Consequences of Falling

Ch. 4

"Can't you just drop it, I have it under control" Hermione fumed as she placed her empty glass down on the counter with a bit more force than was necessary. Gaze bore into gaze, Harry's as unrelenting as her own, but he pressed as he often did, especially now that he could do nothing but appraise the newly acquired blemish the woman was sporting.

"You're being reckless, Hermione... You should have made an inquiry for back up before just waltzing through the front door and firing off spells. You could have been killed." Solemnly, he spoke with a seriousness that wasn't often utilized in her presence. Turning in his chair, Harry faced her, square on to where she stood leaning against her kitchen counter. He watched her scoff and shake her head, hand reaching for the neck of the bottle of whiskey. "Had enough, don't you think?" She tossed him a piercing glance, the sort as though to say 'I'll know when I've had enough, thanks'.

"If, by chance, I had called for assistance, it might have been a day or so before someone would have been made aware and sent," She told him plainly, pointedly, as she poured herself a decent serving of liquor and replaced the half drunk bottle back down, taking up her glass then instead. "The three would have moved on, easily could have, in that space of time and I wasn't going to take that chance. Two families had already been terrorized, I wasn't about to allow a third."

Tracking and taking down, the name of the game was simple; there were still those in that three years time that didn't adhere to the new Ministry, who weren't in the good graces of proper wizarding society, and who did still maintain their close ties to the blood purist regime of Tom Riddle and his followers. They were dangerous. Convinced of a third coming of their Dark Lord, they would easily concoct any reason, do anything, to ensure a future everyone else knew wasn't any longer a possibility. At first chance, Hermione agreed and aligned herself with the task force to locate, detain, and lock up those wrong doers before an uprising could be mounted on the Ministry of Magic. It almost felt like her calling. All the while, tending to research in regards to those new forms of deadly spells, curses, charms, and hexes those men and women had managed to create to further their cause. Usually by way of torture to gain followers by use of fear and threat. She broke them, learned them, testing many on herself to find a way to alter and counter them. Being brilliant had its moments.

"I know your intentions were noble," Harry finally stated after a moment, rising from his preferred seat at her kitchen table to tread closer and take up the space at his friend and colleagues side. She found herself almost uncomfortable by the nearness, its properties of comfort and reassurance nothing short of unusual in recent days. "But you have to understand... I know the whole story here, more than most, and I can't help but feel that you're trying to get yourself into a position that will, undoubtedly, get you killed. Does she really deserve that?"

Hermione felt herself grow cold. Unknown by her was the frequency of owls sent between her once most beloved professor and the man standing beside her. She couldn't have known that any discussion had been formed surrounding the most curious circumstances that forced her to leave Hogwarts the day before graduation. All she knew was, at that moment, he was entering into territory that neither she or him had any business in venturing into at that time. She would have rather flung herself into a building crawling with undesirables and let them tear her to shreds, far worse than what had already been inflicted upon her face.

"I'm going to say this once, only once, and you had better take it to heart, Harry Potter," Her tone was steely and the gaze she pinned him with was just the same, she read his features and knew he was waiting, listening, and present. "I value my life and my work, both having the structure to make me want to continue, this?" Pausing shortly to vaguely gesture with the hand holding the drink to the side of her face, where two deep and reddened lines cut through brow, eyelid, to jaw in a most sinister of markings. "This was an accident. And I've learned from it, it won't happen again."

"I hope not." He sighed, reaching for her drink and taking it from her, an act that almost elicited a deep growl of displeasure, had she not then witnessed him taking a decent pull of the swirling amber liquid before returning it to her grasp. His face twisted briefly. "I don't know how you drink that as often as you do." Muttered the fellow as he reached to give her arm a squeeze.

"Practice makes perfect." Grumbled the witch whilst peering down into the half emptied contents of her glass, the corners of her lips somewhat twisted in a miserable little smile. 'Right' she heard the man mumble quietly as he ventured to grab his coat off the back of the chair he'd been sitting in and his wand off the table.

"Alright, oh... One more thing," He half turned toward her on his way out the back door, catching her eye with a more official looking glance. "Might I remind you that we're supposed to be detaining these people... Kingsley wanted me to pass on the message that next time, can you at least try to keep one alive?" His brows raised and Hermione couldn't help but to give an airy little chuckle, a rarity in itself those days. If the circumstances were different, it surely would have been music to his ears.

"I'll try my best, can't make any promises."

"Just try."

