Hogwarts is the same as ever but something feels different this year and not only the fact that she's now in NEWT classes. Or perhaps it's all in her head, perhaps she's the one who is different.
He's teaching DADA this year. It seems oddly fitting considering the way his magic feels, roiling under her skin. Her spells are a little bit sharper, a little bit nastier than they used to be.
She stays back after their first lesson, telling the others to go ahead to Charms. Professor Flitwick is lenient, at least with her, even if she should turn up a few minutes late.
"Professor?"
Humming in reply he picks up an essay and starts going through the motions of marking it. He's certainly perfected the art of studiously ignoring people he doesn't want to acknowledge.
Barely refraining from stamping her foot in annoyance she exhales, counts backwards from ten, and goes for it.
"Why can I feel your magic and your emotions?"
He stills then, still not looking up, but she can feel the stab of concern and worry. It is real, then. It really is his emotions, and he knows why.
His eyes finally meet hers, his black gaze betraying nothing. "Miss Granger. This is not the time nor the place."
Scribbling something on a note he flicks it to her, wandlessly. "The second-years will be arriving soon."
Nodding in response she tucks the note in by her book and heads for the Charms classroom. It's real it's real it's real her mind keeps chanting at her, on repeat. She barely hears Professor Flitwick's lecture and can't focus until half the class has passed. She has to rein herself in when they come to the practical part after incinerating a broom by mistake, instead of making it dance.
The note summons her to his office later that night and she shakes the others off by saying she has to go to the library for an Arithmancy book. It feels odd to head to the office Umbridge used last year. He's removed all the pink though, probably with extreme prejudice, she thinks, and now it looks almost normal with only a few gruesome pictures on the walls to scare the first-years.
It is, however, currently empty. There's a piece of parchment on the desk. Hermione picks it up, but it too is blank. On a hunch she casts a complex Revelio on it.
My usual office. You have five minutes.
"Git," she mutters under her breath and starts walking very quickly to get down to the dungeons in time, no running in the hallways, Miss Granger, her inner Prefect admonishes. With a hand on the staircase balustrade she tries to project her urgency to the Castle, asking for its help. It feels benevolent rather than mischievous today and the staircases align to get her down quickly to the dungeon levels.
She makes it with half a minute to spare and knocks on the dungeon office door. He stands in front of the desk, still as a statue, wand out.
A flick of his wand shuts the door behind her and she can feel the layers of wards settling in. They make her skin hum.
"What do you know?" He is impassive as always.
She shouldn't be surprised by his abrupt attitude, not after five years of his tutelage.
"Er… I can feel your emotions, and I think I have some of your magic mixed with mine. I don't have a clue why. Sir." She tactfully omits mentioning her rising irritation with her friends.
"Have you told anyone?"
She shakes her head. "I have a notebook, I started mapping what I felt to see the patterns. I haven't told anyone. The notebook is warded. Sir."
He pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers, eyes closed. His emotions are all over the place. Fear is dominant but there are so many other emotions there, she can't make sense of them. He looks strangely calm for someone who feels so much, she thinks. Is he always like that?
His eyes snap open, seeking hers. "You can sense my emotions now?"
She nods. "Fear, something else, worry?"
The Professor sighs. "You need to learn Occlumency, Miss Granger. I see no other way. This is unfortunate but the effects should fade in time. In fact, I would have assumed them to be gone already. I shall need a Wand Oath from you not to tell anyone what you are about to learn."
She does so, her magic — and his, apparently — coiling around her, the Oath settling in her skin with a snap.
He moves to the side of the office and taps some of the bricks. They shift aside to reveal a dark corridor. He doesn't look to see if she follows, so of course she has to scramble to catch up. A wave of his hand lights up the wall sconces.
The corridor is longer than it appears, or perhaps magic is involved. Some of the dimensions don't match up, anyway. Squinting to keep the uneasiness at bay she hurries after his long-legged strides until he stops by another door and turns to face her, raising an eyebrow.
"Not a word, written, spoken, thought, mimed or signed to anyone, understand? I have never invited a student here before."
Of course she nods, biting her lip in anticipation. Is the Professor really, actually inviting her to his personal quarters? At a gesture from him the door opens, and another gesture makes the lights flare up. They end up in a reasonably large sitting room.
The room is nothing much, there's a dark wood dining table with two chairs, the table laden with Potions journals and notebooks, a nook which appears to hold a small kitchenette, and a well-worn dark green velvet armchair and a three-seater black leather sofa in front of a fireplace. Nothing fancy or elaborate, but with that well-worn air of a space that suits its user.
Hesitantly she makes for the sofa, since the table seems like a work in progress and the armchair feels too intimate, somehow. She feels nervous, or perhaps it is him, but nothing gives it away in his usual stoic expression. When she turns to sit down she finally notices the bookshelves that cover the whole wall by the door, floor to ceiling. She squeaks in surprise, without meaning to, and is positively itching to go investigate the shelves. A flare of pride pushes away the feelings of nervousness. That feeling is all him, at least. He must find it as nerve-racking to invite her here as it is for her to accept, she suddenly realises.
