A/N: I apologize for my lack of usual updates. I confess I've started writing a rather odd crossover piece that has suddenly demanded more time and research. It seems I am incapable of writing anything short. Dear me...
Anyway, I'm coming around the bend and hope to get back on track with all my stories soon! Thank you for your patience!
-R
The vegetarian omelette and small Israeli salad were exactly what Hermione needed and she tucked into her breakfast with enthusiasm, making a note to send Ptolemy and Bijou a fervent thank-you after Transfiguration. She drizzled a liberal amount of tahini over the salad, earning few wrinkled noses from the group of fourth-years sitting next to her, but Hermione simply met their eyes with impassive silence until they looked away.
That Gryffindor arrogance would soon improve if she had any say in it.
By the time she had arrived to the Great Hall, only a few professors were lingering at the High Table, though Rolanda shot her subtle look with raised eyebrows that she took to indicate the elder witch approved of her earlier exit and had found it amusing. The Headmistress's absence was not surprising - Hermione imagined that the witch would have eaten quickly (if at all), and left to prepare before her classes.
Smiling softly to herself, Hermione pulled her books from within her satchel and revised them quickly. Self-transfiguration was not one of her strongest areas of study, though she had already learned and utilized a number of the simpler enchantments… during the past year in particular.
Talia would be rolling with laughter at this…
The thought of her former Master filled her with a melancholy warmth and Hermione shook her head lightly, ignoring a boisterous group of seventh-year boys who settled close as the fourth-years next to her took their leave. She felt her body tense at recognizing the trio - while she hadn't been officially introduced, Hermione had already seen a few lecherous looks and haughty expressions in the Common Room… she suddenly didn't look forward to sharing their presence.
"Look look… the brainiac is already studying!"
"Whatever, she's been out of school for four years… I'd imagine a drop-out like her needs to read everything she can get."
Hermione pursed her lips and turned a page quietly, instantly reminded of how idiotic young men could be. Their hissed whispers were far from subtle.
"You're just being an arse 'coz you fancy her!"
"Do not!"
"Stop being fuckwits both of you. She's getting a head start on us… which, if either of you had seen the Headmistress' face earlier, you would be too. Ol' McG looked to be in a right state of it when I passed her on me way down 'ere."
Hermione waited until the boys finished their grumbling before casting a curious glance at the third wizard. The young man had sandy brown hair and intelligent blue eyes and looked only slightly less rumpled than the other two. She noted the askew ties and wrinkled clothes and hid a smile, knowing that they would have a rather irate Headmistress to answer to if they didn't get their act together.
She paused before turning away, managing to lock eyes with the last boy. He flushed lightly as Hermione simply stared, wondering what to make of him and his companions. To be honest, she hadn't given much thought to interacting with her new peers and the idea of trying to fit in with the rest of the Gryffindor seventh-years seemed strange and perhaps a little pathetic.
You have friends in other places… you'll just have to work a bit harder to stay balanced.
Her earlier encounter with Professor Flitwick jumped to mind and Hermione paused for a moment, wondering just who else within Hogwarts' venerable halls would potentially be amenable to bending the boundaries on her behalf. Rolanda and Slughorn were now in her court and Neville was already a given. That made three allies and while Professors Vector and Flitwick would have a bit more conflict of interest, Hermione imagined she could develop a rapport similar to the one she had enjoyed with her own Master.
Fond professionalism.
And then there's the Headmistress...
Several emotions vied for expression and Hermione elected to shuttle them away until she could sift through them in private. A moment later she returned to her book, skipping ahead to read a few notes she had penned in the margins.
The upcoming class would undoubtedly be interesting for a multitude of reasons.
Checking the time, Hermione saw that she still had a good fifteen minutes, though she had already made the conscious decision not to make it there too early. She had always been the first to arrive and the last to leave in her previous years but she knew that all of her old habits would have to be broken in order for the Headmistress to begin seeing her in a new light.
Especially if she had any hopes of achieving her loosely lain plan.
She was not the same Hermione Granger as the young witch who had left right after the War.
Older, yes. More seasoned, yes. And she would have liked to think that she was a bit wiser and a bit more learned in the subtle art of achieving one's goals, however improbable.
Packing her things, Hermione swept to her feet, lifting her satchel over one shoulder easily before murmuring a spell to adjust her robes to crisp perfection.
The wandless magic is something you must watch. Not everyone needs to know what skills you've acquired over the years...
