Stranger Than Fiction
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all the characters in it belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is a work of imagination and is directed solely at readers of this website. No infringement of any rights is intended and no criticism of J.K. Rowling or her work should be considered to be stated or implied.
Part 3. McGonagall Investigates
My conversation with Hermione left me strangely troubled. I had obtained the very firm impression that she was unhappy and directionless and I hated to see such a talented, young witch burdened in this way. It occurred to me that the evil effects of Lord Voldemort's reign of terror hadn't entirely disappeared with his death.
I had always had the impression that Hermione Granger was rather smitten with Harry Potter and our conversation had only seemed to confirm that I was not mistaken. I remember having my suspicions firmly aroused when attending Bill Weasley's wedding to Fleur Delacour the previous year. I sat near the back of the congregation on the bridegroom's side, dressed very discreetly, with a large-brimmed hat that hid much of my face and few people probably even realised that I was present. I noticed Hermione, who I thought looked particularly radiant that day, sitting down towards the front of the room, but at first I thought that Harry Potter was absent. I pointed this out to Molly Weasley as she passed by and she confided in me that, as a necessary precaution, Harry had used polyjuice potion to disguise himself as a mythical member of the Weasley clan called Cousin Barny. She indicated an unfamiliar red-headed boy sitting wedged between Hermione and Ron Weasley on the second row of seats. I kept a close eye on the three of them during the ceremony, hoping that Harry wouldn't do anything stupid to give himself away and so I witnessed what I took to be a very telling sign. Just before it was pronounced that Bill and Fleur were declared bonded for life, I couldn't help noticing Hermione turning to look at the polyjuiced Harry with a beaming smile on her face and tears filling her eyes. I always find that it is these little unguarded moments that generally give away our true feelings and I have to confess that I allowed myself a small smile of satisfaction at the time over my deductive powers.
The disconcerting thing though, was that I had always been under the impression that Mr. Potter reciprocated Hermione's feelings, although he sometimes had a strange way of showing it. From our conversation of the previous day, Hermione clearly wasn't of a similar opinion. I didn't really like the thought that I could have been so wrong in my observations and so, as I had nothing pressing to do that day, I decided to conduct a small investigation of my own to see if I could get a clearer picture. One person who had a great deal of contact with the famous trio of Harry, Ron and Hermione during their early years at Hogwarts was the grounds keeper and occasional Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Rubeus Hagrid. Although he was not the brightest of individuals, I thought that Hagrid could possibly help to confirm or deny my suspicions.
After the horrendous weather of the previous day, the wind had now changed around to the south and the morning had started brightly. With a warm and much calmer outlook forecast for the rest of the day, it seemed an ideal time to pay Hagrid a visit.
As I get older, it seems that I can no longer get about as quickly as I used to. However, I generally find that a judicious combination of magic and shoe leather gets me where I want to go and so late that afternoon I could be found walking slowly up the hill from Hogwarts Castle towards Hagrid's dilapidated hut. In colder weather, you could generally tell if Hagrid was at home, even from some distance away, by the plume of greyish yellow smoke that would normally be rising from his chimney. However, today the hut sat quiet and brooding, with the sentinel trees of the Forbidden Forest standing guard behind. The dwelling was already deep in shadow because of the low angle of the sun at this time of the year, although the tops of the trees behind were outlined with a blaze of yellow and the sky above them was a deep, cloudless blue. As I drew closer, I could hear the unmistakable sounds of occupation, as a series of bangs and grunts reached me through the stillness of the afternoon air.
"Ger'away Fang," boomed a familiar deep voice with a broad West Country lilt. "It's not fer you. Watch out yeh great pudden, yeh'll have it over in a minute!"
I knocked loudly on the door, to ensure that I could be overheard above the commotion emanating from inside. I was greeted by a sudden brief silence, followed by a questioning, "Who's tha'?"
"It's me Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall," I shouted, as if to an elderly relative who was hard of hearing.
"Professor McGonagall? Well, I never. This is a surprise. I thought yeh'd already gone." Hagrid opened the door dressed in his usual jumble of well worn jacket, shirt and trousers. He seemed flustered; his straggly hair and beard were matted and unkempt and he had a sooty, black smear across his nose. Evidently, I had interrupted him in the process of lighting his fire for the preparation of his evening meal, unless I was mistaken in my assumption that the large black, iron cauldron sitting on the hearth contained nothing more alarming than some stew.
