matters, of course," McGonagall hastily said. Heaven be saved if McGonagall was ever accused of being a gossip. "But I dare say that the Head Suite needs to be smoked every year of magical pheromones. It never fails, how that suite always seems to incite romantic involvement in its occupants. You know me, Hermione. I'm not superstitious, so I'm quite certain there's magic involved."
Hermione threw her a sheepish glance. "Sorry I helped it along, then."
"Goodness, I should've known you wouldn't be immune to it!" said the Headmistress disapprovingly. "Ernie McMillan kept giving you these silly looks every mealtime."
"I only snogged him once. And that was after he asked me to Hogsmeade. I had a good time and supposed he needed some kind of reward."
"Good heavens, child. I need no details, as you might understand."
"Sorry." She reddened. Sometimes, she felt so comfortable with McGonagall that she forgot that the Headmistress would hardly stand for talk like that.
"And how goes Harry Potter and Ron Weasley?"
Hermione didn't know how they went from snogging Ernie to that. She became even redder at the implications. "Well, Ron's mindlessly happy. He loves the attention everyone gives him and sometimes, I actually think he's growing up."
"Weasleys have always been late bloomers in that sense. Except maybe for Bill and Percy."
Ah, Bill! Hermione always thought Bill was the Weasley gem. Not only was he exceedingly good looking (pre-werewolf-scars of course) but he was Prefect and Head Boy. She suspected Ron was going for the "Bill Look", what with Ron growing his hair out and tying it down. As for Percy…
I'll wager the man was born with a stick shoved up his arse.
She told McGonagall about Ron's new job, which seemed to please the Headmistress immensely. Hermione had to remember to tell Ron that McGonagall wouldn't mind receiving Quidditch tickets herself.
"And I've heard many good things about Harry Potter, lately," said McGonagall. "Kingsley has nothing but praises for him."
"That's odd. Shacklebolt seems to consider Harry the bane of his existence. At least that's what Harry tells me."
"I wouldn't expect less from Kingsley, but it's an instructor trick, Hermione. We should never let our pupils think that we're too pleased with them. Makes them slack off; so you understand that you shouldn't tell Potter that Kingsley actually likes him."
"I'll try my best," muttered Hermione. It would be a difficult promise to keep, seeing as when Harry showed frustration, Hermione wanted nothing but to soothe those frustrations away.
McGonagall smiled her tiny smile, looking at Hermione introspectively above her square-shaped glasses. "Are the two of you taking care of each other well?"
Hermione was spectacularly surprised of this question. McGonagall, though soft on the inside, absolutely did not show her concern this blatantly. "Well-I-yes, I suppose so. Harry does take care of me, and I'd like to think I take care of him."
McGonagall nodded. "I realize this seems… strange of me, but since you and Potter left Hogwarts, I've always felt that-well, you both had no one left to look after you except each other. In my entire teaching career, I have made it a point to have faith in my students; that they would be able to hold their own once they leave these walls." She gestured lightly to the rest of her office. "I didn't think so much of your being by yourselves after Hogwarts. Sometimes, but not much. You were in the Order, and in a way, there were still… elders looking out for you."
Hermione arched an eyebrow. That wasn't much of a shocker. Being in the Order, they seemed to have everyone looking out for them. Molly, Arthur, Remus, Alastor… but in the end, it was just her, Harry and Ron, after all. There was something extremely liberating about that, and she supposed that finally convinced the lot of "adults" that they were adults themselves.
"But now there's only you and Harry," continued the Headmistress. "I hope the both of you understand that."
"Well… there's the Weasley family…"
"You know what I mean."
And Hermione did. While in everything but blood the Weasleys would always be there for them like family, there was still that essential truth that Hermione and Harry were not Weasleys.
Ron… he might never know how it was to be one person away from losing everyone, God bless him. Harry and Hermione, parents gone, no other family to turn to, had faced that possible nightmare everyday of the war; Harry for most of his wizarding life.
If she had lost Ron…
If she had lost Harry… she didn't know how she would've managed. She didn't know how she could've gone on.
