Restraint
Chapter Five: The Deep Breath Before the Plunge
by AngelQueen

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Her back ached. Again. Hermione sighed irritably as she lounged against the balcony railing inside her private rooms. The last time she had felt such a throbbing ache in her body had been during the height of her Auror training. She’d borne it in silence, doing her utmost best to ignore the complaints Harry and Ron had constantly put forth when they’d all retired after a day of being pounded into the ground by their instructors. So, bearing these similar aches in silence was not much of a hardship, but still, it was quite a bit of a nuisance.

But at least all the work she’d been doing in the past month that had caused the pain was worthwhile.

After agreeing to take the position of the Defense Professor, Albus had kept her as busy as a queen of a beehive. He had summoned Minerva back to his office and had delightfully informed her that Hermione had agreed to his proposition and could she please show her the classroom and her new office? The older witch had pursed her lips slightly and eyed Hermione warily, but had agreed.

When Hermione arrived in her office, she’d found that Minerva, when she had switched to being the new Transfiguration Professor, had left behind a basic lesson plan for each of the specific years. Even more wonderful, she’d thoughtfully left behind comments on certain students, such as who could be trusted to assist in practical demonstrations, and those who were persistent troublemakers.

The classroom was in fine working order, as was the room next door that had been put at her disposal for practicing spells and repelling various dark creatures. On the whole, Hermione had been happy with her new working conditions, and had made a point to thank Minerva profusely, though she did her best to remain politely aloof, not wanting to smother the woman with the familiarity they enjoyed in her own time. With Albus, it felt natural to behave as she had come to after leaving Hogwarts. However, she knew that although they were very close, Albus and Minerva were two very different people and Minerva did not let strangers too close until they had undergone her tests for trustworthiness.

Within a few days, Albus told her to take a trip to Diagon Alley and gather together everything she would need for the school year. Handing her a piece of parchment, he instructed her to tell all of the clerks at the shops to sign it, thus billing the school’s general fund. Hermione had automatically tried to protest, but Albus had just cheerily waved her off, saying that the school’s coffers were far from being any danger by one day’s shopping.

When he had said that, however, Hermione had to bite lip to keep from laughing and had drolly commented that he was fortunate she was not one of her former dorm-mates. The woman’s father-in-law had given her access to the family’s main vault so she could use it for decorating the main manor for a Christmas party they were hosting. The woman had spent so much her father-in-law had remained in a stunned state for nearly two days after the shopping trip in question.

As Hermione entered Diagon Alley, she’d found that it was just as she knew it to be. That seemed to rather be a running theme. Nearly everything she’d encountered, Hogwarts, the Leaky Cauldron, and all the like, all of it was barely any different than what she knew. The Wizarding World changed so little that she found she had little difficulty in finding her way around.

Her first stop had been at the stationary shop next to Flourish and Blotts, where she had ordered a set of custom made quills and parchments with the handle, ‘H. Gragner, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’ marking them at the top in beautiful calligraphy.

When Hermione had moved on to Flourish and Blotts, she had originally only meant to flip through the books Minerva had recommended for the Defense classes. She entered the Defense section of the bookshop and had quickly managed to find Leif Mogson’s The Faces of Darkness: A Manual on Staying Alive. It went over everything the students would need for their OWLs, and if they actually bothered to read it, they might even find it interesting. It had taken a little more doing, being forced to rifle through several messy stacks of books, but Hermione did manage to find the books that the sixth and seventh year students would be using: Blood War: Battles Betwixt the Dark and Light by Myra Taylin and Defensive-Offensive (How to Stay Safe and Keep Others Safe in Times of War) by Mia Ingles.

The second book was an interesting find, she would admit that. Mia Ingles was a rather famous witch in her own right, having been an Auror in the days of Grindelwald. She’d been a part of the group - the only female, in fact - that had accompanied Albus on the final mission to put an end to the mad Dark Wizard in the depths of Germany. Of that group of five, only two had made it back with Albus alive. Mia retired within a year of the end of the war, living practically as a hermit, and welcoming few to her cottage along the Welsh coast. But within the next few decades she had made a semi-step into society - by the way of her books. This one was rather popular, both for its vital information and for the dry, witty tone that often brought laughter out of the readers.

