Brilliance and Gloom
Chapter One - Defeat The Purpose
He was forbidden to protect himself by his government. She was fighting to get her shot at making a difference. He needed family, she needed recognition. Will Harry and Hermione's friendship be enough to carry them through against the odds, or will they die trying to find their way to their futures? AU, OOC, OC. Rated T for violence and sauciness.
(Mione/Krum, Harry finds a family)
A/N: I own nothing but the shape of this creation, all the pieces and building blocks belong the J.K. Rowling (except for Harry's invisible friend!) and all credit goes to her for their excellence.
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Hermione Granger knew she was an imperfect person, but she was proud of herself all the same. She set her own expectations for herself, which some said were unrealistic or too high, but she had always been able to more-or-less meet them. She was seeking something, but she wasn't quite certain what it was yet. Since this wasn't something she could look up, so she tried not to worry about the nameless feeling that drove her to excel, to push herself hard in every spare moment. Her exhaustion was satisfying, and even though she had pushed herself far and beyond her personal limits this year with the time turner, she found herself hesitating to give it up.
She was standing in front of McGonagall's desk, with the time tuner still around her neck, clutching in her hand.
"Well?" McGonagall asked, a touch concerned and a touch exasperated, looking as if she knew exactly what the student in front of her was thinking. "You said it yourself, Miss Granger, you can't possibly keep going like this."
"I… I know that Professor." She shifted her weight from side to side, trying not to fill the silence with the sound of her neatly polished shoes scuffing the stone floor. A clocked ticked quietly, off in the corner.
Minerva McGonagall fought the urge to clear the persistent tickle in her throat, knowing the sound would only startle Miss Granger into chagrined action, when she obviously needed a few more moments of introspection. Her lips twisted minutely. Hermione Granger was perfectly capable of figuring out all seven years of Hogwarts' standard curriculum on her own, and faster than any of her peers. She saw the desire to prove herself written in bold across her postures, her fear of failure was in the defensive way she hunched over her books and notes, her pride in herself was in the spring in her step when she handed in an assignment or test, every motion and intonation was testament to Hermione Granger being an open book. Open to everyone, but her own self.
The young girl fidgeted, which was unlike her, as was the stretching silence. When her face started pinking, McGonagall took pity on her.
"Out with it, Miss Granger."
Her pink face turned white as if charmed, and she hurriedly lifted the time turned from 'round her neck, tangling it in her bushy hair in her haste to deposit it on the desk. "Oh bollocks!" She muttered under her breath, before throwing a horrified glance towards her professor. "I'm sorry, Professor, I—"
"Never mind, it'll come right out." McGonagall pretended not to have noticed the curse, and rose to help her student disentangle the incredibly valuable object from the snarls of her hair, working together silently and without awkwardness. She was pleased that Miss Granger possessed the survival instincts to keep her from apologizing further; she would have hated to have to assign her a detention, which would have to be served in September. Harry Potter would forever be her most treasured of her cubs, but had things been different, Hermione Granger would have been without peer.
The time turner did not, in fact, come right out. Miss Granger ended up applying several gentle detangling charms, careful not to hit even the chain attached to the artifact, before it would come free. She hastily plucked torn out bits of hair from the chain, inspected it hastily and then held it out to McGonagall.
"It would be prudent," McGonagall said "for you to explain your hesitation in returning that time turner, Miss Granger."
Still holding the time turning out awkwardly, shoulder hiking up towards her ear, Hermione answered "I'm just a bit down, Professor, that's all."
"Oh? Surely you haven't changed your mind about needing Muggle Studies?" Her lips twisted. "Or is it Divination on your mind?"
"Heavens, no!" Hermione cried in an endearingly non-magical fashion.
"Well then, out with it, Miss Granger!" She repeated.
Hermione drew the hand holding the time turner back to her chest. "It's just… I don't know how I'll ever become minister of magic if I can't handle another year like this."
"Minister of Magic?" McGonagall asked. Her lips tightened, as if she wished she could lock the words back in her mouth.
"Well, it is a very demanding position, I imagine. I've been reading up on it, you see. Magical Political Science is a very underdeveloped topic, but from what I can find it seems that, with the exception of…" She visibly restrained herself from naming Fudge, "well, with a recent exception or two, the Ministers of Magic have classically been very hard working men and women. I have to hold myself up to their examples, if I have any hope of becoming Minister one day."
McGonagall felt her heart tighten inside her chest. "Take a seat, Miss Granger." She said, taking one herself in a deliberate manner that would have signalled to a well-bred young witch that she was trying not to flop herself down in a wretched heap.
