Minerva turned over in bed and let out a frustrated groan. It was one of those nights. She could just tell that no matter what she did or how she tried to distract herself it would be one of those nights when it would be impossible to get her mind away from Her. Chestnut curls, deep brown eyes, and a brilliant smile plagued her vision, refusing to grant her rest.
It was no use she thought, pulling herself out of bed and donning a tartan dressing gown. As she walked down the stairs into her office the headmistress allowed herself to sink gloomily into morose thoughts. It had been five years. Five long, miserable years since she had last seen Hermione Granger, yet, every time she closed her eyes she could see her: Hermione the school girl, hand eagerly raised to answer a question, Hermione the valiant warrior, dueling fiercely to bring down the Dark Lord's minions; and Hermione, her one great love, held securely in her arms.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Minerva crossed her office to the cabinet where she kept Albus' old pensive. If he could see the use she was putting it to now, he would be so disappointed in her. She could hear his voice in the back of her head. "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, Minerva." It was what he generally said when he perceived someone was dwelling on what-ifs.
Well, as far as Minerva was concerned, all she had was dreams. There was no future for her, no future she considered worthwhile anyway. Certainly, she was headmistress of Hogwarts, had an Order of Merlin- First Class, and a host of other insignificant awards. But, of what use were the wizarding community's recognition of her scholarly achievements or her intelligence or her bravery or her winning battle tactics if there was no one who cared about the woman behind the stern professor, and battle commander.
Hermione had cared. Hermione had loved her for exactly who she was, every sarcastically biting comment, every frown line and grey hair, and every piece of tartan that she owned.
With this in mind and a great sigh Minerva called to mind one of her favorite memories, placed her wand to her temple, and drew away a shimmering, slivery strand of thought. This was not a memory she viewed often, wanting to ensure that it remained as special to her as it was now.
She deposited the thought into the pensive then dove headfirst into the shallow basin.
Falling head-over-heels Minerva somersaulted until finally landing in her sitting room. Outside the large mullioned windows it was dark. Snow was falling thick and fast, creating large drifts on the grounds, and piling on the windowsill. It was a week before Christmas, a week before It had happened. It was what Minerva disliked thinking about most in the world. Fortunately, she was distracted from thinking about It when the door opened to admit Hermione and a younger version of herself.
"And honestly, Minerva," ranted Hermione, "there's still a week left of term left before the holidays. You'd think they would be able to focus for at least a couple more days!"
"One would think," replied Minerva crisply as she set about preparing tea.
Meanwhile, Hermione had flopped down upon a couch by the fire and unfastened the top two clasps of her high-necked teaching robes. She had replaced Minerva as transfiguration professor and enjoyed her new occupation immensely, even if she was occasionally exasperated by her students' lack of enthusiasm.
Minerva had been highly pleased to have one of her favorite students return to teach her old subject and settled into an easy friendship and collegiality. That is, until something had happened to change the nature of their relationship forever.
At dinner one evening, a NEWT-level transfiguration student who would rather cheat then study properly for his exams as he ought, slipped a mild truth serum into Professor Granger's goblet of pumpkin juice, intending to ask for the questions to the upcoming test at her office hours later that evening.
Minerva had noticed that her colleague and new friend seemed pre-occupied throughout the meal, and therefore, on the pretense that she needed to discuss some paperwork, asked Hermione to accompany her to her office. Once Minerva's office door was closed however, she made no mention of paperwork and instead gently asked Hermione if there was something bothering her.
Hermione opened her mouth, but the excuse that she was just a little stressed over the amount of work that needed finishing before the Christmas holidays did not come. Rather, the truth she swore she would never admit came spilling out.
"It's just that I'm in love with you, I have been since I was sixteen, and I don't know what I ought to do about it," said Hermione very matter-of-factly.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Hermione's eyes widened dramatically in astonishment and horror. She turned on her heel and bolted from the room. Minerva had finally caught up with the young professor at the top of the astronomy tower. After she made a similar, although not potion-induced, confession the two women decided to explore a romantic relationship.
From the vantage point of the memory that Minerva was currently viewing that had been a week ago. She had spent every evening of that week with Hermione. They were taking the transition in their relationship slowly, assuming that there was all the time in the world to shed the walls of privacy, becoming open and honest and intimate.
