Strange

Turbulent Encounters

P.S. Don't miss out on the exclusive art for this story, available on both Wattpad and AO3! It's a visual treat, offering a glimpse into the 8th year corridors, dorms, and entrances as featured in the chapters. Highly recommend checking it out for some immersive visuals! You can find them at the end of most chapters!

A few days had passed since Hermione's restless decision to confess everything to McGonagall.  Her head perpetually bowed during detention, carried the weight of the week upon her shoulders. The confrontation with Filch, the chilling discovery of Michael Corner, the desperate act that took another life – they all flooded her mind, a typhoon of guilt and fear. But that wasn't all that burdened her. The storm, it seemed, had gifted her with an unwanted curse. Fragments of thoughts, whispers of desires and anxieties, now swirled around her like leaves in a whirlwind. It was the ability to glimpse into the minds of others, their unspoken truths laid bare before her.

Every waking moment was an assault. Fleeting desires for lunch options and weekend plans mingled with deeper, more revealing thoughts. Whispers of admiration and respect intertwined with doubts and criticisms she'd long suspected but never confronted. Her perfectly crafted image, she realized with a jolt, wasn't as pristine as she'd believed.

Did she truly want to know what they thought, these unfiltered voices  in her head? Or was blissful ignorance preferable? 

She pressed on, navigating the castle corridors, a warrior against the onslaught of thoughts.. Each step felt heavier than the last, the secret threatening to erupt. The weight of the past week threatened to suffocate her, the impending confession to McGonagall a dark cloud on the horizon.

And then, fate intervened. As if guided by an unseen hand, Hermione rounded a corner, colliding with McGonagall. The Headmistress's stern gaze fell upon her, instantly sharpening the weight of the moment.

Hermione apologized profusely until the Headmistress reassured her it was a simple accident.

"Hermione, my dear, I've been searching for you," McGonagalls voice was saccharine with a sprinkle of concern. "I seem to remember the night I ran into, you seemed...frightened. You mentioned Filch, then vanished before I could ask more. Your classmates offered little explanation."

The intensity of McGonagall's sterness--It had only been days, yet the urge to confess, to unburden herself, warred with the fear of the consequences.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I...I was scared, Professor," she admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. "When I ran into Filch, he...he ordered me back to work, but I refused. It's been a difficult year, and I panicked. I didn't know what to do, so I just ran. It was foolish, I know."

She hoped it sounded convincing, enough not to raise suspicion. McGonagall couldn't doubt her. But as Hermione met her gaze, a sliver of hope emerged. Perhaps a flicker of doubt, an invitation to confess, lingered in those piercing eyes. The truth, a bitter pill, sat heavy on her tongue, threatening to melt and spill its secrets.

Suddenly, McGonagall's thoughts swiveled into her mind, her voice smooth with practiced persuasion:

I know Miss Granger wouldn't be involved. I hoped that perhaps her words held a clue, a lead to Filch's disappearance. Something must have happened after. Very well...

Hermione flinched, the Headmistress's trust a double-edged sword. While McGonagall didn't suspect her directly, it made her lie all the more unbearable. Her gaze softened, genuine concern replacing suspicion. "I understand. It's natural to feel overwhelmed in such circumstances," McGonagall's posture remained professional, yet her voice gentled. "Did you see or hear anything unusual before encountering Filch? I must ensure your safety and address any threats within the school."