I hope you'll enjoy that chapter, which isn't full of action a bit, but which is... Hercule Poirot inspired! I fancy it's cute! Have a good read and tell me what you think!
Bergère.
Talks and Poirot style
I needed to talk. I wanted some help. I needed… I remember an awful confusion in my thoughts, and walking like a robot to reach a fireplace and leave for home. I wasn't expected, but to tell truth I didn't care at all. I think it was about 5 p.m. when I arrived at home and found an empty dinning-room. I reached a couch I don't know how, and in the state which was mine, I'm wondering what superior power was given to me so that I could afford the few steps that led me through the path to the said sofa. Logic would have made me fall on the floor at least twice in the 3 meters distance with the nearest place to seat.
Once there, I became aware of the fact that I was holding tight the letter in my hand: it had lost its shape and wasn't far from being torn. I released it, and for about a minute I merely concentrated on the occupation of giving it a straight appearance. Soon though, I was overwhelmed once more and, letting it go, I decided there was no way I could do on my own just now. I remember having a hard time to get a half-normal voice before plaintively calling for Ron. From the kitchen (not so astonishing), I heard his voice saying, quite worried: 'Hermione?' and, oddly, I found the strength to mock him. 'Who do you want to be on your sofa by now?' He appeared in the room, holding a full glass of Butter-beer and with a chuckled said: 'Harry? or maybe my secret lover!' However when he saw I did not laugh nor than react at his overall bad joke, he looked concerned: 'You all right?'
I couldn't find the will to lie, and I wasn't here to do so. 'I don't have a clue.' His eyes widened, and as he sat next to me, he gave me his glass which I unconsciously grabbed and raised to my lips. He looked at me for a moment and I think he finally talked once he'd seen the letter which was on my lap. 'There's something new in our researches?' 'I'm afraid yes,' I said, 'and I'm afraid that's astonishing.' When I now think of it, I see that I was dreadfully unclear in my manner to explain. But I couldn't go any farther than what he asked. I couldn't possibly make such an effort on my mind. So he smiled with a sympathetic expression, taking my free hand, and waiting for a minute or two.
However, I did not utter a word, because my mind was too occupied in inefficiently trying to sort out what had happened, was happening and what would eventually happen… and it was a hard job as I couldn't even replay the scene in my head. So, he took the initiative and, touching the letter still on my lap, asked: 'What's that?' for, of course, he felt the centre of the problem was over there. I nodded, as if that was an answer; but then, after a hard and deep sigh and breath, I brushed the inexistent wetness on my forehead and answered. 'It's McGonagall's letter.' Ron stopped dead, and I could see the whole path of his reflexion until he said, with an altered voice: 'You found!' And I nodded.
It took me about a minute to force myself into telling him that it supposedly was me; but he didn't seem that astonished, and I asked in a murmur: 'Was that yours and Harry' theory?' He nodded and with a smile: 'Mostly Harry… But, then… that's you.' I shook my head in a half desperate way and just said: 'I don't know. I can't decide…'
Ron is the only person who has read that letter. I did not even show it to Harry: it was something I could only share with my husband, the other half of my heart.
As he was reading it, both of us remained silent, and I was astonished to find him really overwhelmed at the end of it: no doubt he had really changed since the time I said he had the Emotional capacity of a tea spoon. He seemed deeply touched by the content of the letter, and as he put it back on my lap, he just said in a smothered tone: 'Wow…' I nodded and he said. 'What are you planning to do?' 'I don't have a clue… I need help.' Of course he was agreeing with me; but then he remained silent for a while. After a minute of silence, I remember some anxiety and wondering: what were his thoughts up to? I couldn't help feeling unsecure and was relieved when he finally said: 'You have to know that whatever what your choice is, and I don't want to interfere, I'll be all ok.' How great! But well, I was so unsure. 'Thanks Ron, thanks so very much, but…' He kissed me very gently, just a brush of his lips on mine, 'What?' 'Well,' I said, 'it's just that I don't know. I… If it's true, of course I'll say yes, I think. But I can't convince myself… and…'
I added nothing, and the two of us remained in complete silence for I don't know how long, but quite a lot… I was thinking the same things all over again: me? Could it be? And that confidence of hers, that lack of self-confidence, and that fact I was afraid of everything. I was afraid of making a mistake, afraid of having understood wrongly and making a fool of myself while announcing I was to be headmistress, and not being in the end. I felt I needed support, but I couldn't sort out what support, and how I could find an efficient one. True: who could help me in such a delicate and personal thing, as Ron refused (and I could see his points very well) to take part in my choice?