Hagrid quickly confirmed my suspicions. "I was jus' about ter make supper. Yer welcome ter stop for some if yeh'd like. Won't be ready for a couple of hours though. It's skewt. Had to put a couple of my last lot down t'other week, 'cos they were gettin' too big and hard to control. Tough as ole boots, their meat is, so yeh have ter cook it slow ter soften it up. Then it's very tasty, 'though a bit spicy fer some."
"Well that's very kind of you to offer Hagrid," I said carefully, "and I am sure that it will be delicious, but unfortunately I can't stop that long."
"Nah, I'm sure yer busy." Hagrid sounded slightly relieved. "But yeh'll have a cup o' tea though, won't yeh?"
He moved quickly across the hut to grab his kettle, catching his head on a large copper saucepan, that was hanging from a hook screwed into one of the roof beams, with a tremendous crack that would have stopped any normal mortal in their tracks. Hagrid just staggered briefly and continued on as if nothing had happened.
"Oh, all right, I'm sure a cup of tea won't hurt" I responded doubtfully, eager to get to the purpose of my visit. I looked around unhopefully and then sat down rather gingerly on one of the rough, wooden, three-legged stools that passed as furniture where Hagrid was concerned. Fang was slumped in the far corner of the room, panting heavily, but wagged his tail lazily in recognition when I looked across at him. For the next few minutes I waited impatiently while Hagrid fussed around making tea, all of the while keeping up an inane stream of chatter about his current domestic problems. When he was finally seated, large tin mugs of scalding, dark liquid in front of both of us, I got straight to the point.
"Hagrid, you probably knew Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley as well as anyone, didn't you? They were always coming up to your hut for some type of secret assignation, weren't they? How would you describe the three of them? How did they get on with each other?"
Hagrid chuckled. "Yer right there. They was always up ter somethin' or other an' generally tried to rope me in." He considered for a moment. "How would I describe 'em? Well, they was the best of friends, them three. Although, like all friends they had their fallings out; Ron and Hermione in partic'lar. Ron could be a bit mean ter Hermione. Really upset her sometimes an' then they wouldn't talk for days. Harry was generally all right with 'em both and kep' out of it; but yeh know, Harry never was one who liked arguing for the sake of it."
"And, what about Ginny Weasley?" I enquired as casually as I could.
"Ginny? Well, she's a bit of a firebran' that one. Didn't feature too much as far as I was concerned. Never had much time fer me, if I'm honest. Still, I daresay she's a nice enough young witch. Bit of a looker an' all, or so most seem ter think."
"I believe Harry and Ginny are going out together at the moment. Does that surprise you at all?" I continued probing.
"Surprise me? Nah, I don' think I'm surprised. A bit disappointed, perhaps." Hagrid looked thoughtful, like a great big, morose puppy that had buried a bone somewhere and now couldn't quite remember the exact location.
"Ter be honest, I've always thought tha' Ron and Harry pay a bit too much attention ter appearances where girls are concerned. Being an 'alf-giant, I know tha' just going on looks alone can lead ter lots of trouble. It's what really happened ter the giants yeh see. They look dangerous, so they get treated like they're dangerous and before yeh know it they're acting dangerous as well. Now, Hermione, that's the type of girl tha' I would go for every time. Bright as a spark and got a heart of gold, that one. I'll never forget how she helped with Buckbeak and she tried ter stick up fer the house elves too. Old Grawpie certainly took a shine ter her and he seems ter be able ter sense the good in people."
Hagrid looked wistful, which in his case meant that his bushy eyebrows disappeared completely under the loose strands of hair, hanging down over his broad forehead.
"Yeh can call me a sentimen'al ole fool, but I always imagined me, Harry and Hermione sittin' around this fire on a winter's evening chattin' about the old times. Jus' seems roight somehow. Still, I suppose that ain't likely to happen now," he finished with a deep sigh.
"Well you never know," I offered, interested that his observations were so similar to my own.
"And what about Ron and Hermione?" I asked, to complete the picture. "Do you think that they can make a go of things? They seem to be trying to."
"Ron and Hermione? Well, they're good friends, roight enough, but I wouldn't reckon much on their chances of any more than tha'. They fight like cats and dogs. Or more like a cat and a rat, where those two are concerned." Hagrid chuckled, pleased with his own clever analogy. "They moight patch up their differences fer a while, but they'll always come back again in the end, yeh see if they don'. No, those two are jus' an accident waitin' ter happen."
I was surprised to hear such words of wisdom coming out of Hagrid's mouth. Maybe I had misjudged him for all of these years. "You know Hagrid," I said, trying not to sound too patronizing, "I think that you can be quite perceptive at times."