The first book was slightly less well-known, being seen as more of a history text than one for a Defense course. But Minerva, Hermione thought with an inward grin, knew quality when she saw it. Not only did it discuss in depth the previous wars of the Wizarding World, but it also went into the various strategies and tactics used as well.

Satisfied with what she had seen, Hermione had put the books back. She left at that point, as she had several more stops to make, and continued on to Madam Malkin’s. The dressmaking witch seemed to be having rather a slow day and was able to quickly take care of her needs. After placing an order for five sets of teaching robes, two normal sets, a single set of dress robes, and all necessary accessories, Hermione departed from the dress shop, telling Madam Malkin to have her order shipped directly to her at Hogwarts. She had left with a slight headache, something that never failed to occur when she was forced to go shopping for clothes. Initially, Hermione had blamed Ginny for it, as the younger witch had always been so bright and happy when shopping, but now she knew better. It was the act of shopping itself that developed the pain. Ginny would be sure to gloat when she found out.

Her next stop had been Ollivander’s wand shop. To be honest, it had been the stop that Hermione had dreaded the most. Her wand had either been destroyed or had simply not made the transition into the past with her, thus prompting the need for a new one. But if she was not careful, the old wand-maker might attempt to give her the very same wand, which she knew had to remain in his possession until her eager eleven-year-old self came to lay the proper claim on it.

Hermione had entered the shop with great trepidation, looking around carefully. The musty room appeared even more dust-congested than she recalled. Before she could call out, Mr. Ollivander appeared, seemingly out of the woodwork. He’d eyed her sharply, taking in her cloaked form before informing her that “Hogwarts’ latest interfering codger” had sent him a letter stating that Hermione Gragner needed a wand with as few questions asked as possible. Hermione probably would have, under other circumstances, retorted in Albus’ defense, had the words not been said without the rancor they implied. Without permitting her time to reply at all, the old wizard had gone rummaging around in the box-filled shelves, muttering that he needed no assistance in matching wands to their correct owners.

As Mr. Ollivander had continued his search, Hermione hadn’t been able to stop herself from recalling her first visit to the wand-maker’s shop…


“Come on, Mum! Dad!”

Hermione Granger was barely able to stop herself from stomping impatiently as her parents, Drs. Robert and Catherine Granger, stopped yet again to look interestedly through another store window of Diagon Alley. They’d nearly finished all of her school shopping, but she still had yet to get her wand.

“Coming, dear,” her mother answered distractedly. “Isn’t that amazing, Robert,” she murmured quietly, gesturing to the display inside the shop window.

Hermione didn’t give her father a chance to reply. Grabbing their hands in her own, she proceeded to do her best to drag them down the alley. “Come on! We can look when we come back!”

Her father laughed and gently disengaged himself from her grip. “Alright, Ms. Eager Beaver. Now, where is this wand-maker you’re so eager to find at?”

“Ollivander’s is just four shops down from the Magical Menagerie,” Hermione replied instantly. “According to that pamphlet the school sent about Diagon Alley, Ollivander’s has been around since 382 B.C. And it’s remained in the same family, passed on from a father to one of his sons.”

They made quick work of the walk to the shop, the eleven-year-old barely letting her parents stop. When they came upon the shop, they were rather surprised by its appearance. It had little resemblance to the bright and cheerful shops further back the way they had come. The only display in the store window was a faded purple pillow with a single wand resting on it. It was rather unsettling, really.

Squaring her thin shoulders, Hermione reached out and opened the door. She wanted her wand, and not even if the shop was home to some large mythical creature was she going to let anything stand in her way of getting it. Her parents did not follow her, having recalled her telling them at lunch earlier that, according to the pamphlet, a new student should enter Ollivander’s alone, so as nothing could interfere with the wand-choosing process.

