Strange Attractors, Chapter 1
Jan. 28th, 2003 06:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maudite_a_deuxOK, here goes:
Strange Attractors
"At night they lurk about the tall barrier staring with curious wild eyes into the flat field, feeling cheated."
-- Beryl Markham
~ * ~
Hermione Granger sank into the armchair by the window and surveyed her new rooms at Hogwarts with an odd mixture of discomfort and satisfaction. It was strange to be back after eight years, yet it also felt like she'd finally come home. As a student she'd dreamt of teaching here, but her involvement with Harry Potter and the war with Voldemort had kept her from anything resembling a normal life until now. Even then, even knowing how much Harry needed her, she'd had moments of wishing she could walk away from it all.
She'd never dared admit that to anyone, of course. How could she? Harry wasn't just the most famous wizard in the world, he was one of her two best friends. She could no more have turned her back on him than she could make the clouds turn to butter and fall from the sky. Harry was just like that -- when he needed you, somehow you couldn't say no to him, even if you wanted to. Goodness shone forth from him like a beacon and left no one untouched. It illuminated the darkest corners of your soul and forced you to face your fears, your demons, your unacknowledged faults. It made you want to be like him, no matter what you had to sacrifice to do it.
As if anyone could possibly be like Harry Potter.
It had taken her some time to remember what she'd wanted out of life before the war. She doubted she was the only one who felt that way. Everyone had seemed so aimless, so lost. When Headmistress McGonagall called to offer her the position of Muggle Studies instructor at Hogwarts, she'd leapt at the chance. It wouldn't have been her first choice, but it was a start, and she could hardly deny that she had more expertise than most wizards on the subject.
A firm knock on the door interrupted her woolgathering.
"Come in, Headmistress," she called. Minerva McGonagall strode into the room with her usual brisk air. She didn't seem to have aged a minute since Hermione's school days. Hermione wondered idly if she'd sprung forth fully- formed, like Athena from the forehead of Zeus. She couldn't imagine the older woman as anything but what she was now.
"However did you know it was me? Never mind that, there's other business at hand. I just wanted to let you know that the pre-term faculty meeting will take place this afternoon at 3:00 in the staff lounge. And how are you settling in?"
"Just fine, thank you. My rooms are wonderful."
"Only you would think so," the Headmistress said with a smile. "They are a little dark, you know."
"Dark?" Hermione looked around in surprise.
She supposed, now that she thought of it, the room was a little low on light. What little there was entered through two smallish windows mostly covered with ivy, which filtered the sun's rays and gave the entire room a not unpleasant greenish cast. The bookcases, however, were perfect. They lined every wall of the sitting room from floor to ceiling. It appeared there was nearly enough shelf space for all of her precious books, although as yet, most of them were stacked on the floor awaiting placement. In the last place she'd lived, she had to keep most of them in storage; the layout of the place had left little room for books.
"I suppose. But the shelf space is fantastic! And there's room for a few more in the bedroom..." she trailed off at the older woman's chuckle.
"Let me know how many more bookcases you need and I'll have them ordered for you," said McGonagall. "But honestly, is it really necessary to have an entire second library?"
Hermione opened her mouth to protest but stopped, feeling a blush creep across her face. "Well... I like books," she said sheepishly.
"Of course you do, my dear. I'm only teasing. While I'm here, is there anything else you need?"
Hermione looked around again, taking in the comfortable (if threadbare) reading chairs, the enormous working table, the large, inviting fireplace, and the mismatched floorstanding candelabras scattered throughout the sitting room. "No, thank you. It's absolutely perfect," she said, eliciting another smile.
"If only all our instructors were so easy to please," she said dryly. "Mr. Malfoy has been considerably more demanding."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"I do hope you'll be able to leave the past behind and work together." The headmistress paused and fixed Hermione with an appraising look. "Well! I'll leave you to get acquainted with the place. Don't forget this afternoon's meeting!"