I think he spent all that silent time thinking in a solution: my begging for help had been quite important for him. Finally, he interrupted my un-useful thoughts: 'Darling?' I turned to face him and said (with a voice broken by the intensity of my thoughts), 'What?' 'I have an idea…' It was hopeless, and I stared at him in surprise, but very glad. He smiled in return and, nodding, said: 'Get a few people to a meeting, and ask them… I mean… You need people to tell you what they think, and to listen, don't you?' I nodded, because he was obviously right. 'So, let's go the Hogwarts, ask for Harry, Neville and Flitwick (and someone else if you think), and have a little council… What do you think?' I sighed and couldn't help a little smile: that was exactly what I wanted to do, even though I couldn't find a way to think in it clearly. I planted a kiss on his cheek, and said: 'I think you are a genius!' And, after that, I took hold of his hand and, entering the fire place, pronounced the name of Harry's home. I was astonished once arrived in their dinning-room to be alone, but he arrived a second after, saying he was writing a note for Hugo and Rose. At that moment, I remember thinking I had a wonderful husband.
We said we needed Harry, and Ginny if she wanted… but she declined, and I felt quite grateful to her about that, because I don't think that she'd have helped, on such a thing! And I think now, retrospectively analyzing it, that she felt she wasn't really asked nor than needed… and didn't feel offended. So, the three of us left and we flued to Hogwarts, in my rooms. Harry, at that time, wasn't aware of the thing, but I'm convinced that he had more and less guessed. Plus, it was obvious I was overexcited.
We headed to the Teacher's Lounge, where I happily found both Neville and Flitwick. Of course, half of the staff was here, and our entrance was quite indiscreet: I would have preferred no one to see us, because I didn't feel like playing the role of the unawareness and the easiness. It was too late: as soon as they saw Harry, I knew we'd have to spend at least 10 minutes here, in babbling around. But Neville saved us. As soon as we entered, I saw a little light in his eyes, and I understood that he felt we weren't here just to chat (well, Ron and Harry, for personally, my presence was quite natural). So, he stood up immediately and shaking Ron's hand with a serious way, said: 'Thanks a lot for coming so soon. Harry, thank you very much too.' He then shook his other former schoolmate's hand, and began to walk to the door, ready to leave the room. At that moment Ron, as if he just understood Neville's idea, looked at me, at the door and at professor Flitwick, and turning to the latter he said, in a casual tone: 'Professor Flitwick, I thought you were needed too.'
Even though I was quite unclear, and my mind was in a mess, I remember the old man's way to look dumbfounded. Of course, he was unaware of the whole unprepared scheme, and hadn't guessed anything for the moment. However, he nodded and said: 'Yes of course.' We left, and the teachers remaining in the room began chatting in a way that reminded very much, I remember, of teenagers. Only Ron and I knew what the entire thing was about, truly; but we were following Neville without even wondering where he was leading us. So, I remember having felt astonished once arrived in the headmaster's office, without having noticed we'd made the whole way up to there.
When we entered the place, I immediately noticed that Dumbledore's portrait was asleep… how bad! I'd have loved to have an advice of his; I needed it, even. But I knew it was no way trying to wake him up. But, as I glanced all around me, I didn't notice that the four men were now seated, looking at me. I was obliged to leave my reverie by Neville's voice, who said: 'Hermione, we're listening to you.'
That was a huge shock: I had nearly forgotten about all this stuff that made me feel so uneasy and unsure, about that impossible happiness; about everything. So, as he was asking me to explain myself and the reasons for my sudden coming at Hogwarts with two unexpected guests, with an air that, I assume, was lost and foolish, I felt lost. But, Merlin, how to announce this: I did not know myself how to deal with this, and I had to say it to a group of people whom I knew, yes, but… still. Ron smiled to me encouragingly and I decided it was time to speak; to try out.