She stood in the center of the cluttered room, looking around curiously while waiting for the shopkeeper to arrive from wherever he or she was hiding. There were boxes everywhere, probably containing the wands themselves, Hermione thought.

A rolling ladder appeared abruptly, guided by a slightly withered hand, which was attached to an older man, appearing around her grandfather’s age. He stared at her with his eerie moon-like eyes, his face expressionless save for a single slightly raised eyebrow. Hermione stared back, all of her many words suddenly stuck in her throat and suddenly feeling like a startled deer.

Finally, the man, Mr. Ollivander, she assumed, broke the silence that permeated the room. “Ah, so you’ve come at last Miss… Granger. How very interesting. Yes, interesting indeed.” He suddenly rushed to a shelf and grabbed several boxes. Barely breaking stride, he turned towards her and motioned her forward with a toss of his white head. She tentatively stepped forward, her initial surprise at his earlier words fading.

Opening a box, he pulled out a wand and stared at it. “Birch, nine-and-a-half inches, unicorn hair,” he recited, then handed it to her, base first. Hermione barely had it in her hand when Mr. Ollivander promptly whisked it away. “No! Definitely not,” he said briskly, stuffing the object back into its holder. He then pulled out another wand.

“Willow, eleven inches, phoenix feather.”

The same process was repeated yet again. She’d barely touched it when it vanished, only to be replaced by another. Finally, when they had gone through all but one of the boxes the old wizard had brought from the shelves, he stared at the single one remaining. Glancing at her briefly, he finally opened the box and pulled the wand out.

“Vine wood, ten-and-one-quarter inches, dragon heartstring,” he said quietly, and then handed it to her.

Hermione suddenly felt as though the sun was shining on her, warming her with its rays. It felt as though it were a warm, spring day instead of the fading summer day she knew it to be. ‘Fascinating,’ she thought excitedly. ‘This must be it! It feels so right!’

She looked up at Mr. Ollivander, a smile on her face. He was gazed back, looking both pleased and something else she could not identify. “I knew this would be interesting,” he muttered, “But this…”

Hermione cocked her head questioningly. “I’m sorry?”

He blinked, and then shook his head. “Nothing Miss… Granger. Nothing you need to worry about… for the moment. You just have a great deal of growing to do, that’s all. That shall be ten Galleons.”

Hermione paid him, pulling the required amount out of her bag. She turned to leave, but then stopped. What had he meant? Growing? She turned back, starting, “Mr. Olliv-”

The room was empty.

She blinked in confusion, a myriad of thoughts racing through her mind. Where had he gone so quickly? What had he been talking about? It appeared that, for the moment, there was nothing to be done for it. Shaking her head, Hermione stepped out of the shop to rejoin her waiting parents, making a note to do a little research on wands before the start of the term…


Her recollections had been ended when Mr. Ollivander had appeared in front of her, carrying several boxes, just as he had been the first time. Hermione had blinked in surprise, suddenly feeling unsure as to when she was, exactly. She had then nodded to him and had taken the first wand he had handed her, beginning the familiar process once again.

This particular time, however, they only had to go through three boxes. On the fourth, a wand made of Willow, ten-and-three-quarters inches, and a hair of a Pegasus core, Hermione suddenly froze. Power surged through her, rolling up and down her wand arm in particular, but spreading throughout her body. She recalled feeling as though she could feel her very blood running through her veins.

She had managed to regain control of the sudden outburst of power after a few moments. Mr. Ollivander had merely raised an eyebrow at her display, but had neither said or asked anything. After he signed the billing document, Hermione left the shop and Diagon Alley, feeling rather exhausted.

Of course, a impromptu shopping trip was not the only thing Albus did to keep her occupied. From touring the castle with Filch to check for things in need of more immediate repair to handing out various assignments to the portraits and ghosts concerning their duties for the upcoming term, Hermione rarely had time to even feel homesick.