"I won't," Hermione promised. "And Headmistress --"
"I do wish you'd call me Minerva," the older woman interrupted.
Hermione felt her face flush. "I'm sorry -- Minerva. That will just take some getting used to."
"That's perfectly all right, Hermione. I understand completely."
Hermione hesitated again before speaking. "I won't disappoint you. I'm so happy to have the opportunity to teach here. You have no idea how much it means to me."
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that," said the headmistress gently. "I remember feeling exactly the same way when I first came to Hogwarts to teach. I only hope your career will be as long and happy as mine has been."
"Happy?" Hermione echoed. "Has it really been? So much has happened in the last few years."
"But I have been here much longer than just a few years," McGonagall -- Minerva, she reminded herself -- said serenely. "There will always be good times and bad times. For me, they have on the whole been more good than bad; I hope that will prove true for you as well." And with that, her former teacher swept from the room as suddenly as she'd arrived, leaving Hermione to wonder and hope.
~ * ~
Draco Malfoy eyed his reflection critically. His clothing was immaculate and smelled freshly aired. The house-elves, as always, had done a magnificent job of keeping his belongings ready for him. He'd never have known these clothes had been hanging in a closet all summer. He'd brought almost nothing with him, of course. Draco liked to travel light. He simply kept a complete wardrobe and all of the necessities at each of his residences; that way he never had to suffer the indignity of hauling around heavy trunks, as he'd seen the Granger woman doing the day before.
She hasn't changed a bit, he thought. Never could resist biting off more than she could chew.
He'd seen her from a library window the day before, her robes askew and her bushy hair sticking to her sweaty face as she tried to simultaneously levitate several large trunks up the front steps of the castle, refusing impassioned offers of assistance from a pair of highly distressed house-elves, both activities sharing the half of her attention that wasn't focused on a rapidly destabilizing copy of the Daily Prophet. Even Draco couldn't have pulled that off, and Granger, after all, was Muggle-born. Inevitably the trunks came crashing to the ground. Two of them promptly burst open, scattering books all over the place. She cursed so vociferously that even Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Language, Granger," he murmured to himself as he watched her drag off her robe and throw it to the ground in disgust. Much to Draco's amusement, it was whisked away by the house-elves before she caught her breath enough to protest. "You're meant to be setting an example."
Her Muggle clothes were already streaked with dust and cobwebs by the time she finished retrieving the spilled books. She got wearily to her feet, turned around, and stopped short at the sight of Hagrid casually walking up the steps with a trunk balanced on each massive shoulder.
"Just tell me where yer want 'em," Hagrid said cheerfully, as Granger stood there looking flabbergasted.
"Oh, Hagrid, you don't have to --"
"Don't be ridiculous, girl! Just because yer brought a whole library with yer don't mean yer have ter carry the whole thing yerself. Sit down and catch yer breath and I'll take care of the rest."
And, after a long moment, she finally thanked him and sat on the steps. Draco watched her pull her T-shirt free from her jeans in the front and use the tail to fan her smudged face. She was, he thought, a walking disaster area. How any one person could create such chaos in her environment, he would never understand. It was a wonder everyone within a ten foot radius wasn't affected. And perhaps they were at that, he mused with a smirk, remembering Potter's similarly out-of-control hair and rumpled robes. Best steer clear of her; he had a reputation to consider, after all.
Not that there was much danger of her coming near him. Considering some of the things he'd said to her when they were students, he wouldn't blame her if she still hadn't forgiven him after all this time. He'd been an absolute bloody bastard as a child.
He suspected he really wasn't much better now. His history made people nervous, and he could never think what to say to those who worked up the courage to speak to him at all. So, what have you been doing since you graduated Hogwarts? Three children, you say? Charming! Me? Well, I took the Dark Mark, killed a few Muggles just to protect my cover, betrayed my father, and then killed him too. Some more tea? No, easier just to hold people at arm's length with cutting remarks and general unfriendliness. And at least there was Severus. He never had to explain himself to the Potions Master.