Breezing past the boisterous trio of her soon-to-be classmates, Hermione departed the Hall quickly, thoughts suspended somewhat as her heeled boots effortlessly carried her in the direction of the Transfiguration wing. The one wizard's comment about the Headmistress' expression had seemed curious and she briefly wondered if her earlier teasing had been taken too much to heart.
Nonsense, Minerva always loved having a good battle of wits.
Hermione shook her head slightly, quickly admonishing herself for slipping up and using the witch's given name.
Despite her outburst in the Headmistress' office on Sunday evening, she flushed as her thoughts took an unexpected dip into the personal… a bit embarrassed as she recalled how easily those precious three syllables had slipped from her lips despite never having been given the official blessing from the witch herself.
Some matters must be earned...
Hermione slowed as a breath of fresh air spilled across her face, enjoying the familiar smells of the Middle Courtyard and distant scents of autumn. A few seventh-year Ravenclaws were chatting amicably on the lawn and she idly recalled that her upcoming class was to be shared with the other House.
Rather than continuing straight to the classroom, Hermione chose to step out from the covered walkway and cut an ambling path across the courtyard, folding her hands behind her back and turning her face up to the sunshine. Again she found herself ignoring quiet whispers from across the way, taking a moment to recall the many times she had breathed in the same scents in previous years and marveling at how quickly the familiar feeling of excitement bubbled within her.
Transfiguration had always been her first love.
The complex nature of the magic had thrilled her in a manner that no other discipline could quite conjure. The heady feeling of causing one thing to become something else entirely felt completely magical in a way that had constantly appealed to her Muggle upbringing. It was just so satisfying... and Hermione knew it was a discipline to which she could easily devote the rest of her life.
Potions had become her second love and Hermione knew that she had chosen her Mastery not for a secret underlying passion, but because it had once been the opposite of her passion - in fact, a subject she had rather despised. Fortunately, her Master had been incredibly patient and unique… appealing to Hermione's love of complexity while also introducing her to the entirely different world of the senses.
Potions was gritty, messy, wonderful, and unpredictable in ways that challenged her intellect, yes - but completely unlike the battle of mind over magic that Hermione felt she experienced with Transfiguration alone. Bending energy and matter to transform itself into something else was a complete power trip. Bending ingredients and coaxing them into a carefully blended assemblage was provocative and stimulating… but less of a strain upon her actual magical abilities.
Smiling to herself, Hermione mused at how much her perspectives on both disciplines had changed... Potions had risen in her regard to become a discipline that she loved and valued immensely, while Transfiguration had been carefully nurtured, yes... but with a purposefully indirect approach that only continued to tease and torment her with its elusive secrets.
It had always been her intention to pursue a second Mastery… and despite the cajoling of her own Master, who knew of her natural affinity and whose brother had come from one of the most noble and ancient lineages of Transfiguration Masteries in the world… Hermione had never been able to bring herself to consider anyone except her former mentor.
Kicking a boot absently, Hermione bit her lip as she continued to spiral through thoughts of one of her deepest desires… one that she could scarcely admit to herself, and one that had taken several shots of Arak before her Master had been unable to uncover the source of her extreme reluctance to simply move to the Sahara and get started on her Transfiguration Mastery with the other Master Abraham.
Admittedly, she knew little about the Transfiguration Society itself beyond small snippets she had learned during her time in Jerusalem, though as she suspected, her desire had immediately been bolstered in discovering that "Minerva McGonagall" was a whispered name that garnered instant respect - even throughout the more obscure corners of the Middle East.
At the moment, apprenticing beneath the Headmistress seemed a rather far-fetched concept given the complex nature of the witch's current post, but Hermione continued to hold out a flicker of hope.
She, if anyone had a reasonable chance at catching the witch's attentions.
When it came to Transfiguration, Hermione had always achieved top marks in the subject, and she could only hope that her newfound knowledge and skills would be enough of a confirmation to prove that she was more than willing to put in the hard work. It would simply be a secondary bonus if she avoided the Ministry's clutches for a few more years…
And then… in that time, perhaps you will have a chance of getting closer to her.
Ultimately, Hermione knew that if she was going to pursue a second Mastery, it would only be beneath Mistress McGonagall.
She shivered at the thought and immediately crinkled her nose in embarrassment as the title conjured up several other images and desires that had nothing to do with her professional aspirations.
Soon you'll have to put these hopes to rest… in some way or another…
"And you'll have to do a better job of unravelling your personal problems in the meantime," she muttered quietly, irritated by how twisted and tangled it all seemed. There was Transfiguration and Potions. A Mastery and a not-quite-developed Marriage Law. A political agenda and a deeply confusing personal one. And swirling at the center of it all was Minerva McGonagall.
