A/n: I bow to thee, Lib McGranger, saviour of this poor excuse of a spasmodic accumulation of words.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Distressed, Hermione woke in a room that at first glance felt utterly estranged to her. Furniture composition and colour were all unfamiliar, and the sensation of uneasiness that had first torn her from her dreams and then woke her up in an environment that offered no comfort, was especially cruel this morning.
She didn't know what she had expected, but when she had come "home" last night, arriving not more than an hour after Minerva, the office and living area had been deserted and the black haired witch nowhere to be seen.
Hermione had loitered around in the sitting room, making herself a cup of tea and having some ginger newts in the hope that Minerva might miraculously smell the fresh tea from her rooms and come down to join her for a cuppa.
At midnight she had had to acknowledge that Minerva would not come, and this made unease grow in her stomach for the first time since they had been rescued by Harry. She wondered if she should call him, but then decided against it, not wishing to disturb Minerva in her sleep upstairs. Still, when she had switched the lights off before slipping into her bedroom, she couldn't shake the feeling of having let something important elapse right in front of her eyes. Only in the early hours of the morning had she finally sunk into a troubled sleep full of odd and distressing dreams.
She noted that she had slept until noon, wondering why Minerva hadn't knocked on her door earlier to call her down for the revitalisation of their remaining paperwork to sort out.
She dressed quickly, pulling on the first clothes that fell into her hands. Before exiting her room though, she suddenly didn't like the shape of her shirt and so it took another five minutes before she had found something better to wear, something more elegant without being too obvious.
Hermione waited over an hour before impatience finally took the upper hand and she stood up, sighing deeply into the silent office. It didn't matter where she waited for Minerva to come back, the black haired witch had proved numerous times that if she wanted to find her, she could. Plus, this time Hermione intended to make it particularly easy for her- she was, after all, trying to be found.
Leaving a note, she set off wandering about the surprisingly quiet castle, meeting only one or two people she did not recognize as having been students in her time at Hogwarts, until she reached her desired destination; the infirmary ward.
Nobody answered upon her knocking, and when she pushed the heavy doors open, desertedness greeted her. She found Madam Pomfrey in her little office at the back of the hall, drinking tea and reading the paper.
When Hermione cleared her throat to announce her arrival, Madame Pomfrey looked up from her reading, surprised to have a visitor at such hours of redundancy.
"Oh hello, my dear girl!" She jumped up to give Hermione a quick but tight hug, before holding her at arm's length, an investigative look on her eyes.
"I've heard about your and Minerva's escapades… the papers have been writing about nothing else this morning! Tell me, did she complain about pain in her back?" Releasing Hermione, she took place in her chair again, motioning for Hermione to take the seat vis-a-vis.
"No, not that I recall. Although she did fall on essentially every other part of her body." Hermione suddenly remembered how badly injured Minerva had been during their trip over the highlands. The limp, she noticed, thinking back, had disappeared as soon as they had reached the Burrow the evening before, but with shame Hermione realized that she had completely forgotten to ask Minerva about the healing process of the wound on her head. Maybe that had been the reason for her early departure from the dining table. Maybe that was why she hadn't been there this morning either. Could Minerva's headache have come back stronger than ever during the night and have led to her apparating to St Mungos in a state of emergency?
Immediately, she shared the story and her resulting worries with the nurse, but the blonde witch just laughed, patting Hermione's knee.
"You are one imaginative young lady," she said, smiling at Hermione fondly. She always did this when Hermione had been at her sickest and grumpiest, that time when she had spent one month in the hospital wing following her Polyjuice Potion accident in second year, for example. At first Hermione had been deeply annoyed by Poppy's cheerfulness but after a while she had recognized it as an honour, for the blonde witch did not treat everybody with such kindness. In fact, over the years and several more stays in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey had come to be one of her favourite people in the school and she felt as though the fondness was reciprocated.
"You can calm your nerves, dear," Poppy said. "Minerva would never go to St Mungo's if she could help it. If she has a medical issue to be solved, she always comes to me first. She is not a big fan of other people snooping around in her private life, even if they are only mediwitches and wizards concerning matters of her health."
"And she didn't come to you yesterday evening?" Hermione asked, still fearing that something might have happened to Minerva overnight.
"No, she did not." Poppy paused, visibly trying to recall upon her memories from the evening before. "I would have paid her a visit if she hadn't sent me a note, saying that she needed a harmless anti-headache antidote, which I sent immediately and without much concern."
"Still, I should have asked her what was wrong. I really do think something was up."
"Hermione, you should know her well enough by now. If she had wanted to tell you what was upsetting her, she would have done so."
