Title: Every Day, You Pass Me By
Fandom: Harry Potter. Set during 7th year.
Rating: T
Pairing: Molly Weasley / Hermione Granger
Summary: What's worse than not having someone? Wanting someone you know can never be.
Hermione Granger lay miserably in her bed, staring unseeingly at the canopy above her. For the umpteenth night in a row, she knew sleep would elude her. She felt tired, so tired, and it was not to do with the after effects of the final battle that had vanquished Voldemort and his followers. Leaden lethargy weighed her every waking step and even though she was exhausted her body would not segue into sleep.
The school was open as usual, Headmistress McGonagall determined for normal life to resume as quickly as possible. Every day more and more scars in the fabric of the building were repaired, charms and wards replaced, decorations returned to their prior state. Hermione agreed with the Headmistresses philosophy, no good could come from dwelling on the fallen, on the pain and terror of the feared end times. The fallen were honoured, their memories remembered and that was right and proper, but to hold back the resumption of life was not. She sighed heavily. It wasn't resuming life that was a problem. Or rather, it was. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept properly. She couldn't remember the last time she had walked under the sun and felt its warmth. She couldn't remember seeing colour around her, she couldn't remember seeing anything with any texture. Life was reduced to monochrome greys, the flatness of every day had sunk into her soul as surely as if a dementor had bestowed its kiss upon her. She couldn't even summon up the energy to cry.
This couldn't go on. She needed to talk to someone or she would surely have some kind of a mental breakdown. She ran a shaking hand though her curly brown hair. The once self assured witch was a shadow of her formidable former self and she knew of only one person who she could trust with the weight of her secret.
Slipping quietly out of her bed, she groped for her dressing gown and slippers, noiselessly exiting the dormitory. She paused by the common room, knowing from experience that some students weren't averse to extremely late nights and sometimes fell asleep on the comfy, stuffed sofas. The fire had died down, the chill causing her to shiver involuntarily, and she wryly noted some discarded homework over on the study table by a pile of potions textbooks. Wrapping her dressing gown closer around her, Hermione made her way to the portrait hole, closing it gently behind her so as not to wake the sleeping portrait. Outside in the corridor, she exhaled heavily. For the millionth time, she wondered what in the name of sanity she was doing. It was the middle of the night, or, more accurately, the wee small hours. The thought caused a flicker of a smile to ghost her features. You can't just go steaming to people's rooms at this hour! Hermione scolded herself. You can. You can to this person. Swallowing her nerves, Hermione made her feet move before she lost all resolve. All too quickly it seemed to her, the Headmistresses rooms appeared. The griffin stared haughtily down its beak at her as she shakily whispered the password, causing it to move to one side. Hermione slowly ascended the staircase, her thumping heart feeling as if it was going to hammer out of her chest and her roiling stomach making her feel nauseous. At the top of the stairs she lifted her hand to knock, pausing in shock as the Gaelic lilt of the headmistress floated through the door.
"Come in, Miss Granger."
Somewhat bewildered, Hermione pushed open the door and stepped into the headmistresses study. Some distant part of her wasn't surprised to find the woman dressed in casual robes, clearly taking a break from whatever had occupied her at her desk, but another part marveled.
Doesn't she ever sleep? Isn't there a door somewhere with a tartan robe hanging on the back of it?
She shook her head slightly. Irrelevant.
Headmistress McGonagall was seated in a casual chair by the fireplace, opposite another casual chair that she indicated to Hermione to take. Her hair, always in a severe bun, was loose, and the richness of the midnight colour, not to mention the obviously natural wave, was quite startling. With her emerald eyes and elegant grace, the former Transfiguration Professor was quite striking.
"Are you going to tell me the reason for your visit or would you rather sit and stare?"
The headmistress enquired somewhat tartly, but the quirk of her lips reassured Hermione that there wasn't any sting behind her words.
Wiping her suddenly damp palms on her dressing gown, Hermione swallowed, the lump in her throat suddenly too painful. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She closed her mouth and coughed, swallowing nervously, and tried again.
"Er, I don't know how to say this…" she trailed off, wringing her dressing gown cord between trembling fingers. "Things have become so hard, I just don't know what to do…I'm not sleeping, I have no energy to do anything."
Hermione looked down into her lap, afraid to meet the compassionate eyes of her headmistress, afraid that the kindness she would see there would make her crack. Most of all, she feared letting the other woman down. Headmistress McGonagall was Hermione's ultimate role model and the other woman's disappointment would tear her apart. She hadn't even told her the main reason yet.
Hermione took a deep breath, determined to say it all now she was here.
"I realized a couple of years ago, something very fundamental about myself." She glanced upwards at the headmistress, who was watching her intently yet without any pressure.
"I realized that I'm gay," Hermione sighed. "And I've fallen in love with someone who I can never have." Despite her best efforts the tears began to fall. She wiped furiously at them, angry at her obvious lack of control.
"You don't know that Hermione," the headmistress said kindly.
"But I do Professor! She can never ever reciprocate my feelings…even if she had a complete change in sexual orientation, she would never look at someone so young as me…" the angry tears intensified. "I never knew this could hurt so much, it's killing me inside…"
"Hermione," the headmistress began, leaning forward and placing her elbows upon her knees. "Firstly, you are by no means the only lesbian in this school." She smiled as Hermione looked up in some surprise, the smile broadening at her next words. "And not just amongst the students either." The younger woman's mouth dropped open in a rather pretty 'o' of surprise.
"It's a lot more common than you imagine, of course most witches prefer discretion, but they are usually something of an open secret." She eyed her brilliant student. "That includes me," she said with a carefully blank face.
Hermione could only stare in incredulity.
"To think how much I was panicking about coming here," she managed.
The headmistress nodded with a small smile.
"I understand how hard it is to reconcile yourself with such self awareness. You are not alone."
Hermione nodded, looking down at her hands.
"Can I ask you a question, Hermione?"
"Of course, Professor."
"Who is the woman?"
"Does it matter?" Hermione's lower lip trembled. "It can never be resolved, I just have to try to get over it and move on." She sniffed as the tears cascaded down her already pink cheeks.
"It does matter Hermione, because things might not be as bad as you think. Plus, doesn't this woman have a right to know that someone loves her, whether or not she feels the same?"
Shaking her head, Hermione could only moan "no… I couldn't Professor, I just couldn't."
"Can you at least tell me who it is? I might know how to…ah…go about talking to her?"
Hermione looked back up at her headmistress. Slowly, she nodded. After all, she told herself, I trust Professor McGonagall, she won't go running and telling tales and once she knows who it is she'll know that nothing can be done.
"It's Molly Weasley."
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