Five

Many thanks to my beta, Soul Bound.

A blast of icy wind straight off the lake hit Hermione full in the face, and her hair whipped violently about. The witch breathed in and was invigorated by its cold sharpness – it was so different from the languid heat of the South. As she walked along the muddy track, it seemed her body was drinking in the beauty surrounding her. Sure it was not the strong sunlight and vivid colours of warmer climates, but it seemed nature was revealing her more sophisticated side in the muted grey and blue tones.

Hermione wrapped her thick scarf more securely and knew it was because of the ridiculous amount of clothes she was wearing that she was able to enjoy the stroll so much. When dressing earlier this morning, she had remembered what her dad had learned in the Army and had repeated often that 'the problem is never the climate, but how people dress for it.' With that in mind, she had put on so many layers that it occurred to her that she might waddle when she walked. But low and behold, her dad was correct yet again, and for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Hermione actually felt warm.

Some crows were squabbling up in a bare tree, so she stopped and watched them playing out their family dramas before wandering on slowly. Hermione hadn't slept well and had woken to a feeling of great heaviness – like a tremendous weight was pressing down on her. All last night, she had been tormented by the young Harry at the beach dream – it was as if it had been put on replay the entire night. She knew every second of the dream in detail and was now heartily fed up with it. Hermione's task was to work out its meaning, but it was the oddest dream he had ever placed her in. None of it made any sense, and she had difficulty knowing even where to begin. So when the witch woke feeling groggy and saw the blustery autumn sky from her window, she just had to get outside quickly and have a walk in the elements to try and clear her head.

Hermione eyed a particularly boggy part of the track, successfully leaped over it and carried on along the narrow path. It was strange seeing Harry as a young boy and awful seeing him so frightened – he had felt so small as he clung to her in utter desperation. But when the witch remembered the Harry she met yesterday, it baffled her. The wizard had been amazing when he spoke at the service; she'd never known he could talk so sensitively and so eloquently. He was the Harry everyone wanted him to be, and she'd found herself falling in love with him all over again. But later at the Burrow, he was pompous, arrogant, and if he had not been such a dear friend, she would choose to have no more to do with him. And even though Hermione wanted to believe it was Harry's grief causing him to behave obnoxiously, the way the Order members accepted his behavior as normal told her, unfortunately, otherwise. The witch sadly wished Ron were here to help her get a clearer picture of what was going on with Harry. Although she and Ron had come from completely different backgrounds, they always intrinsically understood each other. Whereas Harry had always been complex and at times difficult to understand, which wasn't really surprising.

Hermione paused and looked out across the steel grey lake, trying to catch a glimpse of the giant squid, but only saw some ducks flying low and fast, inches above the choppy water. She needed to concentrate on what she knew. Her dream was entirely about Harry so it was quite likely that he would be a pivotal person in what was about to...

...Her stomach cramped in agony, and all thoughts abruptly left as the witch doubled over, trying desperately to ease it. Her entire gut was tying itself into knots, and wave after wave of dizziness washed over her. Hermione focussed on her breathing and gradually everything eased. She very gingerly straightened and stood unsteadily, feeling pale and weak. The witch saw a tree stump a short distance off the path, so she moved carefully to it and sat down before she fell. It was the lack of food, Hermione suddenly realized. She tried to recall the last thing she had actually been able to consume and remembered the sugar cane on the boat. How many days ago had that been? But there was no way the witch could eat anything at Hogwarts – even if she was starving to death – as the house-elves prepared all the food using magic. When she bit into the savory the first night at McGonagall's rooms, for a moment she had thought she'd bitten into metal piping it had tasted so appalling. As far as Hermione knew, there were no normal cooking facilities anywhere in Hogwarts – with the house–elves, there wasn't any need for them. Also, she didn't want to draw attention by actively seeking them out. Anyway, where would she get food to cook with? Hermione sat cogitating and finally let out a sigh of relief; she had a temporary solution, and it was just a matter of slightly adjusting her plans for the day.

Hermione got up and started walking back up the track, feeling chilled and unwell. As she re-entered Hogwarts, the same oppressive heaviness from this morning descended on her again. The witch was pleased it was early Sunday morning, with the corridors deserted, since nobody was around to see her walking so slowly. As Hermione stepped onto a moving staircase to go up to Gryffindor tower, she couldn't help shaking her head at the unbelievably extravagant use of magic. Moving staircases – why?

