Consequences of Falling

Ch. 9

Refreshed as she had ever felt in these weeks that had passed, as refreshed as she could have hoped to feel, Hermione returned to the castle with the towel she'd brought with her in hand. A thin layer of perspiration shimmered upon any bare skin revealed and she lightly dabbed at the moisture from her neck and chest. The weather had been fine and the breeze warm, the soft earth beneath her feet a welcome change from that of cold, grey stone, and for the moment she was sated. She was calmed.

"My, my Miss. Gra... Hermione," Poppy greeted aloud, calling almost, as she exited the great all arm in arm with Pomona. Hermione turned back to cast a glance at the women and found herself fixed there, two pairs of eyes appraising her less than formal dress. "I hope you found your run most enjoyable."

"We were heading up to the lounge for a brandy, you should join us! Tell us all about your travels these past years! We haven't yet gotten the chance..." The shorter, squat woman announced, her round face positively pink. Dinner must have served the woman well. A tight smile adorned Hermione's lips and she draped her small grey towel about her shoulders and round the back of her neck.

"I'll go change into something more appropriate and meet you..." The young professor began as the two women neared. There was no chance of escape.

"Oh, pish! You look lovely, and besides... No one will pay you any mind in your running gear. If I had a sickle for every time we've seen Rolonda in her bra... I'd be a very rich woman." Pomona's arm slipped in to fit around Hermione's thinner, more toned one and all but began dragging her toward the staff room, much to the well masked disdain of her younger colleague. Was there ever to be any chance at peace? Perhaps, she should have stayed on the pitch. Then maybe she wouldn't have to deal with the chummy giggles of her two elder staff members.

Covering her skin was not a personal preference in public, really. It was not due to her own discomfort that she chose to layer and to keep concealed those marks upon her flesh. What people seemed not to understand was the simple fact that these drew attention, questions, pondering, they became discussion. How she hoped, in this case, they would not become the center of attention, as it was not their purpose. Luckily, even as they entered into the teachers lounge where Filius, Rolonda, and Sybill had already congregated, not a singular one appeared to eye her state of dress – or, rather, undress – and only welcomed the trio in with chirps of greeting and a resetting of chairs to accommodate.

"A full house do we have here! What a wonderful surprise!" The Charms professor exclaimed with glee as he hopped to sit upon his preferred seat once more.

"As I predicted our dear professor has come out of hiding to join us, hasn't she?" All too familiar was the wavering voice of Sybill who, despite having given Hermione such inconsiderate critiques in her younger years of schooling, seemed none too bothered to have the witch hanging about. Water under the bridge, so Hermione would have said. But, thought with some humor, if only she had possessed the sight, perhaps, she could have avoided those less than stellar moments that lead to that point. The thought brought a faint smirk to her lips.

Drinks of various sorts were poured into varying cups and glasses, some preferring their tea and coffee after dinner rather than a slosh of scotch, brandy, or whiskey. Hermione eased herself down in a comfortable chair, relaxing against its fabric backing with the glass of whiskey Rolonda placed in her hand, and though she did thank Rolonda for the given drink, she didn't quite keep the edge from her quieter tone, garnering a slight look that couldn't readily be defined. With everyone in their seats and as relaxed as could be expected, the conversation began to bubble within the small group with animation. Topics ranged as they often did between the several minds who all housed differed interests and personal goals, achievements, but the numerous avenues weren't difficult to feel ones way down when the umbrella above them was magic.

It was Filius and Poppy, really, who captured Hermione's attention the most with their interjections. Charms and Medicine had always held the young witch captive whenever they were brought into relaxed conversation and dark charms – jinxes, hexes, and curses – were a great deal part of the work she'd come so accustomed to. Medicinal magic, though, whether she liked it or not, was a sore spot. She wasn't as proficient in the ways of healing as she would have hoped to be, despite having an abundance of knowledge in regards to healing magic, she couldn't accept that there were, would ever be, something beyond her reach; an injury she could not heal.

