Consequences of Falling

Ch. 14

The days until classes began were starting to dwindle. The walls were nearly closing in and there was, in all actuality, very little for the woman to do. In a fashion that was both spontaneous and out of character for her, Hermione decided against working tirelessly and forced herself to enjoy the last bit of summer before the autumn semester began. One thing in particular, however, was causing her joy to diminish as a number of days had passed - Rolanda was avoiding her. Actively so.

Minute instances, little things, started to present themselves during interactions. No longer did Rolanda sit terribly close by, meet her gaze properly, or lean over to speak in hushed tones, in jest, and Hermione assumed that it was due to the fact that she had asked to spend the night with the woman. From that morning onward, after she had returned to the castle from The Burrow, there was a disconnect. While Hermione felt as though maybe she had truly crossed a line, she couldn't be certain. Then, Rolanda left for a few days without notice, leaving her alone, without any mention of where and why. Surprisingly, this did affect the young woman in ways she couldn't have predicted. As the realization had dawned that she was, indeed, very lonely, and no longer relying so heavily on the drink to dull the ache, Hermione was beginning to feel more loss than she was prepared for. Rolanda curbed that feeling of loss somehow, she made it bearable. As the young professor had not been privy to the conversation between the Headmistress and her flying instructor, all she was left to assume was the worst; that it was she, herself, who caused the woman to disappear on her.

One morning in particular at breakfast, when Hermione was quietly sitting and sipping tea, whilst reading the Daily Prophet, owls began pouring in as they would typically do in the early morning hours. Much to her, and apparently Pomona's, surprise, a letter dropped at her place setting and caused the brunette's brows to knit.

"My, my… Official Ministry business?" The nosey woman asked while sliding her finger under the wax stamp of one of her own pieces of mail. Hermione folded her paper and dropped it on the table beside her emptied plate of toast.

"Haven't had the chance to even see, Sprout." She replied cooly, nearly chastising the woman for her unprecedented sense of entitlement. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Poppy shoot her friend a look. It had no effect.

"Well, come now, deary," The older professor began airily, her attention caught between the lines she was reading on the letter she was holding and Hermione's direct response. "You can't blame an old woman for finding the little things exciting… Ooohh, Poppy! It's Richard, he made The Lucky Herbalist's Twelve Best list again this year!" Now quite taken with her own post, Hermione tossed Flitwick a glance and ever so slightly rolled her eyes, making the old wizard snicker.

She took up her letter in hand and her gaze swept the scrawl, recognizing the tight and pointed penmanship immediately. It had been a week since she had seen Molly, a bit longer since Ronald had knocked on her door, and now he was writing her. For what reason? She didn't know, and wouldn't until she opened the mail. Pushing her chair out, the youngest professor excused herself, taking her Daily Prophet with her as she left. She tucked the paper under arm and strolled out of the Great Hall with unopened letter in hand, all the while a pair of green eyes followed her retreating figure. The Headmistress did as she had promised to do.

She did nothing.

All conversation was capped at Hello, how is your day? Good? Good. Have a nice day - that was all. They saw one another at meals, sometimes passed in the corridor going opposite directions, however, never sat down to share in conversation. It killed Minerva not to have the opportunity to force the other woman into interaction by waving her status, she had to admit it. As pretentious as it would have been, and most certainly would have caused quite the stir, she despised being carefully placed in the corner. Which was exactly what she felt was the case as of present. Either way, it had to be done.

Meanwhile, strolling alone along the corridor towards the courtyard, Hermione had yet to peel open the paper and take a read. She felt it absolutely necessary, considering recent events, that she may want to find a quiet place in order to sit down, collect what remained of herself, before allowing for the opportunity to take note of whatever he felt so compelled to convey through writing - certainly something he had never been so inclined to do previously. Ronald wasn't a writer. He didn't pen letters. She could count on one hand how many she had ever received one from the man who far preferred to just show up unannounced, as was customary for a person who had no concept of personal boundaries. Especially, considering the rapport they had once upon a time.

Stepping out into the courtyard, the woman found a bench under a full, low hanging tree. Vacantly, she tossed her paper to the side and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, the letter in her hands. She folded over the cream colored envelope and unsealed it, her heartbeat quickening as the anxiety of what words she would find there, scrawled in that god awful quill work, was a plague upon her sensibility. Tossing the emptied envelope beside her, she took a quivering breath, then unfolded the ink stained parchment.