Hermione shook her head and gave a heavy sigh.
Glancing to her right, she noted that the Ravenclaws had slipped away, leaving her alone and with a building wave of anticipation that was accompanied by a feeling of pleasant nostalgia. Similar to the fragrant breeze, it was a sensation that Hermione had experienced with every new start to the Hogwarts academic year… a specific blend of circumstances, sights, and smells that indicated that a new chapter in her knowledge of Transfiguration was about to open.
Time to make a move.
Taking a calming breath, Hermione smoothed her robes unnecessarily and drifted toward the archway that would lead her closer to Classroom 1B. The thought of setting foot into the familiar space with tall arched windows and luminous mirrored panels made her heart beat faster… internally, her mind tripped along solid oak desks to arrive to the front of the classroom where the Headmistress always stood.
Graceful hands wielding a dark ebony wand flitted through her thoughts, accompanied by the gentle swishing of emerald fabric... elegant footsteps echoing on worn stone… and clear green eyes assessing her with measured warmth.
Burrowing a smile, her stomach flip-flopped uncomfortably and Hermione slowed, allowing a pair of Gryffindors to pass her and slip beyond the heavy door.
Pull yourself together. You've waited years for this day… don't screw it up with unnecessary bumbling!
Another group of Ravenclaws hurried past and Hermione took one last breath before moving to follow.
A quick estimate indicated she had timed her arrival perfectly.
One minute to class time.
Minerva waited patiently, sitting quietly on her desktop as the students filed in. There were a number of curious faces staring at her - the Ravenclaws in particular, while the Gryffindors muttered amongst themselves while flicking their eyes toward her closed office door as if expecting her to come bursting through at any moment.
Though it was a well-known fact that the Headmistress of Hogwarts was indeed an Animagus, no one in the last several years had borne witness to her abilities in quite some time. Even before she had relinquished her younger classes over to Talfryn, Minerva had avoided transforming in front of her students toward the end of the War - finding less and less pleasure in the ability as she found it crossing against her duties with the Order with unpleasant frequency.
Minerva was surprised that no one appeared to have figured it out yet, and it was clear from the muttered whispers that they assumed she had some version of feline transformation planned for the day.
Sighing as the ambient chatter grew, she glanced at the clock. Two minutes.
The room was filling rather quickly and Minerva waited in anticipation for one particular face to appear. Though she had tried to suppress her irrational curiosity at how Miss Granger would handle the transition back into student life, Minerva found that she couldn't help it.
Already the young woman was throwing her for a loop.
She had expected to see Miss Granger no later than quarter to start but it had come as a great surprise when Miss Brimble and Mr. Poppelwell of Ravenclaw had been the first to arrive.
Minerva had nearly rolled her eyes as the two lovebirds quietly murmured to each other in the empty classroom, almost tempted to re-transform before they engaged in anything uncouth, however she had been saved by the arrival of more students.
Even the infamous trio of Gryffindor gremlins managed to be on time... and immediately Minerva had been irate with the witch's cheek. It was not like Miss Granger to flout the rules, though technically, she supposed… there was nothing she could do about it.
Minerva simply preferred when her students made an effort to be early.
The front desks were quickly claimed and Minerva had felt an irrational pang that Miss Granger would not be sitting in her customary desk off her right. She tried not to reveal her irritation as her claws dug into the polished mahogany wood with each passing minute.
There she is.
Her tail flicked in excitement and Minerva covered the small reaction by curling it around her feet demurely.
Miss Granger walked in quietly, surveying the room for a moment and absorbing Minerva on the desk with a small smile. Though the witch hadn't drawn attention to herself by any means, two of the gremlins at the back of the class began sniggering and other heads began to turn.
All of the desks were taken.
Bollocks.
Minerva had forgotten to request an additional desk on account of the witch's presence. Twenty-five students between the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors and there were only twelve desks allotted for partners.
She hated odd numbered classes.
There were a few more titters, but Minerva was pleased when Miss Granger simply stepped behind the last row of desks and removed her satchel without so much as a glance toward the two young wizards who were still cackling before her. The rest of the class had turned to watch the proceedings with interest and Minerva's claws dug into the desktop as one of the wizards elbowed the other.
"Guess they're letting anyone in here these days. Even old has-beens..."
"Sure you don't want to sit with us, Granger? I'm sure we can make room."
"Yeah… right here… we've got a sweet spot just for you, yeah?"
Miss Granger's eyes flicked upwards for a brief moment and she smiled softly.
"I'm sure I'll manage," came the quiet reply.
