Hermione twisted and turned once more, studying herself in the battered mirror of her Hogsmeade room, until she could convince herself that she was acceptable.
"Right. Pull yourself together," she hissed violently at her reflection. She smoothed her sticky hands over her business suit and took a deep breath. Catching sight of the bed behind her, her breath left her in a sigh. She fumbled in her sleeve for the pocket that concealed her wand and set to rearranging, folding and re-packing the clothes she had dragged out of her case at 5.30 that morning. She had finally settled on the outfit she had originally laid out for herself – as per her usual organised way – the previous evening.
She had arrived at her room above The Three Broomsticks early yesterday evening, using the side entrance to avoid being blindsided by any Hogwarts staff encounters should they be enjoying a last meal of freedom, or a Sunday pick-me-up/ drowning of sorrows before the new term began.
Unpacking her overnight bag, she had smoothed out and hanged the plain white shirt, pinstripe jacket and matching trousers, and set the sturdy, flat ankle boots underneath. She had planned to be awake early anyway, to arrive at Hogwarts a couple of hours before the students, but 5am had found her sat up in bed trying to calm her hammering heart, and then scrambling to un-shrink her suitcase, convinced that she had absolutely nothing appropriate to wear. She had divested her case of practically every garment she had packed, things getting thrown more and more haphazardly onto the bed as she became more panicked, until she'd wailed in despair and taken herself off to the shower. Upon returning, marginally calmer, she had debated further between traditional robes over a plain black dress and her everyday business suit, ultimately deciding that, until she knew the lay of the land, the robes were just too presumptive of her belonging at the school: She hadn't been back since the aftermath of the battle, and now she was there, after all, to investigate the staff and the system; she didn't want them to see Hermione Granger the student, and she didn't want to give herself extra cause to regress to that, either. SO she slipped into her suit, gliding her wand over the creases that her frantic on-off-on again had caused, and set about her make-up.
She spent another large portion of an hour applying, smudging, removing, re-applying her make-up, worried about overdoing it, then about not applying enough to seal her mask of confidence. Eventually, with a natural look accentuating her deep brown eyes, and a light gloss of colour on her lips, she deemed herself acceptable with a final pat of her rather severe bun.
Re-shrinking her case, she wrapped her heavy, cloak-like black coat about herself, fastening each button and tying it tight about the middle, preempting the burgeoning chill of Autumn, and quietly vacated via the side alley.
Minerva rolled her eyes at herself and frowned. She was well-versed in her morning ritual, had been accomplishing it perfectly well for the entirety of her teaching career: Every first day of term, she rose at six am, took a mug of tea in her bed whilst her rooms heated, glossed over Tranfiguration Today and then took her time showering, knowing that term-time responsibilities and children's extra-curricular activities would make it nigh on impossible to luxuriate.
She performed the same routine at her bathroom mirror – hair pulled back and fastened magically, a light touch of colour to her cheeks (a relic left from her muggle grandmother, who coveted rouge as though it were a glamour) and some balm on her lips – then dressed in her simple undergarments, dress and teaching robe. She slipped into her boots and laced them wandlessly.
Everything like always.
It was inexplicable to her, then, why she was still stood in front of the ancient free-standing mirror in her bedroom, wiggling her hat; wondering if her boots were polished enough; if she should have gone for the robes with the gold fastenings; if her lips needed a little… something? She frowned again rather forcefully, then stepped back in shock when the mirror seemingly echoed her inner sigh, stretched out feet from its rounded floor supports, and shuffled around until it had its back to her.
"Well," she sniffed, after momentarily staring at the brass frame. Its feet retreated back into its supports, and it settled down with a rather final sounding grunt. "Ridiculous," she muttered, and with a final brush of hands down her robes, she marched out of her rooms.
Minerva entered the staff room and offered a relaxed nod to the staff gathered there. The elves, as always, had put on a selection of breakfast items, so Minerva waited a few minutes, sipping at a mug of tea, for the rest of the staff to arrive and plate up, before clearing her throat. The chatter died away, and with a stern "hush" directed at the portraits that had gathered inside The Feast of Finglehurst the Fortunate, Minerva started the academic year.
