Authors Note: Thank you all for the reviews, this story is going to be angsty and dark - however my wonderful beta would literally kill me if there wasn't a happy ending. So just sit back and enjoy the ride. Again italics are flashbacks or letters.
Flourish & Blotts – Six weeks later
Hermione put another set of books into her trolley, she had only recently received her royalties cheque from the publication of her book. She was partly indulging herself and partly gathering research material for her next bestseller. "Do you intend to take every history book from our rare section Miss Granger?"
The young witch turned to face the shop assistant, "Not quite yet." Spying another valuable volume on a top shelf, she summoned it gently not wanting to damage the fragile binding. "I'm done for now."
"Let me take that trolley for you." Without another word the man pushed it towards the till and began to calculate her bill.
As Hermione turned to follow she saw a flash of emerald green robes through the window. "Excuse me." She rushed to the door, hoping to catch sight of the person and see if it was who she thought it might have been.
Stepping out into the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley she looked in every direction but saw nothing. "Crap!" Despite Minerva's actions, the guilt that she herself felt and everything that had happened – Hermione was still desperate for even the smallest glimpse of her former lover. She hesitated for a few minutes, waiting in vain for the older woman to reappear.
"Miss Granger?" Reluctantly she tore herself away from the futile hope and stepped back into the dim interior of the shop. The man handed her an invoice for her purchases, she took it – scrawling her signature dismissively on the parchment. "Do you want us to deliver these to your home address?"
"No I'll take them with me." Her tone was curt but not rude, her mind was firmly fixed on Minerva and she didn't have the patience to deal with idle banter. A flick of her wand shrunk her purchases and she placed them in her shoulder bag. "Thank you."
Once again she left the shop, this time heading in the direction of The Leaky Cauldron, intending to walk at least part of the way home. There was nothing waiting for her in the flat, it would be cold and lonely – walking through the streets of London was almost preferable to that. Maybe she would grab a takeaway on the way, cooking for one was hardly thrilling.
Thinking about Minerva all the time was driving her insane. Hermione alternated between hating the older witch for walking out and believing that it was the right decision. The last six months had not enabled either of them to move on and despite everything she was still head over heels in love with the Headmistress.
Hermione
Stop writing to me! I said everything I wanted to already. It'd not like I don't feel guilty too...
But you could have stopped them... You could have saved Harry and Ginny.
I'll always blame you for that
I'll always hate you for that
...We should have been there together.
And it's your fault we weren't, why weren't you there for them... or for me?
I don't know you anymore, I don't want to know you
- Ron
A week later – Hogwarts – Friday evening
It was Minerva's free weekend, when she didn't strictly have to be on duty. However during her long tenure at Hogwarts, she had rarely taken a weekend completely off – until that wonderful time when she had... been with Hermione that was, they had spent every available minute together.
Remembering this made her sigh, while she hadn't stopped thinking about HER – active thoughts were an almost physical blow to her heart.
Somehow it had gotten to be eleven o'clock and Minerva was no more relaxed than she had been at dinner. In fact she had been pacing ever since. Quiet, solitary evenings with a book no longer held the same appeal that they once had.
She gave an exasperated growl from between clenched teeth. It seemed that lately she was of little use to anyone – all she did was pace around her rooms thinking about what she had done, what she had lost and the murder of two former students. But mostly she thought about the events of two months prior... The way that Hermione had yielded to her touch; the feel of soft young skin under her fingers, the taste of the other witch on her lips.
Irrationally Minerva tried to run from her own thoughts, she tore open the door and while careful to make her walk look purposeful – she fled, neglecting to pick up a jacket or cloak. Blindly but unerringly she made her way through the dim corridors, ducking out of a side door and away from the castle.
More than an hour passed with the Headmistress walking aimlessly through the grounds. Gradually cold Scottish rain soaked through every layer that she was wearing and chilled her to the bone. She wasn't surprised when her wandering brought her to the gates. Emotion was obviously overpowering her judgement because she said to herself, "What harm would it do just to pay her a visit?" She gave her password to the gates watching them open noiselessly before stepping outside of the wards and vanishing into the night.
The flat
There was no reply to Minerva's knock.
All manner of thoughts rushed through her mind; was Hermione out? Maybe she was hurt? What if she was with someone else? In a state of abject confusion, worry and hurt Minerva stuck her hand into her pocket, pulling out her key. There was a part of her that knew that the younger woman had not changed the locks, something that was proven correct when the key turned smoothly. The Headmistress let herself in.
