In an alternate existence

The Watchful Eye

The halls of Hogwarts felt almost normal again-filled with the thrum of robes, the whisper of spellbooks, and the low, familiar groan of ancient staircases shifting out of schedule. But for the returning Eighth Years, nothing was truly ordinary. They weren't students anymore, not really. They were veterans in school robes, too old for some of their classmates, too young for the weight they carried.
Akira slid into the Transfiguration classroom just as the bell rang, her satchel slung over one shoulder, a fresh roll of parchment under her arm. Teddy was safe in her warded suite, tucked in with his favorite blue blanket and under the watchful eye of Libby, the house-elf who fussed over him like a grandmother.
The classroom buzzed with quiet chatter. She noticed the layout had changed-desks arranged in a semi-circle instead of rows, making it impossible to hide behind anyone. Brilliant. She took a seat near the center, Ron settling beside her with a quiet grunt. Hermione slipped in on the other side, her eyes already scanning the blackboard, quill poised before instruction even began.
The Slytherins arrived soon after-Draco, cool and detached. Theo, eyes flicking over the classroom like he was mapping exits. Blaise, smug as always. Matteo came last, his expression unreadable as ever. They slid into seats across the semicircle, a sharp contrast to the Gryffindors, but no one said anything. Not yet.
The tension between the two Houses didn't boil-it hummed, like something waiting to snap.
Then the classroom door swung open with theatrical flair, and in stepped Professor Ifficelies.
He was young, surprisingly so, with neatly combed silver-streaked hair, robes tailored too sharply for Hogwarts, and spectacles perched halfway down his nose. He moved with controlled precision, as if every step had been rehearsed, and when he smiled, it was with the unsettling stillness of a portrait.
"Good morning, advanced scholars," he said, voice silk over steel. "I am Professor Ifficelies. You'll be under my guidance in Transfiguration this year-though perhaps 'guidance' is too generous. We'll be testing the limits of what you've learned. And what you haven't."
He swept his gaze over the room-and lingered on Akira.
A second too long.
Then again.
And again.
Akira blinked, her posture stiffening. She didn't flinch, but she felt it-the burn of his eyes, more clinical than curious. Ron shifted beside her, catching the look. His jaw clenched.
Ifficelies turned back to the board, flicking his wand to reveal today's lesson: Transfiguration Review-Human-to-Object Shifts.
"Simple," he said, "but essential. If you can't reduce a living target to its elemental state, you'll never master deeper transformations."
He turned, again meeting Akira's gaze. "Miss Potter, would you be so kind as to begin?"
The class stilled.
Akira stood slowly. She didn't ask for clarification-didn't need it. With a small motion, she stepped forward and flicked her wand at the practice dummy near the front. With a flash of blue light and a quiet shudder, the figure collapsed into a polished silver goblet, humming faintly with residual magic.
No one applauded. No one breathed.
Ifficelies smiled. "Exceptional control."
But he kept watching her.
Ron's voice broke the stillness. "Alright, but are you gonna ask anyone else to go, or just make a show out of her all morning?"
Some chuckled, but it was uneasy laughter.
The professor's smile didn't waver. "Of course. Mr. Weasley, since you've volunteered your voice, let's see your wandwork as well."
Ron muttered under his breath but rose, stomping up to the front with exaggerated purpose. He pointed his wand and, without flourish, cast the spell. The dummy vanished into a squat, brass candlestick-solid and perfectly formed.
"Well done," Ifficelies said. He didn't sound surprised.
As Ron returned to his seat, Akira leaned in. "Thanks."
He shrugged, eyes on Ifficelies. "Didn't like the way he looked at you. Still don't."
"You think I did?" she said, only half-joking.
Across the room, Matteo hadn't taken his eyes off her either. But his stare wasn't professional-it was personal. Hostile. Or maybe worse: interested.
When it came time for the class to work in pairs, Professor Ifficelies called out names. "Malfoy and Granger. Zabini and Longbottom. Nott and Thomas. Weasley and Finnigan. Potter..." a deliberate pause, "and Lestrange."
Akira's blood cooled. She met Matteo's eyes across the room.
He didn't look pleased either.
Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione kicked his ankle. "Don't," she muttered. "It'll only make it worse."
Matteo approached with visible reluctance, wand already in hand. "This won't take long."
Akira folded her arms. "No, it won't. I've got a baby waiting, remember?"
His lips twitched-whether with annoyance or amusement, she couldn't tell. They stood opposite each other at a conjured table, practicing transformation triggers. The exercise was simple enough: turn a beetle into a chess piece and back again.
Neither spoke. But magic flared sharp between them.
Matteo's beetle changed with practiced force-almost too much. The knight piece was a little jagged but functional.
Akira's moved fluidly-beetle to bishop and back-without strain. But she could feel the edge in her own spell, the way her wand felt too warm in her hand.
Professor Ifficelies watched them like a hawk.
The moment class ended, Matteo stalked off, jaw set, not bothering to offer even a polite nod. Draco and Theo waited for him at the door, silent as shadows.
Ron hovered protectively. "You alright?"
Akira nodded, collecting her things. "Fine. Just... a lot of eyes today."
Hermione, rubbing at her temple, added, "Especially from one professor in particular."
"I noticed," Akira said softly.
They exited the classroom together, the weight of scrutiny still trailing behind them like fog. Far above, the enchanted ceiling darkened slightly-as if the castle itself had begun to pay attention.
And in Akira's chest, the familiar thrum of magic pulsed faster.
She didn't like the way Ifficelies had looked at her.
But she liked the reason why even less.

