#180 in Fanfiction || #1 in Hermione ||
In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to anothe...
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Hermione had been sent by Harry in an almost second-thought conversation that had her mind stirring possibilities. He had dashed into the Gryffindor Common Room some minutes ago, listing off his intentions to travel with Dumbledore and rushing to pack some necessary items for their search. But as he mounted the old, swirling stairway, about to pass around the corner, Harry had turned back to Hermione as mystery and anxiety played on his nerves. It was normal for Hermione to witness this, seeing as Harry had worn said look for some time now, but when he told her to meet Dumbledore in the Headmaster's Office, she'd realized that Harry's nerves corresponded to his worry that Hermione would be drug into some ordeal due to Harry. He would end up being right.
The brown haired and brown eyed heroine stood at the door to the office she had visited far too many times in the previous years, not for typical reasons. But, she was a Gryffindor, companion of Harry Potter, and the 'brightest witch of her age.' Her shoulders straightened, shifted back in steeled confidence as she muttered the password (well known by Harry) and passed swiftly into the stairwell.
Knowing that she was expected, Hermione walked straight into the office without a knock on the door, having lost much sense of propriety and respect with the trials of the previous years. And at her entrance, Albus Dumbledore gazed up from his seat at the old and worn wooden desk, the foundation of many agreements over the troubled times.
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"Miss Granger," the old wizard and wise mentor greeted with a smile that Hermione had come to associate solely with Dumbledore's plotting mind. And though the man looked as he did every time before, gaining years and baring more experience by the day, Hermione could feel the tension. Something was up.
"Sir," Hermione responded, discomfort obvious in her tone as she eyed the greasy-haired Potion's professor in the corner of the dark-lit room. She made no move to greet Snape, having not cared for many years, as she chose to ignore him and pay sole attention to the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
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