Chapter eleven: An angry screaming red head

Disclaimer: Nothing has changed... still not mine... I want a pop tart.

"Today, class, we will be reviewing the material that we have covered this past quarter. Now – "

But the students didn't get to hear her instructions. Instead, they got to witness the performance of an angry red head bursting into the classroom, evidently uninvited.

"May I help you?" The professor asked, controlling her voice to keep the pitch professional. Ronald Weasley had no business in her classroom. One wrong step and she could be tempted to show him just that.

"You bitch! How dare you take a teaching position at Hogwarts and not take the job seriously!" Ron yelled out at her. "You are probably working for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and are purposely not preparing them properly so that He will win!" The male accused, pointing his finger at her as if it were the business end of his wand.

With only a withering glare in his direction, Hermione turned towards her class. A sheet of paper appeared on every desk.

"Take these papers and answer the review questions by tomorrow. That's it for today."

The class left in silence. The students knew what it meant to anger Ron Weasley or Harry Potter. If one of the two didn't trust you then the not-so-secret Order of the Phoenix didn't trust you either. Their beloved professor would lose her job. The kids left the classroom appearing disheartened, an odd sight. Once all of the kids had passed through the doorway and were out of hearing range, Hermione turned towards her visitor.

"How dare you," she hissed in a cold voice, "burst into my classroom and yell at me in front of my students, accusing me of associations with Voldemort." Ron shuddered at the name and Hermione found herself disgusted, but did not lose an ounce of momentum. "How dare you talk to me in such a disrespectful manner. Do you have any grounds for such an outrageous accusation?"

"Your lessons are bogus!" He screamed. "My niece owled me about this paint ball crap you've started."

"Jessica? Jessica Thomas?" She questioned. Jessica was a small little thing and while she did look a bit like Ginny she had a mousey brown hair and Hermione had only assumed that she was Dean's girl.

"Yes!"

"She loved the lesson," the witch stated blankly.

"I don't care if it was the best bloody day of her life! You are here to teach them to defend themselves!" His voice was very reminiscent of Molly Weasley's howler in their second year. If Hermione had not been so pissed off she might have been tempted to laugh a bit.

"Yes, and that is exactly what I do. Fortunately, I do not need to waste my time defending myself against you. Leave my classroom. Now."

"I'm going to tell McGonagall about your 'lessons' and you will be sacked," he said it smugly, the way a child would act, had he just been given a piece of candy, and this made her incredibly sad. Was this really the man the wizarding world depended on to keep their savior alive?

"Oh Merlin, how did Hermione ever put up with you?" She asked, honestly wondering how she had managed to deal with him for so long. But she also knew that the words spoke strongly of bitterness and regret.

A moment later she was at wand point. "Don't you ever say that name," he ordered in a deadly voice. It didn't faze her one bit. Maybe she had been in danger one to many times during her training.

"Why? She's dead and she would be ashamed of the way you've been acting," she spat.

"How – "

"Dare I? You speak so highly of her, if you speak of her at all. She'd be embarrassed by your behavior, the way you drown in your own self pity. You're disgusting," the professor spat venomously. The red head looked like he would have preferred to be slapped in the face.

Ron yelled with more anger than Hermione had ever seen him possess before, "You don't know a thing about her, and you don't know anything about magic, you filthy mudblood!"

"You're wrong," she spoke mildly, staring oddly at Ron due to the momentum of his anger, "I did know Hermione. You're right about one thing: I am a mudblood. So was Hermione. Now, if you would excuse me I have a meeting to attend," she left him speechless. That was and always would be her specialty.

"Minerva, you wanted to see me?" Hermione asked lightly, taking the seat opposite of the Headmistress.

"Yes, you are late," the Headmistress said, a bit too harshly for Hermione's liking.

"My apologies. I got held up by an angry red head."

"Yes, Mr. Weasley has been very upset about your employment here, as has Mr. Potter. They seem to think that you are living Miss Granger's life," The Headmistress responded gravely.

"Their opinions matter very little to me. Shall we move on to why I am here?"

"For the same reason. The boys don't trust you and I am afraid that I can no longer employ you without knowing your true identity."

The defense professor could do nothing but laugh.

"Ms. Rain, what, if may I ask, is so funny?" The Headmistress was using the voice reserved for students out after curfew and Hermione had to fight from laughing harder.

"Tell me Minerva, do you have any power in the Order at all, or are you their puppet?"

"I hold my own concerns towards your presence here," the elder witch replied, clearly flustered.

"Then you have your solution. Fire me," Minerva seemed to age years in only a heartbeat.

"The thing is that you are the most qualified professor we have had since Remus Lupin taught here," she answered honestly, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Then we are in a difficult situation," Hermione reclined back in her chair. The real shame was she didn't care what the outcome of this meeting would be.

"Why can't you tell me who you are?"

"That would just cause me problems, annoyances and headaches."

"I am only asking you to tell me."

"That would do no good. I did what was required and I informed an Order head. Besides, I don't want any emotional ties," Dumbledore's voice whispering in her ear to tell the Headmistress everything she kept hidden did nothing to stop her oncoming headache.

"I'm sorry Headmistress. If my current standings intimidate the order then I will vacate the area immediately," she made to leave but was stopped by a question.

"Is your identity so important that you would walk away?" The tone was cold and that only made Hermione's resolve stronger.

"Normally, no. But I have seen things that make me think that none of this is important."

"And what might those be?"

"I made it quite clear when I took up employment here that the only thing of importance to me is Voldemort's downfall," she spoke harshly, causing her company to flinch. It was really too bad that she had already lost her respect for the woman. "I had hoped," she continued, "that I would have the Order standing strongly beside me. Instead, when I returned I found the Order reduced to a weak organization run by two irrational, pig headed, love sick, prejudiced, lazy, moping pricks who do nothing but weep in their own self-pity, all because of one insignificant girl."

"Hermione was – "

"Exactly, was. Hermione Granger is gone and her stupid memory is only getting in the way. In case any of that was unclear, I quit."