Author's Note:
First and foremost thank you all for your lovely reviews and for following this story! Hopefully it will not disappoint!
I'm aware that this chapter is quickly following the first, I don't think this is a pace I can maintain to be honest. The story is just flowing - like most do I'm sure, in the beginning. I wouldn't count this as being how fast I write! Sorry :)
Ps: do let me know if you have any suggestions or comments regarding the story!
And so on with chapter number two! Again I am not making any money, unfortunately. This is a non-profit distraction that helps considerably with my mental stability ;) Enjoy!
Predictably the week flew by and Christmas exams were now only a weekend away; Not that Hermione was convinced her students knew that looking at her final class of the day. Agitated eyes flicked from her face, to the book, to the window. Trying to impart any advice close to the end of a class is impossible. Her eyes fluttered shut momentarily, tiredness gnawed at her own ability to stay half alert. She had to move before she slumped even further onto the inviting desk before her. Sighing aloud she heaved herself from behind the desk, trying to grab at whatever attention her students could muster.
"Do not attempt to skip over anything we have covered this term. I have weighted the questions so that all areas are covered accordingly."
"Professor?"
Interrupted mid-rant Hermione bit her lower lip. Pursing them she faced Neville Longbottoms' doppelganger, a carbon copy if ever there was, in the front row to her left.
"Yes David?"
"Will we have to do any practical demonstrations like?" inquired the boy, looking rather pasty at the thought.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose; it had been a very long day.
"For the fourth time I do not include practical demonstrations of any nature until the second term. I prefer to have the theory thoroughly covered before we attempt any major spell work. The second term will be largely, if not completely, comprised of practical work based on theory completed during the first . . . now are there any other questions?"
Hermione took the time regard the class carefully. Hopefully all the questions had been thought of, no one could say that she hadn't given them ample opportunity to ask.
"Fantastic!" she cried, clapping her hands together, wary of the querying look that had started to form on David's face.
"I will be available on Saturday, as always, from eleven to one in the afternoon. Should you have any questions please come see me, otherwise good luck with your studies and I shall see you next week for the exams."
Amid the scraping of chairs and the slamming of textbooks she returned her quills to their desk drawer. The class bustled from the room noisily and in no time at all it was returned to its previous state of tranquillity. Hermione gathered up the textbooks she had been revising with the group and placed them neatly on the top shelf of her cupboard before sealing it with a quick word. If I learned anything about being prepared at school it was that no professor should ever leave a store unlocked, mercifully Snape hadn't been that paranoid.
Fridays really is the longest day of the week! Her first years had decided they were about to face the gallows and she had had to comfort at least four O.W.L. students who had either lost notes or books or required a kind ear upon which they could rely for good advice. Unfortunately for her last batch of students, her patience had been sorely tried and pretty much exhausted. I love questions but when the same one is repeated constantly in close proximity to the last inquiry I really have to question whether Nargles are addling their brains! Sighing at the thought she rested her palms on her old wooden desk; a favourite that she had been able to save from the renovations at her local, childhood library. Regarding the empty chairs Hermione hung her head tiredly, glad that the day was over. Not that she didn't enjoy teaching but it was, at times, one of the most frustrating things she had ever had to engage with and that included a teenage Ronald Weasley!
Shouldering her satchel she tossed one last look behind her before rushing out the door to her quarters. Ten past three? I had better get a move on. Threading her way past the groups of students that thronged the main corridors Hermione managed to make it to her door in ten minutes. Changing out of her teaching garb to more comfortable clothes was completed with practiced ease leaving her with a little time to ponder the upcoming meeting and its purpose.
Even though Hermione had basically immersed herself in a magical lifestyle she just couldn't part with her muggle clothing preferences. Full robes were cumbersome and quite unsuitable when the weather did, on the rare occasion, decide to improve. The eventual solution to her conundrum had come about completely by accident.
