A/N: This one was a bit of a challenge, but hopefully it reads clear...
Hermione sat on her favorite rock, chin tucked atop one bare leg as she gazed off into the distance, her thoughts suspended somewhere between the rhythm of the waves and dwindling calls of seabirds.
Friday evening had turned out to be unseasonably warm and after finding herself unable to focus after dinner, she had decided to go for an evening swim. The cold water had been soothing… numbing even, and she had swam quickly, pushing her tired body to its limits even as her mind worked to shut itself off.
Now, sitting with a towel wrapped around her shoulders, one leg dangling above a small drop-off toward the waves, Hermione found her thoughts and memories returning with a vengeance.
Despite the turmoil she had felt since receiving the summons from Minerva, yesterday and today had passed quickly with little fanfare. Master Kallas had informed her that Minerva had been appraised of their joint acceptance, though Hermione hadn't dared to ask whether or not the witch had apologized for her strange overstep.
Yiayia had made an unannounced visit the previous afternoon and while the dark-haired witch had greeted her with her customary zeal and dramatic enthusiasm, Hermione couldn't help but feel as though she had interrupted the elder witch's reassurances regarding her mentor's impending return to Great Britain. Beyond that niggle of doubt and the continued backdrop of guilt that she felt for placing Master Kallas into an uncomfortable position, the enigmatic witch had seemed rather subdued… and Hermione couldn't help but worry about what she had gotten them both into.
They had partaken in an informal dinner with leftovers from the dinner with Minerva, and for a brief moment everything had been as it always was.
Hermione had brought a few textbooks to the table and Master Kallas had assisted her with a few difficult points in the familiar informal lecture-mode that she had learned to love. The biggest difference was that they had stood at the kitchen island, eating directly out of tupperware containers in a manner that felt decidedly… uncivilized in the most delicious way. Her master had even shared a few memories from her Apprenticeship beneath Mistress Cunningham in America, and the evening had concluded with smiles and a bit of laughter.
This morning, however… Master Kallas had remained elusive for much of the day. After a quick morning hike, Hermione had returned to the villa to find a note from her master indicating that she would be in her study for the majority of the day and wished to remain undisturbed.
Though she had felt a little slighted, Hermione had tried to reassure herself that nothing in the note indicated anything personal… and anyway, she had her theses to attend to as they weren't about to write themselves.
Around noon, she had been startled from her writing by the distant sound of breaking glass. Hermione had vacillated for several moments, wondering whether or not to investigate. Their bond remained undisturbed however, and so guiltily, she had elected to remain in the Library. Her master had emerged a half hour later and quietly, Hermione had made her way to the kitchen… catching a brief moment of seeing the witch's red-rimmed eyes before Master Kallas' serene expression had snapped into place; she had suspected that the witch had cast a wandless glamour.
Sighing heavily, Hermione brought herself back to the present, pulling the thick towel a bit closer around her shoulders even as she shivered. Stop being so paranoid… Master Kallas is an adult and she will come to you if there's anything seriously wrong.
Unfortunately, a moment later, the contralto tones of her former mentor broke through her thoughts and Hermione felt her anxiety spike as she recalled Minerva's resigned words from the previous evening… "I also worry that Diamantina may never divulge the relevant information that you will need to support one another."
Damn. There were no easy answers.
Shifting, Hermione allowed both legs to dangle over the edge of the rock, hissing lightly as her warm skin came in contact with the cold stone. The evening was quickly moving into night. Focusing her energy, she muttered an incantation wandlessly and was surprised and pleased when a tempus popped up next to her - glowing faintly in the increasing darkness.
19:43
There was little over an hour remaining before it was time for them to leave for the Order meeting. With the time difference, the Portkey would take them away precisely at nine. Hermione sighed and moved to rise.
Biting a lip, she began to pick her way up the stone pathway back toward the villa, attempting to rationalize and unwind the knot of anxiety that kept building in the pit of her stomach. Figure out what makes you feel the most vulnerable… and then you can retain control over it.
Absently, she thought back to her conversation with Yiayia at Madam Anastos'... realizing with a humorless snort that that had only occurred three days previous. Merlin, this week has been intense…
Strong, bare feet plodded up the path, one following the other diligently even as her brow furrowed more deeply.
You are worried about Master Kallas.
All right. As Yiayia had been quick to remind her - the only emotions she could control were her own… whatever concerns or fears that Master Kallas potentially held about returning to Great Britain were her own and Hermione could only help alleviate them if the other witch allowed.
