Even in the Great Hall, Hermione was distracted. She found herself glancing around, looking for Draco… er, Malfoy. Ron steered her to her seat unthinkingly, still blathering on about Quidditch. Harry finally kicked Hermione as Dumbledore gets up to speak, knowing that she would hate to miss the beginning of year notes. He was right, her glare quickly faded as she turned, lips pursed slightly as if she were in class, to listen intently. Harry was no less eager, he had heard rumors that a member of the Order might take the DADA job and he hoped beyond hope that it was Lupin. Loosing Sirius could never be fixed and Lupin couldn't replace his godfather, but having the last of the Marauders (Pettigrew definitely didn't count) nearby made Harry feel that his family was gone but not lost.
However, to his disappointment, there was no Lupin at the table. He quickly thought back to the last full moon… no, that wasn't it. Perhaps he was on Order business and would come later. But Dumbledore quickly crushed that hope. "…and I'm proud to say that the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts has been accepted by none other than Sylvie Psyche. Professor Psyche joins us from Beauxbatons where she has been serving admirably." A woman stood, and Harry gaped, amazed that he hadn't seen her before. Her hair was a strangely familiar silver-grey and her skin was like cream. Even from a distance her eyes sparkled. To Hermione, who had just torn her eyes away from Draco's firm hold, they sparked.
Hermione swallowed quickly. "I don't like her." She said nervously. Harry and Ron stared at her like she was crazy.
"What are you talking about, she's…" Harry began and Ron's sigh finished the statement. Hermione looked away and saw the DADA teacher staring at her. Hermione couldn't break the gaze and as Professor Psyche's eyes began to turn an odd glowing red, she was filled with the growing desire to run. Quickly, Hermione stood, but her legs faltered under her and the last thing she remembered was the loud clunk of her head against the wooden bench.
She awoke to hushed voices around her. Her head throbbed and she let out a small moan. Harry and Ron were immediately at her side, one clutching each hand. "Are you ok?" She heard Ron's voice echo in her head. Grimacing, she opened her eyes to find the room thankfully dim. "What happened? Did you slip or…?"
Hermione wondered much the same thing, then she remembered red eyes and shivered. "That… that thing… it… oh Harry!" Harry climbed onto the bed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Ron, looking only slightly jealous, only held her hand even tighter.
"What thing, 'Mione?"
Hermione opened her mouth and then shut it, curling even more tightly as she saw a tall silver haired woman sweep into the infirmary. Harry moved as though to get up but Hermione only held him tighter. Professor Psyche smiled, "Please students, I know you're worried about your friend, but it's time to return to your dorms. Allow Miss Granger her rest."
Harry nodded to her, murmuring a polite "yes ma'am" and pulling Ron with him. Even scared as she was, Hermione noticed Harry's slick glance at Professor Psyche's ass. Boys.
"Miss Granger." The Professor pulled Hermione back into the present. Hermione curled her fingers around the sheet, trying not to shiver. She couldn't look into the woman's eyes again, and it seemed highly inappropriate to be noticing the way the light blue silk robes pooled delicately around the Professor's feet. The robes themselves were more glamorous than anything she had seen Hogwarts staff wear. They were more fitted and the stitched in sash gave the thin woman attractive hips. That, to Hermione, ruled out the possibility of this woman being a Veela. Veela wore deliberately unflattering clothes, as if to prove that they were still beautiful, no matter what. Besides, what Veela's eyes flashed red and caused women to faint?
"Hermione," Professor Psyche smiled as she sat on a corner of the bed, "The Headmaster has led me to understand that you are the most talented witch in your grade." Even afraid, Hermione's cheeks colored slightly with pleasure. She watched the woman's hands, as they lay softly in her lap. At least she was not holding a wand. Hermione was, under her blankets. She only hoped that it would not take her too long to pull it out. "And I want you to know that you aren't weak for fainting in the Hall." Hermione began to prepare her first defense spell. "You will have to keep this to yourself but my father and I think you should know."
There was a moment of silence.
"I am Professor Dumbledore's daughter."
Hermione dropped her wand. Dumbledore has a child?
"This must be quite a shock, I understand." Professor Psyche smiled kindly. She patted the blankets where Hermione's wand was now buried. "Now aren't you glad you didn't curse me?" Hermione chuckled slightly, earning herself another little smile from the Professor. "My father feels that I would be in danger if people knew I was his daughter. Few of the teachers even know. But I told him you should know. We can't have you thinking you've fainted for no reason, can we?"
"But… why did I, Professor?"
"My mother was… well, not human. My father loved her very much and love can do quite extraordinary things." Psyche brushed her long white fingers over each other. "Essentially, I am raw passion and energy, and that can lash out in… unexpected ways." Hermione the bookworm sat up and brushed her hair out of her eyes, mouth open, ready to ask a million more questions. "Get some rest, Hermione. I'll see you in class tomorrow." Professor Psyche placed a hand on the girl's forehead and watched as her limbs fell limp and her eyelids drooped. "Good night."
"G.. Good night, Professor." Hermione yawned as she surrendered to the sleep.
The next morning she was told by a bustling Madam Pomfrey that the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had never entered the infirmary. Hermione couldn't say that she was incredibly surprised.
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Additional DISCLAIMER: Psyche belongs in part to Aurora Lorraine, who started this as an interactive story on another site. Credit where credit's due.