"Surely she can't be that calculative, not to the bone. I don't mean to sound prude, but when she hurt her head in Dumbledore's house, it seemed that she was glad that someone was there, that I was there. She never sent me away then when she could have at any time"
"Yes, that might have been the case two days ago. But we don't know what's happened since then. She might have received bad news that is above our clearance or our concern, or she might have simply changed her mind. I think it best if we leave the topic to rest, until she brings it up herself. If she did not involve either me or you, I highly suspect it concerns nothing she'd want us to know about."
"I recognize that. But if you had to guess, what was it all about? You know her so well, she must have told you if something very serious or dangerous was concerning her. You are her medic and friend, after all."
"No, Hermione. We may be friends, but she never tells me what truly concerns her, and I don't ask for it. I know what I need to know, and that is enough for me." Poppy shifted in her seat, her gaze now focused on the window behind Hermione. "You know, Minerva…" She continued, softly as if speaking to herself. "She might insist on not being special, but she certainly is different from everyone else. I've often made the mistake of trying to understand her."
"But how can you not, she is your friend after all. Isn't that what everybody wants, to be understood, if only by their friends?"
"Yes, in theory. But with Minerva, I never could, not completely. I look at her, and I see who she is but it's not the full picture, if you understand what I mean. To be friends, that is enough. But she has rarely had someone in her life with whom she shared a mutual understanding so deep and fundamental that the relationship could dive further than companionship, friendship. She's been suffering from that since I've known her, though I think a few years ago she came to terms with it. She has gotten more patient, but also more enclosed all the while.
Suddenly Poppy's eyes were on Hermione again, piercing her with icy blue orbs. She felt somehow obliged to say something, but couldn't think of anything equalling the depth of what Poppy had shared. It seemingly wasn't expected of her though, because Poppy continued only moments later.
"I don't mean to disappoint you but I think it my duty to tell you the truth. She won't just start telling you her thoughts and secrets after having spent with you only a couple of days. She will always tell you as much as you need to know, but never enough to make herself vulnerable to you. It's a coping mechanism as much as it protects her from emotional damage and harm by others. With all the pressure she's under, I don't think she would have gotten through the war with her sanity intact if she were any different. Yes, it has also made her lonely, but unless she willingly decides to open up and embrace the idea of deep friendship or even relationships, we will leave her alone, do you understand? She is clever enough to make her own decisions."
"But no one can live a solemn life and not wish for company in it. I may not know her history as well as you do, but to me she has never seemed like the kind of person who'd envy the lonely."
"My dear, you don't understand what I am trying to explain. It doesn't matter what you think, or I, or anyone in the world, for that matter. Minerva is the smartest witch I know. If she doesn't know what is best for her, no one does. And it wouldn't help trying to pursue her mentorship or counsel without an invitation from her side. She'd only distance herself more, and you might get hurt in the process. Do not make the mistake to take Minerva's freedom of choice from her."
Madam Pomfrey's tone may have been harsh, and the words did hit Hermione hard, but only because she realised that she would have to oblige them for the time being. The matter had been made clear enough. She had to stand by and watch, could not become active in any pursuing that she might have dreamed of, or her whole friendship with Minerva- if one could call it even that after Poppy's words- would be jeopardised. Which was out of the question. So keeping her mouth shut, it was then.
Poppy watched her closely, content that her message had sunk in. She smiled at Hermione sympathetically, as if she knew just what she was asking of the young woman. She rose in her chair, transfiguring the little side table in the room into a dinner table holding two seats. The room, already crowded before, was now cramped to the last meter, but at least at the table would now sit them comfortably.
Expectantly, the blonde witch turned to Hermione, letting her inspecting gaze wander over the younger woman's features one last trying time. "I'm having supper," she said. "Care to join me?"
''
Hermione only realized that she hadn't had any breakfast when an elf set a steaming bowl of rice and chicken before her, and her stomach started to grumble in a direct reaction to the delicious smell rising to her nose.
"That will be all. Thank you." Poppy politely nodded at the elf, who disappeared with a silent pop.
"Salt or Pepper?"
"No thank you."
Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow and Hermione thought she had done something wrong, but the other witch just returned her gaze to the meal in front of her, picking up the cutlery and thus giving Hermione the sign to start eating as well.
"She is still wondering if I will keep to her advice," Hermione thought. She wouldn't find the answer by searching in Hermione's face, though, because the young woman didn't know the answer herself. She was thinking very thoroughly, weighing feelings and facts, assumptions and knowledge. It was indisputably true that she had to be very careful, move with care and precision. But as the things stood now… it was not impossible.