And, with that, her friend was gone. Probably to go home to his wife to spend the rest of the night in the throes of marital bliss before an early morning, and leaving Hermione to stand there, nursing her drink, one of many, before the liquor finally knocked her into a deepened slumber curled up on the couch in her living room, just to wake and begin again - routine was key.

.-*HGMM*-.

This was a far cry from what Hermione had become accustomed to. People, many people... Too many. She had to exercise control and school her expression into something less than positively miserable while listening and communicating between two witches who, for reasons beyond her grasp, were quite content to laugh and tease; banter. She could feel each pass of Minerva's gaze from across that large, circular table and this, much to her pleasure, fuelled the fire in the pit of her stomach more to appear aloof, somewhat amiable, though the tight smile she wore did elude to an ounce of discomfort. No one called up for explanation.

"So, Miss. Gran..."

"Hermione, please. I haven't been called Miss. Granger in nearly a decade." Poppy seemed quite fine with this and eyed her with some understanding and the warmth of a smile, though Hermione's attention was somewhat split between the gesture and taking a drink of her coffee.

"Hermione," The Medi-Witch began once again, adopting the preferred with a kinder tone. "Might I ask, the last time I saw you... And, please forgive me if I'm overstepping, but the scar you've adopted..." The brunettes attention was piqued. The line of questioning was unexpected, not wholly unwanted l or fought against inwardly, but a surprise, nonetheless. And since she made no obvious move to deflect the questioning, the elder witch continued on as Rolonda somewhat turned in her seat to properly dial in, her own curiosity garnering interest. "As Pomona and myself were discussing earlier, there are so many more options nowadays to completely erase scar tissue, almost like they've never happened to begin with, have you thought of it? Is it of interest?"

Rolanda's gaze bounced from her friend to the young woman between, a brow arched. The brunette seemed to pause, placing her drink down upon the surface it once inhabited. As it was, Hermione rarely considered it. She hardly noticed, nowadays, especially not when she rarely checked the mirror and had no one to comment. But if she really searched within herself, she did have to say... She had grown rather fond of her scars and her blemishes. They offered character. Yes, they added a certain stern quality, which was never an argued issue, but... This was earned. She earned her marks, they were a map to self discovery written plainly upon her skin, not to be forgotten.

"This may come as some surprise, Poppy," Eventually, the younger witch answered, a certain brand of smoothness adorning her tone. "But, no... Not that I'm certain many would consider it for a multitude of reasons, some beyond pure aesthetics, but I've become rather attached to it."

"Besides, it may add a certain element of terror in the students," The flying instructor stated cheekily, her golden eyes alight with some amusement. "Frighten the children into paying attention." Poppy eyed her friend with a look most chastising, garnering a quiet snicker from the grey haired woman. Hermione couldn't help but to permit a true smirk to curl the corner of her mouth, the truest in a great period of time, and in addition she did laugh, the sound rich and clear, a surprise to herself, still, she let it settle within.

Across the way, listening intently, Minerva tore her interests between Filius and the conversation her new professor was embarking. She was intrigued. The difference between what she had come to know and who was seated those chairs down was staggering, to say the least. Beyond the physical presence, there was a new air about the brunette witch that was alarming and unforeseen. No one seemed to notice how the women were avoidant of one and other, most likely assuming professionalism, however, she did make the assumption that Rolonda was all to privy too it. Being that the woman did have knowledge, the majority, as reference. How could she possibly forget...

Eight years prior...

"Don't follow me."

Minerva stood, rigid, watching her lover exit with such an impossibly loud slamming of the door. She couldn't manage to lift her feet from the spot, rooted there, as though the woman had immobilized with a flick of her wand before making that hasty retreat. Her mind was consumed by what personal truths Hermione had gifted her with those moments before, her rage and anguish displayed throughout the reveal of what her honest feelings had been. Minerva never knew how deep those waters ran, never delved within, just made her up her own mind on the matter without ever considering that, perhaps... She may have been wrong. This had not been the anticipated course of conversation.

Five minutes... Six minutes.

With the passing of seconds Minerva felt the anxiety begin to shake her very foundations. What had she done? Legs sprung to life and the woman flew into her bedroom, tearing off her robe and nightgown with frantic hands before pulling pressed clothes from hangers in her wardrobe, dressing quickly. She couldn't allow Hermione to leave knowing the younger woman had drawn conclusions that were far from the most sincere truths of the matter; Hermione had not been, never would be, her whore. The thought that the young woman believed that to be the case was sickening and ache inducing. Minerva's heart hardly allowed for that sort of trivial feeling or desire, not when she knew, at least on her part, that her affection toward the brilliant woman was as earnest as what was returned. She simply had no reason to hope beyond hope and believe in that form of reciprocating; Minerva did love the woman. And, as she had discovered, this was returned.