That's it!
Thinking quickly, Hermione made a decision… mentally making a list of the many ways she could help her mentor feel more secure and in control of the situation. The biggest way she could likely help would be defer to their Mastery contract. As much as Hermione knew it would be easy to slip into the familiarity of her friendships in the Order, she knew that she could not.
You are bound to her just as much as she is you. You must respect that and defer to her… even if the others aren't able to understand your new relationship right away.
Nodding to herself, Hermione continued up the path - legs burning slightly as her tired muscles worked to ascend the uneven steps.
Yes, that was it. Much like Minerva, Master Kallas operated through a careful combination of observation and logical analysis. They both frequently went against Hermione's own Gryffindor-ish impulses, but then - that's why you're here, to learn, isn't it? Rather than jumping into whatever unknown situation lay before them, she would have to be patient. Grounded.
And she would have to defer to her Master.
If she were being honest, Hermione felt a great amount of reassurance in that simple decision. Although their contract was a shared agreement founded on the furthering of her own knowledge, they were still a team. A partnership. A Master and Apprentice… and they would be far more powerful together than in an uneven alliance.
Sighing, Hermione considered the other half of her spiraling confidence.
You are worried about seeing Harry and Ron… and Ginny. And the Weasleys… Dammit!
She drew in a steady breath, her mind quickly flicking back to her first long conversation with Yiayia. The witch's words hung in her mind and despite herself, Hermione felt her eyes prickle at the memory.
They were sitting at the sofa near the window at Anastos' shop. Heavy rain splattered against the windows mixing in to quiet murmurs from the adjoining room. Yiayia was pinning her with a perceptive gaze… Hermione was already in shock from how quickly the witch had read her childhood, telling her things about herself that she had never told anyone.
With a quiet thrill, Hermione felt herself sit back as Yiayia sat forward, her cup of coffee balanced in one ringed hand. A feeling of dread crept into the pit of her stomach and she knew intuitively, that the witch was about to tell more than she was prepared to hear.
"I admit I have the advantage of having read about you in the paper, so I know that you found friendship with the two boys who helped form the Golden Trio," Yiayia began, her hazel eyes soft.
"I imagine that boys are more transparent than girls in their words and actions which likely appeals to your direct nature, though at times their numbskull ways likely grate on your patience. And… I can also imagine that, while at first, their friendship satisfied your longing for camaraderie and close confidants, you have found that their companionship no longer fulfills your growing need for those who can stimulate and match your intellectual thirst and the need to challenge yourself."
Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears.
"That is not to say you will not remain good friends… but there comes a time when childhood blossoms into the complex nature of adulthood. You are a strong woman and a talented witch and men have always found difficulty with both of those things. Suffice to say, I imagine that you've likely experienced some friction in your relationships as you struggle to fulfill your burning need to challenge your intellect... and balance it against the image that others have of you that you feel you've begun to outgrow - a people-pleaser, know-it-all, diligent friend, constant supporter..."
Hermione pressed her lips together firmly, staring down at twisting hands and willing herself not to cry. Yiayia sipped her coffee and shifted her teacup slightly, plucking at the kourabiedes that materialized there. There was a long pause in which the only sound was the light murmur of conversation from the adjoining room.
"Well? Am I close?" Yiayia asked brightly around a mouthful of cookie.
Hermione shook her head and made a noise - somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Willing herself to look up, she fixed Yiayia with a watery smile.
"How could you possibly know everything about my life?" she asked quietly, her voice cracking.
Hazel eyes softened into a warm smile as Yiayia leaned forward and placed a hand atop Hermione's.
"Oh, my darling… you are not alone. We are all simply here… thrown together on this earth, just trying to do our best to figure out the delightful mystery of life!"
Shaking her head, Hermione moved back into the present. Carefully, she made her way across the quiet terrace, pulling open the sliding door and pressing it back into place. There was no sound from anywhere in the villa and feeling a small surge of disappointment, she began making her way back toward her rooms.
Harry and Ron are your friends… you need to be honest with them about why you haven't been writing, she thought firmly.
While Yiayia had been right about her feelings, she was being cowardly and unfair.
You are dishonoring your friendship… and yourself.
It was time to lion up on that point… and hopefully through a combination of time and meaningful communication, she could repair some of the damage. Even if you've grown apart… they still have a lot to offer you.
