The name is Scissors, pleased to meet you readers!

This story is just me blithering on about angsty romance, I sorta like that stuff. Sure, it's mostly cliches but whatever, it's fun to write our two lovely ladies in some drama sometimes.

A lot will be revealed through the chapters and it is definitely... Definitely... going to be rated M for mature. There will be sex. And it will be pretty graphic. I'm just going to warn you now. Not in every chapter (Sorry to all the smutheads), but still. Flashbacks are vital to the story.

Also... I'm newish. I used to post here wayyyy back when, but have had to take a serious break due to a lot of reasons. Mostly school and life. Now things are way easier, my time is way more open, and I get to do the things I love to do again! Like write. Sexy lady femslash shit. Alright. So... here it is.

Truly,

+Scissors+

p.s. : I almost forgot! Comments and reviews feed my soul. I love to hear what you have to say and I take it to heart. Even if you think this is a piece of garbage and are like "Dude... Your shit is shit", I still appreciate it!

Again... Thank you.

Complications Of Falling

Ch. 1

The day was hot and the sun was high. A clear, cloudless, blue sky hung overhead and, indeed, it was beautiful. A beautiful day. Hermione, still kneeling in the dirt, cast her gaze down the flower bed she'd been tending to for, what felt like it could have been, the better part of the day. Tulips galore. Stems, like thin green soldiers, lined row after row, five columns in all, planted with care and patience by the witch. It was a pleasant hobby, a great distraction, from everything else that played behind chocolate brown eyes. The majority of the time it was these little tedious tasks that gave her the greatest pleasure; tending to flowers, pouring over heaps of research for the Ministry of Magic, home repairs... It was a nice little bubble, far from prying eyes and frivolous conversation, meaningless interactions, which left her feeling drained and exhausted.

Lifting herself from the fresh mud, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her gloved hand. She was pleased with herself and her work, so much so, in fact, that she thought it high time for a cigarette and a glass of whiskey. Hermione could afford such a luxury as to relax now that the work for the day had been done.

It had been nine years since the Battle of Hogwarts, eight since she'd graduated her final year, and not once since she'd taken her leave of the castle had she returned. Her life had been a mixture of adventures and losses, work and little more, she managed to avoid getting close to anyone. Even Harry and Ronald felt the distance. Long gone were the days when the golden trio held any relevance. She saw the boys maybe three or four times a year. The meetings were always short. They seemed to understand, but she knew, beyond the polite pleasantries and the promise of decent conversation, that they missed her. It didn't matter. Hermione was as happy as she could have ever hoped to achieve with her property and her quiet daily routine. It was easy – there were no surprises and no let downs. What more could she have asked for?

The woman strolled the short distance from her garden to the back door of her home, a quaint little property quite a few miles north of The Burrow. A brick foundation, solid and well constructed, large windows, vines creeping towards the shingles... It was everything she had hoped for in a house. It was cozy, warm, and it was worth every galleon spent.

Tucking into the entrance from the back garden, Hermione tossed her soiled garden gloves into the bowl on the table by the door. She glanced up for a fraction of a moment only to see her reflection in the mirror hung there. She paused.

Her eyes scoured the face. What once were warm brown eyes peered back with a coldness, a detached look about them, born from time and the memories that plagued her daily. Two thin white lines, scars, snaking down through right eyebrow, over eyelid, curving over cheek to jaw... A little trophy of a fight which had been won. A deep wrinkle between her brows, the beginning of crows feet in the outer corners of her eyes, laugh lines deepened... Not from proper use, but from the scowl that had taken hold of the muscles of her face. Hermione rarely smiled, even more of a rarity was laughter, now she more often looked severe, controlled, and... She looked nothing like she did.

A tap on the window shook her from these rolling thoughts and she turned to investigate the noise, her brow knitting in confusion. She rounded the kitchen table to see beyond the thin, grey curtain of the window above the kitchen sink. An owl. She knew this bird. Hermione immediately parted the curtain and cracked the window open enough for the owl to hop down into the counter top, where the creature outstretched its leg to offer Hermione the letter attached. Signature Hogwarts stationary.