The living room was dimly lit by a dying fire. Flickering flames caused shadows to move but did not serve to illuminate anything. Minerva's eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and she looked around her, for a moment forgetting about Hermione as she noticed a few changes.
A huge pile of books was stacked up against the wall by the desk. Nearby was a large cardboard box, Minerva leaned closer and read the printing – it was a flat packed bookshelf. She snorted quietly, never having liked mass produced furniture.
The sound of soft breathing drew her across the room to the sofa. Tears welled up in elegant eyes blurring the sight of Hermione lying fast asleep with an open book in her hand. The Headmistress sighed in relief, all of her anxiety outside the door had been for nothing. She raised a hand, silently summoning a blanket from the trunk in the spare room. In mere seconds a thick tartan blanket sailed into her outstretched palm.
Carefully, gently Minerva spread the cover over Hermione's body. She couldn't help it when she bent over and pressed a tender kiss against the younger womans temple. Softly she took the book from clasping fingers, put a bookmark inside it and placed it silently on the table.
She should have left then, should have gone back to Hogwarts but despite everything this still felt like home to her, even though she had turned her back on it. Minerva walked back over to the fire and piled on fresh wood, wanting to keep Hermione warm. She then used magic to unpack and assemble the bookshelf, please that despite being flatpacked – it will still made of real wood and was rather elegant. There was a place prepared for it in the alcove next to the chimney, she levitated the piece of furniture into place.
It was then that she became aware that she was killing time, that she was being a little noisier than she needed to. On some level it seemed that Minerva wanted Hermione to wake up, she snorted again this time in self-disgust. With another long look at the younger witch, she left the flat returning to her lonely quarters at Hogwarts.
When Hermione awoke the next morning she knew that there was something different. She lay with her eyes closed, trying to puzzle out what it was. Straining her ears for any sound, she was disappointed – there was nothing to be heard. She was far warmer than she should have been, the fire should have gone out and without a blanket the flat would get rather chilly. Then she realised that the fire was still alight and that she was underneath a blanket.
"Minerva?" She cried out opening her eyes and sitting up.
There was no answer...
Hermione threw the blanket off of her and searched her home but the older witch was nowhere to be found. There was a faint lingering smell of the Headmistresses' perfume but she was not there. Tears were running down her cheeks as she went back into the living room. What she found there made her laugh through her tears.
Not only had her love built up the fire, she had also built her bookcase and stacked the books on it. Alphabetically by sub-category – just the way that Hermione liked. She stared at that caring gesture for a long time before dropping to her knees crying harder than before.
Their shopping trip for supplies desperately needed by the Order had been completed in silence. Both women shocked by the revelations they had made the previous evening, neither willing to breaking the taboo and risk loosing what they had. Over the course of the day there had been occasions when their eyes had met and held before reluctantly tearing apart.
Hermione was not entirely surprised when Minerva took a detour on the way back to their Scottish hideout, she merely followed quietly knowing that the older woman was not the type to let things fester between them indefinitely. Recent months had gotten her used to a broom and she confidently landed beside her friend on a deserted hillside somewhere in Northumbria.
"Minerva?"
"You must realise that this is anything but a good idea... do you not Hermione?"
The younger woman took a moment to look at the tall elegant witch who was standing facing an impressive (albeit English) vista and who was pointedly avoiding looking at her. She knew in her heart that the time for words was past, she would have to speak with something stronger – actions. A few steps brought her closer to the tense witch and with confidence born of emotion she wrapped her arms around Minerva, holding her tightly. She felt rather than heard the sigh of relief that the older woman gave.
Slowly, softly Hermione placed her forehead between Minerva's shoulder blades, smelling the freshness of the air that they had ridden through and the scent that she had always associated with the former professor. "I think it's too late for that Minerva. I can't help how I feel about you and to be totally honest I don't want to change it."
"What do you want?"
"You know what I want, the question is what do you want Minerva McGonagall?"
The older witch spun around catching her by surprise, steadying Hermione with a hand on her hip. Emerald green eyes bored deeply into chocolate and elegant fingers caressed her cheek. "For the first time in my life... I want to be daring and reckless... I want to throw caution and propriety to the wind and... kiss you. But I should not."
"Then kiss me."
Minerva froze when she heard the quiet whisper, unconsciously she licked her lips. A moment passed before they leaned in towards each other, unable to resist what they had both desired for so long. The first touch of their lips was nothing short of electric.
