Whose Soul Is Wak'd For Me Alone
Harry Potter
Paring: Hermione/Minerva
Rating: Rish overall (this chapter not so much)
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me
Summary: Give people a mask and they will tell you the truth
Spoilers: AU-ish so none really
Chapter 1
A masquerade was not Minerva McGonagall's idea of fun.
She reached for the invitation sitting on her desk. Reading it once more, she groaned inwardly. If she missed the party she could not claim work had kept her because summer had just begun, and as of a week prior Hogwarts had been vacated of students and staff alike. She, herself, could not even claim to be on the grounds of the place that- now more than in all its hollowed history- marked a defining point in the future of the Wizarding world.
Placing the invitation, and the portkey that came with it, back down atop the ornate desk that dominated her study, Minerva walked the short distance back to the adjoining living room. Looking out of the open balcony windows at the expanse of green, rolling hills washed in evening light, she contemplated not attending the masque despite not having a reason to excuse her absence.
"Come now, Tabby," Minerva startled at Albus' voice behind her. Twirling around, she scowled at the portrait on the opposite wall of the balcony. "It's time to have a little fun," he said, smile evident in his voice.
"How did you get in here?" She asked, exasperation seeping into her tone at his unwelcome intrusion.
"I have my ways," he winked at her, his eyes twinkling in amusement. He appraised the woman as she stalked toward him with feline grace. The twilight filtering behind Minerva showed her stunningly appropriate choice of costume. His eyebrows rose minutely at the impressive figure she cut in full Highland dress. She exuded confidence with every step, from the meticulously polished black Ghillie Brogues on her feet; to the solid black hose accented with blood red flashes that stopped just short of the knee (her right hose, he knew without needing to see it, concealed her Sgian Dubh); to the blood red tartan kilt- with a silver Gryffindor kilt pin attached to it- that fell to the point right before her knee began; to the elegant black dress sporran with silver cantle securely fastened around her tiny waist; to the very finely tailored Prince Charlie jacket with the accompanying waistcoat (that served to promote her bust and not hide it) which overlaid a finely crafted winged collared dress shirt with an accenting black bow tie. She even chose to wear a plaid over her left shoulder, making her look even more distinguished. The finishing touch was a solid black Glengarry atop her unbound black- with streaks of silver-mane. Albus doubted she even knew how utterly beautiful she was, juxtaposing such femininity in decidedly masculine dress. If he were alive, he would question his sexuality at seeing such a gorgeous woman. "You look absolutely radiant, my dear," he intoned with utmost sincerity, "I have no doubt you will more than impress Miss Granger."
Suddenly tense to the point of stillness, the Headmistress stopped in her tracks. She cut her burning green gaze the cool azure orbs of her dearest friend (his death did not nullify that fact). Albus held her gaze, challenging her to argue with him. "This is foolishness, Albus," Minerva seemed to deflate before his eyes. "I cannae do this," she unconsciously slipped into her Scottish brogue thinking of all the ways things could go wrong, "'Tis wrong." She started to pace, looking like an agitated lioness. "She was my student. And, she's only still a wee bairn. She shooldnae hae tae be saddled with someone my age."
"Minerva," Albus interrupted when it looked like the woman was only gaining speed, "your Scottish is showing my dear." Minerva shot him a murderous glare, making him chuckle at his own joke. Clearing his throat, Albus wished he could place a comforting hand on his dear friend's shoulder, knowing he could not he instead settled for giving her his kindest gaze, "She is no longer your student, Tabby. And, she hasn't been a child for far longer than you've loved her." Looking away from his steady gaze, Minerva roughly expelled a deep sigh. Albus continued undeterred, "And look at you Minerva," he waved a hand encompassing her whole being, "who wouldn't want to be straddled by you, my dear?"
She strongly staunched her urge to smile at his crass joke. "That is not what I said," she schooled her features and gave him a stern look, "your impropriety never ceases to amaze me."
"Thank you, my dear," he said as if accepting a compliment, "I do try." Noticing the waning of the twilight, Albus nodded toward the portkey on the desk, "You should get going Minerva."
"I don't know about this, Albus," she said tucking a strand of hair behind her ear (a nervous gesture she rarely indulged in), "the last time I saw her, she seemed to be in a relationship with Mister Weasley."
"It has been five years and nothing has come of that," he shrugged, "perhaps there was nothing there to begin with." He smiled as she moved to pick up the invitation once more, "And, let's not forget, she did send you a personal invitation."
"She has tried to keep in touch during her travels," Minerva stated absently as she looked through the letter once more, "so the personal invitation doesn't come as too much of a surprise." Her eyes stopping on the elegant script at the bottom of the parchment:
P.S.- I know you hate these things, but please come. It will be a fun challenge trying figure out what mask you're wearing. And, also, there is something I would like to tell you face to face.
-Hermione
"Indeed," Albus whispered to himself noting that Minerva seemed lost in thought. Waving a hand in the direction of her simple but elegant black mask, Albus wordlessly and wandlessly moved the subtle cat mask in Minerva's direction. He magically attached it to her face, startling the witch for a second time that evening. Green orbs, visible through the eye slits of the mask, stared at him in something close to wonder. "How did you do that, Albus?" she asked in a shocked voice.
"I'm dead, not powerless," he answered simply as if his feat was mediocre and not extraordinary.
Closing her mouth, which had gaped open at the man's statement, and shaking her head, Minerva set about collecting her wand, "We will discuss this when I get back." Tucking her wand into the sleeve of her jacket she waited for the setting of the sun for the portkey to activate.
Reaching a delicate hand up to adjust the mask, she idly thought about how much she detested these social gatherings; especially, considering that someone had decided to add a theme to the ball. If not for the mandatory appearance she had to make at this particular party, at the behest of someone she was quickly figuring out she could deny nothing, the Headmistress would not have bothered with so much preparation. Grimacing into the final dying rays of the sun she idly entertained the idea of what she would do if she ever found out who had the brilliant idea to put on a masquerade.
Catching her reflection in one of the windows, the Headmistress frowned. And here I thought the war would have staunched any desire in people for secrecy, masks, and the pretense of being someone you are not. Sighing, and steeling her resolve, Minerva dropped the portkey into her palm and clutched it right as the final rays of the sun disappeared over the western horizon.
TBC