She had been mulling over whether to have a robe at all when she had attended her cousin's graduation from Cambridge. Staring vacantly at the mass of graduating students before her Hermione had, what her father called, a 'light-bulb idea'. Academic robe suppliers were numerous and because all she had wanted were basic formal black gowns she had got them quite cheap. Thrown over her muggle clothes she felt rather akin to Professor Snape when sweeping down the hallways on her way to class. Not that her efforts created anything close to the fear he had inspire. No, she had never managed to cultivate that aura, looking as harried as she normally did. Despite drawing some second glances she persisted with her choice: they were easy to put on, came with both short and long sleeved options and that was before she even mentioned their durability. Really Hermione was delighted with herself!
Patting herself down she opened her handbag for one final inspection.
Money? Check. Wand? Check. Ron's 'Classic Chess Strategems' magazine? Check.
Funnily enough when Ron had taken the time to learn muggle chess he had become quite the fan. 'Boring but strategically interesting' is what he had suggested as the basis for his growing obsession. Hermione had only been too happy to try and make it more of a muggle experience for Ron, bringing him to muggle shops to find literature to sate his appetite. Sadly his interest was more in the material than the experience and soon it became clear that she was his postmistress more than his tour guide of muggle life. She honestly couldn't say when she had begun to worry less about Rons' knowledge of the muggle world; it had waned dramatically somewhere between their final year at Hogwarts together and the end of their relationship.
Theirs was a tumultuous affair. Not that there was ever any kind of abuse or the like; still words could cut as deep. On occasion their arguments went far beyond any of those that had erupted during their time at Hogwarts. More often than not Hermione found herself abandoned, upset and tearful, in their shared apartment: much like the period during the Horcrux hunt with Harry. At least then Harry had been there to distract her. He and I were just not suited, funny how extreme circumstances can blind you to what is at the end of your nose. After a year and a half they both had agreed, quite amicably, that their relationship was not working. Barely a week later Hermione had got her own one bedroom flat, not far from Diagon Alley and less than half a year later was starting at Hogwarts. Strange how the end of her relationship and time at the ministry had coincided but she couldn't complain. Happy with her current single status and position she really considered herself quite fortunate. Not that Molly Weasley had given up on her, every family gathering found Hermione smiling graciously as Molly questioned her about any recent 'suitors' on the scene.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, Hermione rubbed Crookshanks and made her way out the door letting the portrait swing shut behind her.
I wonder if this has anything to do with the Centaurs? I do have two years experience in Magical Creature Law. For the past few days McGonagall had been busy sorting out timetables with the various professors and making arrangements for the Christmas break. Hermione hadn't had a spare moment either with all the drama of pre-exam nerves. The most either witch had seen of each other were rushed greetings in passing at the dinner or breakfast table with the odd meeting in the corridor on the way to another class or appointment.
Hermione had spent her first years out of Hogwarts working for the ministry, specifically with the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Sadly her reforms hadn't been making much headway. Frustrated she had left just shy of two years: annoyed at the lack of progress and constant emphasis on control and regulation rather than reform. It had been quite the disappointment to realise that Wizarding politic and legislature was as slow, if not slower, than muggle procedures. Still it was an experience she was glad to have had.
McGonagall had retained Dumbledore's original office and method of access, a nod to her predecessor no doubt. Years of visits to this very office always came back to her when she had the opportunity to call; most were not that bad and usually were of the happier sort.
"Walnut Whip," murmured Hermione to the Gargoyle, who after many years as the Head's guardian wasn't looking the best.
Ascending the staircase to McGonagall's office Hermione ran through her checklist of those she had yet to buy presents for. Surprisingly adult's outnumbered children, still the way Harry and Ginny were going it wasn't going to be long before there was a full quidditch team residing at Godric's Hollow.
Knocking firmly on the door, Hermione waited for the muffled 'Come in' before entering.
McGonagall sat at her desk dwarfed by surrounding stacks of papers and books. Former Heads portraits lined the wall above her head as they had done in Dumbledore's day, now with the additional two of course. It had taken a while to get used to Snape peering down his nose at her from a picture frame but Hermione paid little heed to him nowadays. In fact his stare could be quite comforting at times, knowing what she did of his exploits and efforts during the war.
"Well I must say I have never had so many requests for students to stay over the holidays?! Really quite remarkable," muttered Minerva distractedly, pushing rolls of parchment into an orderly pile.
"All of those?" asked Hermione curiously, gesturing at the pile of letters next to the headmistress.
