A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me. The song belongs to Alanis Morissette, to whom I owe immeasurable thanks for being one of my first girl-crushes when I was 16 and her album came out. I only wish I knew then what I know now about myself and the nature of my feelings. My life would have been much different.
I write too much song-fic, but the songs strike my muse up, and I find that I cannot deny her.
Warnings for Femmeslash. Rated M for opening scene. I recommend you not read this if that is a squickworthy topic for you. For the rest of you, please enjoy.
This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own. I anticipate this story to be three chapters, and I'm hoping to break 10k words. We'll see. I rarely write anything that long anymore, but I'm hoping to break character by not only reaching my word limit, but also in finishing the damn thing. My apologies if I fail to reach either or both of these.
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Moonlight spilled over her throat, as her head crashed back to hit the stone wall against which she was pressed. A moan found its way through that throat and out of her mouth, letting her partner know she was doing exactly what was wanted. Her right hand moved to the top of her partner's head, tangling her fingers through the dense brown curls she found there. It was caught by her partner's left hand and pushed up against the wall, fingers grasping together, knuckles turning white with the pressure applied as she gasped in pleasure. "Please," she begged, needing completion with a fervor she had never known. A moment later, a muffled scream heralded her release, and her partner rose to capture her mouth in a searing kiss, fingers helping soothe through the aftershocks.
Green eyes opened to meet the depths of her partner's brown ones, the moonlight bringing out gold flecks that Minerva had never noticed before. She collapsed forward into her partner, their activities having rendered her balance unstable. This made the other woman chuckle lightly as she pulled Minerva to the nearby bed, captivated by the sway of the raven locks, freed of their characteristic bun, and wondrously disheveled as she had never seen them. They tumbled into the soft mattress, spent and exhausted, and fell quickly into a deep sleep, arms and legs entwined.
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Minerva woke first and sat up, the early morning sunshine beaming through the window and across the bed, illuminating its other occupant. She took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the lightly tanned and toned body currently sprawled across half of her large bed. She could not stop herself from running gentle fingers down her spine, a small smile gracing her face at the softness of the skin. Then the young woman's identity crashed down on her, the smile dissolving into a frown and she jerked her hand back as if burned by the touch. What had she done? This was wrong! She should never have … but she had, and while she could not, would not take the previous night back, she could ensure that such activities never happened again. Her throat threatened to close, and she swallowed heavily at the thought of what she had to do, but knew it had to be done.
Her eyes caught a glimmer of movement as her partner began to wake, and she steeled her resolve. She watched the younger woman stretch and turn over, and her breath momentarily hitched at the unhindered view of the breasts on display as arms stretched languorously over her head. She saw as her eyes began to flit open, searching for Minerva before reaching over and up to cup Minerva's cheek in her hand as she spoke. "Good Morning." Her smile was radiant and infective, and Minerva desperately wanted to return the smile, but unable to, knowing what had to be done. She reached up and gently pulled the hand from her face, wishing she could press a kiss to the palm, but resisting the urge.
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Like anyone would be
I am flattered by your fascination with me
Like any hot-blooded woman
I have simply wanted an object to crave
But you, you're not allowed
You're uninvited
An unfortunate slight
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"Hermione." The name escaped her lips, her voice trembling and her eyes closing. "Pardon me. Miss Granger." Hermione's smile disappeared and her wrist fell from Minerva's grasp to hit the mattress softly.
"Miss Granger? I thought..." She was hurt at the older woman's formality, given what happened the night before.
"Yes. I know what you thought, but..." her eyes reopened and sought out Hermione's, the pain she saw there hurting worse than she thought possible. "...surely you can see how impossible this is. I'm flattered by your interest, and last night was," she broke off the sentence, unable to continue that train of thought. Pull yourself together! she admonished herself. "I am only human, Miss Granger, and there's not a Witch, Wizard, or Muggle who wouldn't fall over themselves for a chance with you, but you are off-limits. You are my student, placed under my care, and I cannot betray the trust placed in me as Headmistress."
A single tear ran down Hermione's cheek, heralding the start of a deluge that she did not want her mentor, friend, and for one glorious night, her lover to see. She bit out, "I understand," and began snatching her clothes on, running out before the downpour began.
What she did not see in her quick escape was that matching tears were flooding Minerva's face as she watched a woman she cared for - a lot more than she was supposed to - flee, leaving both hearts broken into a thousand shards.
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Hermione ran all the way to her room, thanking Merlin and every god, goddess, and deity she could think of that she, as Head Girl, had private quarters, far from the questioning eyes of her friends in the Gryffindor Common Room. The promised deluge started just after she made it through Minerva's – no, Headmistress McGonagall's – door, and lasted long after she had thrown herself face-first into her own bed, her body curling into a tight ball as the pain and misery leaked from her eyes, nose, and mouth, her face turning blotchy and red.
Why had she done it? What had possessed her to pour her heart out? She knew, somewhere deep inside, that it was never meant to be, but as she had sat for tea with her former Transfiguration Professor and Head-of-House, as was their habit on Friday night, she thought she saw something in Minerva's eyes. Possibly something that mirrored what she had secretly felt for years, but stuffed down and suppressed out of a deeply-seated fear of rejection. She had always been so alone, and had known for years where her preferences lay, but Muggle and Wizarding culture both seemed to be so closed-off and strict concerning such notions that all appeared hopeless. She had tried dating boys, because it was expected, but with neither Viktor nor Ron had she ever felt anything resembling what she felt just thinking about the austere Scot who had captured her fancy. It was a secret desire that burned through her veins constantly.
