Unlikely is an Understatement

Hermione settled back into her chair with a sigh of relief. Last class of the day, last day of the week. Idly she conjured a fire; the office was perpetually dank and chilly, even in September. Joints popped and bones clicked as she stretched, catlike. The week hadn't been too terrible actually, neglecting the first disastrous day, of course. Snape's curriculums were useful, though less challenging than she would have liked. Still, the classes were preceding fairly calmly - no more mass runs to the infirmary (though Hermione felt that might be due more to the rather angry speech she had made to all her classes the following day). Today though, marked the advent of two blissfully peaceful days that were completely free for research, relaxation, and reading.

A sharp knock on the door stirred her out of her daydreams, and she struggled into a proper sitting position just as Minerva entered, dressed in her heavy outdoor cloak. She nodded curtly to Hermione, hands on her hips and her no-nonsense face firmly in place. Hermione smiled warmly at her; the older woman softened almost imperceptibly.

"Hermione, if you would grab your cloak, we're having dinner out tonight," she said, her voice still vaguely sharp.

"With who, may I ask?" Hermione replied as she stood and summoned her wrap from beside the fireplace. Another flick of the wand damped the merry fire.

"You'll have to wait. It was requested to be a surprise," Minerva answered, rolling her eyes to show just what she thought of this foolishness. With a disdainful cluck she turned and left, Hermione scrambling to follow, still fiddling with her jacket fastenings.

They walked swiftly up from the dungeons, passing students as they scurried on their way to dinner. Lines of children were flowing into the Great Hall from every direction, their chatter spilling out into the entryway as a dull roar. Hermione and McGonagall moved through silently and out the front doors. A coach was waiting, horseless and driverless. Hermione had barely set foot inside before it took off, forcing her to scramble inside and cling at the seat.

"Does the Headmaster know we're to miss dinner?" she asked worriedly, once she had been seated and settled.

"I informed him. It's not as if he could refuse." Though the rest of the journey was made in silence. McGonagall relaxed more the further they got form the school. Hermione contented herself with watching the black moors rush by, and mentally organizing the questions she was bursting to ask.

They pulled up shortly in front of a small cottage that was sitting alone on a rise. Warm light poured through the little square windows, and the small square door as it was opened. It looked, Hermione thought, rather like one of those cheery, plump cottages that are painted on collectible plates. Beside it, the carriage looked a good deal more threatening and imposing than it had any right too.

Hermione found herself ushered into the little cottage, her cloak taken care of, and a small pair of hands at her knees pushing her towards a round, well-scrubbed table; McGongall had already seated herself. Looking down, she was greeted by Winky's bulging eyes and obsequious smile. She gave her another light tap towards the chair, before whisking away.

"Ah, how good to see you again Miss Granger. I fear it has been rather too long since we have met in happy circumstances. And Minerva, it is, as always, a pleasure to see you here," said a warm voice from behind Hermione. She twisted about quickly and, following Minerva's example, stood.

Albus Dumbledore had looked only one hundred years old for more than half that time since. He stood behind her now, hair and beard as white and flowing as ever, trademark grin and blue-eyed sparkle firmly in place. When he crossed the room to greet them (a hug for Hermione, and another for a very stiff McGonagall), he moved with the same controlled grace and strength, and spoke in the same soft tones, unbroken by age or experience. Welcoming over, dinner was swiftly conjured.

They talked quietly over dinner, light conversation about how things were at the castle, Hermione's university work, Minerva's endless struggle with the Gryffindor quidditch team, and a dozen or so other subjects of passing interest. Dumbledore sat in silence through most, drinking up the details and information about his former home in quiet contentment. It wasn't until the remains of dessert were long cold that Albus gently nodded his head and requested tea by the fireplace.

"Well, Hermione," he began once they had all been settled into squashy armchairs and given steaming cups. "I believe I promised you an explanation when you arrived, and am sorry that I am terribly late in providing it. Retirement is nearly busier than working was; without a school to run, I'm called upon nearly all the time for help," he said good-naturedly.

"Oh, come off it Albus. You know perfectly well that you were dead bored that first month, before the ministry started calling you to clean up every problem in creation," McGonagall snapped, rolling her eyes over the rim of her mug.

"Be that as it may, it is still no excuse for my tardiness in speaking to Miss Granger. Especially as there are circumstances and choices that must be explained. As Severus has undoubtedly told you - he has a terrible habit of letting things like this slip - he did not favor your placement as Potions Professor." Dumbledore peered at her over the top of his half-moon glasses, and, setting aside his cup, steepled his hands in front of him. For a long moment he subjected her to a scrutinizing look, carefully neutral and probing.

"I was led to understand, sir, that you had requested my employment," Hermione responded, proud that her voice was free of any nervousness.