Two weeks later – Friday evening – The flat
Hermione had been determined not to fall asleep tonight, she didn't want to miss a chance to see Minerva as she had a fortnight previously. There was little chance of her napping because she was on edge, she had been jittering for hours – unable to settle down to read, write or even watch tv. She had tidied the flat several times and showered twice, dinner had been cooked and consigned to the bin uneaten in minutes. She would turn on the wireless for a moment before silencing it.
Eventually she resorted to the Minerva McGonagall habit of pacing. At least it passed the time.
The quest to empty her mind was so successful that she never heard the key that turned quietly in the door. Hermione paced fast and frantically, trying to keep her turmoil under strict control. She never saw when Minerva stepped into the room. She did hear when the older witch spoke in a voice that was cracking with repressed emotion.
"If you keep doing that you will wear a hole in the carpet."
Shocked chocolate eyes widened as the younger woman spun around to face her lover. When Hermione spoke her voice was barely a whisper, "That's my line." And it was true, she had uttered that phrase innumerable times during their relationship and for a moment their roles seemed to have been reversed.
"You neglected to copyright it."
They stood staring at each other in silence. Their relationship and the situation made small talk impossibly trite and they really had nothing to speak about, everything that they needed to say had been said.
At the same moment both women strode towards the other, hands grasping whatever they could reach, lips crashing together in a fierce needy kiss, bodies pressing. Clothes were shed in seconds, as access to bare skin became more important than anything. Hermione's mouth moved onto Minerva's neck, sucking and licking – leaving her mark on the older woman, something that she had never before done due to the threat of discovery.
Ignoring the blatent breach of their agreement, Minerva's fingers trailed across erect coral nipples – suddenly squeezing the tender flesh. She grinned when Hermione yelped in surprise and pleasure. It was her turn to let out a startled exclamation when hands gripped her buttocks, pulling her closer still.
Their bodies were wrapped around each other as they heavily fell onto the sofa. Hermione grazed the inside of Minerva's thigh with her fingernails, running them lightly up and down the sensitive skin – with each pass her fingers moved closer and closer to the older woman's centre.
The Headmistress took a handful of chestnut tresses, gently pulling Hermione's lips from her shoulder and into a kiss. Her fingers ran over the young womans body, tracing prominent ribs – tears slipped from beneath her lashes, she knew that she was mostly responsible for the state of her lover. An impatient, infuriated hand grabbed hers.
Hermione knew that Minerva was crying and she knew why. The last thing that she wanted was another heartbreaking conversation, she needed the older woman and she was prepared to take whatever she could get. She firmly guided the elegant hand she had seized down her body and between her legs, hearing Minerva groan before her breathing accelerated in excitement.
Nimble fingers explored the familiar landscape of Hermione's sex, overjoyed at the evidence of her arousal. The woman underneath her thrust her hips upwards, desperately trying to increase the contact, needing more than teasing. Obligingly a single finger traced her slit, feeling Hermione shiver as it grazed her erect nub.
"Please..."
Minerva's touch grew firmer, surer as she felt Hermione's familiar response. Without preamble she thrust two fingers inside the younger womans core delighting in the incoherent yowl that escaped coral lips. She leant over and captured them with her own, muffling further cries with a passionate kiss. This was the moment that she had dreamt of, not of her own pleasure but of having Hermione's naked body writhing beneath hers. It felt like finally being home again.
The next morning
Hermione awoke when weak morning light came through the curtains, slowly she moved her head and looked down to see Minerva curled up fast asleep against her. She smirked at the sight, no one who knew the great Professor McGonagall would believe that she could look this vulnerable and it made the older woman dearer to her.
Last night they had made it into the bedroom on the fourth attempt as though suspecting that this was the last time that they would make love. They had done so with almost animalistic abandon, utilising spells and techniques that they rarely used. Hermione felt herself grow wet again, remembering how Minerva had felt inside her and she squirmed, trying not to wake the older woman.
The older woman was in fact awake and had been for some time. The last thing that she wanted to do was reveal that fact. She had come to the flat the previous evening without even a pretext, giving in reluctantly to the part of her that cried out for Hermione. She knew that she would shortly be leaving the warmth of their bed and returning to her lonely rooms at Hogwarts – she wanted to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.
Soon she would tear herself away from soft yielding skin, make an excuse that rang false to her own ears and turn away from hurt, accusing chocolate eyes. Emotion had backed the normally rational Headmistress into a situation where she could no longer live with Hermione but time had proven that she could not live without her.
