Consequences of Falling
Ch. 3
Muscles and limbs worked of their own accord to collect and store the remnants of a life led into the few suitcases and trunk Hermione had acquired over the years. Autopilot dictated her lax form, she disassociated, with the feeling almost as though peering down from the ether upon herself as books, personal articles, and clothing were carefully managed. It would be a surprise to no one that, despite the obvious need to prove that she was more than capable to undertake any arduous task handed her way, she wasn't entirely leaping at the chance to return to those stone walls. What appealed to her most in this unlikely set of circumstances, grudgingly enough, was the opportunity to once again overcome what had been one of the most altering experiences she had faced since the fall of the dark lord; absolute turmoil of the soul.
Things were different now.
Treading the lawn beneath an unforgiving sun, Hermione could feel the warmth of rays penetrate the fabric of her black waistcoat, permeating through the slate coloured cotton button up beneath - the heat making the woman all too aware of the body she inhabited. In a satchel gripped by hand, her belongings, minimized by simple charms, begged to be placed carefully into the confines of the leather saddlebag hanging off the back rim of her motorcycle. It had been too long since proper attention had been paid to that machine. Too long since she felt the rumble of an engine spring to life beneath her and carry her away. This was not exactly what she had planned, however, once her mind had been settled, there was no going back.
The woman flung wide the doors of her shed and entered in to roll back the canvass covering that protected the bike from the elements, shielding from any dust or drops of rain should they manage to find their way through cracks in the roof. As eyes bore witness to the reveal of the bike, her silent companion, a peculiar softness lightened that, typically, hardened gaze. Unacknowledged, unaware of how deep her appreciation truly ran, the witch allowed her fingertips to trace along the leather seat.
"One more journey, friend." Murmured the woman as she turned her attention to the buckle of the saddlebag and flipped open the flap, lowering her belongings into the pocket with caution. Concealed, items buckled in, she turned her attention to grabbing the handle grips and kicked back the standing leg, pushing and guiding the machine forward onto the grass.
Hermione was never late. That was a matter that had always been important. She hadn't the patience to wait nor did she inflict that upon the unsuspecting. Although, in this case, she had no problem with lowering the kickstand and settling to lean on the motorcycle in her backyard to light a cigarette and ensure the backdoor was locked with a flick of her wand. This was her home. Her space. Even though she knew that time would eventually bring her the opportunity to return, she couldn't be certain when that would be next. A day, a week, a month... She couldn't say. So she took that moment and indulged in it, smoking her cigarette, and sweeping her gaze along the gardens she tended to with passion, because before terribly long she knew the time would come to mount the machine and take her leave.
It was time to go.
.*`HGMM`*.
"Everything is ready for the party, Minerva." Filius beamed as he crossed paths with the elder green eyed witch. Though the pre-emptive measures were highly appreciated, the nerves rattling the Headmistress were overwhelming and abundant.
"Thank you." She responded faintly, with no intention of halting steps until she was settled behind her desk to wait out the next hour or so in solitude before joining the rest of her colleagues in the Great Hall for, what was supposed to be, the end of year celebration. The short man turned on that spot and eyed the woman in passing, pausing, before calling out.
"These are happy times, my friend... Why do you seem less than enthused?" Minerva caught herself in stride, that moment before she knew a snappy retort was mere moments from being tasted on her lips. She did slow, turning halfway to aim sights upon the inquiring fellow, cooling her temper before the mixture of unsettled thought caused her to make some unnecessary scene.
"Everything is as it should be, I'm perfectly pleased with that," She answered shortly and with the customary air of authority befitting a woman of her rank. "I just have a few articles to contend with before the festivities, otherwise all is fine." Her colleague knew when to press and when to relent, the many masks of the woman were defined over time and measurable. She was certain. So it came as no real surprise that when she vaguely, silently, nodded her thanks and turned to continue in the direction of her office that no move was made to interrupt her departure once again.
Maintaining a sense of decorum, Minerva kept her neutral look about features well intact. It wasn't until the soles of her shoes met the last few steps leading to that large, thick door did she growl her frustrations audibly while forcing to shut it behind with enough force to splinter. Regardless of the pairs of curious eyes aimed down from their portraits, she sunk into the chair behind her desk and allowed herself that moment to pull herself together, in whatever form that may have taken. No letter, no note, had been received since the one she had penned and sent to the witch who had readily taken up residence in her mind since then. Hermione had always been there, lingering somewhere beyond the forefront, but now she stood dead centre and Minerva couldn't quite shake the feeling of
She would be falsifying information if she said that she was not wholly bothered by the lack of correspondence. It meant more than just the fact she hadn't the slightest whether she would then be forced to go and scout an alternative. Limbo was not a place she was meant to tread, to remain, because, as anyone would easily surmise, she abhorred not knowing. Defeated, the ebony haired witch laid her palms on the surface of her desk and tilted her head back, eyes closing, as she willed to take in steadying breathes to clear the concern from within the reaches of her mind.
