Chapter 2 Reconnecting
The trip up from London was uneventful to say the least. Which made up for the fact that preparing for it was a Herculean task. Nevertheless, in the space of a few hours Hermione managed to redirect her subscription to the Quibbler, pack enough belongings to ensure several weeks of comfort, buy herself an enormous box of Muggle chocolates and cajole her neighbor into watering her plants. She just wished she had some idea of how long this was going to take.
Traveling by Floo was not Hermione's favorite mode of transportation, but she was out of practice Apparating, so had to suffer the consequences of soot and ash. When she stepped out of the fireplace at the Three Broomsticks at such an early hour, Madam Rosemerta barely glanced in her direction, even when she ordered a warm Butterbeer. Rosemerta's lack of reaction gave Hermione some hope that she could retain some anonymity during this visit. Hopefully, her appearance in Hogsmeade would not be an experience that would often be repeated.
After downing her drink in two quick gulps, Hermione gathered her belongings and began her journey to Hogwarts. Her feet, numbed by the cold, remembered the well-worn path and as she walked, she was able to enjoy the undisturbed peace of the morning. She mused that the only thing wrong with undisturbed peace is that it gave her too much time to think about things that were well forgotten.
Her mind wandered to the past. She remembered the last meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, where she had been assigned to flank and protect Remus' back as the Order launched the final, surprise assault on Voldemort's stronghold just outside Godric's Hollow. She had failed miserably. Remus died that night, a slow, agonizing death, and she had been responsible. The guilt still gnawed at her.
Even now, Hermione found it ironic that Lily and James Potter went into hiding in what could be considered the Dark Lord's backyard, and as history shows, he wasted no time in exacting his revenge.
The high, stone wall that guarded Hogwarts from prying outsiders danced into her blurred vision. Hermione was so absorbed in her memories of the past; she did not even realize when silent tears began falling from her eyes or when the chilly wind took a stinging bite of her reddened cheeks.
She removed her eyeglasses, wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, then replaced them. The myopia those eyeglasses corrected were her only remaining outward remnant of the injuries she received the night the Order of the Phoenix had faced down and defeated the Dark Lord. The Mediwizards at St. Mungo's believed they could cure the malady with a few simple charms. Hermione had chosen to live with the minor affliction. After all, many of the others lived with injuries much worse than the ones she received.
The journey from Hogsmeade had passed much too quickly. Hermione stood between the tall, iron gates, surveying the imposing building façade and grounds in front of her. Drifting downward from the dawn filled sky was a gentle fall of snow. She was grateful for the coat wrapped tightly around her, and the wool hat pulled snugly over her ears, as she felt the brisk chill in her fingers and toes. They were almost as cold as the icy lumps forming inside her throat and stomach.
The shadows of dawn still clung, in places, to the wild landscape. The red-gold sunrise behind her reflected off the castle's high, stone walls and its surrounding haze. Lingering fingers of damp mist hung heavily from the castle turrets, hiding the lights that glowed within its many windows. She knew they were there, the lights, the windows, even though she could not see them through the thick, gray shroud.
She sighed heavily, nothing had changed and the familiarity gave her a sense of comfort. Then she silently amended her thoughts, nothing about the structure had changed anyway. She knew that within those walls a great deal had changed.
Under her breath, she recited her mantra, "You can do this, you can do this, you can do this." She was not sure if she wanted to laugh hysterically at this situation; then run away, or cry like a baby; then run away. Nevertheless, she was here, and here she would stay. After all, she had given her word to Dumbledore, and a promise to Dumbledore was not something lightly undertaken.
Just in front of her, a loud crunch of stale snow and a heavy footfall caught her attention. The mist parted, giving way to the silently approaching figure. Hermione dropped her case and tote bag of notes, and hurled herself forward. Her lips stretched into a watery smile as she felt those arms close around her in a tight hug of genuine welcome.
