Minerva sighed in satisfaction as she allowed herself to sink into the chesterfield before the fire.
The grandfather clock in the corner had just chimed nine and there were still a few more hours before she was required to patrol for curfew.
A small advantage to being Headmistress meant that the first few weeks of classes left her with less work than her colleagues who were still in the midst of assessing their students' levels, preparing curricula, and assembling supplies and projects for the upcoming term. Her own curricula for the sixth and seventh year Transfiguration classes had been easily organized by mid-August, and until October rolled around with its necessary revisions of the fiscal year and projections into the next one, Minerva's workload was fairly light.
Gazing absently into the flames her lips quirked a smile and she wryly imagined that such freedom could easily change. Those Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws will likely blow something up by the end of the week and I will be regretting my confidence.
And then of course, there was the uncertain matter of Miss Granger.
Frowning slightly, Minerva absently ran a finger along the dark wood of her wand, nails tracing it lightly as she thought about the young witch who seemed to be invading her thoughts with more and more regularity.
Their meeting the previous night had not unfolded as she had anticipated. Miss Granger's initial emotional outburst had been tempered immediately and Minerva had been surprised at how quickly the witch had recovered - sliding into her poised and enigmatic persona with relative ease in a way that Minerva had found startling, unnerving, and more than a bit compelling.
However, there had been a familiar ease to their conversation that had felt… nice. There was no other way to describe it. It was as almost as if their gap in time had never occurred and Minerva had been caught up in the easy flow of their discussions - refreshed and reassured that Miss Granger was still indeed a witch who could captivate her attention.
She had detected small differences, however.
Prior to her departure, Minerva had always appreciated Miss Granger's forthright and oftentimes blunt way of speaking. She had been incredibly passionate. Opinionated - for the most part agreeing with Minerva on a number of topics, but unafraid to challenge her with questions or opposing viewpoints when stirred into debate.
Now, it seemed the witch had developed a bit more… subtlety.
The woman's self-confidence had evolved into a much more nuanced force, and Minerva had been surprised at how quickly she felt as though she had been speaking to an equal. The witch had a broader scope of knowledge than she remembered and it was clear that Miss Granger knew how to wield it carefully. The underlying passion was still there, yes… but it had grown and shaped itself into a more graceful power that had surprised Minerva with its wit and persuasion.
Minerva took a deep breath, smoothing her features as she felt how quickly her mind had fixated upon the mystery of Miss Granger.
Please… there are other concerns at present beyond this one witch.
Summoning a glass decanter and tumbler, Minerva poured herself a neat portion of Scotch.
One drink wouldn't hurt.
Sipping it immediately brought the satisfaction of well-balanced spice and smoke. Swallowing slowly created the familiar tingling warmth to her chest even as the flavor continued to open into her sinuses. Minerva took a deep breath, letting it out in a soft hiss as her thoughts turned to the impromptu meeting in her office in the afternoon.
Swirling the amber liquid in her class, she thought over the confidence and excitement of her colleagues. Where had this universal appreciation of the witch come from?
Granted, she knew she was biased as well, though Minerva thought distantly that she seemed to at least be working to remain more objectivity than either Filius or Horace.
At once, Minerva set her tumbler to the side, suddenly recalling something from the meeting that she had neglected to investigate.
Rising gracefully, she strode over to the large oak desk and opened the top drawer on the left.
Sitting quietly nestled next to her extra parchments and quills was the dark green bottle that Horace had passed her toward the end of their meeting.
Minerva bit one lip, momentarily unsure of the moral implications of watching a memory pertaining to a potential future employee. It certainly wasn't standard practice.
For Merlin's sake, there's nothing standard about this potential hire anyway!
The niggle of interest continued to pulse as she stared at the small bottle and Minerva found herself reaching for it while simultaneously cursing her inborn curiosity that made it difficult to let go of a puzzle once discovered. It was a trait she shared with her Animagus and one that frequently became more trouble than it was worth.
Still…
Plucking up the bottle quickly with long nimble fingers, Minerva waved open the ornate oak doors that housed the Pensieve and swiftly strode over.
You already sent the letter off to the Board… if nothing else this may help you advocate for Miss Granger's case.
Flicking her wand toward the doors to lock them against unwanted visitors, Minerva dimmed the ambient candlelight and poured the bottle's contents into the stone basin. The pearly opalescent liquid seemed luminous against the gray slate and she took a deep breath, mentally clearing her mind of all stray thoughts… if she was going to do this, she at least wanted to strive for objectivity.
Glancing down, Minerva saw flashes of bright young faces. It was like watching the surface of a pond, but one teeming with unfamiliar snippets of people and places she didn't recognize. A moment later, a luminous image of Miss Granger's face flashed - her curls falling about her face attractively as she threw back her head in laughter.
Feeling a wordless compulsion, Minerva closed her eyes and leaned forward.
Hermione found herself smiling as she reached forward and tickled the pear. She had missed the whimsical quirks of Hogwarts' walls and the thin line it maintained between silliness and genius.
Jerusalem had none of this charm...
A moment later, the painting swung open and she stepped through, careful not to trip over her long skirt.
"Miss Granger!" a squeaky voice said in surprise.
"Hello…" Hermione replied, leaving the greeting hang as she found herself gazing down into a pair of pretty blue eyes framed with long lashes.
"Ise called Bijou, Miss Granger," the House Elf said nervously, fiddling with the hem of her tea towel.
"A pleasure to meet you, Bijou. I wonder if I might speak with someone who could assist me with a few personal requests to the menu," Hermione asked gently.
The large ears seemed to perk up slightly at the mention of requiring help and her large blue eyes slid toward the left and she seemed to squeak at a few of the other Elves who had gathered around out of curiosity.
