Well, this was going to be a oneshot. Turns out it's probably going to be a three shot. I will still be working on Dueling, and I'm still hoping to have it done by Christmas, but this plot bunny was more Christmas themed, so I couldn't resist hashing it out during the appropriate season. Hope you all enjoy. I covet your thoughts. :)
Hermione Granger had had it with Ronald Weasley. Even Harry had managed to get snogged the other day, and he was the most awkward boy in Hogwarts, save for Neville… and Crabbe and Goyle, who Hermione was not inclined to actually count as boys. Apes, more like. Harry's kiss with Cho Chang last year in the Room of Requirement had given her an idea, and after months and months of pleading, Harry had finally agreed to help with her plan. It was all arranged.
"Alright Harry, the mistletoe is in place," Hermione said. "All you have to do is tell Ron to come down this corridor. I'm sure you can think of a good reason. I'll be waiting."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Are you sure this is a good idea 'Mione?" he asked for the hundredth time. "I mean, even I'm not so thick as to see how he looks at you, but you're like my sister. I feel like I'm setting up my sister for a snog with my best mate. It would be like if Ginny were to ask Ron – Merlin knows that will never happen – to set me up to kiss her. It's weird."
Hermione sighed. "It's just a kiss. A stupid, little kiss, that if I'm lucky, will give Ron the opening he needs to admit he fancies me. I'm not going to be the one to make the first move! I'd be the laughing stock of Hogwarts if I did that."
"You are making the first move," Harry argued pointedly. "Setting this up is totally a move."
"If I was just waiting around the corner to assault him, then yes, you'd be right," the sixth year girl said. "That said, it's the mistletoe that will compel him to kiss me, remember? He just has to get under that doorway."
"What if someone else comes 'round first?" her best friend asked.
"Harry, it's Christmas break," Hermione huffed. "Most of the students have gone home for the hols, and those that are still here are not likely to come this way. It's the Transfiguration corridor. Who, pray tell, would be going to the Transfiguration classroom over Christmas break?"
The raven haired boy snorted. "Only you," he jibed. "Well, if you're sure, I'll go find Ron and send him this way. He's a prefect – I'll tell him some firsty is in trouble."
"That's clever, Harry," Hermione praised. "Now go!"
Harry scuttled off, and Hermione positioned herself beneath the mistletoe, which would trap her until Ron came along and snogged her. The spell to enchant the mistletoe to do that was restricted – only over seventeens could perform it – which was fine as she'd come of age in September. It was just an issue of waiting, now. What could go wrong?
Minerva McGonagall sighed, standing from her desk and grabbing her cloak. She was trying to finish up some grading before the hols were over, and she'd just realized that the stack of essays she'd wanted to look over were still sitting in her classroom. Well, nothing to be done for it but to go fetch them.
The castle was a bit chilly, but not cold. Hogwarts was always temperate, partly because of the Elves' excellent care in maintaining the dozens of fireplaces, and partly due to the fact that the magic on which the school was built somehow managed to spread the warmth along the various corridors. Albus had told her once that the magic acted as a conduit between the fireplaces and the unheated areas of the castle. It was just one of the many things Minerva loved about Hogwarts.
Not many students were at the school this Christmas break, so Minerva was quite surprised when she turned the corner into the Transfiguration corridor, only to walk right into one of her students. "Miss Granger?" she asked, identifying her star pupil. "What..."
She'd been going to ask what Hermione was doing down here, but stopped upon realizing that firstly, she could not move away from the younger witch, and second, that there was a growing ache in her pelvis, compelling her to do some very inappropriate things to her student. "What's going on?" she demanded.
Hermione visibly gulped, and then pointed up. Minerva's gaze rose, and she spotted the mistletoe. Enchanted mistletoe. She had seen the signs – most of the staff had taken note – that there was some obvious sexual tension between Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, and so it was not too difficult to conclude that Hermione had set this up to try and knock some sense into her fellow Gryffindor.
That said…
Enchanted mistletoe was restricted for a reason. For most wizards and witches, said enchantment would compel those trapped by it to kiss, and when that happened the couple was released, with no further magical influence. In the instance of an animagis being part of the trapped couple, a single kiss would release them, but the urge to be intimate would not abate until said couple had… copulated.
Hermione certainly looked embarrassed at the prospect of kissing her mentor, but there wasn't enough horror to indicate that the young woman knew the depth of what she'd gotten herself into, and Minerva was not about to tell her. The urge to have sex would be Minerva's burden to bear, but a kiss would be all Hermione needed to know about.
"Miss Granger…" Minerva said softly.
"If you don't know how to break the enchantment," the younger witch said, "and you are about to kiss me… you best call me by my name."
Minerva nodded. "Hermione, then," she agreed tenderly, giving up the fight against the spell of the mistletoe, and allowing her hand to rise, caressing the younger witch's cheek.
Hermione really was beautiful, the older woman mused. It didn't help matters right now that Minerva had, in fact, noticed that already. She had always been inclined that way, though she never had, and never thought she would before today, become involved with a student. It went against all the morals she held dear. Damning as she knew this moment was for her, she couldn't help but be somewhat pleased for the perfectly sound reason to kiss her protégé.
