Chapter 5 - I Can't Say Goodbye

Chapter 5 - I Can't Say Goodbye

"Hermione! On time as always." Gregory Palmer smiled at Hermione when she punctually entered his office at two o'clock that Saturday.

Palmer's office was beautifully located on the ground floor, right next to the greenhouses. It once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, who apparently had quite the green thumb and a wish to be close to nature.

It was elegantly decorated, instilling a snug feeling of warmth, bathing in the sunlight that was pouring in through three oversized, arched windows, overseeing the Forbidden Forest.

A large wooden desk cluttered with parchments, quills, newspapers, and a marble ashtray filled to the brim with cigarette butts, was situated in front of the windows, facing the room. On the other side of the desk stood two comfortable-looking leather armchairs.

A liquor cabinet, holding all sorts of whiskey bottles and a collection of crystal glasses, was squeezed in between a couple of large bookshelves, taking up one side of the room. Occupying the opposite wall was a worn couch, littered with pillows in different shapes and sizes. And beneath it all was the largest oriental rug Hermione had ever seen.

"Sit down, please." Palmer conjured a small table out of an umbrella stand and put it in front of one of the armchairs. "I thought you could help me grade some papers. My third years had a surprise test on boggarts yesterday." He frowned. "From what I've seen so far, they were really surprised."

Hermione laughed and plopped down in the chair, digging through her back pack for a quill.

Gregory Palmer was a thinly built, fifty-five-year-old ex-Auror with kind eyes and a contagious laugh. He had been one of the men working from within the Ministry of Magic during the war and had quickly become Kingsley Shacklebolt's right hand in building up the wizarding world after Voldemort's death.

It was hard to imagine anyone disliking Palmer's gentle and thoughtful nature, and when he had announced his retirement from the Ministry after almost thirty years of service, there was no doubt that they were losing one of their best men. The never-ending stream of tearful thank you cards, which had been sent to his office alone, was proof of that.

The only two things that could possibly be held against Palmer was an old smoking habit and the occasional tendency to pour himself a shot of whiskey before breakfast on the weekends.

McGonagall, along with Septima Vector, Hogwarts Arithmancy professor, had taken it upon themselves to teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes after the school had been restored. But after nearly six months of working nonstop, they had been forced to admit that other areas demanding their attention were showing signs of neglect.

When the school had put out an advertisement in the Daily Prophet, Gregory Palmer had been one out of only two applicants. And when offered the job, he had accepted without hesitation and immediately swapped his apartment in Chichester for the drafty Scottish castle.

Palmer had, however, barely had time to get comfortable in his new teaching role, when an absurd, but unconfirmed, rumor began to spread amongst the students. Hermione had disregarded it as ludicrous when she first had heard it, but her curiosity was involuntarily sparked, and now, with a golden opportunity to actually find out the rumor's level of veracity, that curiosity was burning a hole in her head.

It's none of your business, she thought as she watched Palmer frantically rummaging around his desk, looking for the right pile of papers.

But what's the harm? It's just an innocent question ... Stop it! Who are you? Rita Skeeter, digging for dirt?

She shuddered at the thought and decided to ask Palmer something else to distract her from the real question on her mind.

"Do you know the reason I'm here, Professor?"

"Yes, I am very aware of it, actually," he replied and stopped the rummaging for a second.

"It just doesn't feel like grading papers is ... enough. It feels like I should be scrubbing boogers off the walls in the boys' bathroom, or something similar to it." Wait a minute! Am I actually agreeing with Professor Snape? she thought to herself, bewildered.

"Maybe you should." Palmer chuckled. "But I don't believe in punishment, as much as I believe in reflection and contemplation. Let me ask you this: Should I be afraid that you would do that same to me if I were to be 'rude' in your opinion?"

"What? No! Surely, you don't think that?"

"I don't know you well enough to be able to tell, Hermione. I've heard about you, of course, and your contribution in the war, but I don't know anything about you personally. Let's just hope this was a one time thing."

Palmer finally dug out what seemed to be the correct pile from underneath a golden paperweight and handed them to her.

"You can start with these. I presume you are well versed on the subject?"

"Most definitely, Professor. My own boggart, before the war at least, was Professor McGonagall telling me I had failed all my tests and exams. And I don't mean to boast, but there are few topics I am not well versed in," she said and quirked her lips.

Palmer laughed outright at this.

After an extremely dull half hour, struggling through what had to be a low point in Hogwarts' history when it came to test results, Hermione's thoughts began to wander.

She looked up at Palmer. He had his head in his hand, absently scribbling a comment here and there.

You'd better not do what I think you're about to do, Hermione Jean Granger, she thought.

And then she heard her own voice, as if it had a mind of its own.

"Professor Palmer? May I ask you something?"

He turned his attention to her. "Yes?"

"Is it true that you were married to Dolores Umbridge?" Hermione blurted out.

Palmer, completely taken by surprise, stared at her for a couple of seconds before he slowly put his quill down and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes.

"I still am," he said finally.

"So, it's true!" Hermione shrieked, "But she's in Azkaban!" Surprised by her own uncontrolled outburst, she clasped her hands over her mouth, and in a muffled voice added, "Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry."

Palmer chuckled sadly.

