Hello hello lovelies!
I updated yesterday in case you missed it! And for those of you that have already read that chapter, I am really glad you liked it despite how sad it is. Part II can be quite sad at times, and I am sorry about that x
I had a lot of fun picking out all the quotes for the part II chapters, which I think match well with each character, or the general idea of their chapter.
Oh, I recommend Strangest Dreams by Rachel Bochner while you read this. Mainly because I like it, but it somewhat fits in with the chapter's mood?
Please leave a review and let me know what you think x
My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
"What matters most is how well you walk through the fire."
- Charles Bukowski
A whiff of chamomile and vanilla swirled into her nostrils. The witch froze in her tracks, her hand raised to knock on the white front door. It wasn't an entirely uncommon scent, but something about it is purely unique, and a trickle of familiarity slithered down her spine.
The familiarity scratched and clawed at her cranium, as if trying to remind her of something long forgotten. Minerva lowered her hand, and turned around. She tilted her head backwards, and gazed up at the bright blue sky.
A gentle caress of breeze blew against her, and the fragrant scents of nearby flower bushes reached her. She inhaled deeply, indulging in all the scents, but the chamomile and vanilla was stronger. It was coming from behind her, slipping past the cracks along the door's seams.
Frowning severely, Minerva McGonagall faced the door to the Granger's residence once more and knocked thrice.
I've never been to this neighbourhood before, I must be imagining things, Minerva thought, shaking her head.
Minerva heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and she heard the click in the locking mechanism as it moved. The door creaked open, and a petite girl cautiously peered outside.
"Hermione? Who is it?" A woman's voice called from somewhere in the house.
"A strangely dressed lady!" The girl yelled in response. The door inched open further, and soon most of the girl was visible. A wary look swarmed in her brown eyes that held the colours of Fall. Honeyed-brown curls exploded from her scalp like an untamable beast. She was wearing a light grey, long-sleeved shirt and a navy blue, pleated skirt that had been ironed so the pleats were crisp and there wasn't a wrinkle in sight. Matching blue socks came halfway up her shins.
"Hermione Granger?" Minerva asked, her exterior the essence of calm and collected. Inside, her mind was racing and her heart thumped erratically. The familiarity, that feeling was back tenfold; an incessant itch that refused to cease.
"Who is asking?" The girl inquired, her chin jutting into the air in a defiant manner, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She raised a brow at Minerva expectantly.
"Your parents are home, I take it?"
"Who are you?"
"Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School for…gifted youth in Scotland," Minerva smiled gently.
"Hogwarts?"
"May I come in, dear? There is much to be discussed with both you and your parents, and we haven't the time to tarry and waste."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, but nodded jerkily. "Mum! The lady would like to come in for a spot of tea!" Hermione pushed open the door, and instructed McGonagall to wait in the Foyer until her parents arrived. She stared at Minerva's pointed hat as they waited. They were on opposite sides of the room, facing one another.
And that was the first time Minerva McGonagall met Hermione Granger.
Ever since her first encounter with Miss Granger, a sense of undeniable familiarity poked at her mind whenever she was in close proximity with the young witch. She could never put her finger on it. It wasn't only the lass's appearance, but the girl's magical signature filled her with nostalgia. It never went away, and it irritated her endlessly, but eventually she got used to it and could ignore it for the most part.
With Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts in the same year, she had plenty to occupy herself with, not to mention the trial Albus requested she put in place to protect the Philosopher's stone. Minerva worried as she watched the boy—he was too skinny for his frame, and sadness lingered in his eyes. She feared what living with those horrid Muggles from the time he was an infant had done to him.
Harry was James and Lily's son: she saw it in the way he laughed at meals, the way he smiled reminded her of Lily, and some of his gestures were so like James's that she was transported to decades in the past for brief moments. The Marauders were an enormous pain in her arse, but they were good boys, or at least she thought they were. Something never felt right about Sirius's betrayal, but all the evidence she was aware of pointed at his guilt; even though her heart was staunchly against it.
Thus, Minerva worried about Harry in his parents' stead. She swore she would do everything in her power to protect him as best as she could.
A cold January morning, Minerva wrote to Remus Lupin for the first time in years. She told him about Harry, about his friends, about his classes, and about him becoming the youngest Seeker in a century. She continued sending him letters despite receiving no replies until the middle of March, when a short letter arrived at the High Table during Breakfast.
