Disclaimer: I don't own it, wish I did, but I don't. Just the plot!!
A/N: First of all, I have some serious apologising to do. I am SO SORRY! I can't believe it has taken me this long to type up the next chapter!! It's just getting ridiculous. I really should be revising I suppose, but I love this story much too much to revise. Congrats to those people who are still following me, and I can't thank you enough for any review I still get, because I always welcome new opinions and new views. Anything! R&R I beg you! Right, enough of me rambling, on with the story! (At last, I hear you all cry!)
Summary: They left Hogwarts and she got hurt. Now that they're back will she get hurt again?
She Goes Back Again
Chapter Five: Consideration
Hermione put a shaking hand on the door to her chambers, trying to catch her breath after thundering up the stairs to her rooms which Minerva had briefly told her the location of before she'd made her hurried exit. Why did Harry have to pry? She was fine, she had dealt with everything a long time ago, why did he have to go dredging it all back up again? Those emotions had been removed a long time ago. She closed her eyes briefly, before straightening her shoulders and slowly turning the handle to push the door open and stepping swiftly inside her rooms, putting it all from her mind before she got too worked up, as she was like to do when reminded of her past.
She managed to smile as she looked around what was to be her home for the next year and quite possibly many years after that, if all went well. She could tell at once who had decorated these rooms. There could be no other couples with such different tastes. Albus and Minerva. There was such a clash of practicality and extravagance, comfort and severity, everything that one person signified colliding with the other. She was glad, however, that Minerva had let Albus choose the colours (she knew from spending time in Minerva's office that she tended to favour the reds and yellows of her house, and Hermione…didn't.) for now her office and chambers were covered in the blues and purples she always associated with him.
But she was glad Minerva had put a reign on some things. For instance, she knew, as she took a look around, that her bathroom had been furnished by Minerva because it was simple and not filled with the huge, flamboyant towels and coverings she imagined him having, but with tasteful creams, light blues and sensible towels she could actually use and like. As she popped her head inside her bedroom she couldn't help chuckling as she recognised Albus' designs. That must have been the compromise. The midnight blues, deep reds and dark purples would've told her Minerva had let Albus complete this room but the four-poster bed with blackberry colour hangings sealed her opinion, though she did detect Minerva's slight influence in the straight-backed chair at the dressing table. She knew her so well.
She smiled again as she saw her suitcase tucked snugly underneath her bed and, as she inspected her chest of drawers, found all her clothes neatly packed away, ready for use. She knew a house-elf's work when she saw it. She wondered if Dobby or Winky still belonged to the castle, she hadn't heard from them, but then, she hadn't heard form anyone. A shadow once more passing behind her eyes, she passed back into her main room and sighed happily, glad for her beautiful rooms, even if she would have to change a few of the more showy pieces which, no doubt, Albus had authorised. She must remember to thank them for everything they had done; after all, they had gone to a lot of trouble for her, if the rooms were anything to go by. She would at dinner, she decided, it would be a good way to start conversation with someone other than Harry.
As Hermione warmed herself happily by the roaring fire, her thoughts wandered to her "former life" as she called her life with Ron. It seemed like a lifetime ago but it was still painful to remember how happy she had been, though if she was truthful with herself, she had known it was all too good to be true, or to last. She let her thoughts drift for once as she unconsciously moved away from the fire and the heat and slipped into her bedroom to lie softly on the beautiful cool bed, stretching slowly to get rid of the cramps from her long journey too long ignored, savouring the feel of the deep red silk under her skin. She hated to admit it, but she did like the feel of luxury it gave her.
Sighing contentedly, she looked over at her bedside table, wondering where the house-elf who had unpacked had put her book. She frowned as she saw a foreign object set on there. It was photograph, a wizarding photograph, in a burnished silver frame she did not recognise. She swallowed and sat up, lifting the photo off her side table to take a closer look at it, hoping she had incorrectly recognised the figures standing so close together on a balcony, bathed in sunshine. She hadn't. It was of her and Ron, taken at the end of their seventh year, by the looks if it, a beautiful view behind them and smiles on their faces. Hermione clenched her jaw to keep the tears back. Damn it, why did she have to be right all the time?
She remembered now when this photograph had been taken, and was right (again) it had been taken at the end of their seventh year and after the Last Battle. Hermione fought desperately against the tears that sprang unbidden into her eyes. She remembered that day very well, it had been a Saturday, the last weekend they would be spending at Hogwarts (as students at least) and she had gone round a few of her teachers with Ron dragged begrudgingly around with her to say goodbye and give out a few homemade gifts. Minerva had been the hardest, but then she had expected that. They had both cried, for Hermione, it was the first time she had allowed herself to cry in months, and had hugged each other fiercely (again, the first time Hermione had made physical contact with anyone except Ron for months) while promising to write and to never forget.
Hermione had given her a picture of the whole of their year (well, as many of Slytherins as she could bribe or blackmail) but most were there. She had also given her of model of a roaring lion and a trilling phoenix, she had enchanted them herself and she knew Minerva appreciated them as much as she had hoped. She hoped that if she did visit Minerva, and she was sure she would, that perhaps they would be sitting on her mantelpiece. Contrary to common knowledge, she happened to know that the Headmaster had enjoyed a closer-than-professional relationship with his Deputy for quite some time now. She couldn't count the number of times she'd had to use a coughing fit to cover her laughter at the elaborate schemes her friends had concocted to try and make them a couple.
Of course, she had found out in circumstances she still found embarrassing to recall (which involved her walking in something she really shouldn't have) and Hermione laughed at the memory. Both she and Minerva had never flushed so much since. As she laughed quietly to herself though, the picture frame pressed into her palms and redirected her thoughts back down a less pleasant road. Minerva had taken this picture, of her and Ron on one of the balconies near her office, saying she wanted one of them for old times' sake. As if she knew what would come.
Hermione pressed her lips tightly together, slid the photo out of the frame and crumpled it savagely into a ball with a hateful sneer twisting her features. Floating over to one of her diamond paned windows, not really considering what she was doing with practised ease, as she had learnt to do with anything relating to her old life, she undid the clasp and let the wind take the photo from her grasp. She watched it bob lightly, easily, on the breeze for a few seconds then withdrew her hand and shut the window with a sharp snap.
Unknown to her, by pure coincidence, there was a rather large person walking underneath her window at that moment, who happened to see the bit of paper float away and caught it as it drifted down to him, briefly looking up at the sky with a questioning glance, wondering when the clouds had decided to shower him with paper instead of water. Unfolding it, he smoothed it out and peered at it intently. Why had someone thrown this away? And who? The answer to that question came to him almost instantly, which was something. Hermione.
Hagrid frowned and continued on his way around the castle, the picture held tightly in his hand. He knew that Hermione was bound to say something to Minerva about leaving this photo in her rooms, which would have no grounds at all. He knew Professor McGonagall had made many copies of this photo and passed it out among the staff and house elves, especially those down in the kitchens who had adored her and Ron, Dobby for instance. He knew this because he, himself, had a copy on his table at home, next to the one of his Dad and his one of Harry.
He thought about it and decided that none of the staff would have left this in her room, they wouldn't be so unfeeling, but what if the person, or elf, who had left it didn't know what had happened? The house elves might know everything about Hogwarts, but nothing about outside it! They had probably seen she had no pictures, why would she have, and left it for her to look at. Poor little mite. Hagrid strode faster towards the Entrance Hall door as a thought occurred to him. Hermione might not know Minerva had made copies. She would definitely speak to her about it. He had to make sure he got to her first. He quickened his step again and hurried towards the Main Entrance, hoping Hermione was still in her chambers.