Hermione's stomach turned over, although not in an altogether unpleasant way, when Professor McGonagall entered the room. She knew exactly what that feeling was, and had been experiencing it for several months now. The feeling wasn't entirely new; she had felt something akin to this in her first year when Madam Hooch passed by her during flying lessons. Harry and Ron had been wrong; it wasn't that she lacked interest in Quidditch – at not least initially – it was that she was distracted. She would blush when Hooch helped her practice rising up on her broom, which had a lot more to do with the placement of her teacher's hands on her waist than with her struggle with flying.
With McGonagall however, her feelings were on a whole different level. They had crept up on her gradually, and although it was no surprise to Hermione to be experiencing these kinds of feelings for a woman, the intensity they had now reached was overwhelming. It had started as a kind of admiration for her professor. During her third year they had begun to spend more time together alone due to the need to keep Hermione's time-turning activities in check, which then turned into weekly mentoring meetings. Hermione looked forward to these meetings immensely, where they would discuss books, magical issues of the day, and exam and revision techniques. She was amazed and inspired by her mentor's brilliance and skill, and decided to strive to emulate her. There was a reason why her friends often said she reminded them of Professor McGonagall when she was cross with them, or when she was attempting to explain something to them.
Despite how much she cared for them, and they for her, it was testament to Harry and Ron's obliviousness about many things that went on in Hermione's life that they never noticed that she disappeared for two hours every Friday evening. She had wondered at times why she never told them, and had come to the conclusion that she actually just wanted one thing in the castle that was private, just for her. A place she could go to get away. Privacy was often difficult to come by at Hogwarts, what with sharing a dormitory with four other people, especially for an introvert like Hermione, who often got to the point where she needed to recharge away from the company of other people. But somehow, she had begun to see Professor McGonagall as something different; not as "other people" but as a sort of refuge. They now didn't only engage in intellectual discussion during their meetings, but Hermione had also started to feel comfortable confiding in her professor about slightly more personal things. For instance, in their last meeting she had divulged that she was becoming more and more bothered by the way that Draco Malfoy treated her. To Hermione's relief, Professor McGonagall did not, as perhaps other teachers might have done, dismiss his bullying behaviour as "boys being boys" or suggest that Hermione consider his feelings.
Quietly enraged at the possibility that such a wonderful young girl was being targeted as an outlet for the boy's insecurities, she spent some time attempting to build Hermione's confidence up, whilst assuring her that she would not allow the issue to be swept under the carpet as far as the staff were concerned. The problem was, however, that this was now half-way through Hermione's fifth year, and thus Dolores Umbridge's infamous reign at Hogwarts. Hermione knew that while Professor McGonagall was not one for conforming to damaging ideas just for the sake of her job, there were limits to what she could do while Umbridge was around, especially now that she had made Malfoy himself into a kind of glorified prefect. Umbridge seemed to believe that bullies deserved extra power, something that McGonagall was not at all shy about decrying in front of Hermione, who felt a surge of excitement at the sight of her favourite professor pacing up and down in front of the fire, passionately speaking in her defence, and in that of the school. The excitement she felt was one of feeling she had been present to see something that very few others were permitted to see; it was a kind of intimacy.
Intimacy, Hermione reflected as she sat at her desk awaiting the start of Transfiguration class, was what she was craving the most. This was true in general, but in particular regarding the woman next to the blackboard in front of her now. 'How frustrating,' Hermione thought to herself, 'that I'm her student. What I wouldn't give to have been born a couple of decades earlier…then I could have been her friend, her equal…we could have really bonded. After all, we have so much in common, much more than I have with any of my classmates…'
'Hermione?' She felt a gentle nudge to her right arm that signalled someone wanted her attention. 'Can you please help me with this?' It was Harry, clearly having trouble understanding the task at hand. To be fair to him, transfiguring a regular feather into a magical quill involved a fairly complex theory that even Hermione herself had not picked up straight away, but they had been working on it for a couple of weeks now and she was getting bored of explaining it to him over and over again. She was often happy helping people out, and understood that not everyone had the same strengths as she did, but also sometimes wished that her fellow Gryffindors would take a bit more responsibility for their own learning. After all, she wanted to do other things with her free time than rewriting Charms essays and redrawing Astronomy charts, especially as she had already spent a lot of time on her own work. Hermione's heart gave a leap at the thought that one of the other things she wanted to do was fast approaching; her next meeting with Professor McGonagall was later that day.
She glanced briefly over at her teacher, and smiled slightly at the way her brow furrowed when she was concentrating. The professor was in the process of examining Neville's classwork, and Hermione could tell that she was trying to find the best way to explain to him where he had gone wrong, with just the right amount of encouragement mixed in. This was something Hermione admired about McGonagall; she appreciated that people had different talents. They both understood that someone like Neville had a lot of value; even if he sometimes struggled to grasp concepts that they themselves had no trouble with, he excelled significantly in ways that most people seemed not to notice. Hermione inwardly swelled with pride at yet another similarity between herself and her teacher, and in the spirit of the sudden good mood in which she found herself, turned to Harry and patiently began to explain the theory in a way she hoped would make sense to him.