How very tragic, he thought sardonically. Draco Malfoy, the poor little rich boy, the unwilling Death Eater, the unheralded war hero, no one to talk to but the most hated teacher at Hogwarts. But he enjoyed solitude, and saw no particular reason to change now. Considering all this, he'd been astonished when McGonagall had offered him the DADA position. Who in their right mind would hire him, of all people, to work with children?
Still, somehow he'd let her convince him. It was true that there were few wizards living who knew as much about defending against dark magic as Draco Malfoy. And he had to do something for money; the Ministry had confiscated most of the family fortune on the pretext that it had been "obtained by nefarious means", and what little he had left was barely enough to keep the Manor from falling down around his ears between terms. So far the combined efforts of the Malfoy and Hogwarts house-elves had prevented his wardrobe from showing the wear and tear of the past few years, but if he didn't manage to bring in at least a little money, he'd be looking as shabby as a Weasley soon enough.
Hogwarts was, if nothing else, a good place for him to keep a low profile. So -- unexpectedly -- here he was at the beginning of his second year, more out of inertia than any particular intent. When Snape retired, Draco would undoubtedly become Head of Slytherin, and the prospect of helping to restore honor to his old House held considerable appeal.
And he had to admit, he derived a certain unholy amusement from intimidating his students. Nor did he object to the way the older girls looked at him and whispered amongst themselves. It appealed to his vanity, even though he'd never even consider taking the occasional brave ones up on their clumsy propositions. It was good to know he hadn't lost the old Malfoy sex appeal. One never knew when it might come in handy.
The chime of the mantel clock startled him and he turned his attention back to the mirror. He smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his gray wool trousers and pulled on a charcoal cashmere jumper over his perfectly-pressed white shirt and the Hogwarts school tie. Over that went a simple but beautifully cut robe of black wool, with silver buttons at the throat.
It was quarter to three -- fifteen minutes until the faculty meeting. He picked up his wand and charmed his robes to repel any lint he might encounter on his way up to the staff lounge.
comments welcome, either here or emailed to maudite@merde.org.
Strange Attractors
Chapter 1
"At night they lurk about the tall barrier staring with curious wild eyes into the flat field, feeling cheated."
-- Beryl Markham
~ * ~
Hermione Granger sank into the armchair by the window and surveyed her new rooms at Hogwarts with an odd mixture of discomfort and satisfaction. It was strange to be back after eight years, yet it also felt like she'd finally come home. As a student she'd dreamt of teaching here, but her involvement with Harry Potter and the war with Voldemort had kept her from anything resembling a normal life until now. Even then, even knowing how much Harry needed her, she'd had moments of wishing she could walk away from it all.
She'd never dared admit that to anyone, of course. How could she? Harry wasn't just the most famous wizard in the world, he was one of her two best friends. She could no more have turned her back on him than she could make the clouds turn to butter and fall from the sky. Harry was just like that -- when he needed you, somehow you couldn't say no to him, even if you wanted to. Goodness shone forth from him like a beacon and left no one untouched. It illuminated the darkest corners of your soul and forced you to face your fears, your demons, your unacknowledged faults. It made you want to be like him, no matter what you had to sacrifice to do it.
As if anyone could possibly be like Harry Potter.
It had taken her some time to remember what she'd wanted out of life before the war. She doubted she was the only one who felt that way. Everyone had seemed so aimless, so lost. When Headmistress McGonagall called to offer her the position of Muggle Studies instructor at Hogwarts, she'd leapt at the chance. It wouldn't have been her first choice, but it was a start, and she could hardly deny that she had more expertise than most wizards on the subject.
A firm knock on the door interrupted her woolgathering.
"Come in, Headmistress," she called. Minerva McGonagall strode into the room with her usual brisk air. She didn't seem to have aged a minute since Hermione's school days. Hermione wondered idly if she'd sprung forth fully- formed, like Athena from the forehead of Zeus. She couldn't imagine the older woman as anything but what she was now.