Poppy looked up again, and Hermione smiled at her. Despite Poppy's hopes, she was not deterred by the new information revealed to her. In fact, the dressing down had achieved the exact opposite for which it had been intended: she only wanted Minerva more.
Neither of the witches spoke for the rest of the meal, with Hermione lost in her own thoughts and Poppy occupied much the same way. The older witch was the first to break the silence.
"I have a letter for you," she said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a white envelope, which she handed over to Hermione. The brown haired witch inspected it carefully, noting that it bore no name, making her only more intrigued to look at what was inside.
She slid the envelope open very carefully, and just when she had opened the top, the letter started to transform into small paper birds, fluttering and chirping around her, before they lay a small and folded piece of paper into her open hands.
Smiling at the endearing charm, she started to read.
My dear Hermione,
I am not angry at you for not saying goodbye. Your book was very lovely indeed and I took it with me upon leaving, if you that's alright. You needn't worry about me. My health has improved a lot and so Max has taken me home, in the hopes that I will regain full strength from walking on familiar grounds and breathing the air of the ocean. I couldn't begin to fathom what kept you so immensely busy in the last few days, and it matters not, for I am sure that it must be important if you gave it your full attention. I wish you all the possible happiness, and if you find yourself in Spain at one point in future or just in need of warm winds and sunshine, come visit us.
Love,
Anna
Speechless, Hermione let her hand drop down, and the letter with it. Now Anne had gone, without her ever having a chance to give her farewells, without being able to tell her what was pressing on her heart and what was making it lighter than air. The person she could have maybe entrusted with such a secret, and who would accept her feelings without the smallest judgement, gone, and Hermione had let her slip away. No use explaining such things in a letter, and she was sure Maxwell wouldn't like her showing up at their family house. Not without an invitation and not because of a minor thing like this when Anna needed rest. Alone, once more.
Hermione folded the letter into the pocket of her jeans. "So we are alone now, hmm?" She said, and Poppy smiled, folding her arms behind her head and leaning back in her chair.
"Indeed we are, my dove. They all left us, like they always do when all the excitement is over." She paused for a moment, chuckling at her own words. "And what about you? Are you going to leave us as well? You must be dreaming a thousand and one futures for yourself."
"Actually…" Hermione furrowed her brow, wincing a little. "I'm not sure how long I am going to stay, Poppy."
"Why? You are a young woman full of energy, hunger. What are you waiting for?" The blonde witch narrowed her eyes. "Or rather… what is keeping you?"
"Minerva, she-"Hermione started slowly, but before she could finish the sentence, Poppy had interrupted.
"It's all about Minerva, isn't it." It was a statement, there was as much annoyance in her voice as curiosity or perhaps, envy.
Hermione said nothing. She stood from her stool, transfigured the table back as it had been, and opened the door leading back into the infirmary.
"Goodbye Poppy," She said, standing in the doorframe, not wanting to leave with this tension still in the air.
"Do come around for tea, sometime." Poppy said, gentler this time, and Hermione nodded before closing the door behind her.
''
She didn't take the most direct route back up to Minerva's office, instead she strolled through corridors, through empty chambers and silent class rooms for a while until she heard some of the remaining workers making their way to the great hall, indicating that it must be time for dinner already.
Hermione did not join them, she was much too tired to eat. When she got back, she turned the radio on, listening to muggle announcers and music lulling her into a calm sleep, and before she knew it, she was dreaming about herself when she had been younger, blissfully oblivious to every danger that would await her when she finally would be accepted at Hogwarts. Minerva appeared not even once.
A hand on her shoulder woke her up with a start, her eyes open at once even though the brightness made her dizzy. It was Bill, sitting next to her on the couch where she had fallen asleep, looking at her, his face full of worry.
"Hermione." He smiled. "Here drink this." He handed her a porcelain cup, from the smell she could tell it was tea.
"Thank you," she rasped, voice still husky and deep from being fast asleep. When she had drank the whole cup, she handed it back to him and he scooted over, making room for Hermione to sit up and stretch her legs.
"Why are you here?" she said, eying him suspiciously. It made no sense to her that he should be here with her in the office, instead of overseeing the reparations.
"Minerva asked if she could take over the head of the reparations department from me. As we are nearing the end of our work and the start of the school year, there are several things she as headmistress has to take care of before the students arrive in September."
"Yes, but why are you here?" He looked at her as if she would shatter into a thousand pieces if he said the wrong thing.
"Didn't she tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"I would have thought she would have notified you before-"
"Tell me what, Bill?" Hermione stared at him, determined to show that she could take it, whatever it was.