Post-Traumatic Stress took many forms. It manifested itself in ways that no one could really predict it would in a mind and a body. A smell, maybe... The touch of someone's hand on your arm... Laughter... Just a feeling evoked by an image or the hearing of a few choice words... None of these effected Hermione in this way. It was her own mind, her own churning over thoughts – her trauma came in the form of reliving these moments without the ability to stop the train before it left the station.

When she was a young woman, she was always trapped within her own mind. She couldn't argue that this capture wasn't enjoyable and rewarded her much in her student years, how did they think she came up with half of what she had? Why had she discovered the workings of the basilisk? The Devils' Snare? The potions? Lupin the werewolf? All these things? She searched internal, she read books, she succumbed to knowledge and memorization... It wasn't being trapped, at the time. It was the pure and unrelenting joy of her natural disposition – Hermione loved to learn. In the here and the now, that little bushy haired Know It All still existed somewhere beneath the skin, somewhere deep in there, with unbridled enthusiasm. The unfortunate reality was that this little girl was mute, bound, and well hidden. The pair hadn't lived as one for many years. In this conversation, however, with these great minds converging all around her, she felt that tug, that willingness to rediscover, whether she realized it or not.

"Hermione, you've hardly said a word! What are your thoughts on the Cypress tree, you above all with your worldly knowledge should have some sort of input, you always flourished in my class..." A well timed distraction from Pomona shook the brunette from her reverie and her eyes snapped to view the smiling, round face of the aged witch before she realized that four other pairs of eyes had managed to rest upon her as well. She would have felt uncomfortable, had it not been for her smarty pants inner child.

"The Cypress tree, you say?" She questioned with a softer tone to see Pomona nod emphatically, it was the only reinforcement she needed to carry on. "Now, simply 'The Cypress tree' is an incredibly broad term, which exactly had you been looking at.. Pilgerodendron uviferum from Tierra del Fuego, microbiota decussata from Siberia..." Hooch stared at her like she was speaking in tongues, meanwhile, Pomona appeared suddenly elated and she slapped Poppy's elbow in her immediate joy.

"See, I told you, best in class..." She chirped before returning to the question at hand. "You see," The elder witch began as she inched nearer to the edge of her seat. "I had considered many but my heart has been set on Fujian Cypress... Now, the reason for my coming to this conclusion was..."

"The factor of its longevity, considering its properties far outweigh those of similar breeds of Cypress tree, especially its Italian counterparts... Yes, I've studied the same." Hermione interjected without any means of rudeness for cutting the woman off, but having prior knowledge awarded her this small feat. That and the whiskey she'd imbibed, the few glasses that had been refilled, allowed some of those more rigid muscles to loosen up, especially the ones which worked her jaw.

Now entirely invested within the topic at hand, Hermione did give her two cents and once again felt as though she was actually a part of something. Just for a moment, other worries and concerns were forgotten. Hardships, though hers had been many, just for an evening drifted off somewhere into the ether and left her there, among friends and colleagues, to discuss frivolously about those interests that she hadn't flexed in a longer period of time than she would have liked to admit. Unaware was she of the golden eyes of the flying instructor, the one who kept refilling her glass as well as Hermione's, and how they watched the brunette woman with vaguely concealed interest.

Since Minerva had had her talk with Hermione that day a fortnight ago, she had ventured to see the woman twice. She had lifted her hand, knocked on her door, and waited. Waiting patiently was not one of her many attributes, the virtue of it was lost on the woman far more quickly than was tolerable. In this very special case, she did wait though. She waited to be called upon by the woman for a talk, a run, and, perhaps, now it had been in vain. Something was off in the way that Hermione addressed and treated her with those looks. Something she couldn't quite put a finger on. She wanted to find out, to understand, what had changed within their short newfound friendship to cause the difference in demeanor. Being that they were all together and that eventually they would all part ways, this, she assumed, would be her chance.