"Indeed. You, and Mr. Weasley were my final requests of Severus before retirement." He broke off, and his gaze drifted towards possibly the fire and possibly Minerva, though his eyes were focused far away and he saw neither. "You know, it is very hard Miss Granger, to leave a place you have been invested in for a good deal of your life; a place that has invariably become home, with people that have become family. It is a very hard thing to cut your ties, even when you know it is the best thing to do."

"Why did you leave then, sir, if you feel so strongly?" Hermione asked. "I mean, there are many who never do."

"Ah yes, yes. I love Hogwarts dearly, and am, perhaps more invested and entwined in the castle than any of us could guess. But I would not become as one of the ghosts, forever haunting one era of my life. It is as bad as spending a life before the Erised mirror."

"Albus, honestly. Speaking in riddles and tangents is all well and good when you're the mystical headmaster, but for explanations it's quite frustrating," snapped McGonagall, leveling a harassed glare in Dumbledore's direction. He chuckled, and turned back to Hermione.

"Alright, then. I shall start at the beginning," he ventured, earning an approving nod from McGonagall. "As I have mentioned, it was time for me to leave the school. I wanted to see it in good hands, hands I could trust to protect it, treasure it, encourage it, as I hope I had done. For many years I had believed that my second would be Minerva - "

"Only to find that I absolutely refused the position. Running a House is more than enough trouble, not to think of a whole school. I'm perfectly content to be the emergency aid, but as a permanent position, please!" Minerva interrupted dryly, smiling at the slightly shocked look on Hermione's face.

"Trust is a wonderful and fragile thing Hermione, and I found that there are too few in who I have been wholly able to place mine. One of these few happens to be Severus. And so I cajoled him into accepting."

"Cajoled? Holding a man at wandpoint until he agrees is hardly cajoling Albus."

"Where Severus is concerned, Minerva, anything short of an Unforgivable can be considered asking nicely," Dumbledore countered. Hermione leaned back into her chair, amused beyond belief at the gentle repartee between the two. It was comfortable and familiar; like a favorite book you know so well you could read it without really reading.

"Pardon my asking, sir, but no matter Professor Snape's objections, wouldn't the governors, and the parents, and, oh, just about everyone, complain?" Hermione asked.

"Well, they did. Quite loudly and at length. However, you will find that most people are willing to listen in favor of age and wisdom."

"Being a bloody powerful wizard doesn't hurt either."

"Yes, that too, Minerva. No matter, Severus was obviously the most capable wizard for the job. He'd spent nearly twenty years heading a House of the most troubled, complicated students in the school. Slytherin House is not evil, but it is difficult. I always feel they have been unfairly tarred with a very black brush, especially those for who it is a family tradition. So many overlook the good qualities there, as much as they do the bad in the other houses."

Hermione couldn't restrain herself, and broke in at this point, leaning forward eagerly in her chair. "Excuse me, sir, I know this may seem a bit rude, but why do we need to go over this?" she asked impatiently. Dumbledore looked at her probingly before answering.

"Hermione, I know the prejudices under which children suffer, the biases that they grow up with, especially in a house structure such as at Hogwarts. Intelligent as you are, I want to be sure you understand that it is who we are, not what we are perceived as, that determines our personality. The Sorting and the House system are merely another way of perception. They do not tell truths." He leaned back into his chair, eyes solemn, regarding her as his words sank in. Her face, usually so readable, was carefully blank as she looked at the fireplace. A few moments passed before Dumbledore softly cleared his throat, and Hermione returned her attention.

"As I said, Severus was the obvious choice, and with a little convincing, the rest of the wizarding world accepted it. And with a little threatening, he finally accepted it. However, before I handed over my position to him, I asked one last favor, to indulge the fancies of an old man. And requested that yourself and Mr. Weasley be made professors.

"I wished to entrust you two with the protection and guidance of Hogwarts, and the minds therein. Hermione, I am a selfish old man, and have taken both you and Bill away from promising careers and bright futures to safeguard that which is dearest to me. By being there, by being a part of the growth of the wizarding future. Xenophobia, prejudice, racism: these things cannot be driven from our world by one victory. They are insidious, and you will see them rise again, in other forms and with less power, but they will continue to exist. You, Severus, Harry, the Weasleys...even Miss Proctor, are newly responsible for fighting these eternal evils. I chose you because Severus, powerful as he is, needs...needs support at Hogwarts. You have all had a baptism by fire, and now it is your time to continue what Minerva, what Alastor, what I have fought, as we have continued for those before us. I chose you because Hogwarts needs your power and your spirit," he finished heavily, and leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking tired. No one spoke, and the only sound was the crackle as the logs in the fireplace settled and shifted.

