10. And the Plot Thickens
Three-quarters of a mile away from the Grey House, another person was watching the news that evening. The woman had been half-listening, sipping a mug of tea while she and her niece started dinner. The tea slowly spilled to the floor, followed by the mug, which shattered on the tile. The woman did not notice, though, as her ears rang and her vision narrowed in shock.
"Aunt Miranda, what's wrong?" the niece came around the counter and placed a hand on her aunt's back. She focused on the telly as well, and felt her eyes widen. Her first concern though, was the woman beginning to shake standing next to her. She led Miranda to a chair, helped her to sit, and briskly rubbed one cold hand between her own.
"What is it? Did you know her?"
Miranda gave a short, mirthless laugh. "You could say that. I was her teacher last year in school. Dear God, did you hear them? They said she was beaten, that there was evidence that it had gone on for a long time. If that's true, what have I done? I never noticed anything. I never said anything. It's my fault. That poor little girl is dead, and it's my fault."
"Aunt Miranda, how can you say that? You didn't hurt that child, it isn't your fault," the girl admonished her. The phone rang and interrupted them.
Miranda reached out one trembling hand and lifted it to her ear. "Hello?" she answered, her voice shaking a little. "Yes, I just saw on the news," she responded to the person on the other end. "Wednesday? What time? I'll be there. Is there anything you need me to do?" There was a long pause then she answered, "No, I understand. No, thank you, I'll be fine. Yes, yes, I will. Good-bye." She placed the phone down again and turned to her niece. "I know this isn't what you had in mind when you asked to visit, but I have to ask you for a huge favor. Elizabeth's funeral is on Wednesday morning. Would you go with me, please?"
"Of course I will, Aunt Miranda." The girl walked to the kitchen window and looked out the window. She would go to the funeral to support her aunt, but she had some hard thinking to do first. Mainly, what she could say when she faced her feared potions teacher? She had no idea why he was using an assumed name, but the grief on his face was real.
Hermione Granger was a lot of things, but a diplomat was not one of them. She knew this was no time for Gryffindor bluntness, but the proper response was unclear.
A/N: This little plot bunny will grow up into a full-grown plot development… just give it a little time to mature.