Now that all the pieces of the puzzle were fitted and the bigger picture had been seen, amends had to be made. Reparations for the damage cause by blindness or unwillingness to conclude that maybe, just maybe, there had been a future where one seemed impossible before. She acted on instinct and heart, her head utterly lost in the mix, for if she were thinking clearly she may have just let it lie.

Agile fingers gripped the door handle and wrenched it open, her feet willing her to run. This would not come to pass as to whose arms would she find her form thwarted by? Rolanda Hooch.

Passing the corridor on her own way down to the Great Hall for a cup of coffee with Poppy, the golden eyed woman found herself utterly transfixed on the sight of a certain curly headed witch retreating and running from that door, a hand covering her mouth the stifle the sobs threatening to grow more audible. Shocked by this discovery, the woman lingered there, uncertain. Something didn't sit quite right with this. She waited a few minutes before her step diverted and she drew down the hall, fully readied to knock on Minerva's door, however, raised hand was met by the pulling open and her friend, unsuspecting, flying into the front of the instructor on the other side. The flash of emotion witnessed was enough for Hooch to deduce the cause, and the grey haired woman forced Minerva backward into her private quarters, quickly forcing the door closed from behind.

"What in Merlin's name, Minerva..." She hissed, concerned. Shock wrote itself upon the features opposite her own before snapping back to those prior fitted illuminations of pained worry.

"Out of my way!" The Scottish witch made to force her way passed but Hooch, who was more than a little strong due to training and a good exercise regime, caught her once again. "MOVE!" The woman cried furiously as the strength of arms circled her, holding her, weren't willing to allow.

"Minerva, think of what you are doing..." Now there was no denying what it was she witnessed. To say she was entirely surprised would have been a great deceit. The women had a way about them, a closeness and a bond, she was sure not many, if any, had noticed but she knew this woman. Time had granted her this knowledge. It was beyond the norm of a typical doting teacher and teacher's pet... She was certain.

The woman felt her friend shake in her hold, fingers winding into the fabric of the back of her robes, and heard the telling sound of a staggered inhale before the sob rose in the back of her throat. The legs gave and Rolanda lowered them to the floor, unable to carry the weight alone, as the ebony haired woman's cries muffled against her shoulder.

"I've made a terrible mistake..." The woman wept, the tightness of her throat forcing words to be ripped with wavering volume. Rolanda hushed her friend, rocking the figure, and maintained her hold without second thought.

"More harm than good will come if you go to her now... You know that." She'd seen it. Hermione wasn't to be reached. The young woman wasn't the sort to lose composure but she was absolutely lost within whatever pain she'd succumbed to. To try and reason with that pain, it would have ended horribly. Minerva, to a degree, also knew this which made her immediate feeling all the more difficult.

"I do... I do love her."

The young woman that had vacated those rooms that day was no longer the young woman Minerva saw seated there. The posture was stiff, guarded despite the way she seemed to aim for a more amiable presentation. Melodic notes that once laced her voice fell harshly flat, tone deepened, and, though smooth in richness, the enthusiasm was all but a memory. Her hair was longer, curls looser, and framed a slim face that bore little signs of youthful joy. She wasn't what was expected, far from, and Minerva couldn't help but feel as though she was much to blame for the stark contrast to what her memory could draw.

.-*HGMM*-.

As the evening drew onward, some taking their leave as night darkened the sky beyond large windows, Hermione allowed herself to loosen the reigns fractionally and partake in a few stronger drinks with Rolanda, Poppy, Filius, Hagrid, Pomona, and, finally, her Headmistress. They were who remained as the hours drew on. As continuing to ignore Minerva would have certainly been obvious and questionable, Hermione made the move to adjust the size of the table, as it had been cleared of dirtied plates some time ago. A round of praise for the splendid idea rose as hands reached to pick up glasses and opened bottles while the young woman withdrew her wand, Filius assisting to vanish extra seating, as she managed to swiftly minimize the wood for a proper continuation of company.

"Are you planning on staying through the summer months in preparation for the year, Hermione?" The short charms professor queried as the group took to their preferred seats to carry on as was. She was sure that this information was not only of interest to the man but also the woman seated across, who had aimed gaze upon her in waiting.

