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 8. Hermione's Tale
The name of the village on the torn out page of the atlas meant nothing to me and so I took myself off to my nearest Muggle library - the very same one in which the book club that started this whole affair met - to scan through some Muggle reference books. Finally, after a highly confusing search, I had a few scraps of information, although these still provided no real clues as to what significance the site might have for Harry. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The village was a tiny place with no buildings or monuments of historical interest and, by all accounts, very few inhabitants. I can't give any more details about the village here, unfortunately, because… well, you will see for yourself later on.
As the village was so small and I had so little information about it, determining a focus for apparation was difficult. For this reason, I apparated to a larger town nearby and got on a Muggle bus to travel the rest of the way. I keep a small amount of Muggle money that I acquired by selling a few unwanted possessions in - what I believe is called - a pawn shop. This small store of funds helps me to conduct my research. The bus journey was extremely comfortable and relaxed, not a bit like a broom or the Knight Bus or some of the various other means of transport that I am used to. The bus was fitted with doors that opened by folding inward with a loud hissing sound whenever it stopped, as if propelled by magic. I wasn't able to ascertain exactly how this worked and I made a mental note to ask Harry about it, if I located him. The ingenuity of Muggles never ceases to amaze me and I think that we could possibly learn a great deal from them.
I was the only passenger to alight in the small village, when we eventually reached it down a decaying asphalt lane, hemmed in by thick trees and bushes on each side. The village itself didn't disappoint. It really was as miniscule as I had expected, consisting of only about two dozen houses dotted along one side of the lane. Narrow pavements, made up of two rows of concrete paving slabs, ran along each side and opposite from the houses was a small, slow-moving stream, lined with overgrown grass banks. In an area where the stream bent slightly away from the lane, sat two slightly larger, white-rendered buildings; a general store and a public house - the latter bearing the evocative name of the Dog and Ferret. Just along from these two buildings was an old, cracked and worn wooden bench, with a rusting, green-painted litter bin positioned to one side. As the lane was deserted, I crossed over to the bench and sat down, trying to decide what to do next. The weather was mild and I was wearing my tartan cloak, so I was perfectly comfortable.
I had no idea if Harry was interested in the village overall, in one particular house or, indeed, in one of the two small enterprises on this side of the lane. As there were so few properties in the village, my best course of action seemed to be to go from door to door and hope that something would turn up. The thought was not an enthralling one, as I had no clear idea what I was looking for or what I would say to the occupants.
As I sat there, pondering my next move, the door to the general store opened, with the tinkling of an attached bell that attracted my attention. A woman exited, carrying a brown paper bag, looked briefly up and down the lane and trotted across to the other side, before using a key to enter one of the larger houses, through a shiny, dark green, wooden front door. The woman looked to be middle-aged, but was slim and casually dressed, with thick brown hair, lightened with blond streaks, cut fairly short, just over her ears at the side, and brushed back from her forehead. She was hardly recognizable but, with her build and the way that she held herself, I was almost certain that it was Hermione.
I remained sitting on the bench for a long time, staring across at the green front door. Now that I was so close to my goal, I seemed reluctant to take the final step. Instead, I thought back over my reasons for being here and why I had become so emotionally attached to two of my former students.