The hours crept passed and ever onward, just as one would assume them to do, although no one really paid much attention to the clock or how many refills they'd consumed during their lengthy chat. Sybill was an interesting character. Hermione had never really paid the woman much attention in prior years, especially when the woman had scorned her so. The art of divination had never struck a chord within the brown eyed woman and its practically was frequently called into question whenever Hermione had the chance to do so, although she had to admit that the quivering, somewhat nervous looking woman was an interesting character. Kind. Animated. Her little quirks did amuse, to a degree, but even those quirks that Hermione had begun to notice didn't distract too greatly from the fact that the professor was a great conversationalist who invested just as much in listening as she did in speaking.

Filius was much the same in that regard. Agreeable and compassionate, funny.. He was quite wicked in his ways but only in humor, the little man loved to laugh. It showed in all the lines on his face. He asked more questions than he answered, the ever practiced student as well as teacher. Hermione had always respected him in this way – the way he took it upon himself to express so freely that, althought he was incredibly brilliant in his craft, no one, even in his ripe age, could possibly scrape the surface of what lay beyond. Charms was a branch of magic that someone with the ambition to wield it worked upon for the rest of their lives without wavering. Constantly changing and growing, it developed itself in many directions. She loved to listen to him as a student and found that even as an adult she could easily do the same.

It was slightly concerning, however, that a certain silver haired witch remained mostly silent through this evening. Now that the sky beyond their windows had darkened to night and the moon was high, a light speckling of stars splashed across a rich, dark canvass, candles and fireplaces and a couple of lamps lit there lounge, although, none too many. It was dim and cozy, like sitting deep in a library late at night with nothing but a lit wick to illuminate pages; an atmosphere that she adored. Although discontent settled in the form that Rolonda seemed not herself. And who only knew for the sake of why?

Disrupting her train of thought, the clock struck twelve and announced that the middle of the night was vastly approaching.

"Dearest me, where has the time gone?" Trelawny trembled and turned in her seat to peer through her large glasses at the grandfather clock there in the corner, the one that nearly caused her tea cup to hit the ceiling if her grip had been less than tight.

"Well, it's to be expected, we're all old and get lost in time some days, don't we?"

"Speak for yourself, Flitwick." Hermione shot with mischief as she scrunched her nose at the man and rose from her seat. He threw his hands up in apology but his watery blue eyes glistened with humor.

"The young one is learning not to take your tripe," Poppy chuckled as she, too, rose from her seat. "Come now, Pomona, walk me to the infirmary." The young professor heard the medi-witch sigh as her back was turned. As quiet as a shadow, Rolonda appeared at the drink counter beside her with her wand held aloft. The woman reached and softly tapped her glass with its tip, a quick cleansing charm readying the crystal for it to be replaced.

"Would you like company on your stroll, professor?" The yellow eyed woman asked in softened tones, quieter than that of her usual robust notes. Hermione tossed her a glance as she replaced her glass with its others.

"Yes, that would be fine." She stated without second thought before they turned back to their colleagues and said their farewells and good nights, passing thank you's for the pleasant evening before the faculty dispersed to return to their own quarters for the remainder of the night.

Just outside the teachers lounge, Pomona and Poppy parted ways with Hermione and Rolonda, the former pair quickly returning to their more chatty selves all the way down the corridor while the latter began to stroll in relative silence. If there was to be any awkwardness, neither acknowledged it. They simply walked together without words.

Foot by foot, the unlikely pair drew nearer to Hermione's quarters. Time was slipping through Rolonda's fingers, at that point, and she knew that if her tongue didn't make fast work that the chance would be lost to investigate the strange nature of their friendship. How cold and distant Hermione had become was easily measured in the way her own lips remained sealed.

"You haven't called upon me for a run lately, I stopped by your rooms but it appeared you were out." The woman stated as they reached the second floor. The brunette cast a glance at the woman walking alongside her and considered the woman for a moment.

"I hadn't been in any mood to see anyone for a while – the headmistress, as I'm sure you're aware, required my lesson plans and I needed some time to myself." She stated plainly with an air of nonchalance, a hand lifting to remove her towel from the back of her neck. The silver haired witch was not convinced.

"You've acted quite different towards me lately..."

