Chapter 4 - A New Position I
Hermione Granger was grateful for two things—second chances and sensible shoes. It was 11:48, and as usual, she was running late, having only just noticed the email informing her to be at Professor McGonagall's office at midday. The professor did not appreciate tardiness.
She threw on her cleanest jumper, slipped into the first pair of shoes available, tied her hair into a knot, and grabbed her pile of books before sprinting across the campus to her destination. Frantic and harried, Hermione almost barrelled into an elderly patient walking across the grounds. She stopped for the briefest of moments to apologise before sprinting off again, leaving the elder grumbling about "Millennials".
Arriving at the faculty building, Hermione tapped her access pass to the reader, yanked open the doors, and let herself in. She darted down the hallway, clutching the mountain of books to her chest, scraps of paper and notes threatening to spill out from between their pages. Her mane of bushy-brown hair had escaped the restraints they had once been placed in, obscuring her vision. She blindly weaved between the other people walking the corridors, desperately hoping she would make it to the office on time.
As she turned the corner before her professor's office, she collided with something solid, and everything she held tumbled to the floor.
"Ms Granger, your punctuality would be a problem if it were not for the fact that you were on time, for once. In the future, however, I would advise you to watch where you are going," came the voice of Professor McGonagall. "Pick up your belongings and come inside."
Hermione looked at the tall woman she had collided with, who wore a stern expression on her face, before crouching down to gather her belongings.
"Sorry, professor, I wasn't looking," Hermione said, turning red and shoving the loose notes and papers between the pages of her books before walking into the office.
"Good afternoon, Ms Granger. Take a seat," Professor McGonagall said, gesturing to a comfortable-looking armchair in the centre of the room.
Hermione sat and placed the large pile of books on the table in front of her. "Hello, professor."
"I'll keep it brief, Ms Granger. It's Saturday, and despite the rumours, I do have a social life I wish to maintain," Professor McGonagall said, peering at Hermione through her square-shaped spectacles.
"Yes—yes, of course," Hermione stammered, unsure of whether this was a joke. Professor McGonagall wasn't usually the joking type.
"I have spoken with Poppy Pomfrey, and she has agreed to assign you a new patient. Your sessions will commence in two weeks. I have his profile here for you, a professional footballer who has sustained significant spinal cord injuries. His club, Chudley United, has agreed to take on S.P.E.W as their official mental health partner. You will be overseeing his recovery and therapy journey," Professor McGonagall explained, placing a file on the table.
Hermione snatched up the folder and rifled through its contents, her expression changing from curiosity to confusion.
"Professor, I don't understand. My area of specialisation isn't supposed to be sports-related injury recovery. I haven't had any experience dealing with that kind of patient. I think there's been some sort of mistake," Hermione said, trying to sound polite. "I don't think I can support this patient with my theoretical strategy and submit a doctoral thesis on something I do not wish to pursue."
"Ms Granger, specialisation is a moot point here. You are here to learn and provide a service to qualify as a professional therapist and achieve your doctorate. You will be, first and foremost, a therapist and therefore should see any and all patients seeking therapy. If you wish to achieve that, then these are the steps you must take," Professor McGonagall replied. "I need not remind you, this is a second chance that many other doctoral candidates would not have been offered." She continued to eye Hermione through her squared spectacles as if daring her to argue.
There was no mistaking the look Hermione had received. She would have to comply, but she couldn't keep the apprehension from forming on her face. Professor McGonagall seemed to notice as she peered down at Hermione, a kind expression upon her usually stern face. Feeling a little taken aback as Professor McGonagall wasn't usually one to show outward emotion or affection, Hermione sat quietly and listened.
"The approach with your last patient was not wrong, Ms Granger. I believe it just needs refining. There is no reason you cannot take that approach and apply it to your next patient, as the results may surprise you."
"I—I understand, Professor. Thank you," Hermione stammered in reply whilst avoiding eye contact.
"Then that will be all for today, Ms Granger. Good luck with your patient, and I look forward to seeing you defend your thesis," Professor McGonagall said, reaching out to shake Hermione's hand.
Hermione stood up and shook the woman's hand, scooped up her pile of books, and file, before being escorted to the door.
She had just stepped back out into the corridor when Professor McGonagall called out, "Oh, and Ms Granger? Next time, wear matching shoes when meeting your patients, and please do try to maintain some level of professionalism here at S.P.E.W, won't you?"
Hermione peered down at her feet, mortified to see that she was wearing mismatched shoes. Her right foot wore a black-coloured ballerina flat, whereas her left foot wore a navy-coloured moccasin.
Hermione let out a groan and ran off down the corridor, desperate to get away from any further opportunities to embarrass herself.
Hermione spent the remainder of the weekend holed up in her favourite place on campus—the library. She worked tirelessly, researching everything she could possibly need to aid her new patient, Ronald Weasley, in his recovery.
She read various books on spinal cord injuries, researched physiotherapy practices and created several session plans for their first few meetings. She was determined to complete her thesis and help her patient recover, with both goals equally as important.
