Family
Pairing: Minerva/Hermione (friendship)
Rating: G
Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter.
Minerva had always hated feeling useless. The idea of being no help to anybody pained her more than the way her chest ached from the stunners that evil woman cast upon her; more than her arm and shoulder, hurting from the constant use of that damn walking stick she is bound to for God only knows how long. Minerva tried to shake herself out of these thoughts, but since Albus had shut her out of anything concerning the war she had little else to concentrate on. She knew Albus meant well, giving her time to recover and she also knew her sore body needed the rest desperately, but she couldn't help feeling left out.
So she found herself sitting all alone on a bench near the lake, with the cold November wind blowing, causing her to shiver slightly. She'd never felt so lonely in her life. It was times like these when she envied Molly for her family. It had just never worked out for Minerva and she knew it was too late now. She was too old.
Hearing someone approach her from behind Minerva braced herself for the Mediwitch's rant on sitting out here in the cold. She could already hear the words in her mind "much to cold," "not yet recovered," "at your age," and "unreasonable;" so she closed her eyes and waited for the scolding to begin. Hearing only silence, the older witch opened her eyes and looked up at the younger one standing next to her, offering a warm smile and a cup of steaming hot tea.
"Here, Professor," the young woman said, "I thought I would bring you something to warm you up a bit. It's getting colder, isn't it?"
Hermione Granger. The brain of the golden trio and the pride of my teaching career, 'and of your heart,' as Albus would add. Though she assured him that she's no more special to her than any of her other students, they both know he is right.
"Professor?" the young woman stopped the older witch's train of thought. Minerva took the cup from her and looked into her questioning brown eyes. "Are you all right?"
The corners of her mouth quirked up in a ghost of a smile. "Yes, Miss Granger. I'm fine. I just thought…" The words left her mouth before she could stop them.
"Yes?"
"Nothing, Miss Granger. Nothing. That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you." And to Hermione's surprise her mentor whispered so silently Hermione almost couldn't hear her. "Your mother must be very proud to have a daughter like you."
Hearing her Professor, the young witch closed her eyes for a few moments and moved to stand behind her. She didn't know if she was going too far as she placed her hands gently on her mentor's shoulders. Holding her breath, she felt the older woman tense in surprise, but she soon relaxed into her touch.
"Professor, what is my favourite colour?" The girl asked as though her question made perfect sense.
The sitting woman leaned slightly to the right and turned her head to see if her student had gone insane, but was suddenly reminded that movements like that were far from painless.
"Please, Professor. Do me a favour and answer my questions."
"I have no idea what your intention is Miss Granger, but your favourite colour is Bordeaux red," the woman answered, slightly irritated. Minerva McGonagall had no desire for playing twenty questions, but the pleading tone of the girl didn't leave her with much choice.
"Yes. Who is my favourite Muggle author?"
"William Trevor." Minerva said without hesitation. She had no idea why she allowed Hermione the pleasure of this silly game at all.
"The drink I hate?" the young witch requested.
"Pumpkin juice," came the prompt answer.
"What do I want to do with my life when I've finished with school?" Hermione knew her Professor would like that question.
"Study to become a teacher." Minerva tried very hard to keep her voice as emotionless as possible, but she couldn't stop a little proud smile. She felt strangely comforted by the thought of Hermione being a teacher, hopefully at Hogwarts. She knew she'd have a hard time letting her young girl go off to explore the world. The prospect of having her back by her side and back in the castle would always brighten up her day, no matter how bad it was.
Hermione continued her interview. "What is my greatest fear?"
Her Professor didn't need to think about that and answered quietly, "Losing the people you love."
"How am I doing at school?" The girl couldn't hide a smile. She was pretty sure that question would up an abrupt end to this, and indeed she didn't need to wait long for the desired effect.
"Hermione, this is getting ridiculous!" came the clearly annoyed and impatient reply. "If you have a point, then please make it!"
"Yes Professor, I have a point." She gave her mentor's shoulders a soothing squeeze, still smiling at her stern professor using her first name.
"My mother, as you call her, could have not answered one of those questions correctly. Not one. Being a mother is not about giving birth, Professor. It's about love and care and trust. I'm a stranger to her. A mother is supposed to know her child and you know me better than anybody else in this world." And quietly the young girl added, "I don't know if my mother is proud of me. You tell me."
Hermione squeezed her mentor's shoulders one last time and slowly made her way back to the castle, when she heard her mentor's gentle voice.
"She is Hermione. More than you could ever imagine."
*The End*