"And what of it?" It took a moment, as steps drew one then another, to realize that there no longer was a second shadow in time with her own. Hermione paused in her own spot and turned to look back upon the woman who peered with mild agitation written across her features.

"If there's something I've missed, I'm more than willing to listen. Have I offended you, Miss. Granger?" Rolonda asked pointedly, her arms lifting to fold defensively across her chest. Hermione lit a fire in the woman, she felt. Just one little spark.

"I don't play games, Rolonda... And I don't make friends easily, you know this," Hermione began as she stepped nearer to the witch who readily stood her ground and maintained the eye contact her younger colleague provided. "My trust runs very thin and I feel like you have shaken that trust..."

"In all seriousness, what could I have possibly done to manage such a thing..." The flying instructor began only to be entirely cut off the witch with a harsh hushed whisper, the same witch staring her down and inching ever closer.

"You know." A flame lit Hermione's chocolate brown eyes, the look was scorching and her features darkened with every second which past as those eyes illuminated ever brighter with the fire of well chained anger within them. Confusion was what she saw in those yellow orbs opposite her own and, if possible, it made her even more furious. "You know about her."

A switch flipped.

A bag of bricks could have been thrown over the astronomy tower and landed on her head and, yet, the woman probably wouldn't have flinched as the recognition hit her harder than those rectangular pieces of stone.

"I... I... haven't told..."

"Don't take me for someone less intelligent to know that you and Minerva have been close friends for a very long time, longer than I can imagine, I'm sure," Hermione interrupted Rolonda's stammering with a raised hand to halt any more of the mangled sentence from being uttered. "She came to my office and blithered on about apologies and I was shocked to be informed that all this time you knew, you have been aware, and you never gave me the slightest evidence to indicate that. So what am I to think? Are you her appointed watch dog? From the moment I stepped foot inside this castle you of all people were the one to get closest, Minerva's best friend... Her confident. I'm led to believe the only reason you got close to me with this little friendship is to snoop around my life for the woman that fucked it..."

"Now you hold on right there, girly," Much to the young woman's amazement, her company appeared to have finally found her voice – a voice that rose above her own with a snarly growl -, halting her entirely. "Yes, I knew. I was there that day going to meet with Poppy for tea and there you were running from Minerva's private quarters in some wild little state." Resigned to listen, Hermione raised a questioning brow, silently egging the woman to continue, even if in the corridor near her rooms where very few seemed to travel. "I was about to knock on her door when the woman flew into my in an even wilder state than the one you'd left in, I managed to wrangle her back into her room before she made an incredibly large mistake."

"What kind of mistake?" Hermione immediately asked as her digits tightened around the fabric held in her hand. The woman before her shook off a bit of her fury and stepped away to the side, sighing heavily as she turned around to lean back against the windows there, seemingly pondering if she had said too much. There really was no going back now, though.

"I stopped her from running after you that day." Admitted the woman as she witnessed the brunette puzzling the pieces back together. Hermione didn't look at her but down the corridor, at nothing, as her mind worked to understand exactly what the flying instructor was trying to say.

"You stopped her." Came the short, stunned regurgitated reply. The elder witch gave a short nod.

"I stopped her," She repeated once again, just to drive the point home. "When I had seen what I had seen and when I knew what she told me, there was no way I could allow for Minerva to run through the castle in her state and risk being discovered by someone, anyone, and put her career in jeopardy. You do realize that she could have lost her entire career in that one singular moment, all because she fell in love with a student." Hermione's gaze finally found that aimed upon her by two yellow eyes.

"She didn't love me, Rolonda..."

"Whatever it is that helps you to sleep at night, if it's the belief that that woman doesn't love you or loved you, is your fucking business, Hermione," Shot back the witch standing there, arms crossed, and without a shred of deception creeping upon her features. "But I know, in my heart of hearts, that someone who hadn't just lost a great love doesn't torture themselves in the way that that ridiculously sentimental woman did for years after what had happened between the two of you. She's stone on the outside, Granger... But on the inside she's gooey, you know that."