"If it's possible," She had every intention of familiarizing herself once again with the castle, regain some consistency, while working through her curriculum to devise a plan that suited herself. "Minerva, is that agreeable?"

Though she recovered quite quickly from the mild surprise of being addressed, Hermione could detect a somewhat indiscernible air.

"I have no doubt that it is agreeable, Professor." Minerva responded in kind, meeting the gaze Hermione had placed upon her. A brief nod of the head was what she was gifted with.

"Marvelous! At least, Pomona will have someone new with whom to gossip." Rolanda was met with a heavy slap to her arm in immediate complaint.

"Such a pleasure, I'm sure." Spoken with a dry sarcasm not unnoticed by her peers, Hermione passed Pomona an amused glance as way of a mild harmless tease, much to the pleasure of the flying instructor and pleasant surprise of some of her company. It didn't go unnoticed by Hagrid and the Headmistress, however, that it had not been until their younger company had imbibed in a few glasses of whiskey was she compelled to loosen her tongue and posture.

It came as some revelation that the young witch drank freely and with ease. She took no issue with refilling her glass when emptied, much like Hooch in that regard, which did strike Minerva as a mild concern. She hadn't known the woman to drink, to grow intoxicated, or to act in any other form than well-controlled. But, as it would appear, the years had inflicted a less staunch view of the activity, and this was a new discovery that Minerva wasn't entirely positive she enjoyed knowing.

Carrying on still for some time, Hermione did find some rhythm and ease. Questions posed some threat, still, she answered all inquiries with an air of nonchalance. It amazed her in some regard to note that the amount of interest her company had warranted. She had always been on good terms with her professors, most regarding her with the utmost respect, however, their approach to their, now adult, star pupil really did fill the woman with some pride. It was an acceptance. It gifted her with the idea that she was truly among friends... Although quite the foreign feeling, it did aid in some way.

"Well, I can' thank ye enough for the evenin' Professor but..." Hagrid couldn't seem to contain the yawn forcing a pause as he lifted his hand to stifle it. "It's 'bout time I head back. I do thank ye." It seemed that they all were in that frame of mind, as that one small gesture, a yawn, evoked a few from others in sympathetic response.

"I, second that." Pomona announced as she began to lift from her chair, a blissful look passing over rose laced features.

"Spoil sports." Hooch huffed before eyeing Hermione over the rim of her glass, watching the young woman drain her own of its contents. A glance was passed between them, almost like a question, one that took Hermione by surprise. She may have been more than a little bit tipsy at that point, she had yet to stand up and investigate the feeling, however...

"I shall show our newest member to her personal quarters then, if she's prepared." Minerva's voice rang in her ear as the scraping of chairs and murmurings of thanks and good night's were passed about...

Hermione's gaze bounced to peer at the woman. Without so much as a second thought, the chill returning to settle beneath skin at the thought of being forced to spend any amount of time alone with the woman, Hermione parted her lips in response.

"I think that's quite fine, I'm sure you have more pressing matters to attend to," Her voice maintained an even note, halting Minerva mid rise to appraise the brunette who turned to the woman at her side. "For some reason I feel the night is still young for some of us, hmm?"

"My, my... What a scandal, are you suggesting a private party, Professor?" If looks could kill. Rolanda couldn't help herself. There was a slight laughter to her phrase that could easily have been misconstrued as flirtation, Minerva knew it well. It was the sort of inflection that only became superbly obvious when the woman had been drink. Much to her astonishment and dismay, however, Hermione lifted her chin minutely, gaze narrowing in a similar fashion to what was witnessed in those golden eyes.

"Lead on and we shall find out, Madame." Replied Hermione in an unusually darkened tone, betraying notes of play that pleased the grey haired woman immeasurably. Hermione had nearly forgotten what it was like to have a spot of fun, Rolanda seemed to fit the bill for it, and with lowered inhibitions, the brunette could allow it. Plus, it was a decent excuse to put some distance between her and the Scottish woman. There could be no telling what would have been said, or how, in her state.

"I'll take care of the new recruit." Chuckled Hooch as she and Hermione rose to stand, leaving Minerva to fume silently at such antics as she watched the younger witch stagger off with the flying instructor, both bumping along in their inebriation.

Hardly what she had hoped for... But what could be done? Turning on heel the woman stormed toward the back of the hall, following after a swaying Filius, certain that words would be had with Rolonda later for such a scene.

TBC...