Thank you, Minerva. If you don't mind, could you please keep sending me updates on how he is doing? Please. All the best - R.
Minerva deeply regretted not getting in touch sooner, but she hoped that this helped to make up for it. Remus Lupin had everything ripped from him, and she wanted to give him something back.
Another oddity in her life that year was Draco Malfoy; another enigma. The same feeling of familiarity that she got around Miss Granger, persisted whenever she was in the boy's presence. It was inexplicable.
Hermione Granger, a talented and extremely bright young Muggleborn. Draco Malfoy, a spoiled Pureblood, who was intelligent and cunning, but his indulgent upbringing had only been detrimental to him. They came from vastly different backgrounds, with no visible ties and apparent disdain for each other, yet, she couldn't help but think that they are indisputably connected.
Why in Merlin's name do I keep coming to the same conclusion? Minerva wondered to herself on several occasions.
Another peculiarity was the notion that she had a yearly appointment on December first. She could never recall making anything of the sort, but she would clear her calendar and keep that evening free for herself. She took her supper in her chambers on those evenings. Part of her always expected someone to stroll through her door, but she couldn't remember who they were.
The feeling never truly subsided. Over the years, it undulated between getting stronger and fading until it was almost negligible. As they grew older, it became evident that Hermione and Draco despised one another—for a plethora of reasons—and it was clear that the pair were enemies.
They competed in academics, but Miss Granger always came out on top; a fact that angered Draco Malfoy greatly. More than once, she had caught them trading insults and on the brink of a duel; magic sparking at their fingertips.
During their Fourth Year, when she stumbled across 'Alastor Moody' levitating a white ferret in the air, she couldn't help but think she knew this was going to happen.
Ferret, a cheery voice whispered in her mind, but she shook her head and marched forth. 'Alastor' was gleefully bouncing the ferret up and down in the air, and it protested loudly.
The feeling was stronger than it's ever been in that moment—scratching furiously at her cerebellum—however, it fled just as quickly as it had come.
In subsequent years, she dutifully ignored the feeling, and its strength faded until it was like a distant memory. She no longer attempted to discern its meaning. Especially after Albus was murdered. After Draco Malfoy let a horde of Death Eaters into the school where they wreaked havoc.
The lines had been drawn. She liked to believe Draco hadn't had a choice, but whatever his reasons were, he was not on their side. Hermione Granger was fighting against the Dark Lord and his followers, whereas Draco was fighting alongside them.
Minerva had a theory that the boy was reluctantly going along with it due to his family's unfortunate alignment with You-Know-Who in the past, but she had no proof of such. Aside from a peculiar comment Albus had made a few days before his death. It was the root of her theory.
"The poor boy is trapped because of his familial obligation and tragic circumstance. I understand now…"
Draco Malfoy may be arrogant and unkind, but her heart still went out to the boy. She regretted not reaching out to him more during the past six years. She wondered if it would have made a difference.
In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts—as the event was being dubbed by the wizarding populace—almost seven years after the original itching feeling began, it flooded back full force. Minerva saw something that made her think that maybe she hadn't been so crazy after all. Hermione and Draco exchanged a look of understanding. A curt nod, and that was all that was needed to cement in Minerva's mind that perhaps there was hope for the future.
Then, they returned for their eighth year, and it was as if nothing had changed: insulting each other in hallways with nasty, scathing words, attempting to outdo the other academically, and glaring at one another across rooms.
Harry and Ron certainly didn't help on the Malfoy front despite their newly forged relationships with other Slytherins. Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass began courting at the beginning of November, and it was a surprise and shock to the whole school. A common thread churned out of the rumour mill was the pair bumped into each other down by the Black Lake one afternoon, and they'd struck up an unlikely conversation. Thereon, some of Daphne's housemates and friends crept into a cordial concord with the lions in their year.
The first prominent instance of public civility that bordered on friendship Minerva bore witness to, was when Blaise Zabini strolled into the Great Hall one morning, heading directly to the Gryffindor table and sat in between Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Theodore Nott joined them at a point, sitting beside Ginny Weasley.
By the end of November, it wasn't strange to see light intermingling amongst the houses, and Minerva marvelled at the outcome. The majority of the younger students looked up to Harry Potter and his friends, and they were keen to follow his example. If he could befriend Slytherins, then so could they. It didn't erase the centuries old divide overnight, but it was a step in the right direction, and once more hope bloomed in her chest at the sight.