"Believe it or not, a sizeable amount regarding muggle children too. I don't mind it at all; the castle can be quiet without the students bustling about. Never enjoyed Hogwarts myself during the holidays."
Holding her glasses out in front of her McGonagall rubbed them vigorously in the late afternoon, sun smiling all the while. Hermione waited patiently, rather than interjecting, knowing that this was the best, and quickest, way to find out what she had been called upon for.
"Now," began McGonagall, turning her full attention to the young professor before her. "Hermione, I am sure you are curious as to what this is all about?"
Nodding politely Hermione settled herself into the chair across from the Headmistress. The older witch seemed quite intent on her words, choosing them carefully as it were.
"Do you recall your fourth year here? The Triwizard Tournament and the events that surrounded it?"
Remember it? How could she forget? Harry and the dragon; Cedric's murder and Ron's obstinacy; Skeeter and her venomous lies, not to mention a certain Bulgarian paramour of hers . . . it had been a horrendous and eventful year.
"I do Headmistress, the good and the bad," replied Hermione quietly.
"Ah yes. Believe me I am not discounting what happened that year. Oh no, I am rather in two minds about what I am about to put forward . . ."
Here McGonagall stopped and breathed deeply, preparing her arguments before speaking them aloud; knowing that should she approach this in the wrong manner Hermione would not countenance her proposal.
"We cannot argue with the fact that the tournament that year was an unmitigated disaster. Students injured, murder and Harry's ordeal of course. I cannot ignore, however, the good that came of it too. The co-operation of the French resistance, the aid given by the Bulgarians to the Order of the Phoenix . . . without the Triwizard tournament I doubt we would received half of the support we did."
"I agree Headmistress, whole heartedly, but are you saying that another staging of the tournament has been suggested?"
"Suggested Ms Granger? I believe we are well past that! A formal invitation for the participation of Hogwarts has been received with Beauxbaton's offering its grounds as the host site!"
McGonagall clasped her hands tightly, nodding at Hermione's conflicted expression. The young woman looked both horrified and intrigued by the notion. She herself had much the same reaction, not surprising considering they both knew the depths of the trials that Harry had faced that year.
Picking up a rather ornate envelope, seal broken, in one hand the Headmistress gestured bemusedly with the other.
"I was as shocked as you when I received it, nothing had been mentioned before now that even alluded to this. I, myself, encountered Madam Maxime in Diagon Alley not a year ago without a whisper, on her part, of any intention for the competition's resurrection!"
Gold lettering caught the light and illuminated the text on the front of the envelope. 'A cordial Invitation to have the honour of your participation in THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT' glittered in front of her eyes. Hermione's gaze slid from the envelope to consider her former professor carefully. Minerva McGonagall was not a woman who leaped to hasty conclusions. Really she had never seen her so animated before . . .barring that incident with Peeves and the school kitchens in her first year as a professor.
"You are considering accepting the invitation?"
"Durmstrang has already made it known that they intend to compete. For Hogwarts not to be present would hardly be a crushing blow but our reputation as an internationally recognised institute would suffer a little. I have never been a proponent of such events but I now must speak for a school."
Hermione was still a little confused by the situation in which she found herself. Increasingly bemused by the whole concept she rubbed her forehead tiredly, processing her former professors words slowly. I am not in the right mood to consider this idea properly at all. I could really use a cup of tea or better yet a butterbeer! Too exhausted to untangle the many possibilities regarding the reasons for the revival of the tournament Hermione got straight to the point.
"Headmistress I am certain you will come to the right decision but may I ask why you have brought this to my attention?"
Sighing McGonagall left the invitation to one side and leaned forward in her chair. Hermione couldn't help but focus completely on the Headmistress who, with her spectacles slipping down her nose and fingers interlinked, reminded Hermione forcibly of Dumbledore.
"Hermione, if I were to consider this at all I would wish for a trusted member of staff with suitable experience and training to not only oversee the preparation of our students but also to accompany me to the event itself. If you were willing, I feel that you are most suited to the job."