Wordlessly, Hermione reached for an owl treat in a bowl on the counter, offering it to the large, tawny bird as she removed the letter from its leg and peered at the writing. Loopy, precise... Undoubtedly Minerva McGonagall's. The owl gave a soft hoot and ruffled its wings, Hermione softly said thank you to the creature who peered back at her with a semblance of understanding before it hopped back onto the windowsill and took flight.

Eight years... Why now? Why when life was beginning to feel settled and somewhat comfortable? What did she want?

Hermione glanced over the envelope but didn't open it, instead she held it in her hands and turned her back to the open window, leaning against the counter. Contemplation. To open and read it or to throw it into the fireplace and watch it burn. The latter option was enticing but her curiosity was heightened by the fact she wanted to know what Minerva had to say for herself. A flash of a memory caused the brunette to swallow hard as a flood of emotions, feelings that had remained dormant for a long time, rushed through her veins.

The young woman woke with a start. Opening her eyes, she blinked away the sleep and reached a hand to feel the other side of the bed. Empty. No warmth. A rarity it was that her lover woke before her, or maybe she had slept in longer than she had meant to. Thin rays of light shone through the window curtains where seams didn't quite meet. Hermione threw the covers off her body and crept towards the chair in the corner of Minerva's bedroom where, as per usual, her clothes lay folded. It was the least the older woman could do considering it was her hands that had often been the ones to rip off the fabric and throw it across the bedroom floor in piles. A smile curled the corners of Hermione's mouth at the thought.

She made quick work of pulling on her blue jeans and grabbing her crisp white shirt, typically a part of her school uniform, but recently just an addition to her casual attire. She was, after all, graduating in a day. Exams and classes were finished. The uniform was now nothing more than a few articles of clothing she could look back on with pleasant memories. She tucked her shirt into her jeans and strolled passed the bed, grabbing her wand off the dresser beside the bathroom, she gave it a flick in the direction of large four-poster and suddenly it was made; sheets were tucked, pillows fluffed, duvet straightened... Pleased, she carried on into the private bathroom and quickly brushed her teeth and combed her hair, readying herself for the day.

Hermione cracked the bedroom door and stepped out into Minerva's living space once she was prepared. Immediately the older woman caught her eye, sitting at the table, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. She didn't look up from the surface of her drink. There was a shift in the air. Looking troubled, Minerva's features bore the all too familiar severity that Hermione had grown used to when either someone was in shit, or something horrible was going to happen.

"Good morning, love." Hermione murmured as she crossed in front of the couch and made her way towards her seated lover. Minerva looked up from her coffee and the expression on her face, unflinching, made Hermione stop at the end of the coffee table, in front of the fireplace. Minerva said nothing. Confusion and concern wrote itself across the young witch's face. Was she missing something? Such a cold reception was not the norm, which begged the question; Why?

Minerva didn't know how to say it. She wanted to say so many things. She wanted Hermione to finally let it go, move out and on, stop toying around with her and her heart. This was an affair that had carried on for too long, and now it was ending. Hermione would go forth, lead a life, further her education, work for the Ministry, and Minerva knew that, as for herself, she would stay behind, remain here as Headmistress. She had responsibilities and a duty to her school, to her staff and students, and this... Distraction... It had to stop.

The elder woman could see by the expression plastered across her lover's face that she hadn't the slightest idea what was going on. Of course, they had spent a night of passionate love making... Or, perhaps, it was just fucking. She couldn't bring herself to care any longer. It was only a matter of time before Hermione realized her potential and moved on to another, more youthful, partner anyway. These months had been a great joy and pleasure... But an affair isn't a relationship, they had no obligation to one and other, and so, as much as it pained Minerva to be the adult in this mess, she had to put a stopper on it before it got too far; before she was too invested... And before Hermione really hurt her.

"Last night was, truly, lovely... But that was the last time we'll be doing this, Miss. Granger." Minerva stated softly. She afterwards lifted her mug and took a sip of her coffee, watching over the rim as Hermione registered the words uttered.

