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Hermione’s favourite thing about their Eighth Year at Hogwarts had to be exploring the other Common Rooms. In a move to promote inter-house unity and cooperation after the war, Professor McGonagall had decided to open up all the Houses and make the Common Rooms free-to-use spaces during the day so that friendships could more easily form across House lines, though students would return to their House dorms as standard at night.
The Eighth Years had been encouraged to lead the charge, though in reality students had been so curious to go explore previously unseen parts of the castle that they didn’t take much prompting.
Hermione understood. For her, it had been a bit of a lifeline. As much as Hermione still loved the Gryffindor Common Room, it was harder for her to spend time there without Harry and Ron. It felt too odd. And there were too many ghosts. Reminders of the people they had lost along the way.
So far, she’d spent many an hour in the airy rooms at the top of Ravenclaw Tower tucked away in the reading nooks. And the good thing about visiting Hufflepuff was being able to tickle the little pear and take some late-night snacks from the kitchen on the way back to her rooms.
But more recently, she had been making herself at home in the depths of the castle by the Black Lake in the Slytherin Common. It had something to do with the platinum blonde boy she had fallen into a rather unconventional courtship with. And it had a lot to do with the room itself.
Hermione had never seen anything quite like it anywhere else in the castle. The ceilings were vaulted and high, giving the room an open almost airy quality that seemed so out of place in the Dungeons. The green leather sofas looked firm at first glance, but would sink under your weight and envelop you when you sank down on it. And there was nothing quite like seeing the Giant Squid swim past the floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed what was hiding in the depths of the Lake.
On first glance everything about the place was imposing and impersonal until closer inspection. Rather like her Draco, she thought wryly.
But one piece captured her attention more than any other.
There was a large portrait tucked away in the corner where she most liked to curl up. The painting showed a man sitting at a large wooden desk, scribbling over various notes and checking potions every so often with a flick of his wand.
Hermione caught herself watching the portrait more often than not, distracting her from whatever book she was reading or essay she was finalising. The man never seemed particularly interested in the happenings of the Common Room, and never made to try and communicate with anyone. Even the loudest of commotions couldn’t pull him from his work. She’d never seen anyone concentrate so hard who wasn’t, well - herself.
Hermione had spent what felt like hours pondering who he was, questions left unanswered rattling through her brain. What was he working on? What had he done that meant a portrait so large and beautifully rendered was hanging here in the Slytherin Common Room?
It had been quite a shock one day to see the man suddenly walk over to the chalkboard in his classroom with a limp so severe Hermione had spotted the movement out of the corner of her eye from where she sat curled up on the sofa. Just what had happened in this man’s past? She had spied the dark pink scars that lined his face, and recognised the worn expression that crossed his face on her own at times.
This man had seen battle. Had survived loss. And now lived with those scars.
Today, she had come upon the portrait empty for once and seized her chance. Now unable to hold back her curiosity, she stepped forward to see if she could read the plaque. The text was tarnished with time and a lack of polishing, but after smudging some of the dirt off with her thumb she could just make out the words: Professor Aesop Sharp, Hogwarts Potions Master - 1885 to 1896, former Auror
An Auror? Had that been where he had picked up the injury that appeared to hurt him so? This must have been the thing that ended his career in the field and led him to teaching. Hermione’s mind was racing with thoughts about which texts in the Hogwarts Library might help her research the man’s past when a voice snapped her out of her reverie.
“Come on Granger. I’m not missing dinner again because you’ve got your nose shoved in a book.” Draco was slouched against the entrance standing beside Nott, with the smirk he always had on his face when he was teasing her.
“Be right there,” she shouted back at the grumbling boys.
Turning back to the portrait, Hermione startled as she came face to face with the handsome, enigmatic Professor. He had returned to his frame, and was surveying her with what she now understood to be an Auror’s intensity - as well as that of a teacher catching a student out.
“Miss Granger,” he bowed his head to her, “it is an honour to make your acquaintance.”
Hermione was rarely rendered speechless, but this was one of those moments. After finally gathering herself she managed to squeak out a response.
“You know who I am?”
“Your deeds and feats of courage are legendary. Hogwarts will never forget what you have done for the magical community. For this community.”
“Thank you, sir. I don’t quite know what to say.”
“You need say nothing. Forgive me if this is overstepping, but you ought to know Miss Granger that there are many of us here - past and present - who understand what you now carry. The burdens of the things you have done and seen. Reach out to others as you have done so here,” she swore his gaze flickered over to where Malfoy and Nott were loitering, “and I promise the weight of it shared will make things easier over time.”
Hermione could feel her eyes watering. It was as if the Professor had been observing her as much as she had him - and he had seen right through her.
“Granger I swear if we miss out on the best pork chops because you can’t decide what referencing style you prefer I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
The intensity of the moment was broken, and Sharp cracked a small grin. “Go, we shall talk again I am sure.”
With a nod and a hurried goodbye she turned away, still reeling from their interaction.
Sharp watched the unlikely group leave the Common Room - Gryffindor’s heroine snuggled into the side of a former Death Eater with traumas that must run deeper than the depths of the Black Lake. How many times would the young people of this school be asked to do unthinkable things to right the follies and wrongs of adult witches and wizards?
Sharp returned to his desk and sat with a sigh, massaging his aching leg and thinking about his own girl who had given too much to protect others. Ravaged by the power of her ancient magic, she had never quite been able to move on. Her scars ran too deep.
He wished with his whole heart that Granger would find peace. Because some people never did.