Hermione was dumbstruck. Who did McGonagall think she was? Some wand toting auror who blasted spells left, right and centre? Hermione Granger knew her area inside and out but in recent years had little reason to practice it outside of the classroom. No, better leave the death eater chasing to qualified aurors like Harry and Ron! Vague recollections of the accompanying professors during the tournament of her Fourth year brought unbidden images of a severely-dressed, sinister Baltic man in Durmstrang colours and a pompous French homme who never deigned to speak 'Eenglish' even to the professors at Hogwarts!
"Not . . . not that I am ungrateful for the opportunity but are you sure I am the person you are looking for?" stuttered Hermione, repositioning herself in the now increasingly uncomfortable chair.
McGonagall laughed and leaned back, bringing her hand to her mouth to smother her chuckles. Here sat one of the most able witches she had ever had the pleasure to teach, let alone work alongside, doubting her abilities in, what Minerva considered, an area of expertise for her. The girl had run riot with Potter all over Europe for goodness' sake!
"Ms. Granger, I understand Mr. Potter was the leader of your group and Mr. Weasley quite happy to follow but do not for a second underestimate your own contribution."
Standing from her chair McGonagall plucked a rather thick looking tome from a nearby shelf. Hermione groaned quietly, catching a glimpse of her own face along with Harry and Rons grinning at her from one of the many pictures plastered on its cover.
McGonagall smiled wryly at her former pupils' discomfort before opening the book briskly. Drawing her index finger down the list of chapters she quickly found the required segment: flicking expertly to the relevant page McGonagall began to speak as if back in the classroom before a herd of eager students.
"Considered one of the most comprehensive accounts of the war and the events leading up to it Grundle's 'Exploration and Discussion of the 2nd Great War: Its participants and their dealings' has more than just one chapter on your good self. Hmmm where is it . . . ah ha, here we go, page 243 and I quote: 'Ms Hermione Grange is, in my humble estimation, one of the most under appreciated combatants of the 2nd Great War. Recognised for her academic brilliance Hermione Grangers competency in spell work is often only remarked upon by those who observed her as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Now three years into my research, several accounts of Ms. Grangers' duelling ability and logical skill in the face of adversity have come to the fore. Particularly with regard to the wide range and depth of casting she brought to the final battle where . . ."
"Stop! Stop! I understand where you are going with this Headmistress, I do but surely a more senior member of staff would be a more appropriate choice to accompany you or to oversee our students training?" exclaimed Hermione, frantically grasping at whatever excuses she could.
McGonagall thankfully closed the book before her and moved it to one side. Hermione's gaze flitted from the hopeful face before her to the twinkling eyes of her former Headmaster and lastly to the assessing eyes of one of Hogwarts most acclaimed potions masters.
"Ms. Granger I am not for one moment suggesting that you be solely responsible, merely that you would oversee their training and be, for the most part, their mentor. Of course the staff of Hogwarts will be on hand to aide you, Professor Flitwick would be one of the most obvious choices with his previous duelling experience. As for the time spent at Beauxbatons there will be more than just you and I attending! I cannot in good conscience bring students to a foreign school without suitable supervision. While we are there I understand the students are to attend classes with the teachers of that school but I would ask that you, being one of our most successful graduates, would take our students for extra sessions in various areas of study so as to maintain our standards. No other student, in my memory at least, took as many N.E.W.T. level examinations and succeeded in them no less!"
Suddenly the office seemed quite small and crowded though it held but two persons. Sighing Hermione rubbed her face quite thoroughly before dropping her hands to her lap. Logical skill in the face of adversity my backside, why can't I come up with a reasonable excuse! Out of time and reasoned arguments Hermione succumbed to her mentors' wishes.
"I suppose if the other members of staff are happy for Hogwarts to participate and I am guaranteed to receive their help in the training of our prospective champions I would be honoured to help the school in whatever capacity you need me."
McGonagall's smile was surely one of the largest she had ever observed on the woman's face as she walked around the table to crush Hermione in a very Molly Weasley-esque hug. Hermione hardly heard any of the following rushed conversation as she was led, quite skilfully, to the office door. In no time at all she found herself bidding McGonagall a good evening before the door was shut behind her.
"And there go my hopes for a non-eventful third year!" she grumbled before plodding down the stairs.