Hermione shifted her weight onto a foot and raised her arms, folding them over her chest, casually. Now she was really confused.

"Uhm, I'm sorry... I don't understand." Hermione replied, her eyes narrowing slightly at the older witch who placed her mug down on the table and began to stand. Minerva sighed heavily and, once she had risen from her seat, took a few steps towards her young lover. Her expression was fixed, stern, and she had expected some difficulty. It was always difficult in these situations. She would know... She'd been here before.

"You are brilliant, charming... Very beautiful. A young woman like you will have all sorts of opportunities and, I admit, I am very flattered that your interest has fallen upon me." The Scottish witch explained as she took a seat on the arm of her large leather couch, a bit closer to Hermione, but still leaving some distance. It was hard to watch the realization wash over the young woman, harder still was having to say it all out loud. The little voice in the back of her head, however, kept repeating that it was the right thing. So it must have been. "Although, you and I both know, this affair isn't going to last past this Summer. This isn't a relationship, this is just two people finding joy in a world that had been so torn for a very long time. And I am still your professor, I have duties and obligations to the role, and I have abused my power to allow for this these past months... I've 'indulged' in you and this adolescent crush you have, but this can't happen again. Our respective reputations and our responsibilities... We can't carry on this way. The infatuation must end here. Today."

"My god..." Hermione's voice was just above a whisper. She stared at the ebony haired woman, her eyes searching the face for any sliver of doubt. It was unbelievable. She could feel her body reacting in ways that made her want to actually slap some sense into the woman sitting stiffly a few feet away. Infatuation? Indulgence? Adolescent crush? Did Minerva realize how insulting these things were to say? Just as she was about to make a retort, Minerva sighed again, and lifted her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Miss. Granger, let's be adult about this and just carry on, we were friends once and we can be friendly again. There's no sense causing a fight where a fight isn't warranted..."

"You seem very sure that there is no chance of this being anything more than an 'adolescent' infatuation, Professor..." The title, when spoken aloud, was done so deliberately and with venom. Hermione had every reason to be positively pissed. "What exactly have I ever done for you to believe in... Everything you just said?"

"It's my job to be one hundred percent certain, is it not?" The woman replied flatly, though it pained her to do so. Hermione scoffed and shook her head, she couldn't make eye contact and averted her eyes to the mug on the table. She could feel herself buzzing with adrenaline, she was shaking.

No... Hermione had never told Minerva that she was in love with her and, no, Hermione had never told Minerva that she was the first person she allowed to slip inside of her for fear of the woman's rejection should she not be 'practised' in the art of sex and seduction. Two traits the Scottish witch appeared to truly enjoy. But they had only been seeing one and other for roughly about six months. To say 'I love you' before she was absolutely certain would have been disingenuous. But she'd be lying if she said she wasn't deeply in the process of falling in love with the woman currently ending their relationship. Or what she believed was a 'relationship'. Now she was discovering that her lover, her partner, believed the entire time it was nothing more than a frivolous affair. Hermione felt her cheeks growing hotter, she was positively enraged; angry and incredibly hurt. She never thought this was a possibility.

Seconds passed, and as they did the dirtier Hermione was beginning to feel. She felt used. Disposable. At the hands of the person, the one person, she trusted above all others. She'd had chances to slip under the sheets before. With Viktor, with Ron... Hell, even Luna showed some 'curiosity', but she had waited, believing when she was ready, and with the right person, she'd know. With Minerva... She knew. Her intuition had led her astray.

"Indulge, you say. Like my body has been a drug or I'm a piece of candy for you to sample." These words caused Minerva's resolve to splinter... That wasn't at all what she had meant. Hermione turned and briskly walked to the door and sat down in the chair beside it, grabbing her shoes and trying to pull them on quickly. She felt like an idiot. And for a woman as bright as she was, that was a very harsh pill to swallow.

Minerva's heart cracked at the understanding of what meaning Hermione had taken from her explanation and she stood quickly to approach.

"Merlin, no... Hermione that's not..."