"Hello, Hermione," he greeted her, a smile in his voice. His friendly demeanor made it seem as if she had only been away for a few weeks instead of nearly a decade.
"Hagrid," she breathed in, her eyes tearing again. He smelled just like she remembered; dark forest, wet animals and warm treacle. "It is wonderful to see you again. How have you been?" She stepped back and surveyed him from top to toe. "You look very well."
"Busy this year," Hagrid replied, "I keep having to chase the first years away from the Forbidden Forest, they never learn. Fluffy just gave birth to a litter of pups, and Professor Grubbly-Plank has decided that she wants to retire at the end of next term."
"Oh, Hagrid," Hermione eagerly questioned, "where did you find another three headed dog? Are you planning to apply for the Care of Magical Creatures position?"
"Well. . ." he responded guardedly, "I just may apply for that position."
His mind jumped quickly to the next topic. "I found a mate for Fluffy by answering an advertisement in the Daily Prophet. " Hagrid's voice rose excitedly. "I thought it was the perfect opportunity; after all, how often do you come across a three-headed dog even in the trade?"
Not waiting for her response, he quickly switched topics again. "I visited my brother, Grawp, over the summer break."
"How is Grawp?" Hermione asked curiously, wondering if his brother was still residing within the confines of the Forbidden Forest.
"He is much happier now, living up north, never really took to being confined as he is down here," Hagrid answered hesitantly, causing Hermione to wonder if he was as nervous about this meeting as she was.
When he finished his statement, silence stretched between them.
"We've waited a long time for you to return, Hermione." Hagrid's tone betrayed regret and another emotion she couldn't identify.
At her lack of response, he sighed then continued. "But perhaps that is best left for another day." Silently, she agreed.
"Harry and Ginny will be delighted to see you again," Hagrid tried again.
Again, Hermione made no response, but she quirked an eyebrow at what had rapidly deteriorated into a one-sided conversation.
Hagrid cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should get you up to the castle. Best foot forward," he chimed, "that's what my dad always said."
Hermione smiled gratefully at the words of encouragement, the reprieve from painful topics, and Hagrid's attempt at helping her relax, no matter how much he had failed. Here with Hagrid, at least, she knew she was welcomed by a friend.
Hagrid looked her directly in the eyes as he sheepishly returned her smile, "Well, now . . . I'm glad I told you that!" He then abruptly picked up Hermione's case and started walking toward the wide castle doors. The breeze ruffled his wildly tangled hair and billowed his great moleskin coat.
Hermione was aware that her attempts at procrastination had not fooled him for a second, and Hagrid, always a thoughtful, if sometimes misguided friend, had allowed her that precious time to steel herself for the upcoming confrontations. Hoisting her tote, she had to run to keep up with his enormous stride.
Much too soon, the giant oak doors loomed in front of her. She quickly followed him up the stairs then paused to take a deep, steadying breath. She nervously bit the inside of her lip and stepped through the doorway. The moment she most dreaded had arrived.
The Entrance Hall, too, looked exactly like she remembered. Flickering torches lit the large, cavernous room. The ceiling was so high it was barely visible. On her left, tightly locked, stood the imposing door to the antechamber where first years waited until the Sorting Ceremony was to begin. In front of her was a large, fir tree standing in an enormous, gold planter. It was beautifully decorated with antique gold ornaments, flickering candles and rolls of tartany ribbon. Its root ball was wrapped tightly in burlap. After the holiday, the Herbology class would replant it on the edge of the forest.
On her right, Hermione noticed that one of the doors to the Great Hall eased itself open to accommodate a small group of students who were trying to enter. When they made it through, the door noisily slammed itself shut, a loud thud echoing through the building. Breakfast would be starting shortly. Hermione was grateful she made it on time; she would rather face her demons in a crowd than suffer their contempt in private.
Hermione watched as Hagrid placed her case at the foot of the stairs. She carefully placed the tote bag on top. She knew that the house elves would soon come along to collect them and place them in her room. She wondered idly if Dobby was still working in the kitchens.
