Deus Ex Machina

And the academic year just became INSANE! I’ve got 1 essay to do – at about 4’000 words (And I\'ve just finished 2 others of the same length); not to mention revision for the HELLISH exams. My beta also has coursework to do, as well as being a bit poorly. So, this chapter hasn’t seen a beta – I know there are errors in it, and the chance of those errors being fixed are actually rather slim, as I don’t have time to go back and mess with the chapters once posted. It’s a wonder this chapter was even written with everything going on at the moment! (Though, I did get an A+ for one project I handed in, and I\'m pleased as punch with it!)



Technical issues are sorted! I can’t believe the fuss it took to get a replacement laptop cable to match my model of laptop! Its only 3 years old and it is obsolete! It’s cost me £50 for a new cable, and then I had to take it back because I had it for a week and it burnt out! I then had to wait for a replacement of the replacement to turn up at the warehouse AND go and collect it from the depot (which is about an hour and a half away down the motorway – luckily I was home for the weekend and it is only 20 mins from home).



And… you’ll never believe this… when the first replacement became faulty and my laptop ran out of power, the woman at the customer service centre said that to get a refund/replacement that I had to go online and fill in their online customer service form… yeah *how am I going to do THAT when I don’t have any POWER for my laptop and therefore CAN’T get onto the blinking internet??* They couldn’t do it over the phone because ‘everything’s gone electronic with the company’. What a blinking farce! But, fingers crossed I won’t be doing that again and THIS cable won’t get faults!



AN: I’ve just realised a whoopsie that my genetics teachers would have me shot for! Lol! You don’t actually get full-ginger female cats, that’s where we get the phrase ‘Ginger Tom’ from! So, Duchess also now has a white tummy so we know she’s a girl! *ooooooops*











A tea party the Mad Hatter would have been proud of. (title wouldn\'t fit in the box during posting)



Hermione’s school robes had been almost perfect – having been produced from perfectly-taken measurements (by Gamay, who never went far without her tape measure); they had needed the bare minimum of alterations before being wrapped in gold and cream tissue paper within the gold cardboard bags.



Hermione arrived back at Adamina’s castle with half-an-hour to spare, and requested politely that the other elves set up tea in the yellow sitting room. The yellow sitting room had a beautiful view of the small courtyard garden; the most comfortable sofas and it just so happened to contain the nicest (and largest) floo-connected fireplace.



“Gamay, do I look alright?” Hermione asked, wanting to make a good first impression on her new teachers, she smoothed imagined creases from her robes.



“Of course you is looking alright! Hmph! What is my job? You is looking good! Gamay is not listening to you having no confidence and is packing your new trunk for school with your new robes!” the elf was clearly fed up of her mistress’s nerves, and vanished out of her way with an angry crack. Hermione nibbled her lower lip and sank elegantly onto one of the little sofas in the room.



“Mrow?” chirruped Duchess as she walked in, her head and tail held high with the airs and grace of a peer. Hermione had to laugh at the kneazle’s arrogance.



“Hello, have you been fed?” Hermione asked, stroking the cat’s huge tufted, pointy ears as Duchess stood on her knees, breathing a face-full of salmon-scented cat breath at her mistress. “I see you have, and spoilt already!”



“Prowwww.” She purred, walking in a small circle on Hermione’s knee before laying down in her lap, purring away as manicured fingers scratched that spot just under her ears. Kneazles were considerably larger than the average domestic moggy – and Duchess didn’t really fit on the small lap.



“Oh? And your basket isn’t more comfortable than my bony knees, Your Ladyship?” Hermione giggled, watching the kneazle’s lionesque tail flick in reply.



“Mrowwww, mreeep, mrrrrrow.” The cat mewed, leaning up her head to Hermione’s hand.



“Hmmm? And how am I going to be a proper hostess my Mother and Great Aunt could be proud of if I can’t pour the tea because of you demanding your ears scratching? Hmm?”



“Mrow.” It was as if the cat was grinning at the notion, Hermione had never seen a cat have such a smug facial expression. She didn’t think that cats had expressions – but a kneazle wasn’t an average cat, and this one was a true familiar, perhaps they did have expressions? Or perhaps Hermione was going slightly mad with stress… the young witch didn’t have time to ponder the philosophy on the merit of cat facial expressions as the floo whooshed.



Five people stepped through, dusting the powder and soot from their travelling robes. Elves appeared without command to collect their capes and cloaks, and an arrangement of refreshments appeared on the table.