"I am taking over for the headmistress. We will finish the paperwork for the Wizengamot together, you and I."
Without meaning to, Hermione's shoulders slacked and she turned her back to the red haired wizard.
"If she thinks it's for the best." She knew her comment could be read two ways, but it was all she could do in order to keep herself from lashing out at him, only a well-meaning bearer of unfortunate news. She liked him enough to spare the tall redhead of her undirected anger and disappointment.
"I'm sure we'll make a great team." He smiled, but Hermione only half-heartedly joined in.
Work kept her mind more or less occupied for the next few days, although she was distracted a lot of the time, having lost any like for the task at hand she had had before. She craved nothing more than to get it over with as soon as possible.
One evening Bill encouraged her to have dinner with him and some of the other Weasley children, and the evening turned out to be alright. Lying in bed though, she was ashamed of her sour mood the last few days, when everybody was just trying to make it easy for her. She wrote to Ron saying that she would like to meet him and Harry in London after finishing her work at Hogwarts.
After the joint evening out, conversation flowed a little easier between her and Bill, but they still didn't talk much beyond the necessary. She had fallen into a bland routine, staying up in the tower as much as she could, walking around the deserted rooms, searching for something and yet nothing in particular.
After three days, Minerva came back.
She looked normal, despite Hermione's hope that she'd somehow changed. Or at least she appeared normal, behaving friendly and yet a little reserved, but that was as good as the truth itself with Minerva. Hermione felt like a mine worker, digging ceaselessly for diamonds and treasure that might not even exist.
She could also sense that Minerva was regretful about letting her stay in the headmaster's flat. If the way she looked at Hermione couldn't tell her that accurately, her behaviour could. Since she had arrived, they had barely spoken a word. Minerva had managed not to cross Hermione's path too often, which was a miracle in itself, considering the size of the quarters they still shared.
Minerva was often out on emergency meetings or at the ministry doing whatsoever. Either way, she didn't have any time for Hermione, and it preyed on the younger witch violently.
Minerva didn't ask where she was going when she left the kitchen where they had been sitting in silence late in the evening, ten days after Minerva had come back without apology and without explanation. At that point, they hadn't even exchanged a word in almost a whole day.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Minerva watch her through the door as she pulled on her cloak, and fixed her hair in the corridor mirror. When she turned to hold Minerva's gaze with her own, the older witch turned her head away.
She flushed into the Ministry of Magic right on time for the ceremonial end-of-day masses streaming to the fireplaces, endless rows of men in hats and women in costumes.
A few turned their heads when she strode past them, causing the people behind them to bump into each other for the sudden lack of advance. But Hermione strode through them, not daring to stop for fear of being swept away by the steady stream of people pouring into the Floo hall.
She managed to get into an elevator alone, keeping her head down, she had evaded most unpleasant encounters with people who wanted to congratulate her, or even, as a bold young man tried, to kiss her hand. She pushed "1", only relaxing after the metal doors of the elevator had closed behind her.
The office of the minister of magic was buzzing as always, people working bent over papers and documents, reading owls and typing with immense speed, creating a sort of low mumble that Hermione had always found calming and pleasant. Indeed, there seemed to be no movement into the direction of their homes, all employees were focused and absorbed by their work. So it wasn't surprising that the secretary sitting at the end of the hall noticed her only when she stopped directly before the desk.
"What can I do for you, dear?" She mumbled distractedly, having mistaken the blurry vision of a young woman in the corner of her eyes for an assistant or courier from some minor department. It was only when she had raised her eyes from the paper she'd been scanning that she recognized the celebrity in her, as her gaze adjusted on Hermione's curly hair, her sneakers and jeans under a black and plain cloak.
"Miss Granger?" Although the woman kept her face neutral, her voice revealed her apparent shock.
"Could you please inform the minister that I'm here to see him?" Hermione fumbled with the stack of post-its lying near the end of the desk but stopped when the secretary shot her an irritated look. With a perfect swing of her hand she conjured her patronus, which leapt from the desk and within seconds, had disappeared through the door behind her. It was a sleek simian with long, silky fur.
They had to wait for about a minute before the monkey came back. With another wave of her hand, the secretary signalled Hermione she could go inside.
She knocked twice before opening the door and stepping in, her heart beating in her ears in a fast but steady rhythm.
She had never been inside the minister of magic's office, so she didn't know what to expect, but the vastness of the room still came as a surprise. Invisible sources of light dipped the room in warm but dark tones, making it difficult for Hermione to fathom the whole size, but it took her several steps to even be able to make out the people working at a table at the back of the office.
