Facade

Façade

There were days Hermione Granger hated teaching. They didn't happen often, thankfully. She made the resolution she was going to deal with this by herself and not involve the boys.

Hermione's "boys" were her two best friends -- and also her lovers. Harry Potter, still known to the Wizarding world as the Chosen One or the Boy Who Lived, had chosen to take a position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Ron Weasley, known once for being one of seven Weasley children and now known for being one of three who survived the war, took a position as Healer Trainee. It was a surprise to all three friends when Ron discovered quite by accident during a particularly bloody offensive that he had a Healing Touch.

Hermione herself had been offered the position of Transfiguration professor when Hogwarts reopened after the war. She had accepted eagerly and the boys followed. Though the three of them had to be circumspect about their relationship when the school was occupied, there were ways around the fact they had three separate rooms and clashing schedules. They had become good enough at hiding their unusual circumstances in the four years they'd been at Hogwarts as professors that they were nearly positive no one but Headmistress Minerva McGonagall knew they were involved as a ménage a trois.

Nearly.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

"Preparations for OWLs will begin after the holidays," Hermione began. Her fifth-years groaned in unison. She dismissed the class shortly after that, though she didn't want to do so.

After the fifth-year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw class was her NEWT class. And in her NEWT class was her tormentor.

Not that he ever did anything that was awful -- in small doses -- but he worried her. She often considered that it was quite unreasonable she was afraid of someone five years younger when she'd faced witches and wizards three times her age and Death Eaters to boot as they tried to murder her or the boys.

That dichotomy was just one of the reasons she continued to justify not telling her boys about her student. Ron would want to have someone injure him so he would end up in the hospital wing under Ron's not-so-tender mercies. Harry would turn on his not-so-subtle intimidation methods. Any other time, she'd allow it, but this time around she was afraid it wouldn't do any good. Or, worse, engender some sort of negative consequences toward her.

With those thoughts, she kept her mouth shut.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

If I can make it to the end of June, I'll be fine.

She kept telling herself that and it had yet to work. She was short-tempered with the boys and her worry had driven her sex drive down to nothing. She often wondered how she thought she'd hide what was happening from the boys since it was obvious now she couldn't. They'd not yet figured it out -- if they had, her student would not be a problem any longer. But they didn't ask why she no longer wanted to walk to the Great Hall alone, why she would take meals in her quarters on the days both the boys were unavailable, or why her fingernails were bitten to the quick.

Things had gotten worse in the last two weeks and it was only mid-May. Just last week he'd cornered her in the classroom.

She shuddered and sank deeper into the bath at the memory. She couldn't scrub enough to remove the sensation of his fingers on her cheek. She couldn't drown his words -- whore, slag, bitch -- with anything but time. Neither Harry nor Ron had asked verbally yet what was wrong, but she saw it in their eyes each time she ran into their arms.

There were not many things that drove Hermione Granger, one of the heroes of the War, to tears. She knew she was running out of time to tell them what was wrong.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

The OWLs and NEWTs are nearly here, then I'm free.

Her tormentor had become bold. He'd taken to leaving notes attached to his homework, notes surreptitiously left on her desk after class, notes sent by school owl directly to her quarters. She'd destroyed them all so far, but worried incessantly that one had slipped past her. It wouldn't do for the boys to find one.

Ron had already dragged her down to the hospital wing once and checked her over, surprised when he found no sign of illness. He berated her for not eating and she sheepishly admitted she'd only been picking at her meals, which was obvious by the stone she'd lost since school began.

Harry had taken to subtly interrogating her with such persistence she told him she'd use an impotence hex next time he started questioning her. The threat had worked so far, but she didn't put it past him to test her will.

She clutched her knees more tightly, trying to make herself smaller on the window seat. In the distance she could see two figures above the Quidditch Pitch. Harry and Ron seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Sighing heavily, she shifted on the seat. She knew she should have stood up to her student before now, or should have told the boys. However, she wanted to handle it herself, not run to her companions with every problem. It was something she should have been able to do given her history during the war. It galled her that should could face a phalanx Death Eaters but not one student.

Lost in her thoughts, she startled badly at the tapping noise on the window. Rubbing the back of her head where she'd bashed it against the stone, she felt her blood go cold when she saw the owl.

With trembling hands, she opened the window. The owl flew in and perched itself on her knee. It took three tries to pull the letter from the owl's outstretched leg. The owl gave her a short hoot before flying off.

She didn't want to read it but felt compelled. Once she was done, nausea washed through her like a contaminated flood. She tried to tell herself he only continued because he was getting a reaction, but that logical approach was no match against the emotion fluctuating wildly inside her.

"Hermione?" Harry called from the doorway to her quarters.

She didn't have time to destroy the note before he found it. Hastily shoving it between the wall and the seat cushion, she jumped to her feet.

"Hermione?" Harry called again before entering her bedroom. One look at her prompted him to ask, "Are you okay?"

