Disclaimer: I don't own either of these lovely ladies.
A/N: I may continue this, but most likely not. It just popped into my head without much background, just a scene…a pretty unhappy one at that. So no happy ending (for those of you who want to bail now), but also not a completely unhappy ending…just an ending.
Flattened Your Words Against Your Speaking Mouth
"Ms. Granger, if I could have a moment." The words aren't so much a command as a request but Hermione stiffens anyway.
"Headmistress McGonagall." The nod she gives is curt. There is no smile on her face.
The crowd jostling past them parts around them like waves breaking across a rocky beach. Both women stand rooted to their spots, unmoving and unyielding in the constant motion around them.
"Shall we?" Minerva nods toward the Leaky Cauldron.
Hermione narrows her eyes and a refusal rises to her lips.
"Please." Minerva's green eyes are shining with the sincerity of her request.
The young woman acquiesces if only to get the out of the earshot of every wizard and witch in Diagon Alley. People part for them and they sit stiffly waiting for firewhiskey. Neither speaks but they stare at each other.
"Hermoine—"
"There are ears everywhere, Headmistress," Hermione cuts Minerva off, "wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong impression with such familiarity." The brunette is practically vibrating in her chair with restrained anger.
Minerva sighs and opens her mouth to speak but stops herself as their beverages are delivered. "Anything else for you ladies?" The chipper voice grates on both their nerves, but Minerva manages to be cordial in her dismissal.
The Headmistress takes a long drink from her cup before looking at burning brown eyes across from her. "I'd like to explain." She clears her throat.
"Which part exactly?" Hermione's voice is cutting. A brown eyebrow climbs to a tamed hairline. The young witch looks severe.
"Everything." Minerva shifts in her chair. She tamps the desire to fidget.
"I require no explanation." It's said with a finality that brooks no arguments. She moves to stand but the older witch's question stops her.
"Why are you so angry?" Even as she asks it, Minerva knows it is the wrong thing to say.
"Why am I—" Hermione sputters, indignant and cut open. "You. Played. Me." It explodes from her chest in a fierce whisper, each syllable punctuated with a finger jabbed in Minerva's chest. Hermione is half out of her seat before she realizes her breathing is labored. She has to calm down before she can continue. She very quietly lists her reasons, "You played me to infiltrate the Ministry. You toyed with what I felt for you as a means to an end. You betrayed all the trust I put in you." Anger is the only emotion she's allowing herself to indulge in, the others are too painful. But for a moment, looking at the woman she loves, she feels the weight of betrayal and disappointment. Her tongue is bitter with the taste of withered hope.
Minerva pales. She doesn't deny it. "It had to be done."
"I know," Hermione says with no inflection, "That's the only reason you aren't hexed into a bed at St. Mungo's."
"It doesn't mean I wasn't since—"
"No," Hermione cuts the comment off emphatically, her hands making the statement firm. "You do not get to do this. I don't believe a word you say." She stands abruptly. "Thank you for the drink, Headmistress."
Hermione leaves the drink untouched. Minerva stares at the cup with a displeased countenance, her lips thinned in distaste and her jaw tense. She stands and pauses for a long moment before following after the brunette.
"Leave." Hermione lowers her wand when she recognizes the older witch sitting on her front stoop.
The brunette feels a tinge of righteous justice as the older witch winces as she stands. Hermione thinks she must have sat there for a long time. Good. She ignores any twinge of sympathy that pulls at her heart.
Hermione sweeps past Minerva intent on entering her home and forgetting the existence of the woman at her back.
The older woman reaches out and grasps a turned shoulder. "Please, let me explain. If you do not wish to see me afterward, I will leave and I will not bother you again."
Hermione shrugs out of the touch and opens the door. She walks through the threshold but leaves the door open.
They stand, silently assessing the other, on opposite sides of the living room. Hermione motions for Minerva to sit and conjures up a steaming pot of tea (her manners too impeccable to deny her guest a drink).
"Say your piece, Minerva, then leave." Hermione's back is straight as she sits.
"I love you, Hermione."
The brunette shoots out of the chair her face a mask of anger, she turns away from the older witch and takes a deep breath. Minerva knows by the rigid posture that the young witch is trying to keep her anger contained.
"How can you even say that?" The words tremble at the end.
"Because it's true. Despite what I did and did not tell you, I love you. I was trying to protect you…"
"That's utter shite. And, you know it." Hermione whirls around her eyes flashing. "You were protecting yourself and your interests."
"It would've been Shacklebolt or some other high ranking Ministry official if not me."
"You daft old fool! It wouldn't have happened with anyone else."
Minerva unfolds herself from her seated position to her full height, anger lighting her eyes. The words dig deeper than she shows, but she'll be damned if she allows herself to be insulted by anyone, even Hermione. "Do tread carefully, young lady."
Hermione ignores the shiver that runs down her spine at seeing Minerva in such a state. The excitement makes her angrier. She shouldn't be aroused by a woman who lied to her, about everything. "Did you enjoy fucking me?" It's a low blow, but she's done playing nice. If they're going to have this fight, it will be a good and proper row. "What did you think about when you would open my thighs and press into me? When your hands would burn across my skin? When I would breathe your name like a prayer and your mouth would respond in action and not word?" She takes a step forward, her voice solid but her knees shaking. "Would it thrill you when I said 'I love you' in the state you would leave me in afterwards? Or maybe it would make you feel more powerful when I said that out of genuine happiness when I wasn't in some orgasmic afterglow? Did you enjoy the game? Making a fool of me? Using me?"
"Stop it!" Minerva hisses. "I never…" She swallows. "You couldn't know what my purpose was or the whole thing would fall apart. But, I never, never, used you or played with you."
"What the bloody hell would you call it then, Minerva?" Brown eyes burn with tears Hermione isn't allowing to fall.
Minerva stands mum.
"You should've said something. We are the brightest witches in the world. We would've figured something out."
"I was afraid!" Minerva finally yells. "I was afraid you'd turn me away if you knew that my courage stemmed from feeling like I could not let someone else have you. I didn't know how to tell you. And, I didn't expect you'd find out."
"I did. And, I would've forgiven you anything if it had come from your lips." Hermione steps away widening the space between them. "But, it didn't come from your lips."
"I am so sorry, Hermione." Minerva reaches out involuntarily trying to bridge the gap between them.
A brown head shakes and a sad smile pulls full lips into a mimicry of happiness. Her anger is exhausted; all Hermione feels is terrible ache where her heart should be. "You know what the worst part of it all is?"
Minerva doesn't speak though she knows the answer. Her angular face is set into a deep frown, making it seem that happiness has never touched and softened the severe countenance.
"I can be angry and disappointed and unhappy with you, but I still love you," she says it like a curse.
Minerva doesn't repeat the sentiment, though the wetness on her face shows she feels it, too. Hermione turns her face away.
"Is there anything else you'd like so say, Minerva?" Weariness has crept into the young witch's voice.
I would crawl through hell, I would face a thousand deaths, I would give up my magic if it would ease the pain I've caused you. "No." Minerva's insides ache. She turns to go.
A hand catches the older witch's before she can disappear. Soft lips claim Minerva's with aching tenderness.
It tastes like love but feels like goodbye.