Hermione arrived to her rooms and quickly lit the candles, smiling even as she shook her head at the thought of those two boys. They were all growing into different people. That's simply the nature of life. She banished her towel to the hamper and summoned her wand. Moving toward the wardrobe she looked over her options.
"Come on, girl… You can do this," she murmured to herself. Her friends would be there for her, of that she was certain. It would take a bit of doing, but she was surprised at realizing how much she missed them.
Running her fingers over the array of beautiful fabrics, Hermione suddenly felt a wave of determination course through her. Flicking past her day-to-day robes and work robes, she pulled out a set that she'd only worn on a few occasions.
The rich sapphire blue gleamed in the candlelight and as she held it up, she smiled at seeing the very subtle pattern crossing the fabric - an abstract play on the familiar Greek key. Setting it aside, she pulled out two more sets, both lighter, and made from luscious ivory silk.
Hermione placed her robes across her bed with care before quickly moving to her private bath and flicking on the shower. She paused to stare at her slightly-sorry reflection… taking in her salty hair, tanned skin, and tired features. Well, you have work to do… nothing to be done about that.
Leaning forward she stared into her own caramel eyes for a long moment. With both of her most pressing worries rationalized into submission, Hermione felt a bit more of her confidence return.
Abruptly however, the image of her forlorn master standing in the kitchen with red-rimmed eyes fluttered into her thoughts and Hermione found herself lifting her chin.
"Let's make you into an Apprentice befitting of her Master's name."
At the Burrow, Molly Weasley smoothed a hand over her robes one more time even as the other fluttered up to press her red curls back into place.
"Dear… you're fidgeting," her husband murmured, peering at her in the reflection of the mirror where he was combing back a few flyaways.
"Well of course, I'm fidgeting, Arthur!" she replied exasperatedly. Molly pulled the parchment Portkey from her pocket, noting absently that it was well creased from having folded and unfolded it many times.
"I spoke with Sturgis briefly this afternoon. I have a feeling this is largely going to be informational," her husband reassured. Sighing, Molly turned and crossed her arms, knowing that she was being irrational.
"You really have no idea what she's uncovered?" She had asked the question repeatedly and Arthur gave her a small smile even as his fingers worked the small closures of his robes carefully.
"Molly… you know that I don't. I have some guesses based on whispers at the Ministry, but they're nothing worth sharing," he replied evenly. Dark blue eyes stared into hers beseechingly and Molly felt herself nod, glancing at the smaller version of the family clock they kept in their bedroom. All of the hands were currently pointing to "Home," except for Ron and George whose hands were still on "Work."
With a start, she realized that the clock still counted Ginny as being home even though she had decided to have dinner over at Grimmauld Place with the boys. Abruptly, Molly felt her heart clench at the magic's implication.
"I just feel like… everything is about to change," she whispered. A moment later, familiar arms wrapped themselves across her sternum and she allowed herself a moment to sink back into the solid embrace, her eyes falling shut.
"I know, dear. But we have to trust that everything will unfold as it should."
"You're absolutely sure about coming?"
"Yes, dear. Now stop pacing. Horace has already agreed to cover your fledgings for the evening, there's nothing to worry about!"
"I am hardly concerned about the students, Pomona." Filius paused and glanced at his wife who was watching him with a bemused stare. Heaving a sigh, she rose from her place before the hearth and opened a hand toward him.
Moving closer, he took it and gazed up into the familiar brown eyes.
"Pomona… you don't have to do this," he said softly. His wife's rosy lips curled into a sad, half-smile and she shook her head.
"Yes, my love... I do. I will not stand back and watch as my closest friend and husband go off to fight in another war while I remain behind on the sidelines," she said softly, her warm voice betraying her conviction. Unmoved, Filius pursed his lips.
"We don't know that there are any such things on the horizon," he replied calmly. One eyebrow lifted toward dark curls laced with silver.
"Oh yes we do, dear… Even if you haven't divulged your research to me, I know as well as you that this is no small thing that Minerva is bringing to light. And this time, I refuse to sit and watch while she runs herself ragged attempting to protect the rest of us from harm. I won't have it, Filius!"
"Pomona-" he tried again but she simply squeezed his hand, stalling his protest with a look.
"Filius. I am going. This is bigger than you or me. Let me do my part in wanting to preserve the lives we have always worked so hard to protect," she said. Brown eyes bore into his and Filius felt his resolve crumble under his wife's gentle, but firm words. While slow to arrive to her decisions, once she had made them, there was nothing to be done.
