Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Ach mein gott."

Hermione looked up from her manuscript to see Professor Galland gripping his coffee cup and backing back into his office. He was clad in a kimono type bathrobe.

"You surprised me. I didn't expect anyone to be here," he said. "By the way, why are you here? The room is locked." He paused. "Oh, that's right. A lock is no barrier for the mighty Hermione Granger. But why are you here? And what's that cat thing?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I wanted a quiet room, and this room is so peaceful and soothing. This is Crookshanks."

"I suppose the stones still reverberate, days later, to Haydn and Mendelssohn," he said. "Let me make myself more presentable. Can I bring you a morning coffee, too?"

She nodded yes, struck silent by her surprise at his lack of outrage. She had believed he wouldn't appear until noon, and now, she was caught, but he was being civil. The room was reverberating to the vibrations of Adolf Galland.

He returned, dressed and with two cups of coffee, and said, "I suppose you're wondering if I'm failing to rise to the standards expected of a professor because I'm not penalizing you for your transgression or if I'm rising above the standards by not penalizing you."

"Yes," she said. She had been pondering that.

"Well, I don't know myself," he said.

Hermione laughed, spewing out her coffee.

Adolf waved his wand for towels to mop up the puddles. Hermione, gasping and choking, finally blew her nose in one of the towels. It was a mighty honk. If that wasn't mortifying enough for the girl, Adolf covered his eyes and shook his head. Then, he sat with a composed countenance, the very model of a true gentleman behaving as if nothing had happened.

Hermione was puzzled by her feelings of being relaxed and close to Adolf, but she accepted them. It was only later, when more experienced, that she realized an intimate moment had occurred.

Except.

She ran her fingers through her hair in the spontaneous grooming gesture, but she forgot she had taken off her glasses in the subconscious desire to make more eye contact, and ended up untangling her hair and glasses while Adolf and Crookshanks watched.

The editor was appalled at Biff's neglect of Luna's fundamental nature. She wasn't really angry at him for his omission, and she was certain any feelings she had were under control and wouldn't appear in the narrative.

"I should have known you were vile."

Draco looked up at a furious Luna. "Something seems to be bothering you," he said

He first wondered which of his many transgressions she had discovered. He next thought that he had better let her tell him which one it was. There was no reason to reveal another one of his faults by apologizing for the wrong one.

"You don't even know what you've done wrong, do you? That's callous beyond belief."

"Perhaps if you told me what has upset you."

"Don't give me that cool aristocratic shit. And I don't like your superior attitude either, not from someone doing the things you're doing."

Draco had always assumed that Luna had a streak of anger somewhere inside her, and that one day it would appear. He had also assumed that he could talk reasonably with her, explain that he hadn't meant to hurt her feelings, and say that he was sorry he had done so, but he was now thinking he had been overly optimistic. He might not even find out what the problem was.

But luckily, if that's the right word, she ranted on. "You're rounding up rabbits and mice, innocent creatures that never did you any harm, and sending them to their death. What's worse, what's unforgiveable, is you're saying you're doing it based on my work. I'm sorry I did this study with you, I'm sorry I invited you to join me, and I'm sorry I ever met you, Draco Malfoy."

The crystal brilliance of his plan shattered into knife-edged shards in the hard vacuum of Luna's departure.

The editor's pen kept drifting back to Pansy. Biff had written her as an alienated girl, but one of intelligence and spirit. Biff had given Pansy a trim figure and an intellectual appreciation of beauty. The editor wondered if readers could identify with a clever outsider longing for acceptance. The editor knew she could – purely as an artistic exercise of course.

Pansy saw Professor Galland stretch, fold up his papers, and lock them in his study. As he walked by, she asked, "Are you going for another walk, sir?"

"It clears my head."

"Does your head really get clear, sir? I can't imagine it empty."

"What a sense of humor you have, Pansy."

"Are you going to walk through part of the forest, sir? I've always wanted to see it if it's okay that I come along, if you don't object to being seen with me."

"Of course, it's okay," said Adolf Galland.

Pansy's spirits lifted.

"Professors are above such things," he said.

Pansy's spirits fell.

Nevertheless, she asked if he would wait till she got her coat. Let the other students stare. She didn't care about them any more than they cared about her. A few minutes later, she was strolling through the forest, taking in its strangeness. Professor Galland appeared relaxed. Perhaps she could talk to him.

