AN: This chapter is a little shorter than its predecessors, but it has been a trying two weeks for my wife and me. This chapter was really difficult to write, as I've been on an emotional rollercoaster, and focus has been hard to come by. I've gone back and re-written a lot of this chapter, spending a little more time developing the familial aspect of Ron and Hermione's life.
Dedicated to our Lost Little Sprout. We love you, bunches and bunches...tons and tons.
Hermione had returned home from work earlier than the day prior, anxious to see Ron. She'd spent all day prepping her papers for the observation at Hogwarts, her meeting with the Headmistress due in just twelve days time. Hermione's feelings were split into a definite dichotomy-she was dreading having to perform an inquiry at the school she held so dearly; however, she was, in some way, overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia. In less than a fortnight, Hermione would be revisiting the very place that gave her essence at such a young age.
Her feelings of unsettledness dissipated when she walked through the door and saw Ron and Hugo playing on the floor in their living room. Uncle Charlie had gifted him a train set that required some fatherly assistance to set up, but Hugo could watch the train for hours on end. He hardly batted an eye when his mother walked in, too engrossed in watching the steam roll from the top of the engine as it glided around the tracks.
Ron, however, did take notice of his wife's arrival. Leaving Hugo entranced in front of the fireplace, he rushed to greet Hermione. A few tendrils of hair had escaped during the bustle of her day, and they framed her face softly. Her eyes were rimmed lighter, the color of warm honey seeping from the outside to meet pools of deeper brown in the center.
"It's so good to have you home," Hermione whispered, eyes searching his face, taking it in anew. His gaze met her own, and Ron was lost to all thought as her soft lips collided with his, the product of their separation uprooting any chance for gentler regards. He wove his arms round her waist, grasping the small of her back with the same need that smoldered inside him. As Ron quickly brought them closer, the air escaped Hermione's chest, and she looped her arms around his neck.
Their lips crashed against each other in a muddled sense of opposition, hers bringing life to his rougher ones like cool showers on arid earth. His tongue slipped through his parted lips, begging passage. But Hermione placed her hands on his chest, breaking the kiss far sooner than either would have liked. There would be time for candid moments soon, but Hermione would not allow her arousal to overcome her. Her eyes passed from Ron's to where Hugo was still distracted on the floor, and Ron begrudgingly adjusted himself.
Hermione smiled at her husband and kissed him on the cheek as she swept across the room to scoop up her son. "Mummy missed you today," she breathed, lips pressed into his hair. Ron joined them and wrapped his arms around the pair of them, feeling a sense woeful jubilation pass over him. This is what would cease to be between Edmond and Pippa.
Later that evening found Ron and Hermione comfortably woven into their blankets. They had put Hugo to bed at eight and made for their room shortly after. It was now going on ten o' clock, the pair completely enervated by the happenings of the last two hours.
"So, what have I missed?" Ron asked, rolled over on his side to actually speak with his wife, propping his head in his palm. "Which lesser fortunate lives will you be rescuing this week, 'Mione?"
Hermione couldn't help but smile, but smacked him on the chest just the same. "I hope you don't mean to undermine my work, Ronald," she jested, fully aware that he saw her passion as equal to his own. Her smile faded slightly as the uneasy feelings regarding the next inquiry crept into her mind. "Actually, I'll be at Hogwarts soon."
Ron quirked an eyebrow. "Really? Hmm," he frowned. "What on earth has Shacklebolt got on his plate now?" Ron questioned rhetorically as Hermione shrugged. "He's got too many irons in the fire as it is-man's got to learn the power of the word 'no.'"
"The minister's not ordered this one, Ron," Hermione explained. "The board intervened, and now I've got to spend three months-" she was interrupted.
"Three months?" he asked as his eyes widened. "What could they possibly expect that could need three months?" Ron continued, eyes darting in realization. "You mean you'll be gone for-"
It was Hermione's turn to chime in. "Yes, Ron," she sighed. "Three months," Hermione finished in a playful, mocking tone.
"Blimey, Hermione," Ron rolled over on his back and gazed at the ceiling. "When do you start?"
Hermione found her way through the sheets and rested her head on Ron's chest. "I'm to return for a logistical meeting with McGonagall on the 28th, and all the details will be sorted then."
"Ole' McG," Ron shook his head with a crooked smile. "How is she then?"
Hermione drifted off into thought, sighing through her nose. "She hasn't changed a bit, Ron," she raised her brows at the realization. "She's just as I remember," Hermione mused, deeper in her own thoughts than she'd been all day.