“Move over, Duchess.” Hermione said, unceremoniously picking up the cat and plonking her back down on the sofa, giving her guests a view of her white-furred tummy.



“MROW!” she yowled, hissing at being moved so suddenly and in such a manner; it was as if the cat was complaining at having her white tummy flashed – probably akin to someone grabbing Hermione’s dress and showing everyone her knickers! Duchess was not amused and continued to sulk, her back to the room.



“I’m sorry; Duchess thinks she is the new Lady of the Castle, and that she just gives permission for us mere witches to live here.” Hermione said, rolling her eyes, “I am Madamoiselle Hermione Jehanne Grangier, please make yourselves comfortable, can I offer you refreshments?”



“Lovely manners!” said one witch, her hair a lovely shiny black that was slowly turning grey; she pushed her square-rimmed spectacles further up her nose and smoothed over her deep blue and bottle green tartan robes.



“Oh, thank-you.” Hermione said with a blush.



“Indeed! Oh” You have a window box of miniature honking daffodils outside this window! Oh, I bet they sound lovely in spring!” cooed a young-ish witch with a kind round face, offing her hand (with dirt under her fingernails) to shake.



“Oh, yes, my Great Aunt says that they’re all different species and they sound like an orchestra!” Hermione said, looking at the little triangles of green shoots that were barely peaking from the soil.



“Oh lovely! Cherry bakewells! I do love cherries!” squeaked a very small wizard from somewhere around Hermione’s knee.



“I must say, a very well decorated room, simple and elegant.” A portly man with a walrus-like moustache that was more grey than its original ginger colour. He wore a fine brocade waistcoat in emerald green with silver detail, and a matching silver silk cravat. He appeared to be dressed for the opera, not afternoon tea.



“Oh, and your Great Aunt has remembered my sweet tooth! A large bowl of lemon drops! Marvellous!” said the wizard in purple robes with happily twinkling eyes.



Hermione waited until each of the teachers were comfortably seated, politely pretending not to notice when the small gentleman had to levitate himself with a spell; once the guests were settled, Hermione took her own seat, a cross kneazle taking her place back.



“Please help yourself!” Hermione said, motioning to the silver tea tray on the table, and to the plates of various sandwiches, cakes and sweets.



“Don’t mind if I do!” chuckled the wizard in purple robes, picking up a single lemon drop, rustling the wrapper and popping it into his mouth with a happy smile.



“Oh, lovely! Roast beef with freshly-made horseradish! And smoked salmon with cream cheese and chives! Marvellous!” commented the wizard in green and silver, helping himself to what were evidently his favourites.



“Oh look, watercress and cucumber!” said the youngest staff member, she turned to the group before speaking, “Did you know that watercress has more iron than spinach? More calcium than a glass of milk? As well as vitamin A and D – not to mention folic acid?!”



“I wasn’t aware of that, but my Mother kept trying to get my brother to eat it!” Hermione laughed, if a food was green, Damien hadn’t wanted to know!



“I’d best actually have a sandwich before tucking into the cherry bakewells, hadn’t I?” said the little wizard with a sheepish look, but keeping an eye on the cakes.



“And Albus needs to eat something more substantial than his latest password!” snipped the woman in tartan.



The wizard simply stuck his tongue out (the sweet eaten and his tongue an interesting yellow tinge) in a childish manner at the witch before winking at Hermione and reaching for a selection of sandwiches. Hermione, who had been raised with perfect table manners, didn’t really know how to react to her guests, and settled on nibbling at a gammon and cheese sandwich.



“Mmm! Capital beef, Miss… what was your name again? Grange?”



“Grangier, Monsieur…?”



“Oh fiddlesticks! We sat down to refreshments and didn’t even introduce ourselves!” cried the walrus-esque wizard, he stood and made a little bow (keeping hold of his full plate as he did so), “Professor Horace Slughorn, Master of Potions and Head of the House of Salazar Slytherin.”



“Charmed, Professeur.” Hermione replied.



“I am Professor Filius Flitwick, Master of Charms and head of Ravenclaw.” peeped the small man, he offered his small hand for Hermione to shake.



“I did love Charms at Beauxbatons! A pleasure to meet you, Professeur!” Hermione said, a genuine smile on her face.



“Teaching fellow, Dr. Pomona Sprout, Mistress of Herbology, acting Head of Hufflepuff house. I’ll have my Professorship by the end of the year, and I’ll have completed my teacher-training then too.” Said the young witch, seemingly more interested in the courtyard garden outside the window.