After dinner that evening, she practically skipped through Gryffindor tower on her way to meet Professor McGonagall, briefly pausing on her way out of the dormitory to check her hair in the mirror. She felt a bit silly after she had done so, after all it wasn't as if she was going on a date, but told herself there was nothing wrong with a harmless crush. As she made her way down to McGonagall's office, she felt the familiar swirl of complex feelings floating around in her stomach, chief amongst them anticipation of the stimulating conversation and human connection that was sure to come. The professor greeted her warmly, first enquiring as to the current situation with Malfoy. Hermione was touched at the thought, and how much she seemed to care about her well-being, and decided to be as honest as she could in a bid for the intimacy she wanted.
'To be honest, Professor, it's not much better than last week when we first discussed it. It's something I've been dealing with since I first arrived at the castle, and it doesn't seem like it's going to go away anytime soon. To some extent, I think I've kind of got used to it; especially as Harry and Ron endure a certain amount of the same treatment from him, it's become a normal part of our life at Hogwarts.' She surprised herself at this revelation.
'When you talked to me last week you realised that it's something that really does grind you all down…' McGonagall observed gently.
'Exactly. It's really not okay that Ron has to endure constant attacks on his family and background, and that Harry is taunted about his parents' death, and…' she hesitated, 'that I am treated as lesser by what feels like a quarter of my classmates for my Muggleborn status...'
'And from what you told me,' the professor cut across, 'the most recent development is a sudden focus on your race, which is even more despicable than I could have previously thought him capable.' She looked as though she was struggling to contain her anger, which made Hermione feel justified in her own. 'Despite being able to fully relate to the frustration of being a Muggleborn in the wizarding world,' McGonagall went on, 'I can only imagine how difficult it must be to be treated differently because of the colour of your skin. I can promise you, however, that I will do everything I can to ensure that this racist behaviour is not tolerated.'
'Please don't compromise yourself too much though, Professor,' Hermione replied hastily, 'I'm aware of how things have…changed...recently at Hogwarts and I really wouldn't want to put you in a difficult position.'
'It is not your fault, Miss Granger. Please never blame yourself for others' prejudice. In fact, the current…situation…at Hogwarts is all the more reason to challenge this behaviour. Between you and me…' Hermione's stomach did a back flip at the promise of her teacher confiding in her, 'I would not be at all surprised if Dolores has been the one to encourage this way of thinking in some of her Squad members. She is well-known for harbouring all manner of prejudices, and it is no accident that she has chosen to surround herself with precisely the students who already have a certain…reputation, let's say…for bullying behaviour and supremacist attitudes borne from their families of origin.' Seeing the look of dejectedness on her student's face, she continued, 'Rest assured, Miss Granger, that we will find a way to fight this, whatever the Ministry might say. If, for example, I were to arrange a meeting with Professor Dumbledore on the subject early next week, would you be willing to attend and assist me in explaining the issue?'
Hermione spluttered over her words slightly as she hastily agreed to accompany her. She was uplifted by the professor's determination not to let prejudice and discrimination go unchecked, and was glad to hear that she recognised it as a wider problem than just one white boy with insecurities. But most of all, she was looking forward to the prospect of seeing McGonagall outside of classes an additional time to their usual once-weekly teas.
'Thank you, Professor. I am encouraged by how much you seem to value my input. You seem to recognise that the voices of black students like me and other students of colour are essential in tackling the problem.'
'Of course, Hermione,' Hermione glowed at the affectionate use of her first name, 'As much as I try, and as strongly as I feel about this, my white skin prevents me from fully knowing how it is to be in your shoes, and so I believe it is you who should be taking the lead on this, with me using my position as teacher to assist you.'
'Wow,' thought Hermione, 'She's even smart about social justice. Is there no limit to how much this woman impresses me?' They spent the rest of their meeting discussing ways in which awareness of racism and prejudice could be raised at Hogwarts, including the possibility of a group comprising of all the students and staff of colour that wished to be involved, in order for those most affected to decide how to take the lead. Professor McGonagall pointed out that as a black woman herself, Professor Vector may be interested in helping to coordinate such a group, and Hermione made a mental note to stay behind after her next Arithmancy class to talk to her about it.
As usual, at 10 o'clock sharp the two smart and passionate witches bade each other a good night, with the professor promising her student that she would get back to her about the meeting with Dumbledore as discussed. As Hermione made to turn away, Professor McGonagall gently caught her by the arm and pulled her into a brief hug, telling her she was proud of her and that she was glad she felt she could confide in her. Hermione's body began to tingle all over in response to the unexpected, but very welcome, physical contact, and she revelled in being close enough to smell her teacher's hint of perfume. With a slight shortness of breath, she bade the older woman a good night once more, and made her way back to the common room, her body still tingling and warm.
When Hermione climbed into bed she noticed the tingling had concentrated itself somewhere very pleasurable, and after casting a quick Silencing Charm around her four-poster, she moved one hand down her body to investigate the moist area she knew would be waiting. As she was so used to doing these days, she began to rub her clitoris with the middle finger of her right hand, and moved her left hand up to stroke one of her breasts. As she did so, images flooded her mind of being held by Minerva, however briefly, and of what she would have liked to happen next. In her mind's eye, she was kissing her, and imagining Minerva's hands being where her own were at that moment; one massaging her breasts and pinching her nipples, and the other stroking her clitoris, faster and faster, until she luxuriated in a satisfying orgasm. She turned over, and fell asleep while thinking of how close she had felt to the object of her affections that evening, both physically and emotionally.