Directly in front of her, a slight movement captured her attention. Descending the great marble staircase was a figure she recognized instantly.
"Professor McGonagall," Hermione stepped forward, her hand extended, to greet her former Head of House, "how very nice it is to see you again."
Professor McGonagall looked down at Hermione's offered hand and frowned, "Hermione Granger, is that anyway to greet an old friend? We may not have seen each other in ages, but I have often asked you to call me Minerva, please continue to do so."
Hermione blushed with embarrassment, nervously pushed her spectacles further onto the bridge of her nose, and stepped into the hug Minerva offered. Perhaps this experience would not be as bad as she originally thought. Hermione quickly removed her coat and hat, and sat them both on top of her baggage.
"Headmaster Dumbledore will see you in his office after you have had breakfast." Professor McGonagall took her by the arm and steered her in the direction of the Great Hall. "We have many students who remained here over the winter holiday, and many more who returned from holiday, surprisingly early."
Hermione nodded in acknowledgement, certain Minerva knew more about this situation than she was letting on, but without first consulting Professor Dumbledore, she knew she had to be guarded in her responses.
There were about 70 students seated up and down the tables in the Great Hall, the ceiling reflected a soft blue light and cascaded with snow. The sky, inside like this, was beautiful to look since you didn't have to suffer the bitter cold.
Surveying the slightly chaotic scene before her, Hermione tucked some stray hairs behind her ears. Together they stepped forward and marched their way through a crowd of students gathered around a high-spirited game of wizard's chess.
"That game is still totally barbaric." Hermione remarked loudly, smiling as she remembered the eager challenges often issued by Ron, Seamus, Neville and Harry. Her comments elicited nervous glances from the youngest students.
McGonagall smiled benignly before continuing on to the high table.
As she passed Dumbledore's chair, he nodded and smiled a friendly greeting.
"You may sit here next to me, my dear." Minerva seated herself in the chair to Dumbledore's left and indicated for Hermione to take the chair on her immediate left.
Hermione sat down gratefully and filled her goblet from the pitcher of pumpkin juice on the table. The Great Hall looked less imposing from this perspective, and the students very young. She wondered if she had ever been as young as these students appeared. Maybe she had been young in years, but definitely not in maturity.
The festive ambiance slowly started to calm her thoughts and she looked smilingly down upon the antics of the students.
With a loud crash, the doors to the Great Hall swung open, and in glided Professor Snape, a magnificent scowl darkening his features. The students scattered, quickly taking their seats, forgetting that seconds before they were having good-natured arguments over the strategies of various chess moves.
Professor Snape sneeringly looked right and left before striding confidently forward, just begging for a Hufflepuff to look askance at him, stammer in his presence or move in a way that drew his particular attention. The students closest to his path wisely remained motionless. The deduction of house points was obviously in the forefront of his mind.
His preoccupation allowed Hermione the opportunity to steady her nerves. She slowly lifted her goblet to take a sip, but instantly lowered it. The tremor in her hand made it impossible to drink. Better to be thirsty, than spill her drink and draw attention to herself.
As he approached, she observed him discreetly. He looked much the same as he always had. Dressed entirely in black, his clothes still had a damnable amount of buttons. Obviously he had already been working at his precious cauldrons already this morning, his hair hung in dark, limp tangles around his face.
He stalked around like a predator in search of wounded prey, closing in for the kill. His shoes beat a rapid staccato on the flagstones and his teaching robes ominously swept the Floor as he passed.
The closer he came to the high table the more Hermione was able to distinguish some slight differences in his appearance. The lines on his face were deeper, especially around his eyes, giving that famous scowl an even blacker appearance. There was an even more pronounced downturn of his lips. His eyes narrowed with malice and distaste. His rebukes of the students were laced with bitter vitriol. Several of the youngest quaked in silent fear as he passed.