"It's fine, Hermione. I know she hasn't got the best ... reputation. And certainly not here at Hogwarts. And yes, she is."

They sat together in silence for a while, Hermione feeling embarrassed by her lack of restraint and Palmer lost in thought.

A quiet knock startled them both. The door opened and Filius Flitwick popped his head in.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Gregory, but a short word if I may?" he inquired.

"Oh, absolutely. I'll be right back, Hermione," he said and walked across the floor to join his colleague in the corridor, closing the door behind him.

A few minutes later the door cracked open, and Palmer seated himself behind his desk once more.

"Professor," Hermione said, having had the time to compose herself. "Again, I'm sorry, it really was none of my business..."

"You know what," Palmer broke off, not unkindly. "Let's take a walk. I'll tell you about Dolores. Who knows? Maybe you will benefit from it in some way."

I seriously doubt it, Hermione thought, but this time managed to keep it to herself.

"Have you by any chance seen a pack of cigarettes? I swear I last saw them on my desk," Palmer said incidentally. "Oh, well, never mind. I have some in my robes."

He walked up to a coat rack where a worn grey robe had been sloppily hung over a pair of pants and a jacket and fished a pack out from an inside pocket as he motioned for her to follow. "We'll take the back door; it takes us right through the greenhouses."

It was a hot day, and students were lazily milling about the grounds. Some had even journeyed down to the Black Lake, daring each other to dip their toes in the water.

Hermione cast a glance at the man next to her, as they slowly left the castle behind, walking in silence down an overgrown trail leading to the lake.

"Did you know that the Giant Squid is female, sir? The only one of its kind in Britain," Hermione said, voicing a stray thought.

"Must be quite lonely for her, then," Palmer said absent-mindedly.

"I don't really think she can grasp the concept of loneliness if I'm honest." Hermione sniggered. "Her brain is supposedly the size of a walnut, which makes her intelligence equivalent to that of an emu."

"And that would be?" Palmer seemed to have his eyes fixed on the now quite narrow and steep path, but Hermione could see a small smile form on his lips.

"Next to naught," she said and gave him a grin.

Suddenly the Black Lake appeared before them, and Palmer stopped briefly to light a cigarette. He sighed and started walking towards the shore.

"She is a pureblood, Dolores, born and raised. She was sorted into Slytherin, and I into Hufflepuff. She had her mind set on proving herself to the wizarding world right from the start, and I guess I was impressed by her conviction and willpower. It got to her head in the end, as you know," he said quietly.

"But she was a really lovely young woman when we met. Kind and vibrant, and I was head over heels for her. We started dating in our seventh year, got engaged right after graduation and married two years after that."

Hermione was at a loss for words. She couldn't even imagine a world were Dolores Umbridge was "lovely" or "kind."

"What do you know about wizarding engagements and marriages?" Palmer said, a shadow crossing his face.

"Not much. I'm Muggle-born." She shrugged. "But from what I understand, the divorce rate is a lot lower in the wizarding world as opposed to the Muggle world."

"Well, it's not so much lower, as it is nonexistent. It's nearly impossible to break off an engagement, let alone get a divorce in the wizarding world. The magically binding vows you make at the ceremony are basically indestructible, much like an Unbreakable Vow in its essence," he said.

"It all seems very medieval, if you don't mind me saying so," Hermione said empathetically.

Palmer looked at her bleakly. "No, I quite agree. There are exceptions of course. Death ... and infidelity. Violence, I reckon. But to lose faith or love ... Apparently that's not enough. And because of this choice I made when I was very young, I am now irrevocably bonded to a person whom I feel nothing but loathing for and whom I can't see or talk to since, well, she's locked up for life, deprived of visitation rights." He frowned. "And even if I could, I wouldn't want to."

Palmer stopped and gazed out the lake.

"Everybody does stupid things. But it shouldn't cost them everything they want in life." He turned to Hermione and smiled sadly.

"I'm really sorry, Professor," she said softly, "I didn't know."

"And how would you?" He shook his head. "Let's walk back. It's already dinner time." He glanced down at his watch and put out his cigarette. "They're serving roast today. It's supposed to be delicious," he said briskly, trying to lighten the dampened mood.

Palmer set a fast pace, and they had almost reached the front doors of the castle, when they heard a familiar voice behind them.

"A little walk in the park, Mr. Palmer? Is that your idea of a detention?" Snape drawled.

"Ah, Professor Snape. Why, yes, if it suits the lesson I'm trying to teach the student given me," Palmer replied, folding his arms across his chest.

"Sunbathing and strolling have joined the school curriculum, have they?" Snape quipped.

"Well, yes, maybe they have," Palmer said curtly, flustered at the Potions master's insolence.

"Then I will immediately alert the Headmaster of these two new additions. I am certain the students will find them as academically stimulating and challenging as Divination."

Hermione let out a loud snort.

"Miss Granger." He quirked his lips and gave her a minuscule bow, then turned to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. "Mr. Palmer," he said coolly, robes billowing behind him as he walked through the doors.

"That man," Palmer said, angry red spots appearing on his cheeks, "is a challenge."

"Yes. He certainly is," Hermione conceded with the smallest hint of a smile.

I Can't Say Goodbye – Bobby Vee