"Tea?"
She nods. He throws some Floo powder in the fireplace and calls the kitchens before sealing the fireplace from accepting Floo calls. An elf promptly Apparates in to deliver a tea set with two cups and some shortbread for them. He pours with a flick of his wand, adding a dash of milk to hers just the way she likes it, and settles in the armchair with his cup. Has he been observing her tea habits, over the years? Thinking about it, she does know how he takes his tea. With milk, same as hers, but occasionally with sugar when the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than usual. Sharing meals in the same Hall for five years must have made an impression, after all.
"Thank you, sir."
She sips her tea and tries to refrain from asking questions, reciting the twelve uses of Dragon's blood in her mind to stop her thoughts from blurting out as soon as they appear.
After draining half his cup he finally starts speaking.
"Miss Granger. You were badly injured during that hare-brained stunt at the Ministry. You've gathered as much?"
She nods.
"I shall refrain from saying something disparaging about Potter's intelligence, this time, considering the outcome. You very nearly died, Miss Granger. You would have, had Poppy not had the sense to call for my help." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, palms together by his chin. "That wound you had… I've seen its like before, and it usually kills within the hour."
"I'd managed to cast a Silencing charm on Dolohov before he got me."
He nods slowly. "That would explain it. Do you recall anything of the spell?"
She shakes her head. "Ginny said it was a purple flare but I don't know, sir. How is this linked to whatever is going on with my magic, if I may ask?"
He leans back, lips pressed together in displeasure. Then he takes a deep breath, calming himself. She can practically feel his mind focus, probably due to being in such an intimate setting with no other distractions.
"I cast all the counters, brewed several potions for you, and Poppy did all she could to heal you. When I returned later that night it was obvious it wouldn't be enough. You were dying, Miss Granger." He raises his hand and wandlessly Summons a book, silently, without looking at it. "You're Muggle-born. You know of blood transfusions, surely. Do you know why they are not done in the magical world?"
Her mind starts racing, trying to recall odd snippets of discussion mixed with what she'd learned from her parents. Blood transfusions were commonplace, mundane. Why would wizards not do them? "Can't say I do, sir."
He hands the book to her. It's small and appears well-used but not ancient. Of Blood And Magick, is the simple title. He steeples his hands, resting his elbows on his knees, while she looks at it. There is no index and she can't very well start reading it while he's still talking, so she puts it in her lap.
"As you might have guessed, I transferred some of my blood to you, hoping it would give you the magical edge to fight off Dolohov's curse. A Blood-Replenishing potion would not have done the same. Can you see why that is, Miss Granger?"
He's given her the clues, she's sure of it. "The potion would just… amplify whatever properties my blood already has, sir? And if that didn't have any effect against the curse, then neither would the replenishing potion."
He nods, once. "A bit simplified, but yes. Blood groups are another factor I didn't have the time to double check. If it hadn't worked you would have died anyway, but mine is mostly compatible with others. The transfusion also gave you some of my magic, and my magic has been fighting off Dark curses for longer than you have been alive. Mixed with yours, it could throw off the curse."
Hermione considers this. It makes sense, in the way magic makes sense, which is not saying much. "I'm O positive, sir. So it worked because you had encountered the curse before?"
"Not quite, but it did help. O positive, good, same as I am. Unfortunately it also gives the receiver a certain sensitivity to the donor's emotions when we are in close enough proximity, and this is the main problem since apparently Occlumency doesn't silence this connection. The effects should wear off in time but until then I need you to learn Occlumency. No one can know of this connection. Not the Headmaster, not your friends, not the Death Eaters who will try to capture you in the streets when you're off buying candy and presents for your friends."
She shudders. Why does he have to be so morbid? He's not even joking, she can tell. "The Headmaster can't find us here?"
He shakes his head. "Not in my quarters, not with the Floo disabled. Don't look him in the eyes, he's a very accomplished Legilimens."
Her mind starts whirring again. Layers upon layers of information that needs careful examination. His actions then, his behaviour now, what she has figured out already and what he's not saying. Probably quite a lot, considering.
"But won't I still sense your emotions if I learn Occlumency?"
He inclines his head slightly, shifting his gaze to the fireplace. "Unfortunately, yes, but at least the connection won't be revealed if someone tries to pry. The concept is outlandish enough that no one should go looking for it in your mind, but if they stumble upon it…"
She takes a deep breath. It does make sense, and she's never averse to learning more magic. She can sense he's being sincere, or at least that he's deeply uncomfortable with the current situation.
"Thank you, sir."
His eyes snap to hers and he almost looks confused.
"You saved me, at great personal risk. Again. Thank you. I will do whatever I can to keep your secrets safe, sir."
He nods, sharply. They finish their tea, discussing a schedule for Occlumency lessons. As she leaves she congratulates him on the DADA post, sensing his surprise before he raps his wand over her head to Disillusion her for her trek up to Gryffindor tower.
She stays up way too late, reading the book he lent her under wandlight with the curtains drawn around her bed. It's fascinating, and yet another testament to the strangeness of the magical world compared to the Muggle one.