Even with such a resolution, my voice was unsure and I felt terribly shy while beginning: 'Okay… you're all here because… Because I have something to say I assume… to ask for help.' I stopped, unable to go on, as the whole of them nodded in a very serious way. Was I really sure of what I did? Did I felt ready to speak of this? My eyes eager for reassurance went from one to another. I remember professor Flitwick's concentrated expression, and his way to twist his fingers in nervousness; Ron who tenderly smiled to me, Neville who waited patiently for me to speak. When Harry came to my sight, I still felt that little thing in my throat, forbidding me to speak; and my best friend, with a sudden inspiration, smiled wonderfully and said: 'Hercule Poirot, dear, we are waiting for your wonderful conclusions!' The other three looked questioningly at him while I chuckled, unable to suppress a laugh: he had been able to transform the whole thing in a murder mystery novel. I answered, 'Poor Hastings, you can't even imagine how surprising my conclusions are…' and then prepared myself to go on.
'So… I feel awfully ridiculous and… I'm here because I need some help and some advices. I appear to have found the name of the heir of Minerva McGonagall and…it looks so strange that I can't believe it myself.' I felt tension and waiting in their eyes, but uttering my own name seemed a titanic thing to do. 'The portrait, which was supposed to… be a test… Well, that portrait and a letter of hers say that…' my voice slowed down, and I breathed heavily before saying, 'it's me.' I wasn't that astonished, oddly, to see that surprise was the very feeling readable in none of their faces. Ron seemed to be relieved that I had had the strength to say it that easily (because, after all, it hadn't taken me such a long time!). Harry looked very happy, just as if he had just received a Christmas present; and I remember wondering why he felt so ecstatic about that. Professor Flitwick exchanged a knowing look with Neville who was simply smiling. It nearly seemed too easy.
After that, I sat down, as if harassed by the burden of what I had just said, and my former Charm teacher was the first to speak. He smiled and said that: 'Well… there's not much more to say than Congratulations. And, for what you asked… it indeed is you: Neville and I had heard it at once, when it had slipped from her.' I nodded. Neville repeated 'Congratulations', soon followed by Ron and Harry, in a single voice. Harry stood up and, walking to me, put a hand on my shoulder and said: 'Indeed, Poirot, you've got intuition.' I smiled and replied: 'This is not intuition, it's my little grey cells,' and then I sighed and added, 'but I'm afraid that this time, it's intuition indeed.' He smiled, and softly brushed my hair in disorder. 'Harry, stop it!' I cried, and at that he just took a ridiculously natural expression. 'It had been so long since the last time I did that.'
This was childish game, really, but at least I felt a bit better; and at that moment Dumbledore's portrait, awaken since I didn't know when, decided it was right to talk. 'Mrs Weasley?' I violently turned to face him. 'Ah… yes?' He smiled indulgently at my surprise and my vivacity. 'Can I give you an advice?' Harry, next to me, began laughing so very much that I thought he never would stop; but after a few seconds of incredulous staring at him, I turned to face the portrait. 'Well, yes of course!' 'Spend the next 9 days forcing yourself to accept it's you, indeed.' I glanced at him like if he was crazy, but he had already disappeared. After that, I turned to Harry who, being helped by professor Flitwick was back to his normal self. 'What the hell happened to you?' He had a last chuckle and finally answered. 'It was just professor Dumbledore wanting to give an advice without unclear sentences, and giving you the choice! That's so unusual!' At this, no one really reacted except the little teacher who laughed a good deal in a high-pitched way before addressing to Harry. 'You understood Albus very well, my boy!'
After that, I don't remember much except that Ron slept with me at Hogwarts. And that I made them all swear no to talk about it to anyone.
It's after that that I understood professor Dumbledore's advice. Even after so many explanations, clues and proofs, I couldn't really feel it was true. For me, everything remained unclear, and I was totally lost because, in my mind, it just was impossible. I couldn't be. Such a fact would have obeyed to none of the precepts I knew. It's wasn't logical, practical normal… It was just abnormal. Awfully abnormal and unclear: that's what it was!
The rest of my time was, then, occupied in fulfilling what Dumbledore had asked me and advised me to do.
So, what's your opinion?