Minerva McGonagall sat in the staff table, occupying the throne-like chair at the center. As part of the tradition, the Start-of-Term Feast was held and her eyes, for lack of any interesting view to see but for Hagrid's new lizard pet gobbling down the contents of his plate, swept through the house tables.
She saw them on her farthest left, Hogwarts' golden trio. With the reputation they earned during the war, she was confident Kingsley would automatically grant them the Auror position. And yet here they are. She smiled inwardly, knowing full well why. Potter and Weasley would take advantage of skipping the steps to become an Auror. But not her, not Hermione Granger. She would insist that they go through the same process as everyone.
A tap on her shoulder. "Headmistress."
"Professor Flitwick."
Hermione watched as the Charms Master leaned closer to Professor McGonagall, whispering. The headmistress's face was placid, but she knew her well enough to tell that she was not pleased.
"You remember that news from the paper last week?" Harry said. She was surprised to find out that he was watching them too.
"The one about the large group of werewolves sighting in Great Britain?"
"Don't you find it odd—suspicious even?"
Hermione, her spoon mid-air, looked at him.
"I tried to ask Kingsley about that before we left."
"And?"
"He told me not to bother with it yet and that it was confidential case until they were sure of what it really is." Harry looked sullen.
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't tell me you did something completely opposite of what you were told."
"I did not."
"So you threw on your invisibility cloak to sneak in the Auror department's office and went through the files of whoever's in charge of the case." Hermione said, speaking very fast.
"Kingsley said 'yet'."
"And in your head, it translated to go ahead and find it out yourself?"
Harry sneered as though he was not being reprimanded by her.
"Kingsley has no idea what he's getting himself into, having someone like you marauding around the Ministry at night without being seen."
"Someone like me?" He feigned being offended.
"Hey, give him a break." Ron interjected, mouth filled to the brim. "He's the boy who lived—twice."
Hermione huffed and shook her head. "What did you find out?"
"Well, they mentioned Greyback in the report and a few names that have been suspected of being a werewolf before."
Hermione was listening intently, though her eyes wandered off the opposite side of the hall. Just like in the train platform, his blond hair stood up among the rest. He sat despondently with his face in his hand. He looked well, a bit of weight loss and bags under his eyes, but other than that he looked like he recovered from his year of imprisonment in Azkaban.
The funny thing is, Hermione thought, she had seen this before. This image of him sitting right there. Not during their school years, but after that. He had been there on that same spot with his parents after Voldemort's defeat. Looking uncertain of their place in the victory.
He suddenly raised his face and Hermione met his sharp cruel gaze. She turned away abruptly, clearly shaken. She picked up her spoon and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully, aware of the keenest glance coming from the Slytherin's table.
"Anyway, if the Ministry is taking extreme precautions to mitigate the news about it then it must be something serious." Harry's voice came back to her. She stared at him without really seeing. Her mind drawing back to Malfoy's icy glare. She knew him to be hostile, but what did she do this time to deserve it?
It never occurred to her that Hogwarts' empty halls would one day feel terrifying. As she walked in the shadows cast by the torchlights on the walls, she thought of the time she had walked here late at night after studying in the library. The ghosts of Hogwarts never frightened her, but it's not what haunts the castle now—the agony of remembering who died where. If her memories would materialize, each corner has a ghost.
She had to compose herself when she arrived in the Gargoyle Corridor of the Headmistress' Tower. Telling herself to relax before she muttered the password and stepped in the moving circular staircase.
There were murmurs coming from inside. Does the Headmistress presently have a guest? She eyed the lined of portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. On this side she was still concealed by large bookcases surrounding the room. She moved to the end of the line where Albus Dumbledore's portrait hung.
"Professor Dumbledore." She whispered.
A pair of twinkling eyes opened and stared back at her. The portrait winked and then disappeared. Hermione looked around as if expecting to find him in the frames nearby. But McGonagall's voice came first.
She stepped inside the large circular room and immediately catches the sight of the other visitor, hovering near the headmistress' desk. It's Draco Malfoy yet again, looking graciously half-interested in that obnoxious way of his.
"Miss Granger." Minerva motioned her to stand next to him. She wanted to burst into flames instead.
"Good evening, Professor. If it's not a good time I can come back—"
"It's alright. I'm sure Mr. Malfoy doesn't mind."
Hermione stole a glance at his direction and regretted it. For there it was again, his cold grey eyes. Why was he there?
"I've written a request to use the time-turner again this year." She said.
"I presumed so, seeing all the classes that you've enrolled in." Minerva pulled a drawer and from it, retrieved a golden necklace. "I did not think you are planning to return next year to finish it all."
She was positive she heard him smirk. "No, I—wanted to go to the Ministry at the same time as Harry and Ron."
"I was being playful, Hermione." Minerva said, her expression shifting into a warm smile. She was feeling tensed but seeing Minerva like this reminded her of the motherly bond they had grown into after the holidays and endless dinners they spent together at Grimmauld Place with Harry and the Order of the Phoenix after the war.
Minerva walked over the table to hand her the time-turner. Her hand closing on the timepiece resembling an hourglass. "Thank you, Professor."
Minerva looked at her and then at Draco, taking in the profound silence between the two. Hermione took it as an opportunity to bid good night and leave. The headmistress turned back to Draco thanking him for some information. Hermione did not hear the rest.
On her way out, Albus Dumbledore's portrait winked at her again before closing his eyes and mimicking the sleeping pose of every other portrait beside him. Hermione was stepping onto the circular staircase, eager to go back in the Gryffindor's house dormitory when a hand reached rapidly to stop the wall from closing behind her. Long white fingers.
She turned and met his steely gaze. It was as if he was doing it on purpose, scaring her. The stairs began to move downwards and there was a sudden chilling current that crept in the space between them. What does she say to him? Or should she say something at all?
The stairwell opened to the dark hallway but Draco remained still, waiting for her to walk out first, it seemed.
"Thank you." She muttered.
He scowled.
Alright. She took out her wand and whispered Lumos. "I can't see through clearly."
"I can." He said. "This is how it's like in my cell in Azkaban."
Hermione threw a glance at him and he was already staring at her point-blank. "I did hear about the conditions the prisoners had to sustain to survive."
"That's not even the worst part. Not feeling anything—Until we were released I was pretty convinced I was already dead."
"But you're not dead."
"Disappointed, are we?"
"That's not what I meant. I never admire how they run things in Azkaban."
"Ofcourse, because it would go against your principle." It wasn't hate that prompted such a reaction but something else Hermione had trouble decoding. When he failed to elicit any response from her, added, "It was your mission wasn't it? To save everyone."
"My—what?"
He stepped in front of her brusquely, looking down so she will feel helpless under his gaze. "Better to stay away from me, Granger."
With equal hostility, "You don't need to tell me that." Then just she stood there and watched him put distance between them. Letting him go so he would not see that she was trying very hard, but failing, to stifle the hurt showing on her face.