“I can offer a tour of the gardens later, if you would like that?” Hermione said in a small voice – not really sure if she was catering to a guest’s interest or being rude.”



“Oh! Can I snip a few cuttings? You’ve quite an impressive belladonna out there!”



“I do not see why not.” Hermione replied, once again shaking the witch’s dirty-nailed hands – though now she was hardly shocked at their condition.



“I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Mistress and Head of Gryffindor House.” Said the woman in tartan, moving to sit closer to Hermione and leaning over to scratch Duchess’s ears.



“A pleasure to meet you, this is Duchess.”



“Oh, a wonderful specimen, I’m quite the cat lover!” said the witch, slipping the kneazle a small sliver of salmon.



“And saving the best for last, eh?” chuckled the wizard with twinkling eyes, “I am Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Former Transfiguration Master, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…” he looked over his half-moon spectacles, his piercing blue eyes trained on Hermione, “… perhaps a little about you, Miss Grangier?”



Hermione looked a little taken aback, but took a breath and spoke, “I am transferring from Beauxbatons to Hogwarts, my favourite subjects were Charms and Potions – and it was a wandless charm that saved my life in the fire…” she trailed off and took a shaking breath, “I would have been fille principale, Head Girl, this year. I’ve gained a familiar today, and I’m rather nervous to be meeting with you.” Hermione thought honesty was best, but the words came out at such a rapid pace that she wasn’t sure they’d even heard what she’d said!



“No need to be nervous! Dr. Sprout here has plants with more bite than we have!” chuckled Professor Slughorn, “A fan of potions, eh? It is rather nice to have someone who appreciates the science!”



“Yes, Professeur.” Hermione said, nibbling at a sandwich to hide her nervously trembling hands.



“Your former Headmistress did tell me you’d be Head Girl – but I am afraid I cannot offer you the position at Hogwarts in lieu – it has already been taken. I could perhaps make you an auxiliary prefect…” the Headmaster said, being serious for a moment as he took a cup of tea and another lemon drop.



“Oh! Please, do not! I have enough responsibilities without becoming a préfet at a school I am alien to! I will be happy as a normal student!” Hermione said earnestly.



Professer Dumbledore smiled kindly, “Thank-you for your honesty, Miss Grangier, though, I have never met a ‘normal’ student in my entire teaching career!”



“Whilst I purchased my robes, I spoke with the Head Boy, Mr. Malfoy? I believe that was his name, we only spoke for a few moments.” Hermione said, sipping at a cup of coffee.



“Lucius Malfoy! Pride of Slytherin, that one! He’ll go far!” Said Professor Slughorn with a beaming smile.



“Indeed, impeccable grades, good manners and a rather fair attitude to all houses in the giving and rewarding of points… he too met with a tragedy last year, I think you and he might do well together – he’ll probably be easier to talk to about your grief than a member of the faculty.” The Headmaster looked thoughtful, “I think I’ll have him show you around the school on your first day – give you more opportunity to talk. Mister Malfoy has a rather bad habit of bottling up his feelings; he could do to talk through things himself…”



“He mentioned something about that…” Hermione said, looking a little confused, “Slytherin? What is that?”



“The four founders: Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor – the four founders of Hogwarts…” Began Professor Slughorn, to be cut off by Professor McGonagall.



“…Each academic year is quartered into one of the houses, and they remain in them for their academic career…”



“…You gain and lose points for achievements and misdemeanours, respectively…” chipped in Professor Flitwick from behind a small piece of cherry bakewell.



“…And your house becomes your family while you’re at Hogwarts.” Finished Miss Sprout.



“Mr. Malfoy mentioned that I don’t have to swim the lake, and that I don’t have to battle a troll… what do I have to do?” she asked.



“Oh, it would spoil everything if I told you that!” chuckled the Headmaster, he sobered, “I understand that though you can fluently speak English, that you only read and write in French, Miss Grangier.”



“Yes, I was rather worried about that.” Hermione admitted, giving Duchess another chunk of fish.



“Don’t worry, I know some very good translation charms – but all your essays will have to be submitted through myself – translating handwriting is a rather messy business!” squeaked Professer Flitwick.



“It has been arranged that you will see a French-speaking, reading and writing tutor every Saturday evening – he will assist you with your work where your non-French understanding professors can’t.” the Headmaster said.



“I do not want to be an inconvenience…” Hermione winced.



“Oh, it is no trouble, he is a language master – and he is the husband of our librarian, Madame Pince – he’s happy to be of assistance!” Professor Dumbledore said, “He taught me Mermish, wonderful man!”