Unfortunately, that civility did not extend to Draco Malfoy. Outside of Slytherin House, and even inside it to some extent, the boy was ostracised by his peers. Only his close companions were seen in his presence. The Malfoy name was tainted and entangled by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's, and thus their social standing in the Wizarding World had plummeted drastically.
The Golden Trio's dislike of Draco didn't do the boy any favours. Minerva recognised the signs of him lashing out at his classmates, and retreated into himself. He purposefully riled up the Gryffindors as if he thought he deserved their rage and disdain; especially Hermione Granger.
Minerva was trying to figure out a solution to the issue, but she was overwhelmed with simultaneous teaching and Headmistress duties. Rebuilding the school over the summer was stressful, and there were still damaged areas of the Castle that needed tending to. She'd barely managed to find a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher before school resumed; it was a nightmare but she'd managed to find a somewhat competent Ministry bloke to take the position.
Minerva had tried to get Remus to take the job, but he immediately turned her down. He wanted to focus on his family and spend more time with them, however, he mentioned that he may be inclined to take on the position the following school year.
Hagrid was a delightful man, and even though his heart was in the right place, sometimes his lessons plans were a cause of tremendous concern. Which is why she'd hired Charlie Weasley to share the workload, and to dissuade Hagrid of any lessons that were too outlandish or perilous to her students. Most of the time that was the case, but sometimes Charlie Weasley's wild streak blatantly made an appearance, and chaos ensued.
(Hagrid taught the younger years, and the lessons were in-depth and well-planned; Hagrid's kind nature was exactly what the children needed. Ron Weasley and his brother helped the man out and kept him on the right path. Charlie taught the OWL and NEWT level students, and he'd had glowing reviews thus far.)
Minerva was surprised when Charlie came to her and asked if she had anything available—unfortunately she'd already hired the DADA professor—and he was overjoyed when he realised he would be helping Hagrid out. He retired from his job in Romania, saying he needed a change of pace for a while.
Minerva forgot about the Head Girl and Head Boy position until the week before school started. Neville's leadership abilities and his actions the previous year made him an ideal candidate; the younger years adored and admired him. Hermione Granger was the natural choice for Head Girl.
There was tentative balance within Hogwarts walls. There was less hexing in the halls than she'd expected amongst the houses because of bad blood that'd festered during the war. The example the older years were setting was a saving grace. Not all of them got along, or liked each other. Some of them loathed one another's guts, but most of them had chosen to move forward and not linger in the past. They hadn't forgotten, but they'd forgiven.
The wounds from the war were open, and their presence hung over the student's heads, but day-by-day, those wounds were slowly scabbing over and healing.
The incessant itch returned full force as she was readying herself for bed on December first, Nineteen Ninety-Eight. Shakily, she made her way over to her bed. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto it. She clutched at her pale nightgown, her satin outer robes slipped off of her shoulders, and her long braid was trapped beneath her.
Minerva wrestled with her sheets, gasping. They poured back into her mind; a dam burst in her mind. Flashes, blurs of colour, various emotions filled her mind. She was so overwhelmed with all the feelings and images that she was experiencing that her vision went black, and she slipped from consciousness.
Someone was yelling her name. Minerva groggily returned to consciousness, and groaned, holding her head as she sat upright. A dull ache was behind her ears and it was as if needles were stabbing through her temples.
I have to explain what's going to happen to them, Minerva thought. She needed to find Hermione and Draco, she needed to warn them. Yet, as her feet touched the cool ground, she realised her name was still being called. More accurately, he was shouting the irritating nickname that a select few students used to call her.
What in Circe's name does Sirius Black want? Minerva thought testily.
"MINNNIE!" Sirius bellowed. Minerva glanced to her right and saw her wall clock faintly in the moonlight. It's almost three thirty in the—oh will that boy stop hollering?! He's going to wake the whole castle!
"MINNNIIIEEE!" Sirius yelled again.
I need to put a stop to this, Minerva thought haggardly, massaging her temples as she rose.
Minerva hastily discovered she was too late. She'd regained her memories, but she wasn't able to warn Hermione and Draco before they left for the past. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were lost to them. And time would only tell if they returned safely.