At first, she thought it was just another schoolgirl crush, brought on by the strong respect she had for all of her Professors, but for McGonagall most of all. She was strict, yes, but innately fair to all of her students, and she taught and fought with such a fluid grace that it was hard for one so-inclined as she to ignore and not develop a crush.
Then came the incident with Umbridge and her lackeys in Hermione's fifth year.
Seeing the object of her admiration fly and fall under the force of four Stunning spells had Hermione's heart falling right along with her. Finding out that Madam Pomfrey could not heal her and had transferred her to St. Mungo's made her breathless with perceived grief. When she had finally returned, every bit her old self, despite the cane she'd had to use for months, that was the moment which cemented the truth of her desires in Hermione's mind: It was no schoolgirl crush. She loved her Professor, and it was inappropriate and wrong and everything she'd ever feared about finding someone to love. It could never be.
Minerva had begun to invade her dreams after this realization. She saw them in all sorts of compromising positions, in her imaginings of what Minerva's private chambers looked like, in the Room of Requirement, in her dorm's four-poster, in the prefect's bathrooms, and even in the Transfiguration Classroom. She was scandalized by her dreams, and turned on by them at the same time. With all the overly-hormonal libido of a sixteen-year-old, she just couldn't help herself.
Her sixth year had passed with many dreams, and many fumblings with herself in the dark. Then, Dumbledore happened. The raw grief she saw in Minerva's face and body over the loss of one of her oldest friends and mentors made her itch with need to wrap her love in her embrace and croon the grief away. But she didn't. It would have been an unwelcome intrusion into her privacy, Hermione was sure. Oh how she ached, both with her own grief and her need to comfort Minerva.
The year on the run and its forced separation from Minerva and Hogwarts nearly killed Hermione. The torture she endured under Bellatrix's wand and knife was excruciating, but it only served as a temporary reprieve from the deep pain in her heart from not being near the woman she loved.
When the students were given the opportunity to come back and repeat the failed educational year under the leadership of Professor Snape and the Carrows, Hermione took it without hesitation. She needed another year close to Minerva, basking in whatever warmth she could get, like a man lost in the desert needs water.
It had been a gloriously peaceful year so far. Hermione's voracious educational appetite was satisfied with the difficult NEWT-level classes, and the stress of worrying about Harry and Voldemort and Death Eaters was gone, leaving her able to really soak up all the subtle parts of what her previous education should have had, but hadn't. Hermione had stayed at Hogwarts over the Summer break to help clean up and repair the ancient Castle, and it had brought her closer to all her Professors, but especially to Minerva. Once the school year had commenced, Hermione was disappointed to be denied the chance to be Minerva's student again, as she had been promoted to the Headmistress position, as she should have been after Dumbledore's death. The new Transfiguration Professor was adequate, but he didn't have quite the flair for keeping their attention that McGonagall had always had.
However, Minerva had approached her with the offer of a weekly tea on Friday nights, and Hermione had grasped the chance with both hands, wanting, and indeed needing, the time with her mentor to try and keep herself convinced of the impossibility of their relationship being anything but educator and student. They had passed several months of the school year in this manner, and had grown closer with every conversation. Hermione's time at Hogwarts was quickly drawing to a close, and she had only three months left before she would be forced to leave Hogwarts and her love forever. The desperation of her situation was starting to get to her. She didn't know how she would survive further separation.
Last night, she had gone up for their tea, as usual. She was always slightly on edge being in Minerva's private rooms, so near to her bed that she could almost touch it. When she breathed, she was able to inhale the scents she had come to associate with Minerva, and not for the first time, it caused a twinge of desire to pool low in her belly, but she pushed this all aside and sat in her normal chair by the fire, the tea and conversation stimulating as always.
Some time into their conversation, there had been a pause; a silence that was loaded, yet not entirely uncomfortable. Hermione was fighting herself inwardly, wanting to say something, but not wanting to ruin what they had. She had been looking down, picking at a thread on her skirt, when she heard Minerva sigh. She looked up and their eyes locked, green and brown, and there was a moment when neither of them had been able to look away. Hermione thought she saw the desperation she was feeling in Minerva's eyes, and on impulse, had quickly risen and crossed the distance between them to pull Minerva up, cup the back of her head in her hand, and capture her soft lips with her own. Her eyes were open, and she could see the shock register in Minerva's eyes before she felt a hand on her shoulder, pressing them closer together. Both of them closed their eyes then, and Minerva began to kiss her back, deepening the kiss and making Hermione's blood sing.
Waking up this morning in Minerva's bed was the happiest moment Hermione had ever had. And then...
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! She'd ruined everything! Her grief and pain was still being washed out of her heart and soul, and Hermione was thankful it was Saturday. She had two days to get over this and learn to act normally, as though her heart wasn't in a thousand pieces on the floor of Minerva's quarters.
Hermione was not seen in Hogwarts for the duration of the weekend. ...Neither was Minerva.