"Ise bringing you Ptolemy, Miss Granger. He is being the Head of the Elves…" Bijou said, giving her a small curtsy.
While she had never visited the Hogwarts kitchens, Hermione found herself impressed by the high ceilings and sheer amount of room throughout the large, brick space. The high walls were covered in various cooking instruments - arrays of pots and pans, strainers, and even a few large woks. One half of the long hall seemed to be devoted to storing dishes, the other half boasting five long tables that she imagined corresponded to the tables in the Great Hall above.
The wall to her immediate right seemed to be the designated cleaning area as it was covered with sinks and drying racks while the opposite end of the room boasted a number of wood ovens that looked rather impressive. A long corridor straight ahead had a number of doors that Hermione imagined lead to wherever they stored the food and supplies themselves.
"You all keep a fine kitchen here… I didn't realize there was so much space," she said conversationally. A number of the Elves squeaked in happiness and there were a smattering of bows at the compliment. More Elves had appeared out of curiosity and she noted a number of them squeaking and whispering to each other as they all waited.
"Miss Granger… I is being Ptolemy. What need is you having, please?" A gravelly voice off her elbow startled her and Hermione stepped back to find herself staring down into a pair of large green eyes topped by a silvery tuft of white hair. The small wizened Elf before her was nearly as hunched over as Kreacher, though by contrast to the Elf of Grimmauld Place, Ptolemy's royal purple tea towel was impeccably starched and the small walking stick he carried somehow managed to look rather regal.
"Master Ptolemy… a pleasure to meet you," Hermione said, remembering at the last moment to add on the honorific. She gave a small curtsy and didn't miss the number of apprehensive eyes that regarded her from behind the small stately Elf before her.
"Before I speak further, I know a number of you recall me from my earlier days at Hogwarts and I must ask that you forgive my naïveté… my first meeting with a House Elf betrayed the cruelty of some Pureblood wizarding customs. It… was not the most ideal introduction to the relationship between Wizards and Elves," Hermione said carefully.
Ptolemy was regarding her with an impassive expression and she felt an uncharacteristic wave of self-consciousness.
"As such, my views have since changed and I am pleased that you enjoy your work here at Hogwarts. I will not attempt to free any of you," she finished sincerely, looking around at the gathering. A number of small faces visibly relaxed and began to regard her with a bit more interest.
A moment later, Ptolemy nodded thoughtfully and cocked his head. One gnarled finger gestured to the side and a small Elf hopped forward to take his walking stick.
"Thank you, Miss Granger… we is happy to serve anyone needing assistance, but you is right that we are happy as we are. We is loving our work at Hogwarts and we is proud of the work we do. Thank you for understanding that," he said, folding his small hands behind his back. She thought his lips might have curled upwards into a smile, though it was hard to tell.
"Now. How is I helping you tonight?"
Hermione bit her lip and moved sideways slightly to perch on a large wooden barrel.
"Master Ptolemy, I wonder if I might make a few personal requests to the kitchen regarding some adjustments to the menu," she said, noting how a few of the Elves seemed to lean forward expectantly.
While all of them boasted white tea towels with the Hogwarts crest, Hermione noted that they seemed to be fastened with different colored pins. She wondered if that had to do with their different duties or the individual Houses they served.
"We are happy to accommodate individual needs, Miss Granger. Ise only needing to record them in my notes to the Headmistress… and asking her permission if the need is requiring us to be ordering different supplies," Ptolemy replied neutrally. Hermione nodded, folding her hands as she thought of how to word her request. She didn't want to seem overly selfish, even though the Elves didn't seem to view such things with the same sense of ego as wizards.
"You see, Master… I am currently considered an active Potions Master and I am hopeful to soon embark upon a second Mastery program," she began, smiling lightly at the delighted gasps that met her ears. Bijou was looking at her with a combination of wonder and excitement.
"I spend a good amount of my mornings… er, exercising, if you will… and it seems I am finding difficulty with the substantial English and Scottish breakfasts we are given. Not that I don't find them entirely delicious," she added hastily. Ptolemy was already nodding.
"You is needing a different diet for your training. I is understanding. Is you having a list of recipes or nutritional needs that we is using?" he asked, peering up at her. Surprised at how quickly she had managed to achieve her goal, Hermione nodded before pulling a parchment from her pocket.
Ptolemy leaned forward to peruse it carefully, his large green eyes nearly crossing as he looked over the list of her usual meals with interest.
"We is more than happy to help, Master Granger," he said after a moment. Hermione let out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding, eyebrows rising as she caught his use of her title.
Ptolemy gave a low bow before passing the parchment to a trembling group of Elves that fairly vibrated in their excitement to help. Hermione found herself curtsying in response, a smile breaking across her face.
"Thank you, Master Ptolemy… I greatly appreciate your assistance," she replied. He nodded once and turned smartly to stalk away, leaning heavily on his small walking stick even as one long finger pointed toward a pile of dirty dishes and he barked a few orders at some of the smaller Elves.
Now that their Head was back on duty, the large grouping seemed to scatter - and a moment later Hermione found herself marveling at the complete efficiency of the different groups. An assembly line of Elves had started washing dishes in one corner while another was polishing silverware with eerie machine-like rhythm. It was rather... amazing.
"Master Granger! Master Granger! You is helping us to plan a bit more?" Bijou squeaked, waving her over to where she and four other elves were still reading her parchment with interest.
Smiling, Hermione moved over and pulled out a small stool.
"Please thank Ptolemy again for being so accommodating," she said softly, taking note of how the group of Elves seemed to exchange looks. They giggled a moment later and nodded, quickly turning back to her parchment before squeaking lightly to each other as a number of long fingers pointed toward various ingredients and names.
"Now… how can I help you?" Hermione asked with a sly smile, happy when they again dissolved into giggles, catching her little joke.
Things were looking up.