Chapter 2
Hermione had only ever seen the elder witch cry once, which was right after the Battle at Hogwarts. Then again, few who had been involved hadn't sat there in the wide vicinity of the Great Hall without tears streaking down their cheeks, depressed or shocked, maybe a combination of all three. So many familiar faces had been lying there unmoving and un-breathing in that same room as them… and Minerva McGonagall certainly wasn't heartless either. Most of those who had fallen had once upon a time been pupils of hers, had once upon a time been innocent… and she had had to kill some of them personally, to keep herself, her current pupils or others safe, from those who had once turned on the path to Hell. War had a peculiar way of dividing between good and bad. All of that surely had to be very conflicting for her and tough enough, given her past with most of them. She was an incredibly tough woman, but there's a limit to what a person can take.
As Minerva had sat all alone at one of the tables a tad further away from everyone else, Hermione Granger was the one that had actually dared to come to the elder witch's side, carrying two mugs of hot chamomile tea. It had dawned a rather cold May morning when the fight had finally ended, although most cold had resided in the broken hearts of the survivors of the Battle of course. McGonagall herself had made the last sweep of the grounds, making sure the bodies of all who had fallen had been carried to the Great Hall for now – those of Death Eaters included, setting aside a part of the Hall away from the others. After all, they might have been each other's killers; some had been under the Imperius curse, others were threatened into joining the war. No one deserved to have their body lying in the mud that way… or wherever else someone of the other side had taken their life. Minerva McGonagall had been the one who had recovered Snape from the Shrieking Shack, his position made known to her by Hermione Granger.
She had been the one who had stood and restored the ruined ceiling when the clouds overhead – visible through the holes for real rather than from the enchantment – had turned dark grey, announcing an impending storm. Minerva had lived in the Scottish Highlands long enough to know what the weather held. She had just dismissed everyone who had come to help her as they saw her, whispering incantations faster than anyone thought a person could even speak, telling them to go back to their families and that she could do it alone, that she was fine. She hadn't had a family anymore… When finished, she had sat back down at that table yet further away from everyone else. Poppy Pomfrey had been with her fleetingly, asking about possible injuries, but Minerva had dismissed the nurse, too, saying that there were other survivors needing her aid more.
Hermione, however, would not be sent away so easily. She had come to the elder witch's side with that mug of tea and sat down beside her with a certain air, conveying she would not be simply dismissed if at all. Carefully, she had handed the mug to Minerva, warning her it might be too hot still. Both women had just sat there in quietude, first dangling spoons in their tea, then sipping from it once it was cool enough without burning their tongues. Hermione hadn't asked whether Minerva was all right, hadn't asked if she was hurting somewhere or if she could do anything for her… and that had made all the difference really. Minerva had not dismissed her. They knew that moment was a slow beginning of what they now had.
Hermione thought of that moment; still sitting beside the woman after so many years, only this time on the lovely couch in the headmistress' personal living space. They each sipped from their mug of tea – mint, this time. After a couple of minutes hugging one another tightly, Hermione had pulled away a little and asked Minerva if she wanted to sit maybe. She had only nodded, tears still shining obviously in her eyes. She had guided the elder Gryffindor to the long couch and sat down beside her then. Charming a small tray with tea and mugs was the first thing Hermione had thought of – she knew Minerva would not appreciate a House-Elf seeing her like this. Hermione was quite sure that was the reason why she had left the room earlier – and that had only been in front of her! True, the tea did taste slightly different when charmed like that, but it wasn't undrinkable either.
She finally moved her gaze to Minerva again, watching the elder witch closely. She herself had carelessly tucked a leg underneath herself, the foot of the other dangling just inches above the wooden floor. She hugged her mug with both hands, resting the rim against her lips and sitting rather comfortably. Minerva, however, sat rigidly, back straight and legs crossed. Her position didn't look casual or comfortable at all. Her mug stood half full upon the table, left there after her first sip, her hands folded in her lap. Hermione couldn't say what she was looking at, but her face seemed a mix of her typical professorial sternness and thoughtfulness.
She leaned over and quietly set her mug down on the table beside Minerva's, turning to the elder witch. "Minerva, can I ask you something?"
She could see the other woman's surprise at being spoken to. When she looked at Hermione, it seemed as though nothing had happened. She seemed calm again, although maybe a bit passive. She nodded her head at her younger lover and leaned back against the couch, more comfortably. Her actions still seemed rather stilted, however, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as Hermione. "Of course," Minerva said, though if you listened well, you could hear the slight edge of something close to fear.
"Why did you run earlier?"
Minerva's mouth opened at once to reply, but she found she didn't know how to answer really, so she closed it again, as well as her eyes, and sighed heavily. She shook her head slowly for a few moments before her eyes opened again and she looked straight at Hermione. She should have known this question would be coming sometime. The tears that had already threatened to spill earlier were now gone as if nothing had happened. "I didn't… run," she said.
"Then why did you leave the room?" Hermione tried again.
She waved her hand at the question posed and shook her head once more. "It doesn't really matter," she said. "It was just something… silly."
"Minerva…" Hermione spoke in a whisper, leaning slightly more towards her and letting her hand fall upon Minerva's, squeezing it gently. It was the first time Hermione thought that she felt Minerva flinch under her touch and it really worried her. Thoughts of adultery or other secrets didn't cross her mind as would have been the case had it been someone else but her. Minerva just wasn't like that, she knew. She had no fear at all of Minerva McGonagall being unfaithful to her. "I doubt whether it was something silly. You don't do silly; you know better than to get upset over something little – which indirectly says it isn't something little at all… and that worries me. I love you very much, you know that, right?"
A very minimalistic smile crossed older features. She nodded. "I know that, yes. I love you, too… though it is still nice to hear. I don't have many who tell me so."
Hermione didn't believe the last part was laced with much sadness necessarily – it was more a truth that was stated, unaccompanied by any immediate emotion. The fact remained a sad one, though. She squeezed the hand underneath hers once more. "I do love you," Hermione said. "I don't want you to ever forget that, like I don't want you to forget that no matter what, you can tell me anything. I would never judge you for whatever it is. You don't have to tell me things if you don't want to, but I tend to get worried when you don't… I know we are both busy and don't have as much time for each other as we really want – because then we would most likely be together every second of every day – but I'm always here for you, all right?"
"I appreciate that more than you will ever know," Minerva whispered, turning her hand underneath the younger one and holding onto it tightly. She reached up and lightly pinched the bridge of her nose with her other fingers, sighing. "It is rather intricate," she began. "There is a reason why I reacted the way I did, and I'm afraid that there's quite a lot to it."
"I've got time."
