The room had barely changed since she had last been here. The round entrance area, from which a few flat steps led to the center of the office, gave a view of a high room, the walls of which were lined with shelves filled with books, whic h immediately gave Hermione a pleasant feeling like it always flowed through her when she was in a room full of books.
She let her gaze wander longingly over the endless rows of book spines and had to fight the urge to step closer and touch them gently, like old lovers to whom she had returned and in whose familiar embrace of curved sentences and intellectual thoughts she would only be too happy to lose herself again.
In the right half of the office a fire crackled in the fireplace and cast a warm light on the sofa in front of it and a wonderfully comfortable looking armchair, to which Hermione felt as drawn as she did to the books and she couldn't ignore the image that was pushed in her mind's eye, sitting right there with a book and a hot cup of tea, her legs pulled up and completely lost in the thoughts of another person, in another world, without even a hint of what was going on around her. Total escapism, total disappearance - oh, how she longed for it.
A movement over the fireplace caused her gaze to wander upwards, where the paintings of former headmasters and headmistresses adorned the walls, some dozing, others probably wandering around in other pictures, for they were empty and only showed the background left behind and only a few were both present and awake, following her with their eyes as she made her way to the center of the room.
Because there, as if enthroned on a pedestal and easily overlooking the entrance area and the rest of the office, stood a large, solid mahogany desk that Hermione already knew from Professor McGonagall's days as Transfiguration teacher, when it still had been in her previous office.
All the decades had left no obvious signs of wear and tear on the workplace of the woman, who she associated with reliability and an unwavering work ethic like no other.
She had never met anyone who did their work as long, tirelessly and conscientiously as Minerva McGonagall. She seemed to be work personified, never getting tired and always accomplishing all tasks with an elegant ease that Hermione had so often admired.
No wonder she always associated the black-haired woman with the smell of ink, old parchment and a hint of mint, which even now rose up Hermione's nose and awakened memories in her that she tried desperately to repress when she met the headmistress's expectant gaze, who didn't seem the least bit surprised or taken aback despite Hermione's brusque entrance.
Damn animagus abilities. The woman has the hearing of a lynx.
Hermione let her gaze slide up to Minerva McGonagall, who was standing calmly next to her desk, as if they had agreed on this exact time for the meeting. Her delicate hands loosely clasped together in front of her, dressed entirely in black, as she had always been since she became headmistress and had taken off the green robes from her time as Transfiguration teacher.
Hermione couldn't deny how elegant the witch still was even after all these years as she ran her eyes over the older woman. Black looked damn good on her, Hermione had to admit through gritted teeth. It only made her bright green eyes stand out even more and, especially in combination with her black hair tied in her usual bun and her straight posture, she looked regal and almost threatening.
Hermione shuddered and couldn't believe that this woman still managed to make her, a grown woman, a former war hero, the most intelligent witch of her age and mother of two children, feel like a little schoolgirl again.
Given the older woman's flawless appearance, Hermione only became more aware of her own appearance and although she was appropriately dressed for the occasion in black trousers and a light blue blouse, she felt pale and inconspicuous compared to the woman in front of her.
"Mrs. Weasley," the headmistress interrupted her thoughts. "I see your manners have noticeably deteriorated over the last few years. Or is it your memory that has faded and forgotten that it is not appropriate to enter a room without being asked?" the headmistress greeted her coldly.
Hermione's anger, which had been withdrawn at the memories that had arisen in her at the sight of the professor, burst out again with full force and she could hardly contain the venom in her words: "Oh, I can only return the compliment, Headmistress. You also didn't think it was necessary to ask for an appointment with me, let alone give me the option of changing to another day. Instead, you practically ordered me to come to you without even telling me the real reason why I need to be here. If anyone's manners here leave something to be desired, it's certainly not mine."
"Special situations require special measures."
"Which brings us to the topic."
"Take a seat," Minerva McGonagall asked, pointing to the chair in front of her desk.
"No thanks, I don't plan on staying long."
"Oh, I'm afraid this conversation certainly won't be entertaining, Mrs. Weasley, and even if it would be, believe me, you should sit down for what I have to say to you ."
Continuing to point her hand invitingly at the chair in front of her, Minerva fixed her with her green eyes, which that evening were not hidden behind square glasses, which only made her gaze more penetrating.
Hermione returned her gaze darkly and was determined not to lose the duel and not to expose herself in any way right at the beginning of this encounter.
Minerva seemed to sense her former student's stubbornness, turned away and sat down behind her desk herself, her elbows resting on the armrests and her hands clasped together in front of her as if in prayer.
Her expectant gaze fell on Hermione again, patiently and without any sign that she was provoked by Hermione's behavior in any way. There was a smile in her eyes as she looked at her challengingly.
Hermione could almost hear what she was thinking: "Seriously, you want to compete in patience with a cat animagus? Here you go, I have all the time in the world."
The smile spread across her thin lips as she again pointed to the chair in front of her with a brief gesture. Hermione didn't take her eyes off the headmistress as she slowly approached the desk and sat stiffly in the chair offered with her head held high, crossing her legs and placing her clasped hands in her lap, trying to look as professional and mature as possible even if she didn't feel that way at all at that moment.
"Well, I'm sitting. Satisfied? Now tell me what's going on or do I have to lie down first?" she asked defiantly.
Minerva seemed to think for a moment before saying, "What I have to discuss with you, Mrs. Weasley, is of a rather delicate nature."