And maybe yes, that was why she took such care of him, and why, in turn, he took such good care of her.
They were it.
By circumstance, they were the closest to family they could hope to have.
She smiled, nodding. "Yes, I do know what you mean. I think we're doing well."
"Good, because-well-Remus and I; we can only be there so many times, you know."
Remus for Harry and Minerva for me…
Hermione steeled her facial expression, never letting on that it warmed her immensely that Minerva McGonagall was telling her that she, Headmistress of Hogwarts, would almost always be there for her, former Hogwarts Head Girl.
"I understand," said Hermione. It was by sheer act of will that she didn't jump off her seat and throw her arms around the dignified Headmistress.
They talked a long time after that, bringing their conversation to the Great Hall where Hermione had dinner with her and a few of the Hogwarts staff. Professor Flitwick was as jolly as ever and Madame Pomfrey was still as nurturing as her good nature allowed.
It was during dinner that Hermione remembered something from her research the previous day. She looked to Flitwick.
"Oh, Filius, I'm just really curious… do you remember having a student named Danaides Athanasius in your house? I'm not sure when but it was quite a while back…"
Flitwick's eyebrow rose in immediate recognition. "Well, of course, I do! Danaides, oh but he was a brilliant dueler, that boy! You remember him, don't you, Minerva?"
McGonagall looked like she did.
Madame Pomfrey looked like she didn't. "Humph. Probably has his name engraved on one of the beds like Potter does."
Hermione giggled softly. The engraved name was Ron's handiwork, and Flitwick did declare that it was one of the best Permanency Charms he ever did see cast.
Flitwick smiled. "No, this boy can dodge them faster than he could throw them. He only took a hex once, right on his breast bone. It left a scar, I believe, and I think he used that scar to remind him never to get hit by a hex again. You would've liked him, Poppy. Why do you ask, Hermione?"
Hermione shrugged. "I know his grandson, Lysander. I just thought it would be interesting…"
"He has a grandson?" said McGonagall. "I didn't even know he had a son!"
This struck Hermione somewhat. "Well that's… odd. Filius, when did you say he was here?"
Flitwick gave it a thought. "Well, it was his fifth year when Minerva started teaching… so it would have been 1951 to 1958."
Hermione's brows furrowed a bit before she shook her head and let it go.
Minerva started teaching in 1956. She was new to Hogwarts, then, but…
McGonagall nodded. "Astounding lad, that Danaides. He was a very diligent student. Determined as anything to learn all he could, and he was a solitary boy. Didn't want to get in with a crowd. Always thought there was an otherworldly wisdom in his eyes."
Hermione stifled a sigh. Way to discover things about Lysander and what could win him over to my cause.
All this information, though interesting, was useless.
"This grandson of his, I hope, is as brilliant as his grandfather if you've taken an interest in him, Hermione," said McGonagall, eyebrow raised.
Hermione blushed. "Oh, I don't know about that. I'm only interested in him on a professional level."
She wasn't so sure about that, either, but it was better to speak prudently.
"Of course you are, dear," said Madame Pomfrey… prudishly.
Hermione sighed. Maybe she was being a prude.
They spoke the rest of the evening, laughing over pudding, and as expected, McGonagall offered to accommodate her for the night, which she was more than ready to accept. She was offered a guest quarter but she opted for the old Gryffindor common room. Empty and quiet as it would be this time of year, she craved its familiarity.
She laughed a bit with the Fat Lady before settling herself inside, reveling in the silence of the tower.
Having been prepared for an overnight stay, she had a change of clothing for the night and the next working day. And it was all going very well, with her reading by the light of the fire, until the loneliness set in.
The orange light of the fire suddenly seemed so dim, and she recalled the many, many nights she spent there with Harry close by.
Very close by. She ran her hand against the space on the couch beside her. Close enough to kiss.
Maybe if she had stopped being-
Being me, for just one second, I could've done it.
The entire place; the entire castle was not home. Not without Ron or Harry.
Oh, bugger me. One day away and I miss them… I miss Harry.
