In Perpetuum

Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Retro iens ut vado antrorsum

Most students were preparing excuses for late or incomplete homework. Hermione was preparing for her first meeting with Dumbledore. A thin card of parchment with green slanted writing had arrived for her shortly after the New Year, telling her that ‘Pepper Imps’ were the order of the day.

It was just after dinner on the first day back after the Christmas/New Year holidays, and instead of walking back up to her dormitory, she waved goodbye to Lily and Heloise, and climbed the marble stairs to Dumbledore’s office.

She approached the stone gargoyle and gave the password before ascending the stone stairs to the circular Headmaster’s office above.

Reaching the top of the stairs she pulled herself to the tips of her toes to grab onto the brass griffin knocker. She knocked three times.

The door swung open of its own accord to reveal an office not unlike the one Hermione had always known. This time, there were less silver instruments on the spindly tables, and the silver beard adorning Dumbledore’s face was yet to reach its full potential.

“Miss Potter, do make yourself at home, I daresay you know this room almost as well as I do.”

Even though Hermione had known Dumbledore much of her life, she was still slightly intimidated by the man with the half-moon spectacles, as she perched herself on the edge of the blue Chintz chair.

“I presume you know why I have asked you here this evening?” enquired Dumbledore, looking down his nose at her. His piercing blue eyes felt as though they were slicing right through her and the mere thought of it made Hermione squirm.

“Yes,” she whispered, “You want to talk about how I am here, or more precisely why I am here.”

“Correct. However, before we begin, I wonder, have you told any of your classmates about our meeting tonight?”

“No,” said Hermione, her perplexed voice a fraction stringer than it had been before, “I thought it best not to let anyone know. After all, what would I tell them?”

“A wise assumption Miss Potter, but for the present we must work our way through fact only.”

Dumbledore asked Hermione a myriad of questions. He begun with the most basic, for example, asking for the incantation of the spell she had used.

It was on this question that Hermione perked up, looking for any hint that he may have some extra information for her. Anything at all that might give her some desperately needed answers.

Was she able to get back home? Was she ever going to see her loved ones again? What happened to Ron and Harry? Were they killed? What kind of trouble did they get into? Was it her fault?

Her mind was frantic as the questions that had been lying dormant for months, resurfaced.

Dumbledore’s lined face remained as impassive as ever while he continued to query Hermione on every minute detail of her story.

With every question that passed, Hermione became more agitated and fraught. Hot, angry tears began to flow unchecked as the gravity of the situation began to pull Hermione in.

Dumbledore merely paused his questions at this and watched her until the tears had abated.

“I think,” he spoke in an understanding tone, “that we have covered enough for this evening.”

He stood and crossed the room over to the door, holding it open for Hermione. As she passed, her blotchy and swollen face looked up at him one last time, however, it was Dumbledore that spoke.