Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Minerva's eyes flittered between the paperwork on her desk and the clock ticking away in her office. She took a deep breath in attempt to focus and stared down at the words.
Due to an accident in the kitchens involving Hermione –
What?!
Her mind grinded to a halt and she closed her eyes. Taking an only slightly agitated breath, she looked again.
Due to an accident in the kitchens involving pesky ghosts, pixie's, and what seems to be a device of the Weasley's which has been deaclkdkfneosldkdhHermioneHermioneHermione
Minerva's lips lifted at the corner.
Her dear, sweet Hermione. She had grown to be so beautiful and quite the companion to Minerva. She was, in essence, irreplaceable; she was a need. Why just the other day, the two of them sat and talked for hours under a tree on Hermione's property, the witch's favorite tree in fact. She remembered Hermione mentioning that. Merlin she – (Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock) – could remember every word said, every touch made, every smile thrown her way. Last week, they had both been swamped and, as a result, far too busy to see each other. So instead of – her hand, suddenly possessing a mind of its own, drifted down to the drawer containing letters and pulled them out – visiting each other as they so often did, they wrote letters.
She smiled as she gazed at the elegant writing. It was so like her Hermione to write in such a beautiful way. Well, when it required reading that is.. She breathed out a laugh (Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock) as she recalled much of the sloppy writing in the woman's notes. She had noticed it when the now full grown woman was a child, the way her writing would become ineligible to all but her. It was cute.
She blinked.
"For fuck's sake." She growled. Her tone belied her action however as she gently placed the letters back and closed the drawer softly. She stared at it and smiled as she remembered the conversation she'd had with Hermione about the letters. (Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock)
The beautiful brunette confessed to keeping the letters within reach both at home and in office, as a quick pick-me-up. Minerva grinned. She was what Hermione looked at when she was down. She was Hermione's pick-me-up. Just as Hermione was hers. Oh, it was one thing to know she needed the witch, but to see it reflected?
(Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock)
She bit her lip to hold back a happily embarrassed smile, a smile that was so rare for her adult years. But Hermione brought that out in her, the better half of her teenage years. The two women were only friends though– she looked up with a smirk – for now.
Oh but how she would woo her girl with the whisky eyes. Honestly – her hand once again acting on its own grabbed the glass full of the amber liquid and rose it to eye level – Minerva had never looked at the drink the same again. She smiled and sloshed the glass around. The glass bounced of the light, shining, sparkling, like Hermione's eyes would when –
DONG!
She jumped, the glass shattering on the ground as the clock echoed in the silence of her office. It broke her out of another Hermione induced tangent. The woman was a distraction! She would never finish her work at this rate.
Minerva sighed and placed her head in her hands.
Pull yourself together Minny! She's just a woman (LIAR!) and you are a rock of purity. I banish thee impure thoughts, (there is nothing purer than the love I have for this equally if not more so pure woman with such beautiful hair and a mind that could cut a blade, and goddess how has anyone never commented on her hands? (Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock) The way she flings them about in conversation and slams them when she's angry and Merlin am I pissed I didn't get to see her punch Malfoy. I would have kissed those bruised knuckles and pressed them to my heart so she could see how it beats so wildly for her when she merely glances at me with those eyes. I have seen those eyes alight with fury that frightened me even as I fell harder. Has there ever been anyone so beautiful? God she inspires poetry, and I haven't written in years…) – written.
Minerva looked down, "Crap."
Her paper was soaked with whisky and some of the liquid had begun to drip on her.
(Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock)
She pouted, "It wasn't even that much drink!" Sighing, she cleaned it up and glared at the work. Honestly it just needed her signature. The long and short of it was someone screwed up a stove.
Sign it and be done, Minerva. Only then can we focus on…she stopped herself. Don't even say her name. Just…do your work, Minerva.
Nodding to herself, she signed the paper and moved on to the next. Somehow, she managed to get through half a paragraph. But then she saw it…a space in the shape of a smile. It stood out because of the contrast between the black writing and the white space. It stood out, just as Hermione's smile. It stands out just like this. It lights up the room. Such a contrast to an otherwise bleak world. Yes my thoughts, and my love may be innocent, but my world, my life, is not. And she…she is everything. I need her. Whatever blessings, whatever karma, whatever luck, whatever good I have done in a past life, please goddess, let her love me as I do her. Let us live a long and happy life together, I will NEVER take her for granted. I do not pray, I do not meditate, fast, nor am I in the habit of sacrificing virgins, but I will taint my soul black as the devil's burnt soles if she will love only me forever.
Why is it that our minds conspire against us? Why is it that when we realize the depths of our emotions, of our love, that we also realize the irreparable damage that could be done to our souls should we lose said person? Why is it then that we are suddenly assaulted by the image of our loved one dead, or dying alone, or in our arms, as we sit by the sideline helpless, or are wholly at fault?
I can't lose her. Merlin help me I can't lose her. Her eyes shifted to the clock, unrelenting in its perpetual Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Time was running out!
DONG! DONG! DONG!
I must go to her now! I must – she slammed her hands down on the table and rose quickly.
"Ah!" she shouted and hissed at the offending items (something that made her whisky girl grin with glee). In her rather immediate need, she managed to both cut herself, and knock down a bottle of whisky which soaked into the cut. Brought out of her tumbling thoughts, she sat back down and cleaned the mess. She wiped the tears that had fallen from her eyes at the mere thought of losing her Hermione.
She took a deep breath, ignoring the fleeting thoughts on Hermione's posture, her grace, her style, her diction, her flow, her laugh, (Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock), her life, her soul shining brighter than –
"ENOUGH!" She shouted and stood once more. Her heart was beating wildly in her rib cage, and her lungs were heaving, expanding to impossible breadths, or so it felt.
She marched to the floo and threw in the powder, shouting the name of Hermione's apartment.
"This is has got to stop!" she bellowed at the brunette. Much like the clock, her steps were steady and full of purpose. Hermione would love her, or she would be left bereft yet rid of the distraction, but by the goddess, something had to change. She marched around the desk the stunned and oh so beautiful woman was working at, pulled her up, and kissed her with every breath she had ever taken, every beat her heart had made, every smile, grin, laugh, tear, everything she was made of went into that kiss.
And Hermione received it all so beautifully.
It was like a dream.
Her lips softened and she stepped into Minerva's embrace. She accepted it all, and begged for more with her tongue, her hands, the flutter of her heart, the give in her knees. She took everything Minerva gave her. And when Minerva had given all that she had, it was Hermione's turn.
She smiled that perfect smile and wrapped those precious hands around Minerva's neck before pressing her lips back to hers. Softer, but equally as fierce, passionate. Neither of them held back.
The clock ticked on.
A/N: How was that?