The Dangers Of A Curious Mind | Onhold

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Hermione didn't know what she had expected.

She sat across from McGonagall, on the other side of the elegant mahogany desk. Morning winter light was feebly shining through the window, lighting up the silver streaking McGonagall's hair.

McGonagall was leaning forward in her chair, lips pursed, hands tented in front of her. She had just patiently explained to Hermione that you simply could not risk international relations and an unbreakable magical contract over a hunch.

Hermione had just endured no less than twenty minutes of McGonagallㅡ outragedㅡ listing all of Moody's accolades, how highly trusted he was, how everything he set out to do was about protection, not harm. Hermione was sick of her accusations being dismissed by the man's eccentricities. Thankfully, it appeared McGonagall had realised she had made her point.

"I'm sorry Miss Granger." McGonagall said stiffly in her Scottish accent, "I have to say I am very surprised to see this kind of unfounded accusation from you! Perhaps Mr. Potter is rubbing off on you…"

Hermione frowned. Sure, Harry had accused Snape of every conspiracy under the sun each year they returned to Hogwarts, but there always had been something going on. Even if they hadn't been correct in what it was.

McGonagall's face softened as she seemed to read Hermione's mind. She pushed forward a tartan biscuit tin, offering Hermione the shortbread within.

Hermione shook her head.

"I should just get to class." Hermione said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. She respected McGonagall, even if every fibre of her being was screaming that the Professor was wrong.

Hermione pushed her chair back with a little more force than intended, slinging her satchel over her shoulder and heading to the door of the office.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione stopped. She was too annoyed to turn around to face the professor, instead staring intently at an old black and white photo of a quidditch team waving at her from the wall.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I'm a big believer in gut instinct." McGonagall said firmly, "If you do come across any solid, irrefutable evidence that someone is tampering with the tournament, let me know."

"Of course, Professor." Hermione replied, narrowing her eyes at the quidditch photo.

"And please refrain from snooping around Alastor Moody." McGonagall replied, "His security consciousness sometimes borders on… dangerous."

"Right." Hermione replied flatly. Because of course wildly dangerous security measures weren't a red flag. Sometimes Hermione couldn't believe this school.

ㅡ

Fleur Delacour pushed her gluey cereal around her bowl listlessly. She wished they would put more fruit and nuts out with the breakfast spread. Instead there was nothing but pastries, sausages, bacon, breads, baked beans. Cereal was the lightest item on offer that morning.

Giving up on the unappealing meal, Fleur instead turned her attentions to the black coffee in front of her. It was the one thing she had to hand to Hogwarts; they did make great coffee.

Julie and the other Beauxbatons girls were talking animatedly beside her, though Fleur couldn't follow the conversation. Her mind was a million miles away.

Her mind was flitting between the dangers that Viktor and her were trying to prepare for and the suspicions surrounding Moody. But mostly... her mind kept replaying warm brown eyes staring at her like she was the only person in the world. The firm grip on her arm holding her close. The intensity and concern in those brown eyes.