But then she smiled broadly to see her former Head of House, dressed in casual robes of tartan in the MacPherson sett of red, hunter green and white on a dark blue background. "Hallo, Pro--ah--erm," she stumbled, unsure what to call the older witch now.
McGonagall smiled knowingly. "Minerva, dear," she said, as usual somewhat rolling her r's with the typical Scottish relish for the practice. "After all, you are no longer Miss Granger, whom I must keep my eyes upon. Those are your things?" Hermione nodded, and with a casual flick of her wand, Minerva had the trunk and Crookshank's kitty carrier bobbing in midair.
The ginger cat was not amused, and Hermione unfortunately understood his howling as he banged around inside his carrier. Put me down right now, you! Hermione, I'm not meant to fly! I don't like heights…
Minerva's lips twitched in an amused smile, obviously understanding the cat's protests with her Animagus ability. In five minutes, Hermione had seen her smile more than in seven years--apparently there was no professional façade of seriousness to upkeep, now that she herself was a professor. "Perhaps you would prefer to carry your cat?" she suggested casually. "He isn't very pleased." She added apologetically, "I'm afraid I never completely understood them…"
That was true. Although Minerva could pass for a cat easily in Animagus form, she didn't really understand what made the creatures tick, just as Hermione herself did not completely understand Tosca. Assuming the form and mannerisms didn't naturally impart complete wisdom as to the animal's psyche. Minerva understood dogs better, apparently…she had encountered Murdoch, Minerva's scrappy Scottish terrier more than once, and every time she had taken tea with Minerva during her seventh year to make her reports as Head Girl, she'd been hard-pressed to not laugh at Murdoch's often quite witty mutterings delivered in an almost caricature-thick brogue. The general animal restrictions applying to students, naturally did not apply to staff, hence the presence of familiars such as Murdoch, Fawkes, and Tosca. Ah, good old Tosca, she thought with a smile, picking up Crookshank's carrier and following Minerva up the path towards Hogwarts.
They reached the front doors, and Hermione caught the direction that Dumbledore had called for a staff assembly as soon as she and Professor Mycenae had arrived, and Callisto Mycenae had arrived three hours ago. She blushed to be the last to arrive. Most of the staff had stayed the summer under the new guidelines, of course. "I'll show you to your room," Minerva said, leading her up the familiar moving staircase, "drop your things off, and it's for the meeting with us. The house elves will care for your things." Hermione still winced slightly at that, but recognized there were much more pressing battles to be fought in the wizarding world at present.
Her rooms turned out to be a combination living room and study and a bedroom in between Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Minerva gave an apologetic look at that, explaining that there had been no possibility of rooms in Gryffindor. Hermione shrugged philosophically and replied, "I'm to favor all houses equally now, aren't I?"
"In your teaching, but don't let me see you favoring Ravenclaw in our first Quidditch match," Minerva joked. "It's Gryffindor you'll always be, though you mustn't show it in your teaching, certainly."
Hermione nodded idly and let Crookshanks out of his carrier as Minerva slowly lowered her trunk. Hastily she dug in her trunk for a fresh robe, putting it on over her shorts and t-shirt in place of the sticky, butterbeer soaked one. She was thankful that it was summer and that she could wear whatever she chose beneath her robes--it was almost unthinkably hot, even for August. The presence of the lake only served to make it even more humid and miserable.
A quick Charm to bind her hair back into a ponytail and tidy it up, and she was ready to face the staff of Hogwarts, this time as an equal. Minerva discussed her Memory Erasing Potion on the way to the staff meeting room, obviously pleased that her student was being acclaimed for such a thing. The money the Ministry paid, while not the riches one could get from selling potions to pharmaceutical companies, wasn't to be sneered at either.
Hermione was pleased to report that the potion was being put to good use, though it was somewhat of an awkward thing to say. The potion being used naturally implied a wealth of unpleasant memories, and thus unpleasant goings-on. Still, there could be no hiding from what Voldemort was doing. She saw the death reports the same as everybody else did, and she wondered momentarily how Snape was dealing with losing so many.
They entered the meeting room, and everybody looked up to see the return of one of Hogwarts' own to the fold. For a moment it felt like three years before--almost all the old faces were there. Dumbledore, Sprout, Vector, Flitwick…and Snape. He looked to have not aged a day but for his eyes. They seemed to hold more secrets and hidden pain than ever when he looked at her, and gave a smile and a nod of greeting. She looked at Draco next, surprised to see how calm and assured he seemed. He too gave her a nod, and a wink as if to say, "Never thought we'd be doing this job; did you?"
Greetings were soon over, and she studied for a moment Mycenae, a Slytherin from the class of 1975. She was obviously trying to catch Snape's attention--perhaps to reminisce upon old times. However, at that moment, Dumbledore spoke up. "I would like to welcome our new members, and greet again those who have been away."
Everybody's attention was fully upon the aged wizard at the head of the table. She noticed he seemed to have aged terribly--he looked fully the one hundred and forty-seven that he was. But his voice, thought slightly wearied, carried the old power and command she remembered. She listened intently, wondering what he'd have to say.