Dear Hermione,

I can't even begin to tell you how much it means to me that you went to see mum last week for coffee. She was very relieved to see that you seemed to be doing alright. I know that it must have been incredibly rough on you to travel there and face something that I can't even imagine, but you did it. All on your own too. I can't say that I'm not in a state of shock, I had to ask her multiple times if she might have had a stroke because, to be honest, she was a bit frantic about it.

I know that you're not big on company right now, and I am sorry for the other week that I barged in on you, but I'm glad I did it if this is the consequence. As I said, I'm not used to having to be the voice of reason, in any event. More than that, I just needed for you to understand that we care. Even still and even now. I hope that stopping by The Burrow aided you in an understanding of that.

I won't hold my breath for you to write back, but whenever you're ready to chat a bit more, please send an owl. I might not be the greatest letter writer of all time, as I'm sure you're more than aware of that, but I'll be consistent.

Whenever you're ready.

Your friend,

Ron

By the time she was finished reading, there were small wet marks soaked on the page. Furiously, she lifted a hand and wiped the apples of her cheeks, and her eyes, to rid herself. How fucking sensitive she had become that she was rendered nothing but a crying mess at the sight of a few lines.

"Are you alright, Miss. Granger?" Pivoting in her seat, the brunette sought the voice and the person standing there. Flitwick tilted his head and took a few steps forward, his small stature making it quite easy for the man to avoid the low hanging branches, and, evidently, making it quite easy for her to be seen under the canopy of leaves.

"I'm fine, Filius." Hermione replied after a moment or two, eyeing the man as he came forward and helped himself up on the opposite end of the bench.

He cleared his throat quietly and looked up and around, a sage expression washing over his pale features.

"You know, I always liked this particular spot," He told her in a reminiscent tone, his long hands folding on his lap. "I used to charm the tree, make a little cone of silence for myself, and sing in the afternoons - of course, I've smoked a little too much pipe tobacco in my time to sound very good now in my old age, but I used to have quite a lovely voice."

The woman stared at the man. She couldn't make heads or tails of what he was telling her, or the relevance. Bewildered by the sudden influx of information and company, she found herself unsure of what exactly to do. So she folded the letter and laid it down, leaning back to relax against the bench, and followed his line of vision to the leaves. Never a dull moment at Hogwarts, rarely a moments peace, and without more than a few minutes to herself she was beginning to wonder how she would manage through the school year.

Sitting in silence, Hermione just sat and listened to the sound of the breeze rustling what hang above, and watched the sway of branches overhead. For a moment, she was mesmerized.

"I can't begin to count how many times I sat here and read while Harry and Ronald played wizard chess, the barbaric game…"

"Ahh, barbaric as it may be, it's a game none the less."

"Unless you're on a chess board the size of half a Quidditch pitch…"

"Ahh ha! Very true," Filius laughed, the sound of which made the corners of her lips upturn slightly. "Very nearly forgot about that, brilliant piece of magic. Minerva really out did herself when she created that." Hermione closed her eyes, her head dropping back further, exasperated.

"Yes, yes… She's a brilliant woman, her praises will be sung for generations." Filius's smile faded. Of all things, he didn't anticipate such a stark contrast in reactions when, in reality, no one would be able to deny that Minerva was quite remarkable, in many a way. And Hermione's previous head of house, as well.

"I'm surprised that you'd consider otherwise." He remarked dryly after a moment, his watery eyes scanning the side of her face with thinly veiled curiosity. Hermione gave a sniff and folded her arms across her chest in defense, or to self comfort, one couldn't say.

"Yes, well, I know Minerva very well, better than most, and despite her academic prowess, she's a rather emotionally constipated woman at the best of times," Hermione murmured with a slight edge to her tone, head tilting so that she may look at the man a couple feet at her side. "Strengths and weaknesses."

"Very bold of you to state these things to me, you know." The tenured professor turned somewhat in his spot, a leg curling up in front of him while his other sway over the edge of the bench, not touching the ground. The way the conversation was going was unlike what he'd been expecting, the woman seated before him hadn't shown much in the past month and half, she hadn't expressed an openness. Now, it appeared, words were just falling out of her mouth.