"I know you are all prepared, so I won't keep you long. Just a few reminders, as usual. Whilst the first years are gathered in the entrance hall, prefects will be allocated their passwords. Mr Filch is going to ensure that all guardian portraits remain in their frames until every student is within," she paused while a few people snorted. A new painting installed on the lower floors last year had caused chaos on the first night, with the majority of portraits leaving there frames 'for a nose' and ending up overindulging in everything and unable to find their way back to their frames; first year students that had managed to lose their prefects ended up wandering around tearfully, and had to be herded back to the Great Hall until Minerva could restore some semblance of order. Delegation, she thought grimly, was sometimes a waste of time, though she would have thought that anyone with an ounce of sense wouldn't have agreed to house a painting where the artist had managed to so vividly capture the opulence and spirit of a Roman orgy, within the walls of a school where the portraits were always on the look out for something to liven up their time. She shook her head.
"Usual order applies to the rest of the day. Extra night rounds have been allocated just for this first week, however if anyone needs to shuffle around, that's fine as long as the shift is covered. Any questions?"
There were a few shaking heads.
"Ok," Minerva breathed deeply through her nose. "The investigator's arrival is imminent." At the sea of blank faces, she repressed a sigh. "Miss Hermione Granger," she clarified, and found herself being beamed at from all directions. Only Filius noticed the way that her jaw clenched, the slight wince that crossed her features as she said Hermione's name, and the tightness betraying her smile. "We must remember," she continued, "that as much as we have a fondness for Hermione, and even though she is a former student, she is still here on official business. It is part of the terms of her job to evaluate individual staff performances as well as the overall curriculum, protocols and the general running of the school. The ministry wants to be assured that Hogwarts is churning out well-rounded individuals," her smile relaxed at the chuckles that greeted this disdain-laden remark. "And we all know that Miss Granger is nothing if not thoroughly efficient. Friendly but professional is the best approach for all concerned. Stick to your lesson plans, and try to keep any permanently disfiguring mishaps to a minimum, please. Thank you, everyone. Battle stations!"
The chatter steadily grew as the staff finished off their breakfasts and filed out of the room. Minerva exchanged pleasantries with a few people that had been abroad all summer, before she stepped out of the room and into line with Filius as they headed towards the Entrance Hall. After a few hundred yards of silence, Minerva glanced down.
"Something on your mind, Filius?" she enquired softly. Filius weighed his words, deciding that he couldn't invest too much in them yet, not until he had more than slipped facial guards to invest in them. He shook his head.
"Merely wondering what lays ahead with regards to our erstwhile Investigator."
Minerva never faltered in her step or breath.
"Erstwhile?" she questioned.
"Well," Filius continued, schooling his entire being into nonchalance. "One could say that Miss Granger, ever since the year of the battle, has studiously avoided any visits to Hogwarts, any Hogwarts-related engagement that she wasn't officially compelled to. And we all know how studious she is. Hence, erstwhile."
Minerva scoffed, but it took her a moment. "She's a busy woman."
Filius nodded. "Ah. And her decision to complete her NEWTs at Beauxbatons was…"
Minerva stopped mid stride to pin him with a look. "Perhaps it was better suited to her busy-ness."
Filius, deciding now that he'd at least been partially discovered fishing, pinned Minerva with a look equally sternly weighted. Minerva's lips pinched, but she deigned to answer.
"We had just been through a war that she survived with wit and sheer dumb luck. She had a tortuous time here, the place is probably full of terrifying memories, but she wanted to continue her studies. And we all know how studious she is." She raised her brow, and Filius gave in, shrugging his shoulders and starting to walk again.
"Well then, we can only hope that whilst she's here, she can finally move past, past terrors. She's finally made it through the gate, so it's a start."
The Entrance Hall doors yawned open. Minerva steadied her heart against the erratic beating the approaching figure had evoked.
"I've lived on hope for this long," she muttered, steeling her nerve.
Hermione gritted her teeth. She held out her hand, but the tremor she found there caused her to stop short of actually touching the gate.