"However did you know it was me? Never mind that, there's other business at hand. I just wanted to let you know that the pre-term faculty meeting will take place this afternoon at 3:00 in the staff lounge. And how are you settling in?"
"Just fine, thank you. My rooms are wonderful."
"Only you would think so," the Headmistress said with a smile. "They are a little dark, you know."
"Dark?" Hermione looked around in surprise.
She supposed, now that she thought of it, the room was a little low on light. What little there was entered through two smallish windows mostly covered with ivy, which filtered the sun's rays and gave the entire room a not unpleasant greenish cast. The bookcases, however, were perfect. They lined every wall of the sitting room from floor to ceiling. It appeared there was nearly enough shelf space for all of her precious books, although as yet, most of them were stacked on the floor awaiting placement. In the last place she'd lived, she had to keep most of them in storage; the layout of the place had left little room for books.
"I suppose. But the shelf space is fantastic! And there's room for a few more in the bedroom..." she trailed off at the older woman's chuckle.
"Let me know how many more bookcases you need and I'll have them ordered for you," said McGonagall. "But honestly, is it really necessary to have an entire second library?"
Hermione opened her mouth to protest but stopped, feeling a blush creep across her face. "Well... I like books," she said sheepishly.
"Of course you do, my dear. I'm only teasing. While I'm here, is there anything else you need?"
Hermione looked around again, taking in the comfortable (if threadbare) reading chairs, the enormous working table, the large, inviting fireplace, and the mismatched floorstanding candelabras scattered throughout the sitting room. "No, thank you. It's absolutely perfect," she said, eliciting another smile.
"If only all our instructors were so easy to please," she said dryly. "Mr. Malfoy has been considerably more demanding."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"I do hope you'll be able to leave the past behind and work together." The headmistress paused and fixed Hermione with an appraising look. "Well! I'll leave you to get acquainted with the place. Don't forget this afternoon's meeting!"
"I won't," Hermione promised. "And Headmistress --"
"I do wish you'd call me Minerva," the older woman interrupted.
Hermione felt her face flush. "I'm sorry -- Minerva. That will just take some getting used to."
"That's perfectly all right, Hermione. I understand completely."
Hermione hesitated again before speaking. "I won't disappoint you. I'm so happy to have the opportunity to teach here. You have no idea how much it means to me."
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that," said the headmistress gently. "I remember feeling exactly the same way when I first came to Hogwarts to teach. I only hope your career will be as long and happy as mine has been."
"Happy?" Hermione echoed. "Has it really been? So much has happened in the last few years."
"But I have been here much longer than just a few years," McGonagall -- Minerva, she reminded herself -- said serenely. "There will always be good times and bad times. For me, they have on the whole been more good than bad; I hope that will prove true for you as well." And with that, her former teacher swept from the room as suddenly as she'd arrived, leaving Hermione to wonder and hope.
Draco Malfoy eyed his reflection critically. His clothing was immaculate and smelled freshly aired. The house-elves, as always, had done a magnificent job of keeping his belongings ready for him. He'd never have known these clothes had been hanging in a closet all summer. He'd brought almost nothing with him, of course. Draco liked to travel light. He simply kept a complete wardrobe and all of the necessities at each of his residences; that way he never had to suffer the indignity of hauling around heavy trunks, as he'd seen the Granger woman doing the day before.
She hasn't changed a bit, he thought. Never could resist biting off more than she could chew.
He'd seen her from a library window the day before, her robes askew and her bushy hair sticking to her sweaty face as she tried to simultaneously levitate several large trunks up the front steps of the castle, refusing impassioned offers of assistance from a pair of highly distressed house-elves, both activities sharing the half of her attention that wasn't focused on a rapidly destabilizing copy of the Daily Prophet. Even Draco couldn't have pulled that off, and Granger, after all, was Muggle-born. Inevitably the trunks came crashing to the ground. Two of them promptly burst open, scattering books all over the place. She cursed so vociferously that even Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Language, Granger," he murmured to himself as he watched her drag off her robe and throw it to the ground in disgust. Much to Draco's amusement, it was whisked away by the house-elves before she caught her breath enough to protest. "You're meant to be setting an example."