She certainly had grown up in three years. Snape studied her when she came in the door, self-consciously smoothing down her moss-green robes. Not just physically, although the last vestiges of childish softness had faded from her features. She walked now with a woman's air of self-assurance and confidence, and he had the feeling that the petty annoyances like the label of a know-it-all she had garnered at Hogwarts would not affect her now. The credit and accolade she had deservedly earned had given her a bit more spine, it seemed, and the rigor of training with Holmes. Perhaps also knowing she was doing something in the war helped, he thought.
But there were traces of the girl he had known as she sat in her chair, nervously biting her lip, as if a little afraid her former teachers would bite. She looked at him and he smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, aware that a smile for him was more generally almost a feral baring of the teeth. She smiled back though, then studying Draco and surprise registering in her eyes at the sight of him.
Dumbledore went through the general greetings and introductions of new staff that were routine for every year. He then moved to a report of new regulations and the sort from the Ministry. Fudge grew more neurotic by the month, it seemed, and half his orders made absolutely no sense. He then proceeded to the latest report and suggestions of action from Arthur Weasley, who was the man of Dumbledore's forces now placed high in the Ministry as an assistant to Fudge, following the deaths of more than a few Ministry officials. He had been loath to accept promotion before, wanting to stay with his Muggle tinkering, but he had taken up high posts now at Dumbledore's behest, subtly influencing what came out of the Ministry day by day, and risking his neck doing it. It was probably the highest respect he had ever had for a Weasley.
"There is the issue, then," Dumbledore continued, "of visits to Hogsmeade."
"Sir, is it safe?" Vector protested. "We almost lost Carolina Hirschbaum last year…" The young Gryffindor had wandered out of the safe areas of Hogsmeade and had narrowly missed capture by Death Eaters.
"We're looking," Draco agreed gravely with knowledge far beyond his twenty years, "at a possible massacre."
To his surprise, it was Hermione who spoke up. "But sir, if you prohibit them from going, they'll find ways to sneak out…isn't it better that we let them go, but under our terms and conditions?"
"The anti-Apparition wards have been extended to include Hogsmeade," he agreed, "and the Floo network in is disconnected. Conceivably, the only way they could come in would be by broomstick, and though they could use Invisibility cloaks or charms, the staff could bring a detector along while they chaperone…"
Dumbledore nodded. "Let them be children while they may," he agreed. "Heaven knows they'll have to grow so quickly already…do I have agreement from all of you to supervise the children when they visit Hogsmeade?"
"You don't want us following them everywhere, do you?" Flitwitck asked.
"No, perhaps just to stand outside the shops, keep a lookout to sound the warning if necessary, and make sure they're all accounted for when it's time to come back," Minerva input.
It was quickly enough agreed on, and discussion of increased security at Quidditch matches was next on the table.
Two hours later, after having run through every new precaution and protocol for the year, the staff all-too-eagerly exited the meeting. As he turned to retreat to the dungeons, he was aware of Hermione calling his name from down the corridor. He turned and waited patiently while she approached.
"Ah…Severus," she said, obviously a little uncertain of calling him by his first name, "how have you been?"
"Largely the usual," he replied. "Teaching the whining little brats, being sarcastic as usual, and the normal night-life…" He knew she understood the last comment.
"About that…does Tosca want a rest?"
"Considering every week she gripes about flying off to go find herself a handsome falcon to nest with instead of dealing with idiot humans, I shouldn't doubt it."
"How are you dealing with," she lowered her voice as they walked, "the anti-Apparition wards being extended?" Whereas one could before Apparate from the near edge of the Forbidden Forest, the wards had been extended to include a good deal of the forest in order to detract invaders. After all, only a fool would Apparate into the middle of the Forbidden Forest: to do so was nearly a death wish.
He sighed. "It does waste a little valuable time, but it's all for the good. We fly out to the clearing in the middle of the forest, and land…it's a good thing you can Apparate in Animagus form, you know. We Apparate from there to the usual spot near Malfoy Manor."
"I see," she nodded. "It's good to see you again, sir--I mean, Severus."
"And you as well, Hermione." The name was strange upon his lips. "I suppose I shall see you at dinner tonight."
She nodded. "I have some ideas," she said tentatively, "for classes. But…I wonder. Is it possible to discuss them with you, since you know the Dark Arts even better than I do?" She realized what she had said. "That is," she rectified, "you've been spying longer…I'm trying to figure out how to be credible and impart what I know without giving myself, or you, away."
"Well, you've two weeks," he answered. "My Potions syllabus is, as usual, done. So certainly, I can assist you."
"Thank you," she smiled, turning to go to her rooms. "After dinner, then?" He nodded, and headed for the dungeons.
When he arrived Tosca was practically bouncing on her perch in eagerness. I told you she's become quite grown up.
"Yes, Tosca," he said absently. "She has."
So has she volunteered to partner you again? she wheedled.
"You can live in happy retirement from spying growing fat on too much hare," he assured her. "Now will you please stop giving me that look?"
What look?
"That look you get when I know you're up to something. After eleven years, you had better know that I know you."
Hrmph. You're rather crabby today. I know what will help--why don't you mate with her and get it over with? she suggested helpfully, hopping off the perch and flying out the window, chortling to herself as he stood there and cursed after her, debating whether to give her the satisfaction of transforming and giving chase. He decided the comment wasn't even worth the effort and sat down with a volume of Tolstoy until dinner.