Hermione Granger, of course, didn't notice. She perched primly, but not graciously, on the edge of her chair, her own anxiety written across her face.
"I'm afraid" McGonagall began, finding herself speaking a little too slowly while her mind raced and darted like a pursued rabbit, "that Minister is too much to hope for, Miss Granger."
Hermione's hands froze in their delicate tracing of the time turner. "But… But professor, I am the brightest young witch of our age, aren't I?" She didn't pause for confirmation. "I am hard working, and dedicated, and I care passionately about the future of magical Britain! I will study economics and magical law and above and beyond everything expect of me until no one on this continent is better equipped to head our government!" She shook with the need to stand and pace. "Professor." She hastily added.
"There are things that simply can't be found in books," McGonagall said, in as soothing a voice as she could. "In some ways, the Minister of Magic is as much a Monarch as the Minister. He was the unofficial next in line, if you will. Fudge may be a bumbling idiot, and a puppet, but his blood provides him with more support than all the knowledge in Britain could provide you, Miss Granger. More right to the position, to some minds. I'm very sorry."
Hermione had her empty hand closed tight, her knuckles white. Her breathing was fast, but her lips were pursed white and tightly shut, her eyes looked wet and out of focus underneath her blankly relaxed brow. McGonagall was feeling decidedly uncomfortable, and perhaps a bit guilty. Perhaps she should have better warned the girl, before she could build a dream on a foundation that was nothing more than sponges transfigured fleetingly by her mind into bricks. But she was an educator, she had always hoped fondly to only inspire the best of the girl.
That thought summoned, quite on its own, the words "But if anyone could do it, Miss Granger…" and she stopped in horror at her own sentimental foolishness. But even without finishing the sentence, she could see the spark of life come back to the eyes of her brightest student. Hermione looked at her finally, instead of through her, but her gaze was distrustful.
McGonagall provided herself with a quick escape from that line of conversation. "But perhaps you should look into following the example of your peers. The other female students in your year have already begun." She left the topic vague, confident that Miss Granger would bite.
She did. "Begun what, Professor?"
"Why, grooming themselves for marriage!" McGonagall was confident again of Miss Granger's reaction. She waited for the explosion. It built itself up in the young girls eyes, her posture became ramrod straight and her shoulders dropped into the angled position of a duelist.
It didn't come. Slowly, Hermione's head tilted just the slightest bit to the side. "Professor," her manner was that of a student in class addressing an equation "Could a good marriage increase my chances?"
McGonagall leaned back, hiding her surprise. "Why… Yes Miss Granger, I suppose it might." She had assumed the girl was still secretly infatuated with the youngest Weasly boy. "You would have to marry into a very powerful and pure blooded family, and have their full support, but I suppose… that might do it."
"I could do that." Hermione's hands and shoulders were relaxed, only the hint of red around her eyes and the little crescent bruises forming in her palm were a testament to her earlier emotion. "Do you happen to have any suggestions?"
Minerva McGonagall had been at Hogwarts for a long time. She figured she knew a thing or two about muggleborn girls and their bra burning and romantic ideas on true love, though she knew that she had learned less than she perhaps should have. She was fairly certain that approaching the idea of marriage in a rational manner was beyond them, as a rule, as if it were not ultimately the single most important business partnership of most witches' (and wizards') lives.
She twisted her lips to the side ruefully, examining the intensity with which her second most beloved student of her career regarded her. She would have to remember to overestimate this girl, she had a tendency to live up to good expectations for the sake of living up to them.
Finally she said "You'll have to decide for yourself. You have a lot of time to choose, but very little time before the courting in your year begins in earnest. Instead," she hesitated, trying to decide how best to avoid causing the girl to reject the idea out of hand, or to take it up in too much earnest, "you might consider how the young men of this school regard you."
"They hate me. Except for the Weaslys and Harry. Because I'm smarter than they are." She frowned, and raised her chin. "I'm not ashamed. I won't make myself behave stupidly just to attract a male. That would defeat the purpose."
McGonagall leaned forward slightly, leveling Miss Granger with an direct look, and feeling a bit like Albus must when he played these games. "It would, wouldn't it?"
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A/N: I was having a really, really horrible day at the end of a stressful two weeks, and so I sat down and started writing, and fan fiction of all things appeared, as if by magic. Then I realized that I didn't just have an idea, I had a story. I thought I would start to share my stress reliever with this fantastic community, as a way of giving back to all the authors who have provided me with a refuge from my bad days. Let me know if I succeed in entertaining you, your happiness makes me happy. Oh, but your thoughtful insight or suggestions will make me ecstatic!