"So, Miss Granger," Dumbledore began again quietly, "you see that I had hoped to give you a small modicum of protection against Severus' rather ruthless manners. Alas, I am too late, but I hope this shall warm you enough to continue to...coexist with the new headmaster. Now, I believe it is rather late, and you have research planned for this weekend, so tomorrow's start shall be early. Winky will show you to your rooms." He sighed and stood, folding Hermione in a comforting hug, before pushing her lightly towards the waiting house elf. Both disappeared into the shadows of the cottage.

"Well, that was truly a masterpiece of exposition. I didn't think it was possible to conceal so much when so frankly telling the truth," Minerva grumbled as she rose, and went to stand behind Dumbledore's chair, putting one soothing hand on his shoulder. Beneath her palm, she felt his shoulders rise and fall in another sigh.

"There are many things the girl must discover for herself, Minerva. There were several things I told her she should have found for herself."

"Oh, honestly. Just because you're practically an Oracle doesn't mean the rest of us unblessed with the Inner Eye," and here she snorted at the very Sybil-ness of it all, "can see the board so clearly. She learned much of use, and nothing of use, and has everything to discover," Minerva said, calmly, leaning against into the back of the chair. One old hand came up to cover hers, warm and smooth. After a pause, "It was right of you to leave you know. They can't depend on you to save them forever. We're getting old Albus, it's time for the young ones to come forward." He chuckled at her then, and smiled, pulling her around by the hand until she was perched on the arm of his chair.

"How easily you include me in your generation Minerva!"

"You belong to every generation, Albus. Eventually."

"Not this one." They sat in silence, watching as the fire died slowly. Minerva's hand rested again on Dumbledore's shoulder, while her other was entwined with his.

"They'll be all right. Voldemort is gone now, in truth. There will be darkness, of course, but nothing they can't handle," she said, turning so that her eyes trapped his, both facing each other behind their spectacles.

"Voldemort is gone, but there will be another. There always is. Maybe not for them, or their children, but there will be another. It is the way of history," he said sadly, gently squeezing their locked hands. For the first time in many years Minerva noticed the age in his face; too many lines that cut too deeply, too much worry weighing for too long. He looked so...old. The moment passed, as all do, and the firelight changed, and he was again Albus Dumbledore, ageless. He turned his gaze from the fire, meeting her examining eyes with just a hint of worry in his own. She didn't realize she'd asked until she heard him answer, felt his voice rumble underneath her hand.

"Are they ready?"

"Of course they are. We taught them."

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Hermione was treated with watching it break over the moors as she and McGonagall sped back towards the castle. Minerva had fallen soundly asleep in the corner, hat askew over her eyes. Hermione was not so lucky. The last night had provided her with far too much food for thought. There was, she knew instinctively, something fishy about the whole situation.

Wreneth was waiting when they rolled up, sharing a bagel on the front steps with Bill. They were reading something and laughing when the carriage rolled up, but dropped it in favor of greeting her. Bill helped McGonagall down from the carriage.

"We've so much to do today! I went down to your rooms earlier, only to find you gone. I thought someone had kidnapped you!" Wreneth exclaimed, practically bouncing over.

"Yes, she was fit to send me out on a noble quest to save you until Snape told us where you and McGonagall had gone," laughed Bill, steadying Hermione as she leapt from the carriage. He offered his arm with an extended chivalrous flourish, which Hermione responded to in kind, and slipped her arm through his. Wreneth bounced over to their side and took Hermione's other arm.

"Alright, girly! Time's a-wasting, and we have much research to do. The contentment potions and cheering charms and serotonin have already waited to long! To the lab!" she cried, and thrust her arm out in a dramatic sweep towards the dungeons, gamely attempting to drag Hermione and Bill with her at a jog.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it, then," the redhead laughed, and disengaged himself from the tangle of arms. Still giggling though the joke was long dead, they found themselves in the dungeons. All pretenses at foolishness were dropped as they entered the lab. Wreneth pulled her into a side room, barely the size of a closet, and dumped a load of shrunken books onto the table, enlarging them to their original size with a sharp snap.

"So, it looks like we're ready to start the grunt work. All right, from your notes and thesis, I know you were looking mostly at the effect of potions on the body, and how that relates to the natural chemical processes that occur, how the magic affects the organic system responses of wizards as opposed to the system of the Muggle human being.

"What I was looking for was not just how potions affected the chemical responses and systems, but also how the purely magical spells, such as charms and hexes, interact with the organic matter. We're starting with some fairly easy stuff, just to get you introduced to the topic. What we'll be dealing with is Cheering Charms, the various cheering and contentment potions, and their effect on the system, mainly on the flow of serotonin in the brain," Wreneth stated brusquely, arranging piles of books as she spoke, and shuffling papers in a businesslike manner. "Serotonin, as you will soon read about in great depth, is one of the major chemicals in the human brain responsible for feelings of happiness, enjoyment, and euphoria. These are a couple of texts and papers I believe you will find useful in obtaining rudimentary knowledge of the subject.

