This was written in response to Masquerade Doll's "Age is but a Number" challenge and the Hogwarts Online prompt of the day for January 4th. This story can be read as a prequel to my multi-chaptered MM/HG, "To Dare", although it works on its own too.
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At first, there had been perfectly logical reasons for her to see out Minerva McGonagall; questions about homework, discussion about various articles on Transfiguration and even advice on how best to make sure that Harry focussed on studying for his NEWTs whilst growing increasingly concerned about combating Voldemort. Throughout her sixth year, Hermione found that she was thinking with increasing frequency not only about the conversations they would have, but more and more about Minerva herself; her gently lilting accent, the way her mouth would, for the briefest of moments, shift into a subtle, secret quirk when she was unwilling to reveal her amusement, and the elegance of her hands as she turned the page of a book.
Despite being hailed as the brightest witch of her age, it had taken Hermione a long time to realise what it was that she felt. It had taken her longer still to admit it to herself. Never had Harry and Ron questioned her interest in spending time with their Transfiguration teacher – if Hermione was having an academic discussion with them, she wasn't trying to convince them to study – although she had prepared a few tart responses in case they had.
Every last one of the potential career paths she had chosen were relevant to the discussions she had with her teacher... at least, they had been in the beginning. As time had progressed and Hermione had become increasingly comfortable in the company of the Professor, she had found that it felt natural to discuss whatever was on her mind. And, what was more, Minerva McGonagall made an excellent listener. Over tea, she would offer insightful comment in a neutral tone and never once did she make Hermione feel as though her attention was unwanted. Frequently, she had found herself dwelling upon the time she spent with the Transfiguration teacher; eagerly anticipating it.
In fact, when it became clear that she would be leaving Hogwarts alongside Harry and Ron, Hermione knew that she would miss Minerva more than anything else about the castle. (Their plan, however vague, had been pieced together in hushed whispers at midnight so that they wouldn't be overheard.) She also suspected that, especially in light of the Headmaster's death, Minerva would miss her tentative friendship. It was for these reasons that Hermione had put off letting her know that she wouldn't be returning for her seventh year.
Only, there were only a few more nights of term remaining and Hermione knew that she couldn't put it off any longer – at least, not without doing her friend a great disservice. Really, leaving the school without letting Minerva know wasn't an option: she had seen the shadows under Minerva's eyes, the only public expression of grief the stoic witch would ever deign to allow herself to show, and knew that she had taken Dumbledore's death hard.
Hermione herself was still reeling from it. She had always associated not only Hogwarts with Albus Dumbledore, but the wizarding world. The sage old wizard had made the school feel safe – made the students feel that, regardless of what happened in the outside world, there was still order to be found in life at Hogwarts. There had been a deep friendship between Headmaster and Deputy, and Minerva would be shaken too.
As she walked towards the office, a journey that had, until now, always caused her to experience a secret surge of delight, Hermione felt her apprehension grow. Her footsteps echoed through the quiet of the corridors; the students had been subdued since the Headmaster's murder – even the Slytherins were adrift without the presence of their formidable Head of House – and so they rarely ventured from their respective common rooms. Hermione shivered despite the warmth of the summer evening and knocked on the door. For several tense seconds, she waited. Perhaps Minerva had retired for the evening; an early night was often the result of stress.
The back of her neck prickled, and Hermione was once again conscious that she was alone in the corridor. She looked over her shoulder, uncomfortable, and returned her attention to the door, focussing on the grain of the oak. Finally, she heard movement and the door opened to reveal Professor McGonagall. To an unobservant eye, she would appear to be the same strict, fastidious person as always. Hermione, on the other hand, noticed that her robes were slightly wrinkled, suggesting that they had been slept in, and several strands of hair were escaping from the pins that kept them in place. Minerva's eyes were unfocussed and slightly red. It took her a moment to register that Hermione was standing in front of her expectantly.