"Don't. Don't say anything." Hermione's shoes were on, tied, and her wand was raised the minute a shadow came into view. She pointed it at the woman, her lover which she barely recognized in this light. Chocolate brown eyes bore signs of tears, tears which Hermione refused to let fall in front of her former professor. Minerva was unarmed and never expected to be staring down the tip of the wand held by the young woman standing in her doorway. The Scottish woman was shocked and didn't take another step toward Hermione.

The pair peered back at one and other. Minerva was speechless. She could see Hermione wanted to say much, although she was somewhat worried she would also be hexed by the scorned woman. Doubt did rise, remorse as well, though it appeared the damage was done... The hurt she felt radiating from her lover, the longer they stared into one and others eyes, the more she felt. And Minerva knew, in that very moment, she might have made a terrible mistake.

"I was falling in love with you, I did actually think this was something 'more'...," Hermione stated furiously as she abruptly took a threatening step toward the older witch. Minerva's eyes widened in surprise. "And now I learn that for six months I've been your whore. Some fun on the side. A fucking indulgence. Adolescent crush? You know me... I thought you knew me. Nights where talking about everything and nothing, no sex involved, just talking... And holding. Sleeping in your fucking arms, that is not an affair to me. That is intimacy, that is a relationship, a partnership... You have lied to me and... and.. Betrayed me. And I let you because I loved you." Despite her best efforts, she felt the heat of tears slip down the corners of her eyes, rolling over her cheeks. They nearly burned her with their heat combined with her flushed cheeks. "I do not want to see you again, you will not speak to me or approach me, I am dead to you. Fuck being friendly. Congratulations, you've convinced me."

Minerva felt her breath hitch in her throat. Her mouth fell open as though she were to try and speak, nothing came out. The fury that was Hermione Granger backed slowly, her wand held outstretched still, and her eyes trained on the woman before her. She reached blindly, finding the door handle with ease, and didn't lower her wand until she was certain she could do so and the woman wouldn't move.

"Do not follow me."

Then she was gone and wood slamming against wood echoed through Minerva's private quarters.

She had made a terrible mistake.

Eight years.

"Fucking hell." Hermione walked passed her kitchen table, throwing the letter down in its surface, then reached for the bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard, her pack of cigarettes from the drawer beside the cutlery, and an ashtray from the counter. Seating herself, Hermione poured a four finger serving of liquor and lit up, all the while staring down the letter sitting in front of her.

Maybe it was an apology many years too late? Maybe Minerva missed her? Who could say, all she knew was that she didn't want much to do with the woman. Or anyone, really. If someone like Minerva could treat her like shit, betray her in the most personal way... She couldn't imagine what someone less noble, less sincere, could do. Wipe the floor with her, probably.

Hermione's heart broke that day. Any future she had imagined for herself and Minerva crumbled in a pile of false promises and were washed down the drain while she scrubbed the stench of sex and cinnamon off her body. She remembered how raw and blotchy her skin had been after that shower, she scrubbed so hard she thought it would peel right off. No matter how hard though, she still never felt clean. Snaking grey smoke rose from the cherry of her cigarette, she puffed and blew, filling the air with the smell of nicotine and regret. She drained her glass and refilled it, a few gulps, a quick burn, then the buzz and the warmth. Hermione set her cigarette down in the ashtray and took the letter. Perhaps if she quickly tore it open and read it, it'd be like ripping off a band aid. Quick and just a little painful.

So she did just that.

Dear Hermione Granger,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly is glad to inform you that your hard work and your dedication to your craft has been duly noted by our faculty. As it would stand, our Defence Against the Dark Arts position is open, and we humbly invite you to take this chance, if you'd be willing, to offer your service to our school. We understand your position with the Ministry of Magic is one of research and communication, and we welcome the dual role with great appreciation and respect for your time. Arrangements can and would be made upon your acceptance.

Should you accept our offer to take the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching opportunity, please attend our annual end of year staff dinner in preparation for the new year, hosted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly on July 1st.

Sincerely,

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

Her eyes scanned the letter repeatedly. She was dumbstruck.