Absolutely - here's the continuation of Chapter 4 from Hermione's point of view, immediately following the class:

Hermione's POV
Hermione Granger prided herself on knowing when something was off. It was a skill honed not from books but from battle-war had taught her the quiet language of tension, the way unease settles in a room like fog, the way people look when they're about to lie or flee or snap.
So when Professor Ifficelies looked at Akira Potter like that-again and again-Hermione didn't just notice. She catalogued it.
The lingering glances. The slight lean forward every time Akira spoke. The way he said Miss Potter like it tasted different in his mouth than when he said anyone else's name. Something wasn't right.
Hermione kept close as they left the classroom, her satchel bouncing against her side as they descended the stairs toward the Great Hall. Akira was quiet. Understandably so. Her fingers were clenched around the strap of her bag. Ron hovered protectively on her other side like a red-headed thundercloud, crackling with unspoken threats.
"He was watching you the entire time," Hermione said quietly.
Akira glanced sideways. "I know."
"I don't mean 'he glanced.' I mean he watched. Like he was waiting for something. Studying you."
Akira said nothing.
Ron scoffed. "What d'you think he was looking for? Weakness? Power?"
Hermione frowned. "Maybe both."
They passed a group of younger Hufflepuffs chattering excitedly, oblivious. For them, Hogwarts had returned to normal. But not for Hermione. Not for Akira. Not for any of them.
Especially not after the war.
They settled at the long Gryffindor table, though Akira hesitated before sitting. Hermione could tell-she didn't like being where she could be seen. Exposed. Vulnerable. She remembered that feeling too well. Hermione sat across from her and opened her notebook, not to study but to ground herself.
"Did anyone else feel something... strange?" she asked. "When he said her name?"
Ron frowned. "You mean the way he said it like she was already famous or something?"
"No," Hermione said slowly. "Like he already knew her."
That caught Akira's attention. Her head lifted.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Hermione shook her head. "It's probably nothing. But the way he spoke-it wasn't like he was meeting you for the first time. More like he was... confirming something."
Akira's lips pressed into a thin line. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the goblet. "He doesn't know me."
Hermione believed her. But that didn't mean he didn't know of her.
There was more to this than some leering professor. Hermione could feel it. Magic didn't whisper like it used to-it screamed now. Tugging at the corners of her mind, warning her. And today, it was all focused around Akira.
She leaned forward. "I'm going to look into him."
Akira blinked. "Into who?"
"Ifficelies. I want to know where he's from, who hired him, what school he taught at before. If any."
Akira didn't object. She just looked tired. And grateful.
Ron rubbed the back of his neck. "If you're doing research, let me know. I'll help. That guy gave me the creeps."
Hermione smiled faintly. "That's rare. Usually you only get creeped out by spiders and exams."
"And anyone who stares at Akira for too long," he added without shame.
Akira flushed but said nothing. That silence said plenty.
Hermione glanced toward the head table. Professor Ifficelies was not there. Odd. Most new professors took every chance to mingle early in the term, to seem accessible. Friendly.
But he was nowhere to be seen.
"I'll check the staff records tonight," Hermione said.
"You're not a Prefect anymore, remember?" Ron reminded her.
She raised a brow. "You think that ever stopped me?"
They both grinned.
Akira didn't. She was still watching the empty staff table, eyes narrowed. After a moment she stood up, murmuring something about checking on Teddy.
Hermione watched her go, worry crawling up her spine like a slow chill.
Akira Potter had survived a war, a prophecy, and whatever else the world had thrown at her. She was strong, stronger than most. But something about this... something about Ifficelies...
It felt like something old.
Something forgotten.
Something dangerous.
And Hermione Granger had no intention of waiting until it revealed itself. She was going to find the truth.