I remembered a young girl quite obviously lying to me about an incident with a troll on Halloween, to protect a new found friend; I also remembered that same girl cheering ecstatically when her friend caught the Snitch and won the house Quidditch championship for Gryffindor for the first time in many years; and I recalled Mr. Filch bringing the pair of them to me after he had caught them coming down from the Astronomy Tower together, where they had been helping to dispose of that unfortunate dragon that Hagrid had so foolishly thought that he could rear. I remembered Harry's ashen face when I took him to see Hermione lying petrified in the hospital wing at Hogwarts and his clear relief when Hermione rushed towards him in the Great Hall after she was finally revived. I remembered Hermione pleading with me to allow Harry to go to Hogsmeade, although I had to disappoint her, just as I had also disappointed Harry when he came to ask exactly the same thing; and I remembered seeing Hermione walking from the hospital wing, her eyes red from crying after Harry took a serious tumble from his broom during an important Quidditch match; I also recalled Albus Dumbledore telling me how Hermione had used the Time-Turner, that I had lent to her, to help Harry rescue Sirius in that same year. I remembered how Hermione alone had stuck by Harry when the whole school seemed to turn against him during the lead up to the first task in the Triwizard Tournament and even Ronald Weasley was refraining from speaking to him for some reason; and how she had joyfully given her full attention to Harry after his success in the second task, much to the displeasure of a certain Viktor Krum; I further recalled seeing the incredulous look on Harry's face when he noticed a virtually unrecognizable and very presentable Hermione joining with the rest of the champions to enter the Yule Ball - that look had been priceless and had stayed etched in my memory. Finally, I remembered how the two of them had been the instigators of Dumbledore's Army, something Albus and I knew about right from the beginning, and had worked tirelessly to oppose Dolores Umbridge during her brief and unhappy reign as the head of Hogwarts; and I couldn't forget the sight of the two of them emerging scratched and bedraggled from the Forbidden Forest after some joint escapade, while Ron was being feted by the rest of Gryffindor house for his part in a famous Quidditch victory. So you see, to me it had always been Harry and Hermione. They seemed destined to be together.
But now I had to face the probability that I had been wrong all of the time and, as I cared about both of them, I found this fact strangely upsetting. However, I told myself that I hadn't come all of this way for nothing and I needed to find out the truth. And so, with this new found resolve and a heavy heart, I pushed myself up from the bench and walked slowly over to the green front door.
My knock on the door was initially greeted with silence, but then I heard movement as someone opened a door inside and muffled footsteps approached. The door was suddenly pulled open and the woman who I had seen jog across the lane stood in front of me with a questioning expression on her face. The change in her hair style had a quite dramatic effect on her appearance and there were a few small aging lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes, but it was undoubtedly Hermione; but a Hermione who seemed completely at odds with the slightly neurotic young girl that I had known. Some women, who were not considered to be conventionally pretty in their youth, seem to have a predisposition to age well. If this is combined with a desire to make the best of their appearance and to remain fit and healthy, these women gradually stand out from their peers in later life and suddenly seem self-confident and very attractive. Hermione appeared to be just such a woman and, although completely free from any make-up, as far as I could judge, and dressed in a loose sweatshirt and jeans, she would now have turned heads in any crowd. She looked at me quizzically for a few moments, as I stood tongue-tied on the door step, before sudden recognition dawned on her face.
"Professor! Professor McGonagall. What on earth are you doing here? Come in…come in." She moved aside to let me enter and we both stood for a moment in the hallway, breathless and unsure of what we should say.
I finally broke the ice. "You are looking wonderful dear. I am so glad that I have found you at last!"
"Found me?" Hermione looked puzzled. "You've been looking for me? But why?" She frowned but then hurried on, "Look, let's not talk standing in the hallway. Come into the front room."
With that, she indicated a door standing ajar on her right hand side and then followed me as I went through.
"Take your cloak off and sit down," she suggested indicating an armchair. "Why don't I make us some tea and then we can have a chat."
"That would be lovely dear," I replied, slipping my cloak from my shoulders and passing it into Hermione's outstretched hand.
"It will take a few moments. I do things the Muggle way here, so that I don't attract any unwanted attention." Hermione went back out into the hallway, leaving me alone, and I soon heard bangs and rattles coming from further back in the house.
I looked around. The room was decorated in a very sparse, modern fashion. Polished, light wood boards had been laid over the floor and the armchair in which I was seated, together with another matching one and a three-seat sofa were covered in cream leather. The walls, adorned with various simple prints, were painted also in cream, with the remainder of the paintwork being a brilliant white. The fireplace had been blocked off and a display of dried grasses and flowers now stood on the tiled hearth in front of the chimney breast. By turning in my chair, I was able to see a large, framed photograph of Hermione, Ron and two children, a boy and a girl, placed on a low light-colored wood storage unit positioned against a side wall of the room. It seemed to be the only magical item present, as the occupants moved and waved as they posed for the camera. All four of them had beaming smiles on their faces; the archetypal, conventional happy family. It regrettably seemed that I had clearly been mistaken after all.