Hermione placed the letter down and grabbed her cigarette for a few last puffs before it burned down to the filter. Leaning back in her chair, she considered what was written, how it was written, and by whom. Purely business. Nothing more. Nothing less. Kind words were but the surface and beneath that Hermione envisioned nothing. Minerva hadn't ever made contact until now, and now the only reason for contact was for a job. For a multitude of reasons, Hermione was quite insulted. However, she was also curious – curious as to why she was chosen from the many.

Though she had many accomplishments under her belt and head spent many a year tracking, subduing, and reporting to the Ministry under somewhat of an Auror position, without the actual title, Hermione was by far lacking in credentials. Everyone had expected her to go into potions, or charms, or possibly transfiguration's. She did nothing of the sort. Rage dictated her actions for a great length of time, throwing herself into dangerous situations over and over, it made her feel alive. Invincible. Until one day, one too many losses knocked her down a peg. She did study. She studied hands on, learning from whom she could, whenever she could, and often while travelling. The Ministry had granted her many a privilege due to her hand in ending the war and her natural ability and knowledge. But this... Being a professor, it was foreign. The idea was foreign.

Working under Minerva would be one hell of a ride, that was for sure, especially if she could keep her wand sheathed. She had a week to consider it. A large part of her wondered about the students... How they would fair in her care... One week. She gave herself that to decide.

_~*MMHG*~_

Sitting behind her desk, the Headmistress was having a hell of time trying to concentrate on the simple task of organizing her calender for the next month. Her thoughts kept floating back to the letter she wrote and sent, and to the woman who'd most likely received it by now. She wished she could have been a fly on the wall watching as her former student read over her words. Partly, she was glad she wasn't granted the ability.

Many years had passed since the day Hermione took her leave of the castle. The young woman hadn't even remained for the graduation ball, leaving the day before, no one the wiser, through the one eyed witch passage to Hogsmead. She remembered it like it was yesterday; the months leading up to that conversation and the end of their... Relationship. It was a hard few syllables to say, even if just in her head. She had never forgotten Hermione's parting words. She'd adhered to them, never having sought out the young woman until now. Until it was needed. Still there was pain in having to do it.

Sighing heavily, Minerva placed her quill back in its respective inkwell and leaned forward in her seat, planting her elbows on the wooden desk surface, and covered her face with her hands. Sometimes she wanted to scream. Or cry. She'd not been with another since the young woman had departed. She couldn't bring herself to try.

"You're quite troubled, my dear." A voice floated down from a portrait on the wall. Minerva moved her hands only enough that her eyes could peer above her fingertips at the man peering back down at her. A moment passed. Clearing her throat, Minerva dropped her hands to her lap and leaned back in her seat.

"I am." She replied simply. There was no denying it, as it was written across her face and about her posture. Her countenance displayed the immediate displeasure she felt and she could not avoid doing so.

"Well, unfortunately, there is little you can do to alleviate your discomfort, other than allow it to sit in the back of your mind and not toy with it at present." Albus told her as he folded his hands before him. He felt for her, he truly did, but there was nothing Minerva could do to right past wrongs at the moment, the quicker she realized that, the easier it would be to deal with in the upcoming days.

The ebony haired woman didn't look as though she fully accepted his response. Of course, being twisted by guilt would warp the mind easily.

"By now, Miss. Granger is probably wondering why. I doubt she'll accept the offered position. I figured I might as well try, what harm could it bring, so much time has passed..." Minerva paused, catching herself. Even though time had, indeed, passed, so much of it, she, herself, still hadn't ever quite granted herself the ability to move forward. Not after that day.

She tended to her duties, ran Hogwarts like the well oiled machine that it was, however, and much more personally, her life was never quite the same. Shame had a funny way of making time stand still.

"Even so, you won't know until the first of July. Then, I'm sure, you'll have your answer. Wait until then." The headmistress sighed, nodding to her dear friend. He was right. There was nothing she could do, it was purely a waiting game. So, she would wait. She would hope for the best.

TBC.