Hermione knew the exact moment when he spotted her sitting at the high table. The expression on his face never changed, but there was the slightest tensing about his shoulders and an even slighter narrowing of his eyes. Someone not watching him closely would never have noticed.
His head never moved, but those eyes glanced quickly at her face, and then glanced immediately away. His gaze lingered for just an instant longer on Professor McGonagall. She stiffened slightly, and greeted him with a stiff nod and slightly stilted, "Severus."
He approached a chair, and seated himself between Professors Trelawney and Sinistra. That he actually chose a chair next to Trelawney spoke volumes about how unsettled he felt.
The meal appeared on the table as soon as he was seated. However, Hermione had lost whatever appetite she arrived with. The optimism she had been cultivating, when her first encounters at Hogwarts went so well, quickly disappeared.
She sat there letting the conversation flow around her, stiltedly answering the questions directed specifically to her. She could not even see Snape from where she was sitting, seven chairs to his left, but she could feel the heat of his anger.
When he finished with breakfast, which he barely touched, Snape rose quickly from his chair, muttered a quick "Headmaster" in the direction of Dumbledore then hurried around the end of the table and down the long aisle that stretched between the high table and the Great Hall's entrance. Several students ducked to avoid the ferocity of his scowl. As he approached, the door swung open violently on its hinges, crashed loudly into the wall, causing many unsuspecting students to jump in fear. It slammed closed even louder.
Hermione gulped down the rest of her juice, stood and silently followed Professor Snape down the aisle and through the doorway into the Entrance Hall. She felt the eyes of every inhabitant in that room boring into her back.
Hermione approached him silently, apprehensive about his reaction but reminding herself repeatedly that she was a Gryffindor and would never take the coward's way out.
He had stopped about halfway across the entrance hall, his back toward her, shoulders slumped, both hands rubbing his temples then combing agitatedly through his hair. He must have sensed her presence because he turned to face her before she uttered a sound. His icy exterior had snapped quickly into place.
"Why are you here, Miss Granger?" Snape asked bitterly, staring at some point over her left shoulder, never once looking into her face. The crease between his eyebrows grew deeper with every syllable. His glittering black eyes narrowed into slits.
"Hello, Miss Granger," Hermione sarcastically replied, angry herself with his dog in manger attitude, "how nice to see you again. You are certainly looking well. Why thank you Professor, I have been feeling well, except for this trifling cold I had a…"
He cut her off with a muffled curse. "I repeat, why are you here, Miss Granger?"
"Professor Dumbledore has arranged for me to help sort out some recent, er… problems, concerning the Muggle students." Hermione answered hesitantly. Unsure of his reaction, she nervously tucked that stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. She had been expecting his hostile attitude but still felt wary.
"Surely, he warned you of my arrival." No response was forthcoming.
"He did tell you, didn't he, Professor?" Hermione persisted, almost fearing his answer.
Snape turned briskly away from her, walked away a few paces, then snarled his next words angrily over his left shoulder, without breaking his stride, "No, he didn't, you stupid, stupid girl."
He kept walking, and then disappeared through the dungeon's dark entrance.
Hermione did not even realize that Dumbledore was standing behind her until he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. His fingers squeezed her shoulder lightly, an empathetic gesture.
"I would like to say, Hermione, that the worst is now over. But in lieu of the situation, I fear the worst is yet to come." Dumbledore's words offered little comfort, but the soft, raspy tenor of his voice helped to soothe her ravaged nerves.
"I must go and speak with him. Please join us in my office in one hour. The password is 'Jelly Slugs.'"
Hermione nodded her head in acknowledgement. This situation was quickly becoming untenable. She knew Dumbledore was right; the worst was yet to come. She knew she had made mistakes in the past, but she had learned to live with them. She wasn't offering excuses. Perhaps she should remind Snape that he was also far from perfect.
Shoulders slumping in defeat, Hermione turned back to the entrance of the Great Hall. Minerva stood there shaking her head. She clucked her tongue sympathetically at Hermione, took her by the hand and headed for the stairs.