"Miss Granger, I... I'm afraid that I'm rather busy at the moment." Not meeting her eye, Minerva made to close the door and would have done so, were it not for the urgency in Hermione's voice. It was rare for Minerva to address her so formally.
"It's important! Please, I have to talk to you." Recalling that they were more or less in a public place, Hermione restrained herself from reaching out and grasping Minerva's hand. "I don't know how many opportunities there are going to be, and I couldn't leave without telling you."
"Very well – come in." Minerva turned and swept into her office, which was immaculate as always.
Sinking into the seat opposite Minerva's desk, Hermione realised that she had been expecting quite the opposite. Instead, there were orderly piles of parchment across the desk – it occurred to her that the administrative burden of the Headmaster's death would fall to his Deputy, but the sheer volume of paperwork seemed somewhat disproportionate. She waited, however no invitation to speak was forthcoming. When it became clear that Minerva did not intend to cease whatever it was that she was working on – her quill was sweeping across the parchment before her at an almost manic pace, and she was yet to meet the eyes of her guest even once – Hermione could no longer be patient.
"I'm leaving Hogwarts." The words were phrased rather more bluntly that Hermione had planned – in fact, she had hoped to ascertain that Minerva would be alright before giving her such an unexpected shock – yet there was no reaction.
"Yes, term will end in a matter of days." The terse answer was punctuated by Minerva reaching for a new sheet of parchment, the document she had evidently completed floating smartly into an envelope bearing an address Hermione didn't recognise. She saw now that there were several such envelopes stacked on the corner of Minerva's desk. Trying to keep the hurt from her voice, Hermione continued.
"No, we're not coming back in September. Harry, Ron and I will be leaving school." Hermione's voice cracked on the last word. When she had first started Hogwarts, she had looked forward to her final year; she would still have liked to sit her NEWTs, and perhaps be the Head Girl. It hardly seemed real that she wouldn't get an opportunity to do so, yet Hermione knew that she belonged with her friends.
Minerva stiffened almost imperceptible.
"I see." She paused, adding her signature with a slight flourish. "And why is that?"
"We – I can't say." Hermione took a deep breath, hoping that what she would say next would force her friend to pay attention to her. "I'm not sure where we're going or even what we'll have to do; only that Harry needs me and I'm not prepared to let him go it alone."
Finally, Minerva ceased to write and looked up at her in bewilderment.
"You're serious, aren't you?" When Hermione nodded, she closed her eyes for a moment as though gathering her thoughts. "I take it that I can't convince you to reconsider this decision."
"No." Although her tone left no room for argument, Hermione was less than certain. She wanted to be told that Harry didn't have to fight Voldemort after all, and that they could carry on living normal lives and focussing on school (or quidditch, in Ron's case). She wanted Minerva to ask her to stay, and a whole host of other things that would almost certainly never happen.
"Of course not; you weren't sorted into Gryffindor without due cause, Hermione." Minerva gave a thin smile that failed to reach her eyes. "You will be invaluable to Mr Potter, of that I am certain."
"Thank you." It was gratifying to know that Minerva had faith in her ability, although Hermione was still terrified. Working up the courage to accept she was going to go on a journey more dangerous and unpredictable than she could imagine was difficult – it was like preparing to leap from a cliff.
"In any other circumstances I would do everything within my power to convince you to stay. It isn't every year that we enrol a student as gifted as you, and its rarer still for someone with your proficiency for magic to end their formal education prematurely." Glancing down at the parchment before her once more, Minerva continued to speak. "It must also be said, on a more personal note, that your company will be greatly missed, especially now that... now that times are so bleak, however your absence will surely contribute to putting an end to that."
"I'll miss you too." The words were spoken so quietly that she wasn't certain if Minerva heard them. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to spring it on you like that."
"Don't be; a part of me was expecting this." Still Minerva sat, simply watching the parchment without attempting to write another word.
"Me too, but I don't feel ready for any of this." Hermione looked down at her hands, clasped together on her lap, ashamed be her confession.