"Blues are Muggle medical texts and journals, greens Muggle case studies of depression and related illnesses. Oranges are Magical medical texts, though these are usually quite useless, and reds and yellows are relatively recent articles from Magical academia on potions and charms work respectively. Purples are magical texts ranging in age from hot-off-the-presses to very archaic concerning potions, the brewing, the effects, and the desired results. Pinks are the same, only as refers to charms. The small pile of whites in the corner is reports on maladies of the body and mind that magic could not cure," Wreneth listed, fluttering her fingers at each pile in turn and creating a blaze of color. When she was finished the books glowed softly in their respective colors, neatly organized in the order of the visible spectrum.

"Wreneth?"

"Tomorrow we'll start work in the lab. And remember, absolutely no magic is allowed outside of that required in the experiments for testing. We can't take our chances polluting the results," the woman continued, apparently oblivious to the question.

"Wreneth?" Hermione tried a bit louder, placing a hesitant hand on Wren's shoulder.

"- conditions are less than desirable for lab work - Yes?"

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"The books, change the color like that, without your wand," Hermione said, and gifted Wreneth with a deeply curious look. For a few moments the woman merely stared at her, obviously not comprehending. Then understanding broke over her face like dawn might over some very fleshy hills.

"You aren't taught wandless magical control?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Control? Wandless magic is the crude result of a young wizard or witch's maturing power. It can't be controlled, and if controlled, cannot be wielded effectively," Hermione responded, sounding for all the world like an informational pamphlet.

"Well, I think I just put paid to that idea. I can't believe they haven't introduced it here."

"Is it popular in America, then?"

"It's practically the only thing used. Wands are more of a formality back home than anything else," Wreneth replied with a grin, and settled herself on top the table as comfortably as possible. The question - well, actually, questions, multiple - were obvious in Hermione's face, and nothing but a full explanation would do. "The US, as you know, is a wicked big place, and magicals are spread out all over it, from sea to shining sea, you know. So instead of trying to hide our entire society from the Muggles, the way you Europeans do, we integrated with them. Most wizards live in Muggle neighborhoods, go to Muggle schools, and basically participate in all the daily activities of a nation of non-wizards. Of course there are a few hidden pockets of wizard society, like our universities and schools, and some communities, but mostly we exist as just a different ethnicity in a country that is, for all intents and purposes, a cultural free-for-all," Wren explained cheerily, her hands flashing through the air as the spoke, leaving little trails of sparkles and color curling in their wake.

"So, having a foot-long piece of wood on your person at all times would be a little conspicuous," Hermione completed.

"You catch on quick, kid. Exactly. So American wizards spend a lot of time teaching their children to channel, control, and manipulate wandless magic. It can be used subtly and secretly, even in the Muggle world, and it a lot more powerful and pure than magic channeled through a wand."

"Why don't they teach it in England?"

"Mostly because most of Europe is stuck in the wizarding Dark Ages, time of wizarding boom, gothic pride, and (what I secretly suspect is the most potent reason) appropriately thematic and impressive fashion. That, and it's a lot harder to track wandless work, and a lot easier to do 'Dark' spells because of the power available. And you guys have had a pretty lengthy history of megalomaniacal Seriously Evil Bad Guys. Makes you all kind of twitchy and tightly controlled," Wren finished with a wide grin.

"Oh, and I suppose Dark wizards are a purely European problem. Not a worry to Americans at all?" Hermione queried, just a little peeved by the dig.

"Sarcasm is not your forte, leave that to Snape. Anyway, not Dark wizards - we have those - just the classist, purity-of-blood ones are kind of a European specialty. America doesn't have the same issues with that, because of the nature of the immigration and constant association with non-magicals in our history. It's nearly impossible to stay completely pureblooded in America. We have our own problems, mostly in the form of nasty ethnic wizarding wars. Purity of blood isn't a problem, but where your wizardry comes from is," she said grimly, eyes focusing on some troubling point in her mind's eye.

"Every place has their own unique horror story. America sounds rather nice for all that, though," Hermione replied, a touch wistfully. "Wreneth?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, I know we're busy researching, and what with teaching too, and - "

"Spit it out, already."

"Can you teach me how to use wandless magic?"

"Sure. Was going to offer anyway. It's wicked easy and great for party tricks, laziness, and petty revenge. We'll start next week, after these tests are run," she said, grasping Hermione's hand in a firm shake.

"But for now though, you need to get started on reading these books, and I need to get some serious experiment re-design done." Wreneth smiled and hunkered down with her notes a little ways away from the Book Rainbow. Hermione spent a blissful few hours reading through notes, researching techniques both magical and Muggle. In the background she could hear Wreneth, shuffling through the same preparatory procedures, humming lightly under her breath.