Her Muggle clothes were already streaked with dust and cobwebs by the time she finished retrieving the spilled books. She got wearily to her feet, turned around, and stopped short at the sight of Hagrid casually walking up the steps with a trunk balanced on each massive shoulder.
"Just tell me where yer want 'em," Hagrid said cheerfully, as Granger stood there looking flabbergasted.
"Oh, Hagrid, you don't have to --"
"Don't be ridiculous, girl! Just because yer brought a whole library with yer don't mean yer have ter carry the whole thing yerself. Sit down and catch yer breath and I'll take care of the rest."
And, after a long moment, she finally thanked him and sat on the steps. Draco watched her pull her T-shirt free from her jeans in the front and use the tail to fan her smudged face. She was, he thought, a walking disaster area. How any one person could create such chaos in her environment, he would never understand. It was a wonder everyone within a ten foot radius wasn't affected. And perhaps they were at that, he mused with a smirk, remembering Potter's similarly out-of-control hair and rumpled robes. Best steer clear of her; he had a reputation to consider, after all.
Not that there was much danger of her coming near him. Considering some of the things he'd said to her when they were students, he wouldn't blame her if she still hadn't forgiven him after all this time. He'd been an absolute bloody bastard as a child.
He suspected he really wasn't much better now. His history made people nervous, and he could never think what to say to those who worked up the courage to speak to him at all. So, what have you been doing since you graduated Hogwarts? Three children, you say? Charming! Me? Well, I took the Dark Mark, killed a few Muggles just to protect my cover, betrayed my father, and then killed him too. Some more tea? No, easier just to hold people at arm's length with cutting remarks and general unfriendliness. And at least there was Severus. He never had to explain himself to the Potions Master.
How very tragic, he thought sardonically. Draco Malfoy, the poor little rich boy, the unwilling Death Eater, the unheralded war hero, no one to talk to but the most hated teacher at Hogwarts. But he enjoyed solitude, and saw no particular reason to change now. Considering all this, he'd been astonished when McGonagall had offered him the DADA position. Who in their right mind would hire him, of all people, to work with children?
Still, somehow he'd let her convince him. It was true that there were few wizards living who knew as much about defending against dark magic as Draco Malfoy. And he had to do something for money; the Ministry had confiscated most of the family fortune on the pretext that it had been "obtained by nefarious means", and what little he had left was barely enough to keep the Manor from falling down around his ears between terms. So far the combined efforts of the Malfoy and Hogwarts house-elves had prevented his wardrobe from showing the wear and tear of the past few years, but if he didn't manage to bring in at least a little money, he'd be looking as shabby as a Weasley soon enough.
Hogwarts was, if nothing else, a good place for him to keep a low profile. So -- unexpectedly -- here he was at the beginning of his second year, more out of inertia than any particular intent. When Snape retired, Draco would undoubtedly become Head of Slytherin, and the prospect of helping to restore honor to his old House held considerable appeal.
And he had to admit, he derived a certain unholy amusement from intimidating his students. Nor did he object to the way the older girls looked at him and whispered amongst themselves. It appealed to his vanity, even though he'd never even consider taking the occasional brave ones up on their clumsy propositions. It was good to know he hadn't lost the old Malfoy sex appeal. One never knew when it might come in handy.
The chime of the mantel clock startled him and he turned his attention back to the mirror. He smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his gray wool trousers and pulled on a charcoal cashmere jumper over his perfectly-pressed white shirt and the Hogwarts school tie. Over that went a simple but beautifully cut robe of black wool, with silver buttons at the throat.
It was quarter to three -- fifteen minutes until the faculty meeting. He picked up his wand and charmed his robes to repel any lint he might encounter on his way up to the staff lounge.
comments welcome, either here or emailed to maudite@merde.org.
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