The woman seemed to consider his own for a moment, before she too turned in her seat, mimicking his posture, although, where as he leaned his shoulder against the back of the bench, she draped her arm along it, comfortably.

"I looked up to her, you know, we were incredibly close…"

"I recall that, you really were her most prized student." Her most prized… Little did the man realize how objectifying those words could seem, if history was to be of any discussion. Clearing her throat, Hermione peered down at her hand on her leg and inspected her nails for a second.

"And, you see, I thought otherwise - I truly believed that I was her friend."

The charms professor began to notice cracks in the mask the young woman wore. Despite the peculiar nature and the cloak of mystery she adorned, there was still so much there to be discovered. And, quite obviously, there had been a true falling out, just as he'd suspected those many weeks ago when the woman returned and all bore witness to the calculated, stiff, greeting the pair of women had shared.

His own history with the Transfigurations professor was tumultuous at best. They had been friends for many, many years. They had fought heatedly, they had not spoken for lengths of time, even within these walls, and they had talked sincerely and made up on a number of occasions. In many, many cases, one thing stood out as certainty: Minerva could suffer from extreme bouts of emotional fragility. Peering at his company, Filius pursed his lips briefly.

"Whatever happened between the pair of you is a mystery to all of us, but I do have to tell you… We do see it, Miss. Granger," He told her, his eyes casting a cursory glance to the courtyard. "Having much personal experience in the realms of friendship, especially with Minerva these many years, I do realize that she can be… Stubborn, arrogant, and exquisitely insecure in her moments of absolute weakness."

Hermione was struck dumb for a second. Never in a million years did she anticipate that the man next to her would hit the nail so cleverly on the head in describing the very worst traits of the woman who he called friend.

"However," And this is where it became interesting, Hermione's curiosity was piqued. "You will never have an understanding of what the woman has gone through to make her feel this way. Even I had difficulty navigating the friendship Minerva and I have shared, and believe you-me… It hasn't always come up roses. We have said some things to one another that, I thought, we would never come back from… But at the end of the day, especially working together in this place, you have to understand… It makes for a much better, and simpler life, to forgive and to move forward than it is cling to those horrible moments…"

"I'm not in a position of being forgiving." The brunette interjected, her defenses beginning to rise despite her willingness to let them remain fallen. Filius eyed her for a moment, noting the stiffness that seemed to creep into her shoulders and neck. He pressed on, if only to clarify.

"People seem to think that forgiveness is for the other party, to make someone other than themselves feel better… I'm not saying to stroll up to her today and forgive her, dance off into the sunset… I'm saying that for you to forgive her, not for Minerva, but for yourself… That, I imagine, will make all the difference in the world to you."

The little man made a fair point.

"Now," He began with a small smile, pushing himself off the bench and taking a moment to adjust his robes. "I'll leave you to think on it and consider it, I feel quite inclined toward sitting with my pipe for a while, myself."

"I bid you good afternoon, professor." Hermione murmured, a shallow nod by way of saying goodbye was all that she had left to offer.

"And you."

_~*MMHG*~_

What Filius had told her played around in her head for a number of hours. And the next day, that conversation resurfaced again. And again. Overcome with knowledge that she wasn't simply crazy made it so much easier to digest, as he had quite pointedly laid out her thoughts, or what she had been thinking of the Headmistress, without so much as batting an eye. However, it didn't mean Hermione was at all ready to absolve the woman of her sins. It just meant she wasn't entirely alone in her opinions.

Out on the Quidditch pitch, she ran in the early morning hours. The mornings were starting to get a little cool as autumn loomed. She had always loved it when it started to get dewy and chilly in the morning; it made the contrast of her burning muscles and chilled skin a perfect mix; refreshing. Although, once more, she found herself alone as she lapped around the length of the field.

The longer she didn't hear word about the flying instructor the more she began to feel agitated, and the more she felt so inclined to write the woman a letter to see if she was alright. Letters out and letters in were beginning to regain a more commonplace occurrence, as Molly wrote, and Ronald, both of which she returned post to, only to receive a prompt response. The readiness to constantly travel and see people beyond that of the faculty wasn't present yet, although she was starting to feel more comfortable with the thought. Not comfortable enough to commit, but comfortable enough to leave it in the realm of consideration.

