Chapter 1: The Professor and Her Pride
The thought had been nagging at her that she had never really thanked him properly. She'd been shell-shocked in the moments after it happened. She remembered opening her eyes to see a concerned face swimming in the dark in front of hers and then, as she got her bearings, registering where she was and whose eyes, piercing grey, were boring into her own.
She'd panicked then, feeling vulnerable, disoriented, and somehow unable to command the use of her voice. As she tried to scramble up, full consciousness coming back in a rush, it suddenly occurred to her what he might have witnessed-what he might have heard from her very lips just moments before. There was no way to be sure, but those knowing grey eyes seemed to confirm her suspicions.
The shame of it had flooded her veins suddenly, thick and hot like lava, and it became unbearable to be in his company a moment longer. That was when she ran, or tried to, tripping over her nightgown as she stumbled towards the heavy wooden door on the other side of the tower and wrenched it open.
"Hermione!" he had called after her, but she couldn't stop now. She ran for it, in the dark, with only the flickering lanterns along the stone walls to light her way, all the way back to the large painting of Minerva, Roman goddess of war, that marked the entrance to her office. Gasping for breath, she whispered, "Auribus teneo lupum." The goddess remained snoozing in her marble solium, but the painting itself swung forward and Hermione climbed gratefully through it into her cozy apartments.
Only later had it occurred to her to be grateful to him. After all, he had probably saved her life.
It had been a week now, and she'd managed to avoid him by spending three days cooped up in her apartments on sick leave and the rest of the week taking refuge in the library between lessons. Of course, if he'd wanted to find her, that would be the first place he'd think to look, she mused, but he had been merciful enough to let her have her space.
It was Friday evening now, and she was curled up in a cozy reading chair in front of the large, gothic window in her office, trying to grade essays but alternately distracted between the claps of thunder outside and her own internal tempest of mortification and confusion. She didn't know what exactly he'd witnessed-or worse, what he might be thinking he'd witnessed-and not knowing was not a feeling she was accustomed to. She sighed and rested her chin on her palm, staring out at the dark and stormy grounds and trying to make out Hagrid's hut through the swirling rain.
Of course, Hagrid-the one constant presence she could rely on at Hogwarts. If it wasn't positively monsooning outside she'd go and see him now. She mentally pinched herself for not thinking of it sooner. If anyone could calm her racing mind, bring her back to simpler days, it would be Hagrid. They had spend many an afternoon over the past few years sitting by his fire, reminiscing about the old days and playfully abusing Ron and Harry, who were both busy with their work and not there to defend themselves. It had always made her feel better.
Ron was in Egypt at present. She made a mental note to respond to his last letter and then amused herself a moment imagining six foot tall, pale, freckly, ginger Ronald amongst the Egyptians and thinking he must stand out more for his looks than for his poor grasp of muggle dress. Then again, she doubted he met many muggles while on the job. His team worked in secrecy, using non-invasive magical techniques to excavate secrets of the great witches and wizards who once inhabited the banks of the Nile. Ron had never been much of a student or a scholar, but in this more hands-on magical archaeological study he seemed to have found his bliss.
Harry, meanwhile, was perfectly capable of blending in with the muggle world when necessary, having been brought up by his muggle aunt and uncle, but for him it was very rarely necessary, except the one time recently when he had traveled to 10 Downing to meet with the new muggle prime minister. Harry had thought it best to don a suit and tie rather than wizard robes for the occasion, as a courtesy to the sensibilities of the "other minister." The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had insisted that Harry should be the first point of contact with the muggle government, as he "spoke muggle" and, in his role as Head Auror, was best suited to provide security briefings, which was of course the primary reason for their alerting the muggle prime minister to the existence of the magical world at all.
It had been years since there had been anything as dangerous as Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but dark magic had a way of turning up unexpectedly, if only to give the Auror office something to investigate. And then there were the false alarms, which were still so frequent and caused such an uproar that Harry had appointed a special division just to sort them out. The whole wizarding community was understandably still jittery, even five years after the Battle of Hogwarts and Voldemort's defeat, but some had rather overactive imaginations.
The latest scare had been a complete scandal, but the circumstances had, in Hermione's opinion, been extremely suspicious. Typically these false alarms were just a dotty old woman sending a frazzled owl to the Minister because she'd read her tea leaves upside-down. But this had been different. The Auror office had gotten a tip about a dark object that turned up in a thrift shop on Knockturn Alley, so they sent a couple of mid-level aurors to investigate-routine stuff. But when they got there, the shop keeper hadn't the foggiest clue what they were on about, and they couldn't find a trace of dark magic anywhere.
Just as they had decided the tipster must have pulled a prank call and were getting ready to leave again, one of the aurors became suspicious about a tarnished silver candlestick on a shelf that seemed to be glowing. The candlestick turned out to be a portkey-and the auror who spotted it was severely reprimanded later that day by Harry himself for being stupid enough to grab hold of it. It had transported him to the high, wrought iron gates in front of the old, abandoned Malfoy Manor, and he had nearly had a stroke when he landed in the dirt, face to face with a contorted visage in gunmetal finish-a Death Eater's mask.
He had called in reinforcements then, and the mask was taken to the Auror office to be examined, where, it was rumored, the Ministry had uncovered numerous dark curses and enchantments placed upon it. Half the students in the school was a-chatter with every old bit of gossip they'd heard from their parents about the Malfoy family-mostly how they'd never really come back over to the light. The Daily Prophet was writing as if the mask was somehow definitive proof the Malfoys' conversion to the side of the Order was a fraud, but Hermione found the whole thing incredibly suspect.
After all, who was the mysterious tipster? What was the connection with the shop in Knockturn Alley, if any? And who had gone to the trouble of making the portkey? If they knew the location of the object, why not tip off the Auror Office to go straight to Malfoy Manor? And given that the Manor had been empty for years, who would go out of their way to drop a dark artifact-a Death Eater's mask no less-outside its old gates?
Harry had had the good grace to say publicly that the investigation was ongoing, that no details were confirmed, and that he did not for a moment suspect the current Lord Malfoy (known more commonly now as Professor Malfoy) had had anything to do with it, particularly as he had not been near the old Manor-confiscated by the Ministry after the war-in fully five years.
But still the rumor mill churned, and Hermione felt a pang of regret as she thought about what he must be going through. It made her feel doubly anxious, for what had happened on the astronomy tower a week ago and for how she had avoided him since.
She groaned unhappily as she set aside the essays she was supposed to be grading, took a deep breath, and checked the clock over the mantle. Half past seven. Perhaps if she headed to the teachers' lounge now she could find him before he retired to his apartments in the East Wing of the castle. She'd have to face her fears sooner or later, and somehow thinking of the troubles he himself must be going through made her put her own aside. She resolved to swallow her pride and seek him out that very night.