Hermione called out, asking if I took milk and sugar, and I am sure that I must have answered her, although my thoughts were running in an entirely different direction. She returned after about five minutes with two steaming mugs of orange-brown liquid and passed one carefully to me, ensuring that I could grasp it by the handle.
"Well, I'm delighted to see you Professor, but what has suddenly brought you here after all of this time?" Hermione asked, peering over her mug as she sipped her tea.
"Well, it's a long story dear, but Harry's name came up recently from a rather unexpected source and I realized how long it had been since I saw any of you," I improvised hesitantly. "Particularly in your case Hermione; I have no idea what you have been up to since we last met."
Hermione didn't show any signs of volunteering the information that I was seeking and so I pressed on. "So, what have you been doing with yourself? I expected great things from you, but while I have heard plenty about Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley and even Neville Longbottom, there has been no word about you whatsoever."
Hermione leaned forward to place her mug gently on a low table in front of her, which matched the storage unit behind me and was obviously part of a set. She took her time before answering; seemingly selecting her words carefully.
"That's because I didn't do much at all for a long time. To be honest, I felt a bit disillusioned with the whole wizarding world after the battle with Voldemort. I got married and started a family and it was only after I had my second child, Hugo, that I suddenly realised that if things were wrong, then I owed it to my children to try and help put them right. So, I applied for a research job at St. Mungo's Hospital and I've been working there ever since." She looked up at me and smiled, as if about to impart some pleasant news. "You'll be pleased to hear that my main research interest is the principles underlying magic."
"But that's extraordinary dear!" I exclaimed. "I have been doing some private research in the same sort of area, although I've never come across your name or seen any of your work."
"Yes, I've noticed what you're doing," Hermione said, chuckling at my rather uncharacteristically excitable response, "but we're really taking different approaches to the same sort of problem. Let's say that while you concentrate more on "nurture" with regard to the development of magical abilities, I'm more interested in "nature"; where it all comes from in the first place." She paused, before continuing in a more serious tone. "The reason that you haven't heard about me is that my group largely keeps out of the public eye because what we're doing is so sensitive and I always publish under a pseudonym. Have you ever seen any work by Harriet Puckle?" she enquired. "Puckle was my mother's maiden name and Harriet … is just another girl's name that began with the letter "H" that came into my head one day," she finished rather lamely.
"Yes dear," I replied scornfully, knowing full well why the name Harriet might have appealed to Hermione Granger. I allowed myself a smug smile. Clearly, even after all of these years, she still had Harry Potter on her mind, regardless of her marital status.
"I had to keep my identity fairly well hidden because many pureblood families still don't really approve of the sort of work that I do and I couldn't afford to embarrass Ron, with his position at the Ministry," she continued. "Thankfully, I have some very discrete colleagues. Most of them have to do something similar. Anyway, now that Harry is Minister for Magic things are starting to change and we'll all soon be able to be much more open about our involvement. Harry is going to change a lot of things for the better, I'm certain."
I couldn't help noticing the slight softening of her expression and the tone of her voice as she talked about Harry. "Oh, that's excellent news Hermione. I'm so pleased that you are doing something so worthwhile. But why did it take you so long to get started?"
Again, Hermione thought carefully before answering.
"I don't know; something seemed to happen to me after my fifth year at Hogwarts. I think that it was Sirius' death that affected me." Her forehead creased as if agitated by the recall of unpleasant memories. "I really felt that I had let Harry down and it seemed to me that I wasn't going to be able to help him much any more. Self confidence never was my strong suit and it must have hit rock bottom at that point. Suddenly, I found that I was turning into the type of girl that I had always despised; the type who needs a relationship with a boy just to boost her self esteem and prove her worth." She gave a self deprecating laugh. "I hated myself for it, but I didn't seem to be able to stop. I was emotional and childish and, at the same time, I was irrationally angry with Harry because he seemed to be ignoring any advice that I tried to give him. After that, I just got really depressed and went around in a sort of daze. I was a real mess for a while and Ron was the only one who attempted to comfort me and help me through it." She smiled in recollection. "He actually tried to change himself for me, even though he was never all that successful. I think that's why we ended up getting married, even though most people thought that we weren't really suited."