"That's what I'm assuming, as you specifically summoned me here without any explanation," snorted Hermione.
The headmistress hesitated for a moment before confessing: "I know that this was not a very elegant procedure, but my discovery today did not allow for any delay and, furthermore, this is a topic that even I find difficult to put into appropriate words which I would not have been able to do in writing, and the risk of such a letter falling into the wrong hands would have been too great, the consequences if this case had become known would have been too serious."
Hermione frowned in concern at the seriousness with which Minerva spoke about this situation, about which she still hadn't received a shred of information. She had been so angry and so convinced that it was just a small matter and that the headmistress was simply dramatizing it too much, but slowly a feeling of concern for her daughter began to spread within her like viscous lava bit by bit making its way into her bowels.
"What about Rose? Where is she anyway? Shouldn't she be present at this conversation? After all, she's 15, so she's old enough to take a stand, whatever you accuse her of."
"Rose doesn't know anything about it. It seemed to me that the matter required the utmost sensitivity and I should be the last person to confront her with my discovery at that moment", Minerva sighed.
"You speak in riddles, Professor. What did you find?"
Minerva seemed to steel herself for what she now said: "A notebook."
"A notebook?" Hermione repeated skeptically. She barely managed to stop herself from making a sarcastic comment and tried to keep her tone neutral: "Forgive me for the comment, Professor, but a notebook is not that unusual in a school where students take notes in class every day. "
The headmistress simply raised an eyebrow at this obviously superfluous information and continued: "A notebook that unfortunately does not contain any entries on the subject matter or homework notes, otherwise you would hardly be here."
Hermione narrowed her eyes as the wheels in her head began to turn and she mentally ran through all the possible things that could lead to Minerva McGonagall, who has really been through a lot in her life, surviving two wizarding wars and helped to defeat the darkest lord in the history of magic, being so worried.
Hermione's daughter was a Slytherin and even though she would vouch for Rose and had long since broken down any prejudices against the house that had spawned so much darkness in the past, she couldn't stop her brain from making a connection between the worst thing she could imagine, a return of the dark forces, and the house whose coat of arms was adorned with a silver snake.
As soon as the thought appeared in her mind, Hermione could no longer stop it from spreading like cold poison through her veins, clinging to her heart and squeezing until she felt like she was suffocating.
Seeking help, she looked into the green eyes of her former mentor, this time full of hope that she would take away the fear that had taken hold of her and drive away the cold that even the warm fireplace that crackled so peacefully in the headmistress's office couldn't do anything against it.
The sympathetic look she received from Minerva had an anything but reassuring effect on the younger witch and suddenly all the impatience she had just felt was wiped away and a part of her wished Minerva would just keep quiet and preserve the knowledge that she wanted to share with her and that she now increasingly felt was pulling the rug out from under her feet.
But Minerva McGonagall wasn't so merciful: "Mrs Weasley, how shall I put it..." She looked uncertainly at the tabletop in front of her, as if there was an invisible script there from which she was hoping to find the right words for help, even though the desk in front of her her was enviably tidy.
"Your daughter's notebook, which she so carelessly left on her table after Transfiguration class today, as if she were determined that the next person passing by would find it, contains..." She pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, as if she was trying to massage away a developing headache, and narrowed her eyes briefly before opening them again and continuing: "…thoughts. Extremely intimate thoughts that cause me great concern and reveal the girl's feelings, which seem to run very deep."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock as her thoughts from just now seemed to come true with the headmistress's words. Oh God. How could I have missed that? Had I been so preoccupied with myself and my unhappiness that I hadn't noticed my own daughter drifting to the dark side? Were there any signs? Shouldn't I have felt that? I'm her mother, for God's sake.
Hermione felt herself becoming more and more drawn into the whirlpool of her own thoughts and had to hold on to her chair to ground herself, to feel anything and not sink into the complete darkness of her inner life. Suddenly she was glad that the headmistress had insisted so vehemently on sitting down. So completely lost in her head, she almost didn't hear the next words Minerva spoke.
"At first it seemed to be just about lust and I was admittedly shocked by the explicit details of what she said, but the more I read, the more I realized that these feelings went far beyond lust and that your daughter definitely has a very deep love for…the object of her desire, which is almost obsessive ," she concluded.
Hermione's head shot up and she thought she hadn't heard quite right: "What? What are you talking about?"
The headmistress sighed, kneaded her hands together and sat up straighter, as if she had to gather the strength to repeat her words: "The stories that I read in Rose's notebook today paint a clear picture: your daughter is in love and in an extremely unhealthy, obsessive way that causes me great concern."
She avoided Hermione's gaze as she uttered the next words, quieter this time, as if she were confiding a secret that no one else was allowed to hear: "The details go into an almost..." she visibly had to overcome herself, "…pornographic direction."
She still avoided Hermione's gaze and it almost seemed as if the headmistress was…ashamed? Was that shame she saw on her former professor's face? Why, what the hell should she be ashamed of?
Hermione stared at the headmistress in complete amazement as what she had just said slowly made its way into her brain, the wheels clicked into place and all the thoughts and worries she had just had about her daughter were suddenly wiped away in one fell swoop.
Like a blackboard that had just been scrawled with dark magic, evil wizards and blood and violence, the headmistress had cleaned it completely clean with just a few sentences and new images were forming on it. Images that triggered a completely different feeling in Hermione until something clicked and all the puzzle pieces fell into place.