The moment Hermione knocked on McGonagall's door, she regretted it. What if the professor was still sleeping? Last night, McGonagall had said she wanted to see Hermione in the morning, but had not mentioned a particular time. The door was opened by an alert and a very much awake McGonagall dressed in her usual green robes with her hair pulled back tightly into a bun. Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

'Good morning, Professor McGonagall. I hope I haven't disturbed you.'

'No, not at all. I am pleased you came. I wanted a word with you, and I have meetings all day today, so this is good,' she assured warmly. 'Let me take your coat and scarf – you look like you have been out this fine morning.'

'I went for a walk around the lake – it's lovely out.' Hermione unwound her scarf, shrugged out of her heavy cloak, and handed it to McGonagall.

'It does look like the perfect walking weather,' the professor said enviously and led her to the armchairs by the fire. 'Would you like some tea to warm you up?'

'Yes, that would be lovely.'

The professor clapped her hands, and the same fine boned tea set from last night appeared on the coffee table in front of them. The professor poured the tea, and Hermione added two lumps of sugar, then took a sip, suppressing a grimace. The witch glanced about; it was the first time she had been in these rooms during the day. They were decorated beautifully in a tasteful modern sort of way, and the professor had used the height of the ceiling and the length of the windows to create a light, airy space; there was a slight tinge of something floral or perhaps vanilla based in the air. It wasn't at all old ladyish, Hermione thought guiltily.

'Hermione, I wanted to talk about...'

Hermione brought her attention back and wondered if McGonagall wanted to talk about what she had done wrong at the service and why nobody wanted anything to do with her. She hoped she hadn't done anything too terrible.

Professor McGonagall shifted slightly in her seat and set her cup carefully down on her saucer. 'I will come to the point. I was wondering if you would be interested in doing some consultation work at Hogwarts.' Professor McGonagall looked at her over the top of her glasses.

'Me?' stammered out Hermione, completely surprised. Everything and everyone was acting most out of pattern.

'Our Divination and Ancient Runes curriculum have not been looked at in years, and I understand these are your areas of expertise.'

'Wow, I am honoured that you would even consider me,' the young witch replied, trying furiously to rally her thoughts.

Professor McGonagall smiled at her obviously stunned expression. 'If you do decide to accept it, you will be on a professor's salary with accommodation and meals included, of course.'

Hermione remembered the little boy with an almost physical feeling of pain. 'How long would it be for?'

'I am estimating between a fortnight and a month.' The older witch added almost apologetically, 'They have been neglected for some time.'

Hermione took a large gulp of tea, hoping the sugar in it would help her dreadfully muddled brain process everything.

'Athena said you studied under the Paramount Witch of Divination and Ancient Languages for many years, as well as with many other prominent witches and wizards in the South.'

'Yes, I have,' confirmed Hermione neutrally, but inwardly she tensed, wondering how much McGonagall knew.

'It would benefit Hogwarts greatly if someone of your caliber could look over what we are currently teaching in order to improve it. Few witches or wizards nowadays have the necessary training and experience in these subjects.'

'You do understand the approach taken in the South, particularly towards Divination and Ancient Runes, is completely different from here,' Hermione felt compelled to point out.

'I do indeed. I am led to understand the traditions you trained in are very substantial and in some ways more robust than ours. Both subjects are, as you probably recall, treated as soft options, but from what Athena has told me, and from what I have observed during my stays, that is not the case in the traditions of the South.'

'No, they are certainly never considered a soft option down there – in fact, they are quite the opposite,' agreed Hermione. 'You know, the irony is Divination used to be my most hated subject. I found it hard to believe when I studied it in the South that it was even the same subject.' The witch chuckled, remembering her shock when she found out.

The professor's eyes twinkled in amusement. 'I have to say also that until I had seen it practiced in the South, it was not a subject I put any credence in. But after gaining a rudimentary idea of the processes, it brought into sharp relief the inadequacies in the curricula being taught here.'

Hermione smiled at Professor McGonagall, impressed with the older witch's intelligence and understanding. 'It would be interesting for me to look over it as well.'

