It was getting increasingly difficult for Hermione to concentrate on anything; anything but the inquiry that was happening right now, at Snape's home.
She had resorted to giving the students reading assignments in class, because her heart was simply not in it, to teach something and be sure that she wouldn't lose her frame of thought mid-sentence, or even end up making no sense at all.
She reviewed the notes in her hand one more time, and looked out the window. She knew the clock on the wall said there was thirty more minutes left to class; she knew that they students were whispering into their parchments, thinking they were soft enough not to be heard, and she even heard some giggling from the Hufflepuff girl at the back.
But she simply couldn't get herself to care.
Hermione sighed and left McCory in charge (fat lot of good that would do) while she visited the Headmistress.
"Ms. Granger! Don't you have a class right now?" McGonagall looked surprised, and not just a little concerned. Hermione was one of the most conscientious teachers she had. Not once had she missed class, or submitted grades late or, well, Hermione was never tardy.
"Yes, Headmistress, but," Hermione flushed a little, unable to believe her own ears, "I'm not feeling quite well, and would appreciate if I could take the rest of the afternoon off."
"Do you need to visit the infirmary, Hermione?" McGonagall said in a kindly tone, and that only made Hermione feel worse for the lie, "Perhaps you just are exhausted?"
"Err... Yes, I suppose that could be it, I'm sorry," she slumped a little.
"That's alright dear," McGonagall smiled, "You've been pushing yourself too hard; what with all the teaching and the studying, and the research that Albus tells me you're working on."
That made Hermione's ears perk a bit, "Err... The headmaster told you about my ... research?"
"Oh, yes! You're working on some sort of charm that tests the verity of potions or the like," she frowned, "but that's all he told me."
"Err.. Yes! It's just something I thought would be good for my Master thesis, still exploring it, though."
"That's wonderful! Perhaps now you can go rest? Have you dismissed your class yet?"
"I will as soon as I get back."
"Alright then," she made to get back to writing, "is there anything else, Hermione?"
"No," she hesitated, "Not right now, at least."
"Well then, if you don't mind, I really have to get this paperwork finished," her lips tightened, "If Albus were here, they wouldn't have the audacity to try and step into our garden, so to speak."
"Ah, but I am here, my dear," Hermione startled to find Dumbledore staring intently at her, eyes twinkling. She had long since forgiven his gossip mongering.
"Hello Professor Dumbledore," she smiled.
"Good afternoon Ms. Granger, I trust everything is well?" He tilted his head, and she nodded slightly before she spoke.
"Yes, Professor, as well as it can be," she turned to McGonagall, "Thank you, Headmistress, I'll leave you to your work now," inclining her head toward them both, she left, McGonagall staring after her.
"Albus, there is something going on here that you aren't telling me," McGonagall put her quill down; the ministry could bloody well wait.
"I'm afraid I don't understand, Minerva," Dumbledore looked far too innocent to actually be.
"You bloody well know, you old codger," she snapped at him, "What's happening with Ms. Granger?"
"My, my, Minerva..." Dumbledore leaned in conspiratorially, "are you asking me to share... Gossip?"
McGonagall looked highly uncomfortable, "No, Albus," she searched for words, "merely more information to keep in tune with my Employees' well being."
Albus smiled. Minerva was getting better and better at replacing him, all included.
"Minerva, old friend, you know I will tell you when the time is right."
"You said the same thing when you were plotting with Severus," Her eyes misted over, "and the time was right too late... I lost..." she sniffled and pulled out a tartan handkerchief from her robes, wiping her tears.
"And for that, I'm sorry, Minerva," Dumbledore said sadly, "I know you lost us both. I miss him too."
Minerva blew into the hanky and looked up with teary eyes, "even his portrait, never awoke," she glanced sadly at the ante-room where Severus' commissioned portrait hung on a wall, stern and unforgiving as ever.
Dumbledore hummed and said nothing.
"We didn't find his body, and for a while, I hoped..." she trailed away. Until the truth came out, they hated him with a passion; after all he had taken away their most precious person, and after the whole scheme unravelled, each one had their own way of mourning.
Minerva had sent out search parties and owls and patronuses, one after the other until the all returned with no answer. After nearly two years of search, she finally gave up, and had someone paint the portrait, in his favourite place, the personal potions lab. She had paid a great deal of money to have the painter put in as many rare potions' ingredients, books and journals with great detail. She wanted Severus to feel as much at home as ever.
But Severus' portrait never awakened.
At first, a spark of hope was there, and Harry commandeered the ministry's resources and the Order to drop everything and search again. They sent out secret convoys to other countries, carefully avoiding the sunny and cheerful places.
But again, the search came up fruitless.
Dumbledore looked at the frowning witch in front of him and thought of the number of times he had asked, and even begged Severus to return to his rightful home, as a hero.
Severus had flatly refused, and had gone so far as to threaten absconding if Dumbledore even tried.
Well, he smiled to himself, what Severus doesn't know, can't hurt him.
Both their thoughts (and in one case, another Machiavellian scheme) was interrupted by the tapping of an owl against the window. From the medallion that hung from its neck, it was a Ministry owl.
"Now what do those clowns want??" Minerva huffed and got up to let the owl in. The ministry was ever trying to put their noses where they didn't belong, and Minerva was quite close to chopping some off.
Dumbledore used this excuse to slip away. Perhaps he might see what was bothering Ms. Granger. Well, of course he knew what it was, the inquiry being today and all that, but what good was being a portrait if not for a spot of spying and fun?
Whistling an old muggle tune, Dumbledore straightened his robes and stepped out.