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Hermione had finished her patrol of the familiar corridors of Hogwart and was heading back to Gryffindor tower, when she came upon a sight that threw her back to her years as a student. There, facing the Ravenclaw tower door, stood an ethereal, shoeless blond.
Hermione blinked away the vision of Luna and cleared her throat.
"Lysander? Is there a problem?"
The boy glanced at her, then shook his head.
"I don't need to be saved from a riddle," he muttered.
Hermione chuckled.
"Good, because I'm off duty as of two minutes ago. Is the eagle being stubborn again? It is a bit narrow-minded."
"It won't accept wrackspurt as an answer. It's a better answer than the one it wants."
"Sometimes you have to lower your expectations, Lysander. People,bit enchanted door-knockers, don't always know what's best for them, even if it's obvious to others."
The boy appeared to be turning that idea around in his head, then he nodded and addressed the eagle.
"Fine. Hinkypunk."
The door opened and Lysander rolled his eyes at it, then bid her goodnight. She chuckled at how much like his mother he was. Seeing her friends' children wandering the halls made her feel nostalgic, yet, she knew those memories had their share of darkness and that nightmares would visit her that night.
The next day, she had bags under her eyes only a strong charm could hide. Not that anyone would notice or dare comment about. Her status as a war heroin had set her on some kind of pedestal she neither wanted, nor liked. As a result, there was always an invisible barrier between her and her colleagues. Even the students seemed to think she was unapproachable, which was just plain ridiculous. And the elves were still scared of her since SPEW. In short, she was lonely.
But she trudged through her days as usual, with a smile plastered on her face, doing her best to fulfill her duties.
So it came as a shock when a student knocked at her classroom's door one day.
"Lysander? Shouldn't you be heading to the Great Hall?" she asked, trying to figure out why he looked so concerned. Girl trouble, she figured. That's what usually got Harry and Ron in that state.
"Mom owled to ask me to look out for you."
"As you said yourself, Lysander, I don't need saving," she scoffed.
Yet, she had to wonder what Luna was up to. As much as Hermione hated divination, she sometimes believed her old friend was a seer. Lysander shrugged and placed something on her desk.
"And like you said, Professor, people don't always know what's best for them."
When he left, Hermione picked up what he had left behind, chuckling when she recognized Luna's signature reddish jewelry. Only this one was a brooch layered with charms. It took her an hour to find out what they all were: peaceful dream charm, anti-blemish glamour, remembrall notice… she was amazed Lysander had managed to charm such a small object with that many spells without making it explode. A talent the staff had already noticed and which would make him a formidable curse-breaker, but he stubbornly insisted his path lay in herbology, which he was terrible at…
After that day, Lysander regularly stayed after class to talk with her. She found it strange, because kids his age, especially when they were in their last year, either spent every free second studying at the library, horsing around with their friends, or snogging in broom closets. The last thing they wanted was to chat with a teacher.
"What's Lorcan up to?" she asked suspiciously.
Granted, Lysander and his brother weren't attached at the hip like the Weasley twins had been, but she also knew the Hufflepuffs had no classes at present.
"Playing gobstones at the club."
"And Lily?"
"Working on her Herbology project. Are you trying to get rid of me, Professor?"
"Of course not," she hurried to assure him, never wanting one of her students to feel like they couldn't talk to her. "I was just wondering why you're here alone so often. I was worried something may be wrong."
"I'm not alone. You're here too," he pointed out in the typical Ravenclaw bluntness that questioned your level of stupidity.
"What I meant is that your time would be better spent with your friends, not an old, boring teacher. You don't even like my subject."
"It's...fine," Lysander lied.
He was such a bad liar, Hermione burst out laughing.
"Useless," the boy added with a mischievous grin. "But I guess you never know when you'll need a pin cushion."
"Have you never heard of the battle between Dumbledore and Voldemort in the Ministry?"
Lysander shook his head, so she told him about the terrible transfiguration battle that had destroyed most of the atrium. Like every other stories she had shared when he stayed after class, his eyes lit up with the same fire and thirst for knowledge and adventure she had seen in Luna's eyes when she spoke of her beloved creatures.
"You see, Professor, this is why I'd rather be here with you. You speak to me like an equal instead of a kid. You should hear the other teachers telling me I'll find out when I'm an adult if I ask them a question that doesn't fit in their syllabus. But you always take the time to give me an answer. You speak the truth, even about that war. No one else does, you know... Not even mom. Because of that, all the students think it was even worse than what's in the books." He sighed. "I wish the other professors were like you."
All the self-doubt Hermione had about herself and her work at Hogwarts evaporated at his words. She felt like a weight had lifted from her shoulders and she smiled. She could be more than Hermione Granger, war heroine and castle recluse. She could be Hermione Granger, Hogwarts' best teacher.