“Oh, are you sure there is no trouble?” Hermione asked to confirm.



“None whatsoever! In fact, Mr. Pince has mentioned starting a language club at the school for those students and staff who wish to learn another language!” he assured her, taking another sweet.



“Oh, that is good!” Hermione said with a smile, glad she’d have some help in her Mother-tongue. “Professeur Dumbledore, what is the… erm… situation with my mourning robes, I do not see how I can dress appropriately for my grief with the school uniform.”



“Ah, this has arisen occasionally through my time as headmaster – and it cropped up more last year. I cannot permit you to be in full mourning robes as you are now, Miss Grangier. However, I can offer a compromise.”



“Something is better than nothing, Professeur.” Hermione said earnestly, though disappointed.



“We, like other schools, have a uniform to make everyone alike and equal; it, theoretically reduces peer pressure – though that occurs whatever a young witch or wizard are dressed in; it is a matter of school pride… but I understand that there are traditions, especially among the older wizarding families – and traditions cannot be ignored, the deceased must be respected.” The headmaster took a deep breath, “My compromise is that you could wear a black skirt and black socks, rather than grey; that the house stripe on the V-neck your pullover is black – rather than your house colours; and the emblem on your robes and pullover can be edged in black. Any combination of these or all at once would be acceptable.”



“Oh.” Hermione said, realising that this was as good as it was going to be.



“Miss Grangier, to allow you to change more of your dress would single you out as odd, unique, perhaps even favoured by staff by having permission to wear different clothing. I wish for any grieving student, who grieves so publicly, to be able to demonstrate their grief – but to not be singled out and victimised during such a difficult time…



… I understand Beauxbatons has a different policy – but these rules are there with your own interests at heart. You are welcome to wear whatever you wish whilst in your house common room and during the weekends – but during the school day, you are expected to be in uniform to the best of your ability.”



The headmaster had dealt with several grieving students, and he had almost ended up putting Lucius Malfoy in detention for coming to breakfast completely dressed in black with a full cape; the hood covering his head. One look into the young wizard’s bloodshot eyes told all was not well – and Albus had invited the young man to his office for tea – where (with the assistance of a few drops of veritaserum) Lucius had told him everything. Abraxas Malfoy had died a painful death in the middle of the night due to the sudden outbreak of adult Dragon Pox.



Lucius Malfoy, at the age of sixteen was orphaned and expected to take over the position as the head of the Malfoy family. He was expected to be landlord to some seventy-five properties; and expected to take his Father’s place as the ‘top dog’ of Malfoy Industries… among that list of tasks was coping with his grief; his academic career and the hormonal nightmare of being a teenage boy.



Hermione Grangier was taking his rules on altered school uniform rather well, Lucius hadn’t been remotely as calm – but had relented to the Headmaster’s wishes once he understood he’d be singled out due to being dressed oddly. Though, the calming potion Albus had slipped into his third cup of tea might have helped, the headmaster didn’t like to drug his students – but the then sixteen-year-old would have made himself sick in his upset if he’d carried on.



Lucius Malfoy hadn’t been the only student to have a very long afternoon tea with the headmaster, or wear the altered uniform during the previous year; there had been nine students, spanning every year, who were dressed just that little bit differently. Not many outside their friendship groups had really noticed something was different – and the Headmaster wanted to keep it that way.



The Headmaster mused over his Head Boy for a minute or two. Lucius was a young wizard who was incredibly mature, well organised and usually in complete control. The sudden demise of his Father and being plunged into responsibilities he knew little of had torn him from his comfort zones and thrust him into confusion… but he’d gladly accepted the position of Head Boy so he could essentially practice for his future role. Once he’d calmed down, Lucius had rolled up his sleeves and got on with it. The only downfall was his Slytherin nature of keeping anything that might be used against him locked away – and the Headmaster had a suspicion that Lucius hadn’t actually grieved properly.



“You are of course, free to express a little more with your hair style – though discrete styles are still mandatory. But a black headband or ribbon would be perfectly acceptable.” Professor Dumbledore said.



“Thank you, Professeur, I will keep within the compromise during school hours, but I will wear my full robes whenever the uniform is not required, if that is satisfactory.” Hermione said with a soft sigh.



“As I have said, I impose these restrictions for your own wellbeing, I don’t want you singled out and victimised by the other students. Not to mention that the school uniform is practical and suitable for all your classes, it isn’t going to catch on anything, and they’re all made from spell-safe and potion-safe fabric.”