Puffing and breathing deeply, her muscles screaming with exertion, the brunette woman slowed to a walk and scrunched her face, her head dipping until her chin nearly bounced off her chest. She couldn't say for sure for how long she'd been pushing onward, captured in the cage of her thoughts, only that she was about ready to pass out and maybe pushed just a few inches too far. With that in mind, uncaring - as no prying eyes were ever around -, Hermione got down on the grass and laid down on the lush green. She closed her eyes and rested her head on laced hands beneath it. Before long, her breathing slowed and her muscles relaxed into the earth, her mind drifting off into the ether where there was no telling what would arise from memory; before long, she was dreaming.

"Who is he… I need to know… You can't keep secrets from me, I'm your best friend." Pinned. Brown eyes stared into brown eyes with seriousness, but the chocolate ones beneath were almost teary with laughter. The youngest Weasley was not pleased.

"Ginny, there is nothing to tell, now get off me before I make you." Hermione couldn't help but laugh, there was no way she was telling Ginny anything in the Gryffindor dorm. There was no telling who could be listening. The ginger girl growled in frustration and climbed off her friend, allowing the brunette to finally sit up on the edge of the bed, where she had been so immediately thrown and pinned minutes before.

"Why all the bloody secrecy, it's ridiculous!" Hermione shot Ginny a look as she ran her hands through her hair, tying her hair back with the hair tie on her wrist.

"It's not a boy." Hermione told her friend simply, letting the words slip out before really considering any consequence, just giving her something… Just a bread crumb. Something to shut the girl up for a while because every single day, as soon as they were alone, Ginny pounced and begged for information. Hermione had tried her best to curb the rumor among her friends, to dispel it, but she was just… So infuriatingly happy all the time. Even she was getting sick of herself. Hermione watched as Ginny processed the four words and waited. She waited for her friend to say something but all she saw was Ginny stare at her blankly. Which is when she became highly aware of herself. "Gin?"

"You're gay?" Ginny asked pointedly, blinking a few times. She looked at Hermione in a way that she couldn't read it - the look was subtly taken aback, yes… But more than that? Nothing. Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

"I… I never really put a name on it." She replied after a few seconds, rising from the bed to cross the dorm to the window, her arms folding. She could hear gentle sounds behind her, and cast her glance back to see Ginny sitting on her bed cross legged, a pillow on her lap. Brown eyes met and Ginny looked back into hers with quiet contemplation.

"You know, if that's why you're not telling anyone… I get it, people can be so fucking vulgar sometimes, but… Your friends, like… All of us, we don't care," Ginny's tone grew more serious, her mind going to a place where she was considering the thought that Hermione was afraid of being honest for fear of rejection - a common thing, in that day in age. "I mean, look at Seamus and Lee…""Gin," The older girl halted her friend and crossed back over to the bed, she sat down and faced the ginger girl who looked near tears, clearly feeling awful for constantly pushing it for answers when, little did she know, it was just a bit more complicated than that.

"I'm not afraid of coming out and saying I have a bit of a preference for women, that's not why I have to stay relatively closed lipped…"

Ginny's eyes suddenly grew wide. It was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over her head and Hermione's voice dropped off, her eyes growing rather curious. Ginny jumped off the bed and nearly ran to her own bedside table for her wand. With a wave she placed various heavy silencing charms, something she wasn't terribly inclined to often do, however, under the current circumstances, deemed it right in her mind. She turned towards Hermione who was equal parts confused and concerned, both sharing residency across her features, before parting her lips to speak.

"I know who it is…" The quietness of Ginny's voice, the look on her face, and the absolute absurdity of it all… There was no way. Hermione broke out into laughter, her feeling shifting from concerned to amused. She shook her head and smoothed her hands over her skirt.

"I'm afraid not, I can guarantee who ever it is you're thinking it is, it's not."

"It's the cat…" Hermione's humor subsided as she replayed the words she heard, but could have sworn she misheard, again in her head.

The two girls looked back and forth between them, unwavering. Hermione wasn't sure if she'd heard Ginny correctly until she repeated it again: It's the cat. Getting off the bed, growing dangerously aware of the situation, she eyed the other girl cautiously.