"Whenever you're ready, Professor," Hermione said, leaning into her touch.
"Minerva…" the Deputy Head corrected huskily, as she leaned forward and captured the younger woman's lips.
She felt the spell break, and slowly they pulled away from one another. Then, to her shock, Hermione lunged forward and kissed her again, and because of her animagis senses compelling her, Minerva could not pull away. Instead, she pulled the younger woman closer as the kiss got more and more heated.
"Minerva!" Hermione moaned, as the aggressive animal inside the elder witch pushed her companion against the wall. "Gods, yes!"
The kiss, which by now had turned into an all-out snog, continued to escalate until a few minutes later when they both pulled away, breathless. Minerva's body was still pressed against her student's, and Hermione's fingers were clenching her robes tightly, maintaining a firm grasp on her professor. The older woman couldn't begin to figure out what was compelling Hermione to continue along this path, but the burning in her chocolate eyes told Minerva she was not inclined to stop.
But Hermione was her student, and willing or not, Minerva was not going to take advantage of that. Despite the urge to shag Hermione right here, right now, in this deserted corridor, and placed a gentle kiss on Hermione's forehead, and stepped back. "We have to stop," she whispered. "We can't do this."
Without waiting for a reply, Minerva turned and walked away, heading back to her office, pile of essays sitting in her classroom totally forgotten.
Hermione stood in the now deserted corridor, panting, still leaning against the wall her Professor had unceremoniously shoved her against. "Oh Merlin…" she breathed out. "What just happened?"
When Professor McGonagall – Minerva – had come around the corner a few minutes after Harry had left, Hermione knew she was in trouble. The mistletoe would urge the older witch to kiss her, just as much as it would urge Hermione to kiss Minerva. Hermione had felt the enchantment dissipate, but after one tantalizing kiss, a surge of recklessness compelled the young witch to kiss her professor again. If she'd thought that first kiss was amazing, the second, which turned into a very heated snog, had been phenomenal. Hermione had always been good at reading people, and she could tell that Minerva didn't want to stop. Still, she had, and the young Gryffindor knew exactly why. Hermione was a student. Minerva was a professor. It was as simple as that.
"Hey, 'Mione," Ron's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Harry said there was a first year down here who was hurt."
Hermione gulped. "I already took care of it," she lied.
"Oh, alright then," he shrugged. "Wanna come with Harry and me down to the Quidditch pitch?"
"No, you two go ahead. I think I'll go to the library for a bit," Hermione sighed. Was Quidditch all Ron thought about?
Again, he shrugged, told her he'd see her later, and left. Unbidden, thoughts of Minerva cropped up in Hermione's mind as he walked away, as if all her memories of the woman were being run through her brain all at once, and quite suddenly Hermione was asking herself what she even saw in Ron. They had so little in common, interest wise. Hermione ought to be interested in someone who could challenge her intellectually. Someone she could debate with, who would enjoy sitting together just reading, or talking about this and that over tea. Someone, she realized with measureable horror, like Minerva.
Minerva made it back to her office without further incident, thank the gods. She decided to return to grading, only to remember with a groan why she'd been going down the Transfiguration corridor to begin with. She wondered if Ronald Weasley had come along after she'd left, as she presumed had been Hermione's intention all along. Thinking of her two Gryffindors as a couple made her frown. Hermione and Ronald were not in the least compatible. They had a great friendship, true, but she just couldn't see them working in the context of a romantic coupling.
Hermione needed someone who would challenge her intellectually; someone with whom she could spend time whilst simply reading books together, who would nourish her, rather than bore her to tears. She needed someone who had other things on their mind that Quidditch, who she could debate with and who wouldn't lose their temper when confronted about something. Someone like herself, Minerva realized with a sigh. Hermione was a smart young woman, and Minerva was certain she had also concluded this fact. "Just bloody great," Minerva muttered to herself.
They had kissed. They had very nearly shagged in that blasted corridor. Minerva had no idea how she was going to face walking to her classroom anymore – the memory of what simply could not be would haunt her day in and day out for the remainder of her life. For Hermione, the intensity of their encounter would fade in time, and she would eventually leave Hogwarts and move on with her life, looking back on today as nothing more than a distant memory. As it should be. Minerva just needed to figure out how to continue to function whilst having a constant urge to mate with her beautiful protégé.
In six months time, Hermione would be gone for the summer hols, and if Albus' subtle hints were anything to go by, there was a change that she, Harry, and Ronald would not be returning for their final year. It was shame, really. Hermione so loved learning, but she was caught up in the middle of a war, and her best friend was the Boy-Who-Lived. Hermione's Gryffindor loyalty would put Harry's interests above her own, even if the cost was her own life.
Minerva had known this already, but quite suddenly, it seemed to matter a great deal more. As saddening as it had been to think that some of her students would not survive the looming war, the thought of Hermione Granger becoming one of the honored dead now became torturous to even consider.
Perhaps Minerva would never actually be with Hermione, but she'd be damned if she didn't do everything in her power to make sure the young woman survived to the end of this war. If it cost her own life to make that happen, so be it. At least she wouldn't have to live with the what-could-have-beens that she knew without a doubt the future held for her.
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