There were two men, of whom she recognized only one. Kingsley's eccentric style of dressing always gave him away- this time he wore a garment interwoven with golden threads, reflecting the lights perfectly. The other was a man in his 40s or 50s with dark hair and nondescript face and clothes. Kingsley was studying a document while often stopping and crossing out or adding words with an ink pen, all the while dictating something that the other man eagerly typed up.
Hermione waited until Kingsley had noticed her presence before approaching into the better lit part of the room. The man without a name turned around as if he had sensed her presence behind his back, but quickly returned to the task at hand when Kingsley continued improvising sentence after sentence.
Hermione, who had never been able to experience Kingsley- or any minister of magic for that matter- working, was truly fascinated by the exchange of words, gazes or gestures in front of her. She noted that the other man rarely commented verbally and much preferred to let Kingsley know of his disapproval by tilting his head to the side whenever he was unhappy with the words the minister suggested.
For about twenty minutes that play went on, before both men had agreed to a wording both sensible and yet honest and direct. The writer thanked the minister, before letting the typing machine disappear with a flick of his wand and gathering his coat, which he had thrown casually over one of the two seats facing the minister behind the desk.
He said his goodbye, nodding first at Kingsley and then at Hermione, before exiting the room even more quietly than Hermione had come in.
The minster took his reading glasses off- which Hermione hadn't even known he possessed- and waved for Hermione to sit. She chose the chair that the coat had lain over just moments ago.
"So tell me, Hermione…" He paused to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. "What brings you here at this late hour?"
''
After Hermione left, Kingsley sat in his chair for a while, unwilling to dedicate his attention back to the matters of state he had been discussing with Grenville before. No, his thoughts rested on one person alone, and a very important one at that: Granger, the fearless, Granger, the enigma of a 19 year old.
First, she had surprised him by stuttering out the request for him to give her a different job to do, to get her out of Hogwarts as fast as possible. Almost pleading. As if it were the most horrendous place on earth.
When she almost started to cry, he knew it was serious. The tears didn't roll but he could see how hard she fought them and how embarrassed she was that he could witness it all. But she repeated her request without a quiver in her voice, and he promised her that he would find her something to do. And still, she didn't give up. She said she got bored with all the paperwork. When it was obvious that she was lying, because she couldn't find a justification herself, she switched her reasoning to being overstressed. The gravity of the cases, she said. The shock over what she had read would have made any grown man shiver in his clothes, he knew, but never had he thought that she would be touched by the documents like that. Angry- yes. But shaken? Not the Hermione he knew.
Nonetheless, he had proposed to her a position he thought suitable if she wanted something less volatile, which if he was honest, hadn't been easy to think of: an assistant's position at a minor section at the Wizengamot. Visibly grateful she had accepted, and he had promised to get her in touch with her mentor, under which she could also complete basic masteries in the future, should she wish to stay there.
She seemed happy when she left, which had made him gloat in return for successfully eliminating even some problems in the lives of other people. He did love being the solution.
But the experience itself wasn't what made him suspicious, it was the similarity to an occurrence that involved another member on his star-duo research team: Minerva McGonagall.
She had come to him only two days after the rescue mission at that pub in muggle Scotland, behaving weirdly and somehow dissolved. Of course she hadn't told him what exactly the issue was, neither did she reveal whom it was concerning, but he could have sensed her uneasiness even if he were blind. Or maybe she had told him what was upsetting her in a roundabout way, but he had never been sensible enough to decipher what women were trying to tell him, so he went out of the conversation knowing not much more than this: that something must have happened in her life that had confused her greatly, leading to a radical change in behaviour. And now here he was, thinking the same about Hermione Granger.
"What is going on with these two?" He asked himself, now confused as well. For a short moment, he thought that maybe the whole situation could be his fault. He had put them together on the DEDs, the Death Eater Documents, as he had taken to calling them. Potentially that could have somehow created tension in their lives, or which he thought improbable, between the two of them. But wouldn't the changes in their behaviour then have come sooner?
In the end, he dismissed the thought with a smile, turning back to his work for the evening. He may be accountable for some misshapes in the last years, but any personal drama in the genius witches' lives wasn't any of his business. And anyway, the whole thing could hardly be his fault, could it?
A/n: Don't worry, we're on a steady course towards the (happy) end, I solemnly promise hereby that once you've survived the melodrama, you're in for a reconciling finis 3
Also, I seem to have misplaced my outlines for every chapter after 12, but I think there are about two or three of them left, so buckle up for the final round of HG/MM drama! Seriously, I couldn't have arrived here without you guys.