The witch moved to sit - at least, that was about as much as Minerva could see from her vantage point, and while there may have been the briefest flash of a wand, all she knew was that there had been a small yelp, a few gasps, and then the witch was sitting quietly at her own desk - books and parchments stacked in perfect order just as the bell rang.
A ripple of appreciative murmurs passed through the room and Miss Granger deliberately looked past the grumbling boys to meet Minerva's gaze.
"I hope this meets with your approval, Headmistress?"
The wave of astonished glances nearly made her smirk and Minerva took her cue and leapt gracefully from the desk, transforming herself in the blink of an eye and quickly sweeping down from the teaching platform.
The gasps and muttered curses brought immediate satisfaction to her ears.
You've still got it.
"Indeed. My apologies for the inconvenience, Miss Granger," Minerva said smoothly, glancing past the admiring looks to pin the two boys directly in front of the witch with a stern glare.
"Mr. March, Mr. Allenby… I see you've left your manners and your decorum amongst the underclassmen, though fortunately it seems Miss Granger is capable of assisting herself," she said, flicking her wand and suppressing a smirk when two sets of shirts and ties tucked themselves in with matching gargled gasps.
Drawing a bit closer, her voice grew lower with disapproval.
"You would do well to treat others with more respect - whether the Headmistress is present or not. Two points from Gryffindor apiece for thoughtless bedevilment of a housemate," she glanced toward the witch, "Five to you, Miss Granger, for astute conjuration."
The boys scowled and Miss Granger offered a solemn nod before quickly breaking eye contact to organize a few more items on her desk, her jaw set rather curiously.
Odd...
Minerva folded her hands and walked across the front of the room.
"As seventh-years a significant portion of the Transfiguration curriculum shall be devoted toward preparing you for the traditional end-of-year exams. Your N.E.W.T. scores will determine your pathway into the professional Wizarding world," she began carefully, noting a number of faces grow rather pale at the overture.
"A majority of entry-level positions within the Ministry require an Exceeds Expectations or higher on the Transfiguration portion as does the Auror Academy, Healing Institute, and the Cambridge Philosopher's Programme. Regardless of your individual plans I assume that you are all present because Transfiguration is a discipline of some consequence to you… should such an assumption prove erroneous, you have until tomorrow to correct it."
Minerva swept back to the center of the room, ascending the low stairs slowly as she continued.
"We shall begin our year with self-transfigurations… some of the most difficult and dangerous work we shall engage in this term," she paused and gazed out at the sea of serious faces.
Already a few pairs of eyes were glowing with interest.
"As the upperclassmen of the school I should hardly need to remind you of my classroom expectations, however given the nature of our work, I will simply add that any hint of untoward conduct shall be considered sufficient grounds for your termination in this course. Am I clear?"
Her raised eyebrow was met with a chorus of emphatic, "yes ma'am's," and Minerva nodded curtly.
"Very well. Let us begin by reiterating significant points from the first two chapters of your texts. Would someone care to elucidate the fundamental differences between Animagi and Trans-Species Transformations as applied to humans?"
She settled into lecture mode quite easily - pleased when it became clear that a majority of the class had read ahead and prepared for their first day. The fundamental groundwork passed quickly and Minerva answered several perceptive questions and only a few mediocre ones.
Though she fought not to dwell on it, she couldn't help but notice how uncharacteristically silent Miss Granger appeared. The witch sat at the back of the class, attending to her notes as dutifully as anyone else, however Minerva couldn't help but worry that the young woman was somehow disengaged.
After a good amount of talking, Minerva adjourned to her desk, leaving the class with forty minutes to write a short essay upon the Energetic Restrictions of Human Transfiguration with the understanding that they would begin the practical portion on Thursday.
The classroom fell silent save for the dutiful scratching of quills and occasional fidget.
Minerva reluctantly began attending to the ever-troublesome timetable, brow furrowing in concentration as she attempted to create a balance between the first and second year Potions classes against Miss Granger's inordinately full schedule. The witch's presence would greatly alleviate the strain in that corner of the professorship, and while Minerva had been pleased by the Board's initial recommendations, she was beginning to grow worried at how the adjustment would affect the young woman in question.
Occasionally her gaze would flick up to glance around the room, but the students seemed to be focused and no one was looking at her with desperately questioning eyes. Try as she might however, Minerva found herself looking toward the back left corner of the classroom with greater and greater frequency.
Suppressing a sigh of frustration, Minerva scratched out another failed attempt at reconciling the witch's schedule.
What she would give for a Time-Turner.