'I would imagine.'

'After many, many years of intensive study, I now know that at some point in history, the Southern approach and the wizarding approach were one.'

'Really?' McGonagall's eyes were alive with interest. 'But then you are in quite a unique position to know.'

'Yes, in fact, not in just this one area. It seems to me that over time the wizarding world lost some aspects of their magic but retained others.'

'And the South?'

'The same thing happened. I think, as both communities became more isolated from one another, the differences became more exaggerated and the similarities much harder to detect.'

'How fascinating.' Professor McGonagall's eyes became serious, and she slowly shook her head. 'There is a very long and complex history between our two communities – with not a lot of it being positive. Many people, particularly now, would be horrified that I am even considering having someone with a Southern approach look over the curriculum, let alone the possibility of incorporating something of a Southern angle into Hogwarts. But I suppose you can never please those sorts of people.'

Hermione admired the Headmistress' clarity of thought. 'I will give your offer my deepest consideration and let you know my answer by the end of today.' She needed time to think things through.

They both took a sip of tea, and the wind blew loudly on the window, rattling the catches.

'I'm planning to visit my parents' graves today. I thought I probably should let you know that I'll be leaving shortly,' said Hermione, breaking the silence.

Professor McGonagall looked at her sharply as if she was a student asking permission for an outing to Hogsmeade. Hermione felt a tickling of irritation run through her.

'Hmm, it is not quite as straightforward as that, I am afraid....'

Hermione inwardly groaned, and a rush of anger coursed through her. For goodness sake, all she was doing was being polite and going through the formalities; she wasn't really asking for permission, and she certainly wasn't expecting there to be any difficulties. The young witch had traveled for years and knew how to look after herself.

Professor McGonagall must have seen the look in her face because she quickly added in a consolatory tone, 'Oh, of course you must go. I am not saying for a moment you should not, but I need to establish a risk assessment, you understand. I will also need to send some one from the Order with you....'

Hermione bunched her hands into fists, and a vein thumped heavily in her temple. The witch sat there seething until she realized suddenly the inappropriateness of her reaction. What was happening to her? Why did she want to hit someone over something as mundane as this? Her stomach growled angrily, and Hermione braced herself for another round of cramps, but relaxed when nothing happened. It was the incessant gnawing hunger boring into her, Hermione recognized, that was causing her intense reactions. All she wanted to do was go to the Strawberry Café, her favourite café in the village, order their lamb shanks served with mashed potatoes, mint sauce and thick brown gravy or maybe their Cajun chicken with the special sauce they made – or maybe both. Her mouth watered in hungry anticipation. Salads were way down on her list now that she was close to starvation. Then she would finish with coffee and cake – real espresso coffee, nice and strong – and maybe a cheesecake; yes, that would be perfect, although a rich, dark chocolate cake could also be nice. Then again, custard would be...Hermione jerked to a stop when she realized she was daydreaming about food. This was getting out of control. She forced herself to listen to the professor.

'... So you see, Hermione, while you are here, it is best that you do not go anywhere unaccompanied.'

Hermione dutifully nodded, but she had no idea what McGonagall had just said. This was bad. She had never phased out when somebody was speaking before and felt too embarrassed to ask what the professor had said.

'... Now I need to see if I can find someone to accompany you at such short notice. Most of the higher-grade Order members are required to attend the meetings today, and unfortunately I do not want risk sending a lesser-qualified member with you. But do not worry, Hermione; I understand you need to visit your parents' graves today, and I will endeavor to find someone so you are properly protected. When I do, I will send them to your rooms.'

Hermione quickly masked her disappointment. She didn't want anyone coming with her. All Hermione wanted to do was go to the café, eat to her heart's content, wander around her village, browse in some bookshops, and then walk to the nearby Church and visit her parents' graves. It was a deeply personal visit, and the witch didn't want to share it with some stranger.

'Thank you, Professor,' said Hermione, trying to sound grateful, and she got up to leave. She felt guilty; it was hardly the professor's fault she needed to send someone with her. In fact, McGonagall was acting most responsibly. Oh, goodness, thought Hermione desperately; she needed to eat something so she could start thinking straight.