"To purge the school of all those who, in his opinion, are unworthy to study magic."
Minerva caught a fleeting look of something undefined pass across Miss Granger's face before she set her lips firmly.
"Muggleborns." She stated. Minerva inclined her head.
"Naturally the school has been searched many times. No such Chamber has been found."
She turned to walk to the front of her classroom and continue her lesson with as much dignity as remained, but Hermione wasn't finished.
"Professor, what does legend tell us lies within the Chamber?"
Steeling herself with an inward sigh of a woman resigned to her fate, the usually unmovable Minerva McGonagall turned to face her class once more. She knew they deserved to know and that was the only reason she was putting up with Hermione's public questioning.
"It is said to contain something only Slytherin can control. It is said to be the home of a monster."
The rest of the lesson passed uneventfully, with a tense silence surrounding the quiet counting of the class and the murmured repetitions of "Fereverto" which crept around the classroom like forbidden sounds.
The lesson ended quietly too, with students silently shouldering their bags and leaving. The noise erupted as soon as they passed the bounds of the classroom, as if discussing Slytherin's monster suddenly made it sensitive to any noise within that room.
Minerva sighed, rubbing at a brewing headache deep within her right temple. Her usually sharp instincts, honed from a lifetime as an Animagus with a keen sense of smell and hearing, was not on point today; she didn't realise a student remained at her desk.
"Professor?"
Minerva jumped and resisted the urge to hiss.
"Yes, Miss Granger? You are going to be late to Potions."
"How do you always know what class I have next?" Hermione wondered aloud. Then she shook her head. "Nevermind that right now. I meant to ask... Why did you answer all that?"
Minerva scowled. The first question was by far the easier to answer; the complex magic would have been wonderful to explain to such a bright young mind over tea in one of their usual extra meetings.
"It is easiest to dispel rumours by addressing the truth head on, Miss Granger. Now you have all heard it from the staff, the horse's mouth so to speak. There should be no wild theories flying around for anything that isn't proven."
"None of it is proven, but you still saw fit to tell us." The girl challenged. "That's not like you."
"How do you know what is or is not like me, Miss Granger?" The elder witch snapped. She regretted it immediately.
"Neither is that." Hermione replied quietly. "There's truth in it, isn't there? You told us because no matter how mythical it may be, it is unproven, and you're all stumped, and it might be true, and you're all worried."
Minerva sighed, frustrated with herself and with the student sat innocently at her desk and at the school and the attacker and the Founders and hell, anyone. Minerva McGonagall, if she was in her cat form right now, would definitely have her claws out.
To her absolute horror, the alternative in human form seemed to be tears welling up in her eyes, which she blinked furiously away. This challenge was not aided by the odd tears dropping silently down Hermione's cheeks.
"And there is no whisper at all of what the monster might be?" She choked out. "No way I can take some sort of precaution?"
Minerva shook her head helplessly. She didn't trust her voice, nor did she have anything to say.
"Ron and Harry often forget that they're not at risk, Harry isn't the target this time, they're both safe, and I know Harry is used to being a target but they take so many risks, and they forget that this time, it's me. I'm usually the brains, but I'm constantly on edge, constantly, in case the next one is me, because they've got the equivalent of a constant Protego with their blood status and I've got Malfoy and all the stigma that comes with this and the threat of whatever the fuck is in this bloody stupid Chamber and they have no idea what that's like -"
Minerva was surprised at the Muggle profanities, but chose not to show it. Hermione cut herself off with a sob and buried her head in her hands. At a loss, Minerva placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. It was shrugged off, and the usually soft voice cut across the room like a whiplash.
"Don't touch me."
Shocked, Minerva took a step back and unconsciously resurrected a childhood nervous habit: she picked at the skin around her nails, worrying it.
Hermione sighed. "Sorry. I just feel...infected, you know? Ill. Marked."
"I know. Like Harry. I understand."
"No you don't understand, you haven't walked these halls waiting for someone or something to jump out at you, you haven't stood out on that Quidditch pitch and had the entire Slytherin team jeering at you while Malfoy calls you a filthy mudblood, you haven't taken your Muggle parents to Diagon Alley and grown so distant from them because of this huge difference between you, you haven't - you haven't - felt such a need to prove that you can, you deserve to be here, you haven't checked to make sure your blood is still red - "
"Actually, Hermione, I have."
Startled into silence by the sentiment and the use of her first name, Hermione's rant petered out. She sat quietly, waiting for a continuation.
Minerva raised her eyebrows at the suddenly quiet child - for she was still a child, much too young to be dealing with all of this - and resigned herself to breaking one of her self-imposed rules. Discussing her personal life with a student. That was a first.
"My father was a Muggle, a vicar, and so until I got my Hogwarts letter, my mother lived as one. He wouldn't have accepted magic as anything other than the devil come to earth, Lucifer embodied. I was brought up a Muggle, lived as one, and knew nothing of the Wizarding world until I entered it. I was not only considered muggle-born, my mother was considered a disgrace for turning her back on this." Minerva waved a hand around the room in a vague gesture which Hermione assumed was meant to mean the entire Wizarding word. "There were attacks on Muggle-borns when I was at school here too. Lucius Malfoy was a pupil here when I was. I played Quidditch, and I listened to that word whenever I fumbled a pass or a catch. I brought my father to Diagon Alley and he prayed for the deliverance of my damned soul. I worked when I was here, I stayed for every holiday, and I got the best exam results at each level in six decades. I remain the youngest person to achieve Animagus status as far as the register is concerned. I wanted to prove that my family did not define me, that I had a place here, and that my blood ran as red as anyone else's."
Minerva finished her speech with her right arm held out, robe sleeve pulled back. A neat white band ran around her upper arm like a bracelet, sitting a few inches above the crook of her elbow. It looked almost pearlescent where it caught the light. Hermione studied the scar, a look of wonder gracing her pretty features, and then looked up into emerald eyes. Her mocha ones were swimming.
"So...you're still in danger."
Minerva inclined her head, dropped her robe sleeve, and stood. "I'll let Professor Snape know you were an authorised absence from his class. You should eat, and I don't think there is safety in numbers if we walk to the Great Hall together."
Hermione correctly interpreted this as a dismissal, and stood too, gathering her books into her bag and leaving silently, her mind moving faster than it had ever moved as it tried to fathom what it had just heard and marry that Professor McGonagall with the one it thought it knew.
Minerva did not go to dinner.