However in this instance… Filius sighed sadly even as his eyes raked over the portraits above the hearth. The glowing faces of their children and grandchildren looked back, wreathed in happiness and laughter. … I would give anything to see you remain behind, my love.
"Forgive me, Pomona," he whispered, gaze falling into the flames despondently. Hearing a chuckle he looked up to see his wife resettling in her favorite armchair, fingers tracing Minerva's parchment quietly, the ghost of a smile fading at her lips.
"Forgive yourself first, Filius," she replied softly.
Harry Potter strode through the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, munching on a biscuit even as he went in search of his friend who had disappeared after dinner, declaring a pressing need to study for their upcoming exam.
Appearing in the living space that was still under renovation, he was surprised to find Ron Weasley sitting atop a pile of lumber, doing exactly as he said he would. His friend was perched on the long pile of wood lengthwise, almost as if he were sitting on a bench or a broom, brow furrowed in concentration as his lips mumbled a few of the words in the thick book he was reading.
Harry bit back a chuckle at realizing the comfortable armchair had been stacked with parchments and books… and that with the rest of the furniture pressed against one wall, there was nowhere else for his friend to sit. Hermione would be proud.
"Oy… we need to go soon, are you ready?" Harry asked, picking up his friend's robes from the floor and brushing away bits of sawdust. Ron nodded absently, scribbling a few more notes in the margins.
"Ron." Blue eyes suddenly snapped upwards to meet his guiltily. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah, mate!"
Harry chuckled in earnest this time as Ron jumped several ways at once, writing one last note before nearly toppling off the pile of beams as he reached for a shoe.
"You're going to be fine. Gawain said that it's mostly going to cover what we've been working on for the last three months," Harry said reassuringly, handing Ron a biscuit even as his friend rose. Ron rolled his eyes, swiping the pastry as he threw his book atop the pile on the armchair.
"You can say that. Physiology makes sense to you," he said, casting a glare toward the book.
"Yeah, well at least you're not in tutoring to understand Comparative Strategy," Harry replied with a bit of self-deprecation. Predictably, it dissolved Ron's frustration immediately. His friend sniffed in amusement.
"You never were very good at chess, mate," Ron replied, clapping him on the shoulder with a smile even as Harry shook his head. They both chuckled as Ron slipped on his robes.
"Do you think 'Mione is going be there?" He asked. Harry paused at hearing the hopeful note in his friend's voice.
"You know she hates that nickname," Harry chuckled, pulling at the collar of his Academy robes absently. "And yeah, I do. Gawain mentioned that her Master will be coming, so I'd assume she's going to come along too."
A second later, Harry stumbled slightly as Ginny pushed past him and strode into the room, her slate gray robes whipping his legs.
"Come on," she growled, her entire posture tense. Ron simply rolled his eyes.
Harry bit back an internal sigh, realizing that his girlfriend wasn't about to change her mood anytime soon. They had briefly talked about their mutual friend over dinner, but Ginny been entirely unwilling to listen to any excuses upon the witch's behalf. Even Ron had tried to stick up for Hermione, saying, rather maturely… that everyone dealt was dealing with the aftermath of the War in their own way. Though Hermione's lack of correspondence still stung a little, Harry thought that Ginny was taking it to a rather personal level.
Ginny kicked Ron's trainer toward him before planting her hands on her hips.
"If we're late we're going to miss the Portkey and I don't want want to explain that to McGonagall, do you?" She hissed. Harry ducked his head and quickly pulled his parchment out of his pocket. He thought it best not to mention how much she looked like Mrs. Weasley.
"All right, all right!" Ron grabbed his shoe and put it on, muttering something underneath his breath that sounded suspiciously like "dragon woman."
"Let's all… maybe just take a breath, okay?" Harry suggested gently. A moment later he received a green-eyed glare and pair of rolling eyes. All right, maybe not.
Ginny huffed and folded her arms, continuing to glare as Ron fumbled with a double knot.
"We have thirty seconds," Harry intoned diplomatically. They both came over, holding out their parchments expectantly, even as Ron licked a hand and smoothed it over his hair. Ginny's nose wrinkled… replaced a moment later by a furrowed brow.
"Do either of you know where the meeting is being held?" she asked. Ron and Harry looked at each other in surprise. Gawain hadn't said...
"Actually, no."
"Me neither."
Before anyone could take a guess, they felt a collective jerk behind their navels and the room swiftly slid away.