“I understand, Pofesseur, and I understand that you’re trying to protect me. My Great Aunt holds you in very high regard, and the people Adamina regards are actually genuinely looking out for my wellbeing… I trust in what you are saying.” She nibbled at her lower lip before speaking again, “I think a little anonymity would be a good thing, I’m rather… erm… apprehensive, thinking logically – drawing attention to myself isn’t going to be profitable; but I can’t act as if nothing ever happened.” There were a few large tears running down her cheeks – quickly dashed away once the witch had moved the cat to get to her handkerchief. The cat didn’t actually complain at this motion, understanding that being turned from the warm lap in this case was actually warranted. Duchess felt her mistress’s sadness, and cuddled in closer, cooing little feline noises in reassurance.



To the Headmaster, it appeared that the witch before him had a quite similar attitude to Lucius. She was suddenly without many living relatives, suddenly expected to be the head of her family, a landlady and chief of a business… But she was prepared to admit she couldn’t take on responsibilities she didn’t understand; she was prepared to admit she was frightened of her future and above all she was obviously an active participant in the process of grief, rather than skirting the issue because it made her look weak.



Oh yes, Dumbledore fully intended on throwing the Head Boy into the path of Miss Hermione Grangier – Lucius could do with a shoulder to cry on, especially if the owner of said shoulder knew exactly what he was going through.



“I think I will definitely set up a meeting between you and our Head Boy, and our Matron, Madame Pomfrey should you wish to speak to a member of the faculty who is not a teacher… You might find talking to them beneficial.” The headmaster said with a gentle smile before popping another lemon drop into his mouth; his eyes twinkled as he plotted ways of getting Lucius to talk to someone, anyone about what he was going through, and even contemplated a few semi-illegal methods as a last resort if all else failed.



Everyone went back to their refreshments in a comfortable silence punctuated by polite inquires into the differences between a French education and a British one. Within half an hour every sandwich had been eaten, every cake had vanished from the tray, the tea pot and coffee pot were empty and all the lemon drops had gone. As the teachers stood to leave, Hermione carefully moved a sleepy cat from her lap and rose in politeness.



“We look forward to seeing you in a few days, and should you require any assistance, or someone to talk to, all you have to do is come and see any member of staff.” Assured Professor McGonagall, giving Duchess one last thorough scratch before standing and taking her tartan cloak from an elf.



“Oh yes, Hogwarts is gaining a gem, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Said Professor Slughorn with a small bow before donning his smoking-jacket style cape, “I’ve a little club where promising individuals can meet to discuss current issues and things like that – I think you should come to the meetings, see if you can drag the Head Boy with you, he’s been rather reluctant to attend all the other gatherings.”



“Thank-you?” Hermione replied to Professor Slughorn, not perfectly sure about attending or not; if the Head Boy didn’t want to attend, then there must have been a reason for that.



“I’ll just have a nosey around your garden, before I go, thank-you for tea!” beamed Dr. Sprout, walking out of the patio doors and straight over to the belladonna.



“Wonderful to meet you, and I am glad you are a fan of charms – and so proficient with wandless magic – that would be something to work on in your spare time!” said Professor Flitwick as he stepped through the floo.



“Thank-you for meeting with us, Miss Grangier, I hope we have eased a few fears for you.” Said the Headmaster as he stepped into the fireplace.



“Some of them, Professor, but some will not be eased until I have a few friends to turn to, I find myself without any my own age here – and post to France is difficult and arrives once per fortnight.” Hermione said with a small curtsey as he left.



“I don’t think you’ll have a problem making friends, Miss Grangier. And the international post system has never been better! I waited three months for a letter from Italy when I was much younger!” He said with a grin as he vanished into the fire.



Dr. Sprout dashed back through the floo with her cuttings to get them straight into propagation chambers, not even stopping to say goodbye. Hermione flopped down onto the sofa in a most unladylike manner.



“Well, that wasn’t so awful, was it?” she asked Duchess, who with a full tummy had fallen asleep and didn’t answer. Hermione went back to nibbling her bottom lip and worrying about what her future held – and in the room that she presumed was empty (save for a sleeping cat), she gave into the tears that had been threatening to escape her eyes for at least half an hour. She was alone, she was frightened and she knew she’d be singled out as strange at this new school.



Gamay, who had been hiding in the yellow drawing room (the trunk had been packed in moments) left her mistress to cry, knowing full well that the young witch needed to get this out of her system – a good cry was just what the healer ordered, even if it did break the Lady’s Elf’s heart to watch.