"Enough," The young professor said in a way that was less of an order and more pleading than she would have preferred. "So, am I to understand, that you weren't using the lie of a friendship to keep check upon me for her." Rolonda immediately shook her head to confirm the statement.

"No, I wasn't... I genuinely enjoy spending some time with you. You are complicated and incredibly witty, very smart – you've grown up into a very interesting woman, professor. I mean to aim for a sincere friendship, one I hope isn't entirely ruined by the fact that I know your history and have had a hand in it. But, no, what happens from here on out between you and Minerva is not my business, nor is it the business of anyone else. Remember that."

Words that she'd heard once before that day sprung up yet again. She wondered what that meant?

"Funny, Severus told me the same thing early this afternoon while I was dropping off my papers for the Headmistress." She stated somewhat airily, exhausted. Confrontations of the verbal sort weren't her favorite way to end the day – in fact, they often left her as drained as could possibly be. Rolonda seemed to snort and shook her head, her memory of that man even still ever present, having worked with him for so long.

"Bit of a git, he was... But his advice... Well, he was a good man. It's too bad no one ever knew that he could be a brilliant conversationalist." The flying instructor pushed off from the wall that she leaned, her arms falling to rest back at her sides as she peered down the empty hallway back in the direction from which they'd come. "Not too much longer to your rooms, professor... I suppose I should take my leave."

"Wait." Hermione's lips parted and she began to continue but stopped short as she realized her feet and hand had worked of their own accord to draw her nearer to the woman, her digits reaching to stop Rolonda from leaving immediately by taking her arm in a light grip. The silver haired woman did stop and turned, facing the witch so close that she didn't believe she had ever stood so near to the younger witch.

Hermione had no friends. Well, she did. None of whom felt real right then and there, not as much as Rolonda had in the weeks aside from that dark period where Hermione's perception and paranoia led her to believe this woman wasn't as noble as she'd hoped her to be. She wasn't great at apologizing, nor was she great at accepting when she was wrong. In this case, she did what she felt was appropriate to do, no matter the difficulty posed by doing something as simple as reaching out and hugging the silver haired woman, who, after a moment, returned this act of truce.

"I'm very sorry that I insulted you." Hermione uttered with genuine apology. To say that Rolonda expected this sort of end to their conversation wouldn't be sincere. She hadn't hoped for it nor had she anticipated it. Yet, there they were.

"I can understand you." Was all she managed to say before they parted from respective hold and parted ways, both to consider what had just happened between them separately.

The hour was late.

When Minerva returned to the castle that night, her office was the first place she entered, not feeling a stitch of sleep despite the course of events that had transpired through the day. Upon her desk lay the unanticipated gift of Hermione's lesson plans, laying there as though the woman had quickly dropped them and left within less than a minute. Of course, she didn't expect the woman to linger around her office when Minerva wasn't to be found. Due to the utter lack of exhaustion other than that of the emotional sort, the Scottish woman felt not a bit inclined to retire to her room and to bed. Rather she stayed there, seating herself behind her desk, to review the lesson outlines left behind for her.

Much like the younger witch, the elder professor preferred nothing more at times than to bury herself in a task, making it all the more easy to avoid aiming much thought upon that which would make her uncomfortable. Throwing herself into her work had been what had aided her, keeping that last thread of sanity from snapping under the tension.

As it would be, whilst eyes scanned page after page, perfectly crafted lectures all aligned, the woman couldn't help but to feel that there was little, if anything, to really make note of – as it always had been, Hermione Granger's work was pristine. The only real concern was how deep she was willing to delve into the dark arts... To explain and to demonstrate. Some of her lessons for sixth and seventh years seemed to straddle the line into inappropriate material for students to undertake... It would have to be discussed.

Later.

Much later.

Now was not the time. Not when she could barely consider meeting the womans' eye. No, now that the rest had been revealed, that which she couldn't possibly imagine, she felt it was time to truly just let the young woman to come to her. Space was sometimes the greatest gift to give, the most generous, and now she was ready to give it.

TBC..