"For God's sake," she muttered, stopping short of running her hand through her pulled back hair. She took a deep breath and darted her hand out to touch the gate before she could stop and think, again. The gates slowly began to open, but it took another few minutes of pacing before she made it through, striding determinedly, eyes on her feet. At the first rounding of the path, she stopped and finally looked up. The first view of Hogwarts usually took her breath away, but this time, she struggled to regain it, to bring it back to normal. She could hear the laughter, almost feel the jostling arms of her friends as they wandered the path. She became lost in memories, in feelings: Green everywhere; lush green; astute green; following; mesmerising.
"Miss Granger."
The voice jolted Hermione. She looked around, startled, but found nothing or no one. Shaking her head free of ghosts, she steeled herself and set off on the last leg towards the castle.
The doors started to open just as she approached them. She sighed inwardly, regretting not having the time to pace and gather herself again, but firmly plastered her politely detached mask on her face as the Headmistress and her deputy appeared in the doorway.
As soon as she met Minerva's eyes, her feet refused to carry her any further. Minerva, it seemed, was suffering a similar affliction. Filius stepped forward, sensing that they'd still be standing there letting first years file past them should he not.
"Miss Granger," he greeted warmly, extending his hand and breaking whatever was going on between the two women's eyes. Hermione blinked and finally entered the castle, taking his hands between hers.
"Professor Flitwick," she smiled. She straightened from her slight stoop, and forced herself to meet Minerva's eyes again, swallowing against the emotions churning in her stomach. "Headmistress," her tongue refused to wrap itself around the 'good to see you' that floated around her brain, so she waited expectantly. Minerva cleared her throat discreetly, her professionalism slamming back into place.
"Miss Granger. Good to have you here, although I'll admit it would be nicer under different circumstances." They nodded at each other, neither moving to otherwise physically greet each other. "Your rooms have already been prepared. There's some time for you to acquaint yourself with them before introducing you to the staff, if you so wish?"
Hermione nodded.
"I will see you back here in half an hour, then, Miss Granger," Filius picked up the conversation. "You'll have fifteen minutes to mingle with the staff before we're overrun by students, at which point, I'm sorry to say, I won't see much of you – quite literally – as I'm now in charge of herding the first years."
Hermione smirked at his little joke, and he winked.
"It is very good to have you back here, Miss Granger," he held her hand briefly, then headed toward the Great Hall. "Once more into the fray," Hermione heard him mutter, and her nerves momentarily melted away as she laughed out loud. Minerva smiled indulgently.
"He loves it, really."
"I doubt anyone lasts long if they don't," Hermione responded. Her smile waned as she abruptly remembered who she was talking to.
"Indeed," Minerva's own sparkle dimmed as Hermione became distant once more. "Shall we?" She motioned to the staircase and they began to climb.
"The castle has already shifted to accommodate you," Minerva explained at the top of the marble staircase. When they continued along the corridor instead of climbing another staircase, Hermione's heart plummeted. Minerva took a deep breath. "Your rooms are next to mine. Like mine, the entrance is to your general office, and within there is an entry to your private rooms." They passed the entrance to Minerva's office, and stopped just next door.
"Peachy," Hermione muttered. When Minerva scowled, she had the grace to blush.
"It wasn't my choice, Hermione. None of this was my choice." They entered the office before Hermione could respond. She was pleased to see a suitably furnished working room, with a large desk, two armchairs and a small table in front of a fireplace. Minerva tapped a portrait of a slumbering portly gentleman, whose elbow slipped off the desk. His head dropped and he woke with a massive snore, only to wave his hand, mumble and settle again. The portrait swung open. "Here's the entrance to your private rooms. It'll recognise your magic… You, err, might have to give him a tap on occasion." Hermione raised her eyebrows, amused despite herself.
"As I said, none of this was my choice. The castle has set you up. I trust you don't need me to direct you around the other rooms?"
Hermione shook her head. Minerva nodded tightly. "Very well. I'll meet you by the Entrance Hall in ten minutes."
Before she reached the door, Hermione called out. "It wasn't mine, either."
Minerva turned around, a questioning look on her face. Hermione sighed. "It wasn't my choice to be here, either. But they were going to send someone either way, and…" She lifted her head defiantly. "And I know I am thorough."
Minerva sagged almost imperceptibly. Shortly, she nodded. "Twenty minutes, Miss Granger," she clipped sharply as she left, seeing no point in wasting her breath on words she wasn't sure she could form anyway.