She nodded, hoping it didn't look as shaky as it felt.

Harry stopped just inside the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at her. She held his gaze, challenging him to contradict her. He dropped his arms to his sides with a resigned sigh, capitulating.

What it meant to her, though, was that she was on borrowed time.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Her time ran out two days before the Leaving Feast. She was in her classroom reviewing papers during the hour that was formerly her Gryffindor/Slytherin fifth-year class when the door burst open.

Harry and Ron stood in the opening looking like avenging angels. Harry stormed in first, crossing the room in five strides. Ron slipped into the room, closing and warding the door behind himself.

She jumped when Harry tossed a crumpled parchment onto her desk.

"What is this?" he growled, his voice vibrating with power.

Glancing quickly between the two, she realized her time was up. They'd read the note she had scrambled to hide then promptly forgotten about. They'd read the note and realized it wasn't the first.

"I...I don't know what you mean," she stammered.

Harry braced his hands on her desk and bent low toward her. "Don't lie, Hermione," he spat.

Panic welled within her again. She hadn't seen Harry this angry with her since an offensive in the war during which she'd snuck through enemy lines to sabotage their shielding.

Her eyes darted to Ron. He stood impassively, arms crossed, at the end of her desk. He was obviously allowing Harry full reign to pull the story from her. Though frightened by their discovery of the note, she reluctantly admired their strategy.

Harry slammed his hand on the parchment, flattening it on the desk. "How long have you been getting these? Do you know who is sending them to you? Why haven't you told us about them? What have you done about them?"

She shrank back in her chair. Harry's anger was hot against her skin, a nearly palpable blanket of outrage.

"The notes started about six weeks ago," she allowed timidly. Though it galled her to cower in front of Harry and Ron, it was what she had expected she would have to do.

"There was something before then?" Ron asked.

Trust him to fill in what I haven't said, Hermione thought. He doesn't listen when I ask him to put away his robes, but he picks up the subtext.

"Yes," she admitted with a whisper.

The boys exchanged a look. Usually she envied them their ability to speak volumes in an exchange of glances, but not now. Both of them slipped around her desk, Ron moving behind her and Harry kneeling at her feet. Ron's strong hands rested on her shoulders, gently kneading, while Harry took her hands, squeezing lightly.

"Tell us," Harry implored.

Tears glittered in her eyes at the sudden sympathy. Of all the scenarios she'd run through her mind, this wasn't one of them. Their anger, yes; their sympathy, no.

"Hermione," Ron began, "we can't help you if you don't tell us."

In the face of their earnestness, her reasons for not telling them about her student melted. The justifications she'd made for herself didn't seem to hold weight any longer. In the space of a few seconds she weighed the possibilities of not telling them what had been going on. All fell flat against finally confiding in her boys.

"Not in the classroom," she murmured. "Let's go back to our quarters."

Harry nodded, then told Ron to take her upstairs while he took care of canceling her classes for the remainder of the day.

Ron plied her with tea. Harry arrived while she was drinking her third cup. She suspected Ron had laced it with something, but didn't ask. Ron moved her further down the sofa so he could sit behind her; Harry sat on the end and lifted her legs into his lap.

"Ready to talk?" Ron asked.

She nodded, then sighed.

"It started in October." She felt Ron twitch and sipped at her tea again. "He first started by just smiling at me."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Ron said. She would have said something had Harry not shot Ron a disgusted look.

"It...it wasn't normal," she murmured, taking a sip of her tea. How am I to describe the feeling a woman has when a man is looking at her as if he's taking off her clothes and knows she doesn't want it to happen? "He deliberately was making me uncomfortable."

"But you didn't tell anyone?" Harry asked. She shook her head, hands tightening on the cup. "Go on." She heard the tension in his voice, just as she could feel the tension in Ron's body.

"Around the Christmas holidays, he began with the words." A shudder ran through her at the memory of that first time, when she thought she hadn't heard him correctly until she looked up and saw the gleam of malice in his eyes. "He'd apparently seen us together or heard the rumors. When he turned in a paper not long before the break, he whispered, ‘Slag,' as he laid it on my desk."

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed. Hermione laid a calming hand on his knee, but he stayed tense.

"When there were still no reprisals, he became more bold." The cup shattered in her hands. Harry Banished the shards, dried her clothing and healed the cuts on her hands before she could grab her own wand. Given the speed with which he fixed the problem, she wasn't sure if she'd broken it or he had, not that it mattered.

"He continued with the comments, sometimes turning in work, sometimes as I walked past him."

"And you said nothing?" Ron said.

"What was I going to say?" Hermione demanded indignantly. "I have a student who is mean to me? I would have been laughed at."

"This is more than being mean, Hermione," Harry replied softly.

"Was all this why you stopped going down to the Great Hall?" Ron asked.