It was late into the day on Sunday, and Hermione sat in her favourite chair in a hidden-away corner of the library. She regarded this space as her Fortress of Solitude, a relatively unknown part of the library that afforded her peace and quiet, away from the busy campus and other students. It was the perfect place to read, write, and just have a moment to herself.
Hermione struggled to make it through to the end of her current chapter of "Management and Rehabilitation of Spinal Cord Injuries." Perhaps it was time to give it up for today and start afresh tomorrow. Sighing to herself before marking her position within the tedious book, Hermione reached for her laptop and turned it on.
Acting on impulse, she loaded the Facebook and Instagram profiles of Cormac McLaggen, her ex-boyfriend. Since their breakup six months ago, Hermione hasn't been able to let herself move on and often found herself stalking his social media.
She scrolled through his feed, viewing the various updates and images he had posted since she last checked three days ago. Judging by the new pictures of the Burj Khalifa and Dubai Mall he had shared, Cormac is still in Dubai. Hermione couldn't help feeling envious, as she would have been there with him had they not broken up.
She continued to scroll through the many updates he had posted when one image caused the air to be sucked out of her lungs. There he was, standing on a golden sandy beach with his arm around a stunningly beautiful woman. He wore a pair of navy blue shorts, with his firm and chiselled abs on full display. Meanwhile, the woman wore a modest, high waist bikini that matched her raven coloured hair as the pair laughed at something beyond the camera lens.
Who was this woman? Cormac hadn't posted anything with her in his previous posts only a few days prior, so she must be a new acquaintance. Had he already moved on? Hermione's imagination began to run wild as she formulated scenario after scenario of how Cormac and this unknown woman had come to meet.
Had he perhaps whisked her off her feet at the Dubai Mall? Did they meet on his father's yacht? The parties hosted there did attract beautiful women from all over the world, so could she be from some far off and exotic land? Was it possible that she was just a family member or friend?
Or perhaps he had met her at a bookshop, just like he had with Hermione. His dazzling smile and cocky attitude whisking her off her feet, opening up a world of unventured excitement and lust.
Blinking back the tears that had started to form around her eyes, Hermione decided to investigate further. She would need to find out more about this woman. Examining the tags on the Instagram post, she located the profile of the mystery woman. It wasn't long before Hermione found herself falling down the rabbit hole of this woman's social media. Time faded away as she scoured through post after post, her books, research, and planning long forgotten.
Eventually, the loud buzzing of her phone snapped her out of her obsession. Snatching it up, Hermione glanced at the screen.
Three missed calls, all from her mother, Jean Granger.
She had completely forgotten about the dinner plans with her parents tonight. Hermione slammed her laptop shut, scrambled out of her seat with a groan of frustration, grabbed her belongings and shoved them haphazardly into her bag. With the contents of her bag overflowing and threatening to spill out, she exited the library, pulled out her phone and dialled her mother's number.
"Let me guess," came her mother's voice, answering the call. "You forgot about the dinner?"
"Mum, I'm so sorry, I'll be there in ten. I got distracted planning for my new patient," Hermione replied as she ran down the street, laden down by her overstuffed bag.
"You need to learn—wait, what's this about your new patient?" Jean Granger asked.
"I'll tell you when I see you, mum," Hermione panted, already out of breath as she hung up without waiting for a response.
Soon, she was forced to slow down to a brisk walk, unable to maintain a running pace with the weight of her bag. Hermione chastised herself for forgetting about the dinner plans with her parents. Planning and time management had always been her downfall, as she could never find a balance between her workload and personal life. Even though they had planned this months ago, Hermione had received several reminders from her father leading up to it. Yet here she was, late, dishevelled, and completely exhausted.
Why did she have to fixate on Cormac and the mysterious beauty? Who she now knew as Pansy Parkinson, a social media influencer based in Dubai. Pansy seemed to be everything that Hermione wasn't, but more importantly, she had Cormac.
Hermione turned the final corner, clutching at the painful stitch that had formed in her side, and caught sight of her reflection in a shop window—it was not good. Her usually dishevelled mane of hair had mixed with sweat and the warmth of the evening, resulting in what could only be described as a giant bird's nest.
Reaching up into the mess, Hermione withdrew some debris and foliage from her hair, trying to flatten it as best she could, although it was a futile endeavour. With a huff of frustration, she gave up and walked up the street to her destination, Madam Puy du Fou's Bistro.
The Granger family first experienced this delightful restaurant during their travels to France several years ago. They had fallen in love with the cuisine and discovered a London branch near Hermione's university. Since then, her parent's had insisted on meeting regularly at this spot to catch up with Hermione during her PhD program.
Hermione attempted to catch her breath and compose herself one more time. It was time for Hermione to tell her parents about the commitment to her new patient and the area of focus for her thesis. She couldn't blow it now. Letting out a deep breath, Hermione double-checked her footwear and pulled open the door to Madam Puy du Fou's Bistro, determined to make her second chance count.