Minerva watched as her younger self poured two steaming mugs of tea, placed several ginger newts on a plate, and levitated them over to the coffee table. Taking a seat in one of the red armchairs, she watched as Minerva-the-younger and Hermione drank the warm beverages and chat amicably about everything and nothing. She loved watching the easy flow of conversation, the way Hermione chewed thoughtfully on a ginger newt while Minerva discussed different pedagogical methods in transfiguration, the way Hermione gesticulated when making an important point in her argument about why the editors at Transfiguration Today were buffoons for publishing an article by Wilbert Slinkhard who knew absolutely nothing about the subject. She relished watching Hermione stir even more honey into her tea and herself tease Hermione that she had a sweet tooth as bad as Albus' had been.
Yet, as much as she enjoyed this part of the memory, she liked the second half better.
Hermione finished her tea and placed the empty mug on the coffee table. Tonight she was the first to initiate any physical contact as she stretched out comfortably in the sofa so that her head was in Minerva's lap. Minerva watched her younger self comb her fingers through Hermione's gorgeous mane of brown curls.
Sometimes when Minerva watched this memory she, not being solid, would sit where her younger self sat and pretend that she could feel Hermione's soft skin and silky hair, but tonight she decided just to watch.
There was a long moment of comfortable silence as the fire crackled in the grate and the wind howled outside the windows. Still caressing Hermione's hair with her fingers, Minerva asked a question she had been wondering about for the last week.
"When did you know you were in love with me?"
"Hmmm," considered Hermione, "well, it was a very gradual thing. For a long time I tried to tell myself that the feelings I had were nothing more than admiration for my mentor and favorite professor, that the fact that I felt so comfortable and secure in your presence was because you were a pillar of strength in the whirlwind around me. But it was in my fifth year that I knew I was feeling something more for you than the affection of student for teacher. I remember during my career advice session that horrible Umbridge woman was implying that I wouldn't be successful in life because of my parentage. You stood up- I thought you were going to hex her into oblivion- and told her that I was already ten times the witch she could ever hope to be, and if she knew what was good for her she would get out of your office immediately so that you could continue advising me in peace."
Both witches chuckled briefly at the memory and Hermione continued. "I was so grateful for the compliment and that you had defended me to that ministry hag who could put you on probation or get you sacked that I wanted to kiss you. Not just a peck on the cheek for thanks, I mean, I wanted to throw myself across the desk and really kiss you. That was very strange to me. I had never felt anything quite like it before and I had no idea what it meant. Well, I had a slight idea what it meant, but I endeavored not to think about it too much. I tried to chalk it up to the stress of OWLs and teenage hormones, but I never managed to convince myself.
Then later that year you were hit by all those stunners, once again thanks to Umbridge. I saw it all happen. We were having our astronomy OWL that night. It was lucky that I had already finished the star chart, because I absolutely froze with panic. My worst fear was that I had just watched you die, but I couldn't allow myself to think that. After everyone had gone to bed that night I stole Harry's invisibility cloak and went to the Hospital Wing to see you. I stood there for hours, held your hand, and cried. That's when I knew that nothing in the world was more important to me than you and that I loved you with all my heart, even though I thought that I would never be able to tell you.
Hermione finished her story, yawned widely, and fell silent. The fire was dying in the grate, leaving only glowing embers and although Minerva continued to comb her fingers through Hermione's hair she said nothing, simply enjoying the company of her companion.
The silence gave Minerva of the future more time to brood about It. It would happen exactly one week after this peaceful night, the 23rd of December. Hermione would go to Hogsmeade to do a bit of last minute Christmas shopping and she would not go. Instead she would stay at the school to finish up some paperwork. A year and a half after the war had ended, just when everyone though it was safe enough to venture out alone again, a group of rouge death-eaters that the ministry had never caught would initiate a pathetic and cowardly act of revenge on one of the most famous war heroes, her love, her Hermione. Despite the fact that she was a very skilled witch, even Hermione wasn't able duel eight death-eaters at once and live to tell the tale. They left her body at the gates, where it was found by Hagrid as he returned from the pub.
That Christmas, instead of having paperwork hanging over her head, she had the knowledge that if she had just left her work and gone to the village, she might have had been able to share many Christmases with Hermione.
Minerva sighed and watched her former self hold the sleeping Hermione until the memory faded as she had succumbed to sleep against the arm of the couch.
Later that night, Minerva crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep, unable to console herself with anything but maybes and what-ifs.
AN: I can't believe that the first actual HG/MM I have written is a sad and depressing one! It certainly isn't what I intended, but a plot bunny was dancing on my pillow as I tried to go to bed, and I simply couldn't sleep until I had written it down. I hope you all enjoyed this. There will be an update of Through the Eyes of a Bookworm tomorrow (I guess that's technically today now) or Thursday.