"How did you figure it out? In seconds... "

"I didn't notice it at first, the boys… They're clueless, you needn't worry about them, because even I didn't think about it," Ginny stated carefully, throwing her wand to land on her own bed. "But you've been working together closely recently, she comes up to you in class and asks you to stay late… You always come back happy… You are doing assignments with her in the evenings… I thought that maybe you were taking so long because you were meeting up with a boy after or something, but when you said it wasn't a boy, and you've never been so quick to sneak around unless you had to, then it has to be her."

All of Ginny's points were valid. And Hermione couldn't deny her friend was brilliant, quick to put two and two together… But now someone knew. There was no way that Hermione could have denied it because, of all people, Ginny was the most difficult to lie to.

"Shit…" She couldn't help it, now the anxiety was beginning to rise and cause her heart to start beating. If Ginny could so easily figure it out, if she was being too obvious, it was only a matter of time before someone else figured it out and Minerva could be in such danger. "I'm fucked. I'm positively fucked." With the anxiety came the tears, and Hermione lifted a hand to her mouth.

"Heyyy, hey now… Listen, no one knows, I'm certainly not going to tell anyone," Ginny comforted, immediately stepping forward and wrapping her arms around her friend to pull her into a tight hug. "You have nothing to worry about, but… Really, if you two make it anymore obvious someone is going to figure it out. You're safe for now, just be careful." Hermione wound her arms around Ginny's middle and rested her chin on the girls shoulder, trying mightily to keep herself at bay.

"She could lose her job if anyone finds out, I don't know what I'd do… I love her so much." Hermione nearly whispered as she felt a hand rubbing her back firmly.

"I know… Just be careful. It's safe with me… Besides," Ginny said as she slightly leaned back, allowing Hermione to do the same so they could take a glance at one anothers' face. "I mean, I'm not gay but… It's sorta hot, right?" The mischievous look once again adorned the ginger girls features and her brows slightly wiggled.

"Fucking Merlin, Ginevra!" Hermione had to push her friend away, although she couldn't hide the slight smirk that starting to curl the corner of her mouth at the audacity."Yeahhh? It is? I thought so." Ginny raised a hand and fanned herself, driving the point further. That was until a pillow knocked her back onto her fluffy mattress.

Senses tingling, Hermione woke with a start, although her body remained quite still. There was no telling for how long she had been napping there in the grass, however, she did feel her skin begin to react to the sun's rays. The sun had begun to peak higher, although something was not quite right. A shadow was cast over her, alerting her to the fact that someone was standing there.

"I'm not the biggest fan of surprises." Hermione grumbled, her eyes remaining firmly closed. The sound of someone shifting, the earth beneath shoes being toyed with, met her ear.

"I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead, now that I have, I'll let you get back to baking yourself." A familiar voice rang. Opening her eyes and peering upward, her vision taking a moment to adjust, golden met brown.

"You left quickly, I've been worried about you." The younger witch stated, her voice softening minutely. Roland glanced elsewhere for a second, biting her lower lip, thoughtfully.

"My sister was taken to St. Mungo's recently, got herself a little tied up in one of those few and far between attacks we've been reading about in the paper… Unfortunately, due to her age and poor wand skills, she didn't have the opportunity to defend herself… I needed to get her affairs in order," As she listened, Hermione slowly helped herself up to her feet, although Rolanda did extend a hand to help. "It was all rather sudden." The silver haired woman made to take her hand back but Hermione's grip tightened, not allowing for her to do so.

Finally, she could look into those yellow eyes and see that it had nothing to do with her. They were red lined, and a bit puffy. Pale skin was blotchy as though the woman had clearly been crying, and quite frequently.

"Come on, let's get you back inside." Hermione allowed the woman to take her hand back, however, wrapped her arm around the womans' shoulders. It had been a while since she cared deeply, and, in moments like these, it was becoming apparent that she still could.

The dream, or more of a memory of times long since passed, was somewhat forgotten. But the realization she gleaned from it, the still fear that if anyone was ever made aware beyond the select few who knew, such as Filius or any other faculty members, bothered Hermione. She was being too obvious in her disdain… She needed to curb it. Somehow. 'Else she ran the risk of blowing the cover off a decade long secret, and she couldn't have that. Neither could Minerva.