"Well, jus' 'cos I look like a blundering oaf and got expelled from Hogwarts, don't mean I'm stupid yeh know," said Hagrid emphatically. Unfortunately, he followed this statement with an anguished cry and a wild kick of his right leg, as the fire crackled loudly and a large burning ember was thrown out, landing on Hagrid's moleskin trousers. For a few seconds he teetered, balanced on one leg of his stool, before finally toppling over and landing with a loud crash, flat on his back in a cloud of dust with hot tea flying everywhere.
After I had helped Hagrid to his feet and brushed him down as best as I could, I took my leave and started on my way back to the castle. I had only gone a few paces when I noticed the familiar black-haired figure of Cho Chang coming across from the direction of the owlery and also heading towards the castle. I had always liked Cho. Although not from my own house, she was a bright and able student and a good Quidditch player. Everyone at the school had also been moved by her evident distress after the very unfortunate death of Cedric Diggory. As I watched her hurrying along, I remembered that she had briefly dated Harry Potter and the opportunity to seek further information seemed too good to pass up.
"Miss Chang," I called, waving to attract her attention.
She stopped, recognition slowly dawning.
"Professor! What a surprise. I thought that you had left us." She smiled and changed course, coming towards me.
"No, not yet dear. Soon," I said, feeling obliged to make at least a token attempt at small talk, although I was itching to cross-examine her. "So, what are you still doing at Hogwarts? I thought that you had completed your studies."
"Oh, I'm staying on for another year, as a teaching assistant," she answered cheerfully. "I quite fancy the idea of teaching, if I turn out to have an aptitude for it."
"Well, teaching can be a very satisfying profession," I responded, suddenly seeing an opportunity to further my investigation. "Sometimes, you get to teach young wizards or witches who go on to accomplish great things. For example, I will always be able to claim that I taught transfiguration to the great Harry Potter."
Miss Chang blushed as soon as I mentioned Harry's name and so I continued, rather dishonestly, in a concerned tone, "I'm sorry dear. I shouldn't have mentioned that. I had completely forgotten that you went out with Harry Potter at one time. Didn't you?"
The girl nodded, unable to meet my eye and I waited for a few moments in silence before innocently asking, "And do you still see anything of Mr. Potter?"
"What and run the risk of antagonizing the Weaslette?" she replied crossly, looking up directly at me.
"The..what dear?" I responded, not sure that I had heard her correctly.
"Oh, that's just a nickname that some of us have given to Ginny Weasley, since she became so high and mighty. I mean, she hits people with a Bat Bogey hex just because they annoy her slightly. Just imagine what she might do to any girl foolish enough to try to talk to her precious Harry Potter."
"Do I sense that you think that Miss Weasley might be a little bit jealous, dear?" I asked slightly scornfully.
"Jealous? You've got to be kidding! Even in the battle for Hogwarts, when we were all fighting for our lives, she couldn't hide it." Miss Chang sounded really angry now. "Harry was desperate to find Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem and I offered to show him the way to the Ravenclaw common room so that he could see what it looked like on her statue. That bitch Ginny got all defensive and insisted that Luna Lovegood should take him instead. I mean, what was she thinking? That I would drag him off into a cupboard en route and have my wicked way with him, when we all might get killed at any minute. How pathetic is that?"
She calmed down and a strange look, almost of satisfaction, spread across her pretty, young face, as if she held some secret, significant knowledge. "You know what a weasel is, don't you Professor," she said with considerable malice. "It's a small, red-haired carnivore that kills its unsuspecting prey by sinking its sharp little teeth into the neck and then clinging on until it has drained all of the life from it." She smiled smuggly, convinced that she had made her point.
In response, I just raised my eyebrows in a gesture that I hoped seemed supportive but could also be construed as non-committal. I found that I had no desire to get on the wrong side of the "Weaslette" either, particularly after such a graphic and disturbing description of her possible reaction. I had no doubt that Cho Chang's obvious dislike of Ginny Weasley was colouring her judgment, somewhat. Nevertheless, the picture that she was painting was not entirely inconsistent with the impression of Ginny that Hermione Granger had unintentionally conveyed to me.
We chatted for a few moments more and then I excused myself, promising Miss Chang that I would come and see her if I returned to Hogwarts, and headed back in the direction of the castle. I felt fairly satisfied with my afternoon's work but unfortunately, I had only reinforced my initial feeling that Harry and Hermione could be making a grave error and I wondered if there was anything that I could, and indeed should, do about it.