"But, if you don't mind my asking, what are you doing tucked away here, in this tiny Muggle village?" I interrupted, anxious to bring Hermione back to the present.
"This place? Oh, this was a little country retreat close to the city that my parents have owned for ages. They used to rent it out, but now they're letting us use it. You see Professor, I've lived for a long time in the wizarding world with Ron and the children, but you have to remember that all of the members of my family are Muggles. There's my mum and dad and I've got aunts and uncles and cousins. Everyone seems to think that I never had a family life of my own before I came to Hogwarts." Her voice became more assertive as she warmed to her theme. "Rose and Hugo have two sets of grandparents, you know. My mum and dad deserve to spend some time with their grandchildren too. With us staying here for a while, they are able to see more of them and it lets Rose and Hugo get a better understanding about the world and my view of it. It's easy enough for us to get back and forth, just not so convenient with no Floo network to help." She took a pause for breath, but still clearly had more that she wanted to say on the subject. "To those of us, like me and Dean Thomas and even Harry, who were brought up as Muggles, some magical folk, particularly pureblood families like the Weasleys, can seem a little bit eccentric to say the least. Spending time in this place helps to keep Rose and Hugo grounded."
I had to admit that this sounded reasonable and I also have to confess that I class myself as one of those who were guilty of viewing Hermione as virtually an orphan, before her "adoption" by the Weasleys. Thoughts of the Weasleys made me wonder how Ron was taking to this change in circumstances.
"I understand that Ron is away for a while on business," I volunteered to broach the subject. "I asked after him at the Ministry but they wouldn't tell me where he was."
"Oh, that! It's just a fact finding tour to decide the whereabouts for the next Quidditch World Cup; all very hush-hush at the moment," Hermione answered casually.
"But doesn't Ron find it a bit strange living here?" I pressed. "He never seemed the type to adapt readily to the Muggle world."
Hermione gasped and looked stricken for a few moments, while her hand went up to her mouth in an almost involuntary gesture of surprise.
"Oh, Merlin! What with you having tracked me down here, I just assumed that you knew! You think that Ron and I are still married, don't you?" she blurted out in an astonished voice.
Now it was my turn to be surprised. The happy family photograph; the way that she had talked fondly about her marriage; the references to "us" - presumably actually only meaning her and the children; I couldn't equate any of this with what she was now implying.
"Well, yes dear," I managed to croak. "Do you mean that you're not?"
Hermione shook her head in amazement. "No, that was all over some time ago. I am so sorry; I really thought that you must have heard."
She looked thoughtful and then clearly decided that some further explanation was called for. "Ron and I were always very different really; and when I took the job at St. Mungo's those differences just seemed to intensify. He wouldn't admit it, but I think that Ron really wanted a home-maker as a wife; someone like his mother. Ron was always fairly conservative in his views. It was just part of his upbringing. Not like me at all." She sighed. "Anyway, to cut a very long story short, after a great deal of soul searching, we both agreed to call it a day, while we could still remain friends. It's really the best thing for both of us; and for the children. There's no great animosity between us. The official view is that we have irreconcilable differences, but as far as we're both concerned, we just got fed up with arguing all of the time."
I couldn't quite grasp the ramifications of what she was saying. Even though I had always thought that Hermione and Ron were unsuited, this sudden turn of events had an unnatural quality about it.
"But what about Harry and Ginny? Are they still married?" I asked desperately trying to hang on to at least part of the reality that I had begun to accept.
At that precise moment, I heard the sound of someone fumbling to insert a key into the front door lock, followed by a creak of rusting hinges as the door was pushed open from the outside.
"It seems that you're in luck," Hermione said with a mischievous grin. "Why don't you ask Harry for yourself?"