When she nodded, Ron slid his arm around her, taking one hand in his and squeezing. Using that reassurance to center herself, she took a deep breath before continuing.

"He cornered me on the way out of the classroom a month ago." With this admission, she began to gnaw on the side of her thumb. She could feel Ron and Harry both practically quivering with anger and she was amazed by their restraint.

"He...he closed the door." She took several shaky breaths before she could continue, her eyes shut tight so she didn't have to see the reprisals or frustration in Harry's eyes. "He cornered me by the door and...."

"And what, Hermione?" Ron growled.

"Smiled."

"Smiled?" Ron asked.

"Bloody fucking hell," Harry spat.

"Smiled. And traced one finger down my cheek."

Both boys were silent for so long that she opened her eyes. Harry's fists were clenched in his hair as he tried to control himself and his magic. Even Ron was risking uncontrolled magic given the anger she felt vibrating in him.

"When did the notes start?" Harry asked finally.

"Right after that. At first, they were just additions to his homework. Then he started using the school owls."

"Which are charmed to always find a professor," Ron hissed, disgusted.

With deliberate precision, Harry lifted her legs from his lap and stood. He paced the length of the room and back again before whirling on Hermione.

"Have all the notes been like that?" he asked, waving his hand absently at the crumpled parchment that began this conversation. It lay innocently on the table.

When she didn't answer, Ron rested his chin on her head and wrapped his other arm around her as well.

"Hermione?"

"The last one was worse," she whispered, barely audible.

"Where is it?" Ron demanded in a tone that brooked no dissention.

"I burned it."

She felt Ron take a deep breath, as well as heard the air whistle through narrowed nostrils. The three of them fell silent, though Hermione knew the conversation wasn't over. She hadn't yet decided if she was relieved or not by telling them about her student; she didn't know if it was a further burden to prevent them from killing the boy or not.

She watched as Harry and Ron exchanged another look, then trembled at the look in Harry's eye.

"Who is he, Hermione?"

"Are you going to kill him?"

Harry clenched his fists once again, setting his jaw. Ron merely growled.

"I won't tell if you're going to kill him."

"We could find out," Ron said.

"You could, but school ends day after tomorrow. Could you find out before then?"

They were silent. She knew they wouldn't be able to uncover her student's identity in that short period of time.

"We won't harm him," Ron finally allowed.

"While he's in school," Harry quickly added.

It was the best she could hope for. "His name is Octavius Quirke."

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Harry and Ron were true to their word and didn't touch Quirke until the middle of summer. They didn't mention him again in Hermione's presence, enjoying the fact that she was returning to herself now that Quirke had left school.

The boys felt that 18 was old enough to learn consequences.

Dressed in black from head to toe, they made an imposing pair as they strode down the high street in Hogsmeade. Though recognized by nearly everyone, not one person stopped them.

Ron opened the door to the Hog's Head, allowing Harry to enter first. Quirke had been working there behind the bar for two weeks. It was a bit too close for comfort for Hermione.

Neither man took a seat, preferring to wait until Quirke noticed them. Harry took perverse pleasure in watching the blood drain from Quirke's face when he took in the sight of Harry and Ron. Ron's mouth turned upward in a dark parody of a smile, enjoying the boy's discomfort.

"I think we have something to discuss," Harry said.

Quirke nodded, lifted his chin defiantly and beckoned Ron and Harry out a side door.

The door had barely snicked shut before Ron had Quirke pinned to the wall, a forearm across his neck and toes barely touching the ground.

"Ron and I talked about making you disappear," Harry began coldly. He spun his wand between his fingers as he spoke. "Given that most wizards owe a debt to me, I could do it.

"It wouldn't be that satisfying, though. I mean, you spent an entire year tormenting Professor Granger. Retribution would not be exacted if I just made you 'disappear' from England."

Quirke made a noise as if to speak. Ron merely pressed his arm more tightly across his neck, careful not to strangle him but enough that Quirke couldn't speak.

"We thought about harassing you as you had Professor Granger and decided that wasn't enough either." Harry smiled darkly. "Healer Weasley wanted to stake you in the Forbidden Forest during a full moon, but I talked him out of that."

Quirke, who had been turning red, was now white.

"I, however, looked up a few spells." Harry seemed to take an inordinate amount of glee in telling Quirke this and Ron smiled.

Harry took two steps back, gripped his wand tightly and, pointing it at Quirke, murmured three incantations. Ron allowed him to drop to the ground.

Blue light shimmered around Quirke. Yellow sparkled through it, increasing in frequency until the light was wholly yellow. When the light rapidly flashed to red, Quirke screamed.

Harry and Ron both smiled.

The light faded, leaving Quirke curled in a fetal position in the dirt.

Ron handed Harry a bundle of clothing he'd conjured. Harry squatted next to Quirke's head, tossing the bundle of clothing in the dirt.

"I do hope Orla enjoys having a sister."