It was late. Probably late enough for both of her boys to be asleep, but maybe…
She looked at the corner of the fireplace and was glad to see there was floo powder where it usually didn't have any.
McGonagall thinks of everything!
Grinning, she knelt before the fire and called for Grimmauld place before she threw in some floo.
When the green flames erupted, she bent over them. "Harry? Ron? Are you there? Can you hear me?"
She waited a while. She yelled again, and she noted the desperate sound in her tone. She realized that if she went back to the emptiness of the Common Room without having talked to either of them, she just might go nutters.
It took another few seconds but soon, she saw him, smiling at her from the other side. He was dressed in an old t-shirt and cargos. She could only suppose he had been in his usual boxers, and that he had hurriedly put on a shirt and a pair of trousers to answer her summons.
She could see the garter of his boxers peeking some from his sloppily put on shirt and it made her blush. Even at his most unglamorous, this bespeckled, messy haired boy was terribly sexy to her.
"Well, hullo! Got your note at the office. Sorry we missed each other," he said with his heart-wrenchingly charming smile.
I'm sorrier than you know, she thought, smiling with such longing that she wasn't sure if Harry didn't see it through the flames.
"Where are you flooing from?" he asked.
"The Gryffindor Common Room."
He grinned. "Oh? Must bring back memories."
"It's quite lonely here, actually."
She couldn't help but tell him the truth. He would've heard it in her voice, anyway.
His smile dwindled and he regarded her for a few seconds. "Will you be alright?"
"Just… just talk to me a while, Harry." She had a real urge to reach out and have him snatch her out of there, but she was sure McGonagall had gone through enough trouble getting her fireplace temporarily back in the network for talking. Allowing for transport would have been far too much trouble. "It's different when you… and Ron aren't here."
Harry moved closer to the fire. "Is the couch still as comfortable as it used to be?"
"Yes." No. It was better when you were there with me.
"And you're reading a book, aren't you? One of those great big ones that you can cover your face with?"
She smiled, the oppressive quality of loneliness lightening immediately. "Yes. How did you know?"
"Who knows you better than yourself, Granger?"
"Who else!" She laughed.
He grinned. "Ron and I would be playing Wizard's Chess while you 'remind' us that we have some Potions reading to catch up on."
"More like 'nag' you, Potter."
"Your word, not mine!" he said defensively.
She laughed again.
He kept grinning. "And then someone calls your name and you peer over the top with your lovely honey brown eyes…"
His grin disappeared and her laugh dwindled.
She stared at him beyond the flames; beyond the distance and wondered, for a split heartbeat, what it was she was seeing in his gaze.
He had called her eyes lovely. What a nice way to describe them. Harry could be so kind that way…
"Harry?" she asked, softly.
He made a motion to speak. "Hermione…"
Her breath caught, and perhaps, if there had ever been a time where her compulsion to touch him was so strong, now would be the most compelling.
But it wasn't going to happen. Not tonight, and probably never. The distance between them had never felt so vast. She breathed, and so did he.
"I can-" he said uncertainly "-I can actually floo on over to the Three Broomsticks and fly to Hogwarts on my Firebolt… I can keep you company…"
She had to wonder if he was telling her or asking her. She wished; wanted to tell him, "Please do come over here. Keep me company like you always do. And maybe… maybe we can talk awhile of things I've always wanted to talk about with you…"
She smiled, painfully. "It's too late, Harry. Madam Rosmerta would Glacio you with her eyes alone."
Glacio was a freezing charm. It wasn't as binding as Petrificus Totalus but the discomfort of a biting cold more than made up for the spell's limitations.
He cocked a grin. "Madam Rosmerta nothing. I'd imagine McGonagall would take fifty house points from Gryffindor and give me detention for being inconsiderate of other people's bedtimes."
She laughed and let it ebb into a wan smile. "I'll see you tomorrow at work, then, Harry."
"You promised me lunch, remember?"
"I remember. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
She pulled away from the fire, breaking the connection.
Hermione sat back on the couch, watching the fire dance in the dimness.
And like many a late night in the Common Room, it was there she fell asleep.