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Hogwarts, renowned school of Witchcraft and Wizardry; no matter how famous, how lauded, how magical it is, no matter what wars have shaken its foundations, or battles have dented its halls, it remains, at its core, a boarding school. Consequently, it still runs on the same energy, the same waves, the same currency, as any other: gossip.
Ghosts, students, teachers, and elves alike were all patrons of the currency. It swept through classrooms, and between bent heads at the breakfast table, and on the wind as it raced down the grounds to the lake and beyond. It whistled through the steam of the kettles in the kitchens and danced among the fumes of the potions classroom; scratched into essays and notes and cards, and passed from person to person.
Topics varied, but there was one that reigned supreme: the Romance Question. Maybe it was the impact of war, and the prospect of death that causes romance to bloom, like a wildflower growing in the ashes of destruction. It imbued people with a desire to take all they can get from life, and cupid’s arrows are happy to provide.
Speculation runs amok over the marital status of a few… famous , members of the Faculty.
After the rather public separation from the Caption of the Chudley Cannons, War Heroine turned Arithmancy expert, and newest member of the Hogwarts teaching staff, Hermione Granger, became the new focal point of everyone's gossip.
For years, students speculated over who would be the next Mr. Granger, bets were placed and stories spun with lustrous exaggeration. Until one day, when Professor Granger turned up on the first of September, a gold band, and a rather extravagant emerald diamond, sitting prettily on her ring finger.
The whole school went wild.
The gossip mill over who it was that was married to the Arithmancy Professor was robust. Theories ranged from famous quidditch players, to old money aristocrats from America, to every member of the Wizengamot.
However, at any personal question, she simply leveled a flat stare at the pupil, her face stern and unimpressed, until said pupil stammered out an apology and went back to their work. Nobody could get a single factoid about her relationship out of her; not even the press had anything other than wild speculation and rumour.
Of course, as the years wore on, Professor Granger became a fraction more accepting of her pupils’ curiosities.
“Yes, I am married,” she would say matter of factly when asked. “No, I shan’t tell you my husband's name.”
This may have been an off handed rebuttal, but it was a confirmation that had at least three quarters of the student body in uproar, as the rumours of Professor Granger’s supposed relationship with many of the war heroines of previous years (Luna Lovegood, Cho Chang, even Katie Bell) were finally put to rest.
Despite everyone’s best efforts, Professor Granger remained stalwart in her stance.
“You know the rules. You want to participate in gossip and conjecture? Divination is just two floors above us, I’m sure Sybil would be delighted. However, we deal in facts and theories and logic in this classroom.”
The professor was stern, as she always was, but never mean. Students knew that she was clipped with everyone, and to not take her brusqueness personally. It was said that her attitude was similar to that of Headmistress McGonagall back in her days as a professor (although the woman the current students call Headmistress was a witty, quick-tongued softie, who gave them all lemon drops whenever she saw them, and thus, some found that comparison rather difficult to believe).
However, Professor Granger did have a few personal items around her classroom and office that, for the keen eyed student, provided a wealth of information. A picture of a mountain range, a bouquet of magical peonies, a newspaper clipping in a frame, and a portrait on her desk that was charmed for privacy, but had some details visible: the edge of a pair of reading glasses, a dimple, and a blurry animal reported to be a peacock in the background.
But all that sleuthing was to no avail, as there was still nothing but rumour upon rumour, and a tight-lipped professor with a low tolerance for conjecture.
There was only one student at Hogwarts that knew the truth of the matter. A sixth year exchange student from Beauxbatons, part of an initiative set up to encourage a more cohesive magical community.
Léa Dupont wanted to work towards a Potions mastery after she finished her schooling, and according to her Potions master at Beauxbatons, she should attempt to study Arithmancy under one of the best, as it was a very useful asset to any potioneer.
Unlike Professor Granger, Professeur Malfoy—Beauxbatons Potions Master—had no qualms divulging details about his personal life. Each lesson was peppered with anecdotes about his wedding, how beautiful his wife looked that morning, about the holiday they had taken in Switzerland, and would show the class the bouquet he had on his desk that his wife had sent him that day.
It hadn’t taken Lea long to realise that Professeur’s la beau femme was none other than Professor Granger. If she had been so inclined she could have wielded the most prestigious of currencies. She could have bartered for anything she wanted. But Lea was fond of Professeur , and if his femme didn’t want the school to know, then she wouldn’t say.
Except… when one of the rumours that she had overheard turned nasty.
“She must be ashamed of him,” a student had said to a friend as they had lunch. “Why else would she be hiding who it is?”
“I agree. I mean we don’t even know that the flowers on her desk are from him–she could’ve given them to herself, right? Maybe it's a loveless marriage?”
And in that moment, Lèa Dupont unknowingly unleashed the biggest breakthrough in the case of Professor Granger’s husband the school had yet to see.
“I think you’ll find that Madame iz thoroughly in love with Professeur –she sends him just as large a bouquet as she receives.”