A/N: I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, I appreciate the encouragement!

Chapter 2

"Adam and I, as you heard, met at school," sighed Minerva. He was as academically-minded as I; in fact, he was the first student I could ever really talk to about my thoughts, the first boy who took me seriously. With the others, I had always tried desperately to pretend I wasn't such a bookworm, but Adam and I, we would talk for hours. He was Muggle-born and was passionate about Muggle-Wizard relations; later, he would prosecute cases related to prejudiced actions against Muggles at the Wizengamot. And he was kind, and good. We couldn't marry until after the end of the First War, of course, and then both of us were doing apprenticeships--after graduation we had both been part of the war effort--so the time didn't seem right. That's why it took us so long to finally decide to take that step. But anyway, enough explanation…I'll move you up a few years." With that, she gave the Pensieve another stir.

Now the scene dissolved again and Hermione found herself in a cosy sitting room; the calendar on the wall indicated that it was now 1965. The decoration was tasteful, but admittedly somewhat eccentric—the walls were absolutely covered with laden bookshelves, magazines sat stacked on the glass coffee table, and quills and pieces of parchment were littered around the various antique-looking tables.

On the table were what looked like the remains of a dinner: wine glasses and dessert plates smeared with chocolate. Minerva and Adam were standing at the door, waving good-bye to a couple—a woman in a stuffed vulture hat, carrying a sleepy boy in her arms, and tall man with a little girl by the hand. Hermione recognised the hat right away; there could only be one like it in all England. The little girl ran back up the steps quickly to give a picture she had drawn to Adam, who beamed and thanked her, shaking her hand sombrely. She seemed to find this sudden seriousness hilarious, and ran back to her parents giggling.

They were both still young, but looked more mature; Minerva's cheeks were less round and she appeared somehow more angular than before; also, her hair was now tied back. Adam's hair was shorter and he was wearing glasses, though he was still younger than forty. Hermione knew from experience that lawyers often started to lose their eyesight quite young from having to peer at so many old parchments (why people couldn't store them properly was a mystery to her, it was a simple charm!)

Minerva waved, somewhat stiffly, as Augusta and her husband walked down the road. As soon as the door shut, though, she stalked over to the blue, overstuffed couch in the middle of the room and curled up in its corner, kicking off her shoes violently as she did so. That a witch that tall could make herself so small was utterly unbelievable; her arms were wrapped around her legs and her fists clenched tightly under her chin. Her eyes gleamed like a sharpened knife.

Adam approached her gently, his usually calm, measured gait becoming a bit unsteady in his haste. He perched behind her, on the back of the couch, and ran a hand over her hair, like a parent comforting a child. When she finally looked up at him, the tears that had been threatening to run over finally did, in a steady but silent stream.

"Minerva!" he said, softly but anxiously. "Minerva, what is it?"

"I know, Adam…I know that we will never have what they have, that we will never be the ones to walk away with a child in our arms. And I see how you play with children, Adam, don't pretend you wouldn't want your own. One of the greatest witches of the age, it said in that stupid magazine"—she pointed angrily to a copy of Transfiguration Today that lay on the table—"and yet incapable of doing what any normal woman can do."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

"No! Don't tell me it may happen. It's been nearly ten years, and still nothing. I cannot have a child, and what's worse, you cannot either—and through no fault of yours! I…I at least have my students, but you do not even have that."

"Minerva…" he started.

"Hush!" she cried. "I don't want to hear it!" She half-heartedly attempted to swat his calming hand away, but didn't try too hard—she knew, deep down, that she needed to feel his steady, reliable presence.

She continued to sob and he stroked her back rhythmically, waiting for her to calm herself. "Minerva, listen to me." Those hazel eyes seemed to be looking through hers, reading what lay behind them. "If we never have children, I will still be happy with you. I would have no other wife, and no life could be better than the one we have now. I am, you see, perfectly content in what we already have…and only wish you could be, too."

She looked up at him, taking in his words, though he had said similar things before, for the first time. And she nodded, slowly, and wiped her eyes.

"I believe," she said, as she tilted her face upward to kiss him, "that maybe I could." And with that, she gave a very small, very hesitant smile. "You are sure that you don't wish for another wife? One who could give you a family?"

"Minerva, you silly witch, you are my family," came the reply. Picking up the copy of Transfiguration Today from the table, he added with a smile, "and I happen to like this magazine. It publishes a great many articles by a woman I happen to be rather fond of."

The faint smile grew slightly wider, and Minerva tilted her head up to kiss him. For a woman who spent so much of her time being the one required to provide answers—to students, to staff, to the editors of the Journal of Transfiguration Studies, to parents complaining about their children's performance—it was curiously comforting to be told she was just a silly witch.