First glance suggested that the young woman would have to address Arithmancy, Runes, Herbology, and Charms in the form of self-study.
Merlin, if this upsets her N.E.W.T. trajectory in any manner, I will personally hex Horace!
The thought brought forth her earlier conversation with Draco and Minerva paused, looking up to see that Miss Granger had surreptitiously finished her essay and was reading quietly.
"... Master Granger could sit her N.E.W.T.s tomorrow - blindfolded, drunk on Firewhiskey, with her wand tied behind her back and still earn a higher grade than most our graduating seventh-years…"
She sniffed once in amusement before adjusting her robes and resettling. However fanciful, Draco's statement rang true.
Minerva frowned, feeling both a pang of annoyance and flush of guilt at the woman's efficiency.
While Draco's exaggeration had been just that - an exaggeration, it did nothing to remove the point.
Honestly… why are you attempting to reconcile her schedule? The witch does not belong here.
Sitting back slightly, Minerva tried not to admire the woman's posture, nor how lovely she appeared in her pressed robes. Nearly everything in Miss Granger's appearance suggested an adult witch and were it not for the Hogwarts crest, Minerva would have easily mistaken her for a fellow academic had they encountered in Diagon Alley or at a professional conference.
Her eyes traveled over the long swan-like neck carefully, noting the way the severe hairstyle lent itself to the woman's new aura of efficacy, while briefly missing the familiar mane of carefree curls.
What is she doing here anyway?
Rationally, Minerva knew that Miss Granger was likely far more adept at penning a paper under a deadline than the rest of her students, as well as being accustomed to arranging her thoughts and arguments more quickly and systematically than an average seventeen year old. Not that Miss Granger had ever been average. However, no Mastery program was complete without its fair share of defended research and related article-writing and the fact that witch had made short work of her assignment remained only logical.
Irrationally, Minerva found herself a bit dismayed.
The young woman had even thought to charm her quill into moving subtly, though a relaxed hand upon it gave her away as did the sharper angle of her focus. Undoubtedly, she held an unrelated book in her lap.
Minerva deliberated on whether or not simply ask the witch for her essay, though after consideration, she decided against it. Miss Granger was likely having a difficult enough time as it was - renegotiating her presence within the castle and amongst her new school mates... without drawing attention to her penchant for academic excellence.
The students would soon discover that for themselves.
With a wince, Minerva realized that she had likely done the witch little favor by awarding her points at the beginning of class… doubtless, it would not serve to ingratiate her with the Gryffindor gremlins nor any of her other peers. The majority of students seemed to regard the witch with either apprehension, scorn, or jealousy… only the little ones had seemed immune to her formidable appearance.
Though… she hasn't really done herself many favors, Minerva mused, glancing over the woman in question again.
The witch's demeanor had been polite thus far, but standoffish - she engaged with others when necessary but not before and not of her own initiation. Minerva had been surprised to see the young woman conversing with Rolanda earlier that morning, but then Neville's voice came echoing back to haunt her.
"You're probably one of the few people with whom she'd feel comfortable rekindling friendship…"
Curious.
Perhaps Miss Granger did not desire to "fit in" with the students, as it were... but then… the question begged - what did she desire?
Minerva's eyes narrowed as Draco's cryptic words from breakfast floated through her mind.
"I see no logical reason as to why she should have re-enrolled at Hogwarts at all… her intentions may extend beyond what we can fathom…"
Minerva's thoughts began to coalesce into conviction as she continued to watch the young woman reading silently. Whatever delusions she had been holding onto regarding Miss Granger's reappearance began to evaporate and Minerva felt a brief pang of guilt as she was forced to acknowledge how her own sense of denial had clouded the available evidence. She should have seen the problematic outline from the beginning.
But then, it also seemed that her objectivity remained a bit smudged wherever Miss Granger was concerned.
We have far too much unfinished business...
Minerva flushed and pressed the uncomfortable thought away, turning instead to her niggling concern that began to blossom into abject suspicion.
The witch did not belong in the role of a student and from what she had witnessed in the Pensieve, it seemed that the young woman had left a promising career in the Middle East to jump backwards into an old life that no longer suited her.
But then that begged an additional question.
Why hasn't Miss Granger asked for help?
Minerva's eyes narrowed as she traced the witch's features with a careful eye, already resolving to make short work of an investigation. While nothing in the young woman's demeanor suggested that she was upset with her situation, Minerva glowered at the thought that Miss Granger had encountered some sort of obstacle that was preventing her from actualizing her true potential. Such a notion would be… completely unacceptable.
What are you up to, Miss Granger? Who or what is holding you back?