"Are you thinking of going to more of my parent's social events?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. "It was considerate of them to invite me, but I'm not certain I belong."

"They want you to join them. Mum will be enticing," said Pansy.

"Join them? Enticing?" he asked.

"Very enticing," she said. "Your wildest fantasies. Beyond your wildest dreams."

Adolf was wondering what made a girl speak that way about her mother. "And you?" he asked.

"I'm the virgin sacrifice, don't you know?"

"There should be a substantial reward for being such a thing," he said.

She looked at him. Was he making fun of her? She didn't know. She said, "At one time, I was tempted, but it went wrong, and now, I'm glad it did."

She hesitated. "Mum and dad had high hopes, and they blame me. They told me my figure isn't full enough."

Various things people had said connected, and he asked, "Were those people at the party the remnants of the last civil disturbance."

She stepped closer. "I was afraid for you."

He held her arms to reassure the distressed girl. "You needn't have worried."

"They use people," she said. "They spend the day talking to their managers and overseers. They collect their rents. They go to their club for their beef dinner. Afterwards, they sip their brandy, talk about how bad things are getting, and complain that no one is doing anything for them."

"What is it costing you to tell me this?" he asked.

Pansy was fumbling with the buttons of her coat, opening it, becoming physically vulnerable. She was close enough to whisper, "I'm a blood traitor."

He put his arms around her. "You're no kind of traitor."

She opened his coat and stepped into his warmth.

The editor reviewed her work and concluded that the experience of writing an outsider yearning for understanding had taken her out of herself all the way to the land of dialogue.

It was time to let Biff do a little plot. Too bad he couldn't get outside himself and sympathize with a lonesome fellow human. Not that she was personally interested. It would merely do Biff good to expand his literary horizons.

The editor was correct. Back in his office, Biff was not expanding his horizons.

Professor Flitwick was temporarily at a loss for words. What could he tell the most brilliant student he had ever had? How could he tell her there were few opportunities for her, perhaps none?

"The news is bad, isn't it, sir," said Hermione.

"I talked to every contact I had in the government, and I talked to every person they sent me to," said Flitwick. "They all said the same thing. They're all convinced you'd be bored working in their department."

Hermione slumped in her chair.

Flitwick decided to take a risk. "Can you keep a secret, a real secret, one that will hurt people if it becomes known? Can you help someone who deserves a break, someone who might lose a chance for a decent life? Can you help this person even if it means not being completely honest with people you've known a long time?"

"Is this about Andromeda Tonks, sir? I know you and others are doing something with her country estate, and it might be full of family treasure."

Flitwick was thinking there were reasons smart people were shunned. "We're afraid the government will confiscate it as spoils of war on the grounds it belonged to the Black family."

"I suppose, sir, that you would like me to discover the government's plans."

Flitwick was thinking that, on the other hand, there were good reasons to employ the brilliant.

The next weekend, Hermione visited Arthur Weasley and expressed interest in his collection. After touring the batteries and the pinball machine that he couldn't get to work, she remarked that people should be safe in their own homes, free to pursue their innocent hobbies. Arthur readily agreed. Hermione sighed and mentioned there were other people in Arthur's position. Andromeda Tonks had a country estate, and she was clearing it of vermin, but Andromeda was afraid that as soon as it was livable, government agents would appear and cart off harmless objects of great sentimental value to her, reminders of her happier childhood. Arthur said that shouldn't happen to a person who had suffered as much as Andromeda.

Hermione started dropping in on Ron and Harry, who were training for the police arm of the government, the very people who might raid the Black estate. She chatted with them until the day they clammed up and said they couldn't talk to anyone about what was going to happen next week. She revisited Arthur who said the place was buzzing over the possibility of grabbing a secret trove of valuable and illicit artifacts.

Hermione burst into Flitwick's office. "I think the raid is next week, sir."

He listened to her methods and the evidence and congratulated her. He also told her that she should be brought into the operation although she would have to be patient. Those already involved had become a tight-knit team. He did not tell her that she probably needed a new social group. After what she had done, it was not likely that she could whole-heartedly interact with her old crowd again. He felt a pang of guilt. What had he asked of her? What had it cost her?