"A bit dramatic, don't you think?" A silky voice floated down from its framed portrait to be met with a sour twist of lips, her head slowly turning to view the pale features of the man addressing her with such a tone. "Even for you..."
"Don't test me, Severus... I'm not in the mood." Minerva cautioned with an edge that would undoubtedly cause most to stop in their tracks, turn, and bolt in the opposite direction. This particular man, however, remained unfazed. His piercing black eyes scanned her from above with scrutiny before lips parted to further antagonize.
"You seem to be under the delusion that Miss. Granger is in some position to pay you a thought, if she returns I can guarantee it'll have far less to do with you and more the work provided here." Though Minerva knew that Severus could be, most likely was, entirely correct in his assumptions, it wasn't the time nor the place to have any sort of discussion ranging those topics. That was what lit a fire in her chest and caused her to nearly leap from her seat to face him.
"How dare you!" The Headmistress thundered, stirring more than a few gasps from those dwelling within other frames while Snape remained quite poised. "You do not have to explain to me my situation here, I'm well aware of it!"
"Then compose yourself and deal with it," He shot back without skipping a beat, his drawl dragging out that one emphasized word in that signature clenched teeth Snape way that only illuminated the vehemence accompanied by voice. "Do your job."
As highly unappreciated as it was to be chastised by the man glaring down upon her, she couldn't deny that he had a point. The day was the breaking point, the undressing of scars, whether the brunette appeared or not. Answering those few questions only came with time and Minerva still had her duty to attend to at present by rallying her peers and settling into the promise of a new term to start in two months time. There was no room for emotional excursions when responsibility mounted upon shoulders. She would grudgingly thank him later. Pleased with the turn about features, a more collected look adorning those of the ebony haired woman, Severus leaned back in his frame and folded his arms, tension seeping from his own.
The point had been made.
The time was quickly approaching when around that circular table the faculty and staff would convene, dine, and toast the end of those months spent moulding the minds of their young pupils. A gift of good conversation and stories to be told, a bonding experience - for though not all members of staff saw eye to eye, they maintained, however, a diplomatic semblance of respect and understanding.
That was the point of it all, really. Beyond celebration, it was a meeting of minds. One much needed hurrah at the end of the finish line.
.*`HGMM`*.
Tires touched down upon grass and the brunette found herself gritting her teeth. It had been some time since she'd last descended from flight and it showed. It wasn't so nasty a meeting between earth and rubber that would cause harm to the vehicle, although it was still far from smooth in comparison to the grace she'd managed to adopt in years since passed. The loud growl of the engine surged as acceleration piqued, and the woman found herself rolling at a decent clip across school grounds towards one small building in the distance: Hagrid's hut. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach at the sight of that familiar cottage, the garden just visible alongside, and the smoke billowing from the chimney. If she were capable of justifying it, guilt would have welled. She hadn't seen the kind eyed and bearded man in what had to have been four or five years, the only communication being that of sparse letters sent.
The commotion of the motorcycle must have caused him some alarm, since the door flung wide and the massive man stepped out when she slowed to approach. A shocked surprise lit up his rosy face, at least from what she could see, as she drew near enough to park her bike and turn the ignition, kicking out the stand with the heel of her boot.
" 'Ermione! Look at ye!" He bellowed in greeting as she lifted off the leather seat and rounded its back wheel to approach the man.
"Hagrid, it's good to see you, old friend." The woman mustered up what was aimed to be a genuine smile for the man, grasping for some warmth, yet, she knew it was tight and minutely forced. The man didn't seem to care. He lumbered forward with open arms and she tried mightily not to express through the language of her body how little she wanted the touch. Instead, she allowed it and returned it, as a friend would do, before the man pushed lightly against her shoulders to hold her at arms length, taking in the sight.
"Yer grown up," Hagrid exclaimed as he combed over the look of the woman, from the long curling locks to the two faint scarred lines creeping down her face. "Yer lookin' good, 'Ermione." The bearded man continued on with a smile though Hermione knew that this was a half truth. She could tell by the way the man had looked down and truly witnessed her that he was shocked by the severity of her features. The baby fat no longer plumped her cheeks, though she was still a bit curvy, she was now slender, a bit taller, and muscles filled out beneath skin. He could feel beneath his palms rounded shoulders, strength, much unlike those he had squeezed before. Despite knowing that he was being kind, she didn't make any attempt to argue for sincerity, she just tried her best to upkeep the smile, force a lightness, and move on.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Hermione gave his wrists a squeeze in tandem, a vaguely affectionate gesture, and then she was released. "I've been invited here to teach, I'm not sure if you're aware, although I do believe we're late for dinner." Like a lightbulb going off above his head, Hagrid realized the time and began to usher his small friend toward the castle, animated in his panic and joy, a strange concoction of verbal blubbering, that the woman found herself unable to distract herself from. She had missed him. She'd missed the way the half giant, gentle as could be, always made her feel somewhat at home.