Since the loss of his mentor, Harry's resolve had been unshakable. Ron, as always, was going to stand by his friend – it was that simple. Hermione knew that she had no option but to join her two closest friends, and yet she had been plagued by doubts; what if they weren't good enough? What if, wherever they went, Voldemort found them? What if her family was killed in her absence?
"Can any of us be truly prepared to undergo drastic change?" It was unclear whether Minerva meant to console or query. Hermione didn't have an answer, although her mind went to the void in Minerva's life which had once been filled by Albus Dumbledore.
"Some people handle it better than others."
"And you handle it better than most – you don't underestimate what it is that you're facing, and yet you remain determined to achieve whatever it is that the three of you have planned. That's real bravery, Hermione; to accept the truth and not run away from it." Minerva's voice took on a pensive quality, again reminding Hermione of her recent loss. She looked up to see that Minerva was silently attaching the Hogwarts crest to the back of each envelope and realised that they were letters for the new students – the children that she wouldn't be around to guide to their dormitory.
"It seems a little early for Hogwarts letters. Do you always do them this early?" In her curiosity, Hermione almost failed to notice the guilty dulling Minerva's ordinarily bright green eyes – almost, but not quite, for she always paid close attention to Minerva's expressions. "You don't, do you?"
"As I said, you handle adversity better than most people."
"No better than you. There's nothing weak about grieving – in fact, it takes courage to mourn a friend." Hermione fell silent, unsure how to continue, when Minerva met her gaze. For the briefest of moments, her face was a perfect mask of sheer animal panic. Then Minerva's countenance became cool.
"I hardly think that that's any of your business! Good evening, Miss Granger. We will discuss your plans at a time when you have had an opportunity to consider what is and is not an appropriate point of conversation." Businesslike, Minerva stood and walked stiffly into her private quarters, closing the door behind her.
Shocked, Hermione remained sat in what she had come to think of as her chair, staring at the place where Minerva had vanished. She swallowed. There was no telling how Minerva would react if she followed her; either the confrontation would escalate, or she would find some measure of solace in Hermione's presence. Logically, it made more sense to go and come back later, however Hermione couldn't justify leaving Minerva alone to cope with her grief and she knew that the other members of staff would be too busy with their own duties in light of what had happened upon the Astronomy tower to check on her.
That morning at breakfast, Minerva had announced the time and date for Dumbledore's funeral. The way she had spoken – so expressionlessly, so unlike Minerva and very like the display she had just witnessed – told Hermione that she would be remiss as a friend if she failed to check up on Minerva. She stood, approaching the door slowly and hoping that Minerva would see things the same way.
Much to her surprise, the door opened without resistance when she pressed against it. Unlike Minerva's office, which was lit by magic, her private rooms were dark save for the faintest hint of light cast by the setting sun. After Hermione's eyes adjusted, she began to look around the living room. It was immediately obvious that Minerva wasn't beside any of the windows lining the wall, and although she wasn't immediately visible anywhere else, Hermione could hear her quiet, even breaths.
Working out that Minerva was lying on the sofa, Hermione rounded a table and sat on the floor beside her. It wasn't difficult to ascertain that Minerva was crying, but having no wish to further compromise her dignity, Hermione didn't comment upon it. Instead, she took Minerva's slender hand in hers and squeezed gently. Resting the back of her head against the sofa, Hermione contemplated the situation, every so often caressing Minerva's long fingers.
There were many thoughts that she wanted to voice:
Everything will be just fine – you'll see. You're stronger than I am.
I'm sorry that he's gone.
I hope that the same thing doesn't happen to either of my best friends.
What scares me most is that you'll die, or I will without telling you...
However, Hermione said nothing. Instead she drifted off into sleep – the most peaceful she would experience for almost an entire year – and continued to clutch at Minerva's hand, hoping desperately that she understood all of the words that she wouldn't, couldn't, say.
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