"I hope she'll get on better with the Ministry around than she did last time," Ron chortled. "Gave Umbridge a damn good scare, didn't she?"
"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione chided in her best 'Molly' voice. "How dare you liken me to that foul excuse of a woman!"
Minerva had slept so little in the last two nights that even her glamour charms were beginning to lose their effect. On the eve after Hermione's departure, the Headmistress had spent the greater part of the night calculating…weighing each decision against its respective outcome.
If she made Hermione aware of the housing developments outright, she would undoubtedly become immediately suspicious of the board and the Ministry. The younger witch was far too clever to merely guffaw at that which Minerva and Filius had too been unable to accept-coincidence. Hermione would then push back on the Ministry as well as the board, putting her in a dangerous situation, as Minerva had yet no information as to who or what could be at play. On the other hand, the Headmistress would quickly rid herself of the board's probing if Hermione was determined to end the investigation.
The housing developments themselves weren't necessarily secretive, but Minerva had decided early on in the planning that re-homing many of the elves onto the grounds would have been moot were they not to give each of the clans their own wards to shield them against the public eye. She'd stitched the land between the edge of the grounds that bordered the forest, knowing that the majority of that area was rarely visited by students or staff. This would give the elves a haven to grow their families in their service to the school, something that many of them knew nothing of.
Most of the clans of elves that had sent word to Minerva seeking refuge were fleeing persecution in their own countries. House elves were born into servitude, and many of the clans had begun to grow their family lines in secret, hoping to end their debts to their masters in their own death. The practice had grown so large in some areas of Europe that many of them were beginning to be discovered. Service at Hogwarts meant many a thing to the bands of rogues. They would be fulfilling their duty to be tied to a servitude, but they would be free to choose if they would stay at Hogwarts or serve with a different family after three years. Minerva, who would not have taken advantage of their despair, had guaranteed their freedom to live openly, safe on the grounds of Hogwarts.
If she shielded Hermione against the expansion and developments, Minerva would be afforded the opportunity to gather details about the infiltration, as the investigation would then stretch on for months. However, this path led to the possibility of breeches by the board, which could open the school to potential hazard. With all of the variables being unknown, Minerva was hesitant on either count…The range of hazard was quite broad, and as the steward of Hogwarts, the Headmistress had shuddered against the thought that her decision could lead to the endangerment of any one of the students or staff.
Her thoughts in silence were offset only by the mild crunching that echoed inside Minerva's own head, temples pulsing as she mindlessly chewed her biscuit. Consumption of food during the last two days had been as nonexistent as sleep, both becoming unfamiliar territory to her. Minerva had battled herself tirelessly, as if entangled in an unwinnable game of chess with her own conscious.
A familiar 'pop' disengaged her thinking. "Good morning, Mistress," Aila greeted simply. "Shall we be fixing your breakfast today?"
Minerva threw her gaze immediately to the clock, which showed a quarter past seven. "No, Aila, I'm afraid I haven't time this morning," she quickly drew herself from her desk, willing herself awake. "But I should be eternally grateful if a pot of tea were to somehow appear in my quarters by seven thirty," Minerva smirked, readying herself to make leave for her personal rooms. Before she made haste through the door, she turned back. "And a good morning to you as well, Aila."
The small elf stood in the wake of her mistress' departure, smiling gently before herself disappearing with a snap of long fingers.
Despite the threat of a Saturday staff meeting looming overhead, Minerva lingered in the shower. She needed to come to a preliminary decision so that she could speak to Pomona and Filius after the meeting. Her mind raced furiously, mellowed only by the stream of hot water down her back. Minerva's brain was as foggy as her bathroom had become over the course of the last twenty minutes.
Steam caressed her skin, veiling Minerva in a shroud of warm mist. She exhaled. Tilting her head to the right allowed the water to run down the side of her neck. The heat brought a welcome sense of relaxation amongst the fog, and she groaned slightly as her muscles stretched under the flow of the water.
Minerva could feel herself coming ever closer to the precipice of solution, only to be drawn away by the threat of danger she imagined upon faceless students, close friends, and Hermione. The flash of deep brown eyes brought her abruptly back out of thought, truly hearing the water running for the first time since she'd stepped into the shower.
Realizing the lack of sleep was driving her to the edge of delirium, Minerva turned off the water, filing a note in the back of her mind to sleep once she had this mess sorted.
AN: We will jump forward a couple days in the next chapter, and then a couple weeks into the future. Pieces are going to start stitching themselves together! Drop a note, feedback is immensely helpful! :)