.*`HGMM`*.
Chattering and laughter filled that small area. Staff members lit with debate and conversation discussed topics ranging from their year to current projects, academic journals, and activities. It was exactly as it should be, Minerva thought. To one side Slughorn was attempting to capture Filch in a 'riveting' talk about cleanliness potions whilst on the other Madame Pomphrey and Sprout were rather engaged in the most improved hybrid ingredients for healing salves and ointments; it was perfect. Exactly what any one would have hoped for. Minerva took it in and found herself smiling as she witnessed the goings on, that was until she, and a few others, noticed a pair of figures strolling beneath the archway and into the Great Hall.
Hagrid accompanied by another figure, slim and dressed impeccably, eventually caught the attention of those standing about, their gazes finding the newest face and then turning to quietly murmur among themselves.
There she was... Nearly a decade later. The passing years had clearly taken some effect. For all the preparation the green eyed woman had made, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the younger witch - the way she strode with such conviction, the thinner, more angular features she adorned, the, nearly, feral gleam in those chocolate brown eyes. All softness was eclipsed by growth and maturity. Minerva could hardly recognize...
.-*HGMM*-.
The soles of her black leather boots sounded heavily over stone in addition to the louder, far more imposing, thumps of Hagrid. Fallen silent, the pair ventured into the dining hall and, much to Hermione's surprise, her presence alongside the large man seemed to cause a bit of a stir. Unintentionally, her gaze narrowed and her lips formed a slightly crooked line, still attempting at a smile, although this presented only as a slightly twisted half-smile, in truth. Her defense rose and bound her to to a certain presence. She was not to be toiled. Eyes locked upon her own and she could nearly feel the heavy thump of a heartbeat as the distance closed between the pair and the table.
"Good, Merlin! The amazing Granger has returned!" A voice filtered in through her ear, causing her gaze to snap toward the one addressing her as such. Rolanda was the first to venture forth and, again to her surprise, was smiling and outstretching a hand for Hermione to take. The grey haired woman seemed to adorn that cheeky way about her and Hermione allowed herself to accomidate it.
"Seems to be." Hermione returned pointedly as she reached to take the hand to shake and greet, an act that set off the others to respond in kind.
She made her rounds, pausing to exchange pleasantries, although it was draining and not what she had become accustomed to. All the while she felt eyes burning into the side of her face, those belonging to one woman in particular, who she was dead set not to avoid or dismiss. With only one person left to address, her head of house and once close friend, the witch turned her sights upon the ebony haired woman and strolled towards, her angular features well trained.
"Professor." Hermione stifled the urge to inject venom into her tone. A flash of something unreadable played behind emerald eyes and the older witch extended her hand.
"Professor..." The headmistress greeted in turn, evenly, although her expression wasn't forthcoming, nor was her tone. Hermione didn't hesitate to take that hand and squeeze, firm, before withdrawing from the touch and shifting to take her place among the others. The strange interaction was entirely devoid of warmth or familiarity, not that anyone besides Hooch noticed. Inwardly, the golden eyed woman hummed, turning to intercept Hermione before she passed.
"This seat isn't taken." She stated with a gesture, an invitation that caught the younger woman slightly off guard before she caught herself. Eyeing the woman with just an ounce of curiosity, muddled with scrutiny, Hermione stepped toward the intended chair.
"Then I should take it, I wager." Drawled Hermione with a slight lift of the brow. Interesting...
"That'd be wise."
Pursing her lips, thwarting some furthering of sarcasm, Hermione stepped in line and heard the clinking of cutlery against crystal. Voices petered off and eyes travelled to bare witness to the Headmistress who aimed to catch attention to those in attendance.
"To our seats, I hope we all enjoy our dinner and pay our thanks to those who have prepared it."
And so it begun; the meal, the knowing, and the facade. Hermione, though some years older, found herself tucking in and focusing her attention elsewhere, anywhere, than the woman, much to the surprise to anyone who was aware that she had once been the golden child, the protège... Attention wasn't paid to the Headmistress and none but Rolanda and Poppy paid mind to her through out dinner, as both sat on either side.
Still, the pair sensed one and other, hyper aware of the others presence, but now was not the time nor the place.
They simply carried on as they would have, as they should have, nothing more.
TBC...