But sometimes, Albus' well-thought and well-intentioned plans had the opposite effect of what he had no doubt intended. Such as the events of the previous Thursday. It had been the first full staff meeting since everyone had returned from their holidays. Hermione had sat up near the head of the table, to Albus' left and directly across from Minerva, who had, over the past month, slowly begun to ease her initial distrust. She had been introduced to all of the other members of the school's staff. Many of them, she had recognized, such as Professor Flitwick, dear Hagrid, sweet Professor Sprout, and several others. But the remaining members, Hermione had not recognized on sight. But whenever Albus introduced them, she had fought against the shivers of dread that had rippled down her spine.

Before leaving for Hogwarts, she and her mother had poured over Hogwarts: A History together, sometimes reading it aloud to one another. In the section devoted to the staff, they had read some of the mini-biographies of some of the staff members. And as Albus introduced her new colleagues, she could hear her mother's voice, reading the words aloud...

"Kalani Prewitt, the Astronomy Professor..."

"... Professor Prewitt, who had no immediate family of his own, retired from Hogwarts in 1982, deeply disturbed by the murders of his two nephews, Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, at the hands of You-Know-Who's minions..."

"Selma Rakes, our Head of Slytherin and Divination Professor..."

"...the only Divination Professor to hold the title of Head of any particular House, much less the house of Slytherin, Professor Rakes was killed in 1979 for refusing to use her influence over her House members to entice them to join the ranks of Death Eaters..."

"Valerie Meadowes, our Potions Mistress..."

"...Professor Meadowes shared a similar fate to that of Professor Selma Rakes, having been killed by You-Know-Who's followers in December 1979 for refusing to enter into the Dark Lord's employ..."

There had been others, such as Cian Morel, Linda Wilder, and Euclid Crane, but by the time she had finally been permitted to depart the conference room, Hermione had quickly retreated to her private rooms and had collapsed on her bed, sobbing and covering her ears, attempting to drown out the sound of her mother's voice, reading aloud the fates of the people who were walking about Hogwarts, seemingly without a care in the world.

And not even all of the activity she underwent during the day could spare her of what waited Hermione during the nights. Though she would often drop immediately off to sleep after settling in for the night, not even exhaustion could spare her the dreams of those she had left behind, of those whose existence she could force herself to ignore during the daylight hours. Often, she saw Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, Minerva, and her mother sobbing brokenly as they crowded around one another, her father just staring vacantly off into space, a great weariness hanging about him. She saw Harry and Ron, standing side by side, their tightly-clenched fists shaking as both rage and grief warred in their glassy eyes, Albus staring directly at her sadly, two small tears falling silently down his wrinkled cheeks.

And Severus. Always Severus. No matter who else she saw in her dreams, he was always a constant. He looked like a wraith, a wispy shadow of the man she loved and knew so well. He looked as though death could take him at any moment. And then he faded away, leaving behind only a small shadowed figure just beyond her vision. And every night, she would bolt up from her bed, his name on her lips.

Hermione bit her lip and shook her head, violently crushing any desire of her own to cry anymore than she already had. Looking off into the distance, she could see several seemingly horseless carriages making their way through the gates. The second through seventh years students were arriving. That meant the first years could not be far behind, making the traditional journey across the Lake with Hagrid.

She whirled around and left her balcony, returning into the sanctity of her rooms. She checked her appearance in a mirror - a non-magical one, thank goodness - one last time. Satisfied with her dark blue teaching robes and her hair pulled viciously back into a secure bun, she grabbed her light cloak and hat before finally abandoning her rooms and the thoughts that had engulfed her. She had a Welcoming Feast to attend and the Great Hall awaited her. Even if her back was still aching.

She could not afford to think of her past. She would not let it color her dealings with what lay ahead. It was far too dangerous. For the timeline, and for her own sense of sanity.

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Author's Note: Well, when the title for this chapter came up, I must have been channeling Gandalf. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, as it turned out to be a bit longer than I expected. I even felt it necessary to cut a small passage out of Hermione's trip to Diagon Alley.

Next Time: Hermione... well, think about it. What do you think will happen next? *grins*

Ta ta!

AQ