Third year – September
"I'm telling you Ron, Crookshanks is a cat! Cats chase rats!"
"He's not normal, that bloody cat is after Scabbers! It's not fair."
Ron aimed a kick at the orange bundle of fur, "No Ronald!" Hermione screamed snatching up her pet. Dropping a bundle of books to the floor at the same time.
"What on Earth is going on here? This is a school corridor not a playground!" Minerva McGonagall glared at them all, having rushed out of her classroom in a panic.
"One of you had better be injured considering the amount of noise you were making."
Hermione spoke up, "Professor he…"
"Her cat…"
"Mr Potter, why don't you tell me what is going on?"
"Hermiones cat has been chasing Rons rat."
"Is that all?" The incredulous look on her face was real as was the utter disbelief in her voice. She turned a glare on the other two Gryffindors who nodded.
"It's evil!"
The professor looked at him for a moment, "Mr Weasley, cats chase rats, dogs chase cats. I suggest you either buy a dog or cage your rat for its own good."
"Right. C'mon Harry." The two boys walked off, Harry giving a backward glance to his other friend making sure she was ok.
Hermione froze as the object of her affection walked closer to her and raised a hand. The older witch proceeded to ruffle Crookshanks' fur, making soft noises at the cat. Hermione was still frozen in place, noting the smile on her idols face, the proximity of her green eyes. It was with difficulty that she tore her eyes from the vision in front of her, she couldn't risk a mis-step now, couldn't take the chance of inadvertently revealing her identity.
With that thought she looked at the floor, among the many books scattered on the flagstones was an extremely well-worn copy of Shakespeare's complete works. Minerva obviously hadn't noticed yet but that wouldn't last. Her Transfiguration professor was known for her sharp eye and for the fact that she missed little.
"Professor, would you mind holding him for a moment please?"
"Certainly Miss Granger."
Hermione began to gather up the books, carefully keeping the titles hidden but trying at the same time to make her attempt as surreptitious as she could. She straightened up with the books in her arms and wondered at how she could carry her cat back to the tower at the same time.
"Would you like some help?"
"Yes please Professor if you don't mind, I don't really want him wandering off by himself when Ron is in this kind of mood."
Minerva nodded understandingly, "It may be wise to keep a closer eye on him, it isn't worth loosing friends over pets."
"I will Professor."
Side by side they began the walk to Gryffindor tower.
"I have been meaning to ask you how you are coping with your workload this year?"
"There are times when it feels that I am trying to do too much but I am trying no to let it get to me."
"If you feel that you are having any problems please come and see me. You have set yourself an extremely hard task, if you do need to drop a few subjects to make your workload more manageable please do consider it."
"I will." Hermione left a lot unsaid with those two words and her professor seemed to know this instinctively.
"But…"
Minerva watched the girl carefully as she took a deep breath and seemed to carefully choose her words before speaking.
"The Ministry put a lot of faith in me by allowing me to use the time-turner, I'm sure that Professor Dumbledore and you both had to think long and hard before recommending that I have one. I just…I just don't want to let anyone down."
Minerva stopped and gently took Hermiones arm making the girl face her, "listen Miss Granger, it takes a great deal of courage to admit when you are wrong or that you cannot cope. No one would think any less of you if you felt that you needed to do that, in fact most people would consider it very responsible."
"Thank you professor." With a smile Minerva placed the cat on top of Hermiones pile of books and left her at the portrait hole.
It was much, much later that same day when Minerva found the note in her robe pocket. It was another poem.
What's in the brain that ink may character
What hath not figur'd to my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, but yet, like prayers divine,
I must ay each day o'er the very same;
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page;
Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
Where time and outward form would show it dead.
Third year – Dumbledore's office – All Hallows Day
"Albus, may I speak with you on a personal matter." They had just finished discussing new security arrangements after the break-in by Sirius Black.
"Minerva we have been friends for a great many years, you can speak to me on any subject."
"I have… a secret admirer." She blushed a little at the expression on his face, but forced herself not to feel embarrassed.
"Who is it?"
"Albus don't be dense, it wouldn't be secret if I knew would it now."
His eyes twinkled at her, "If you are being defensive now Minerva, there is little point in continuing this conversation."
"I have been getting letters from an unknown person for some time now."
"How long?"
"More than two years."
"And you haven't tried to find out who it is?"
"Well at first I just thought it would stop soon enough but last year I was about to make a serious attempt when I received one asking me not to try. That was enough for a time but I must admit that my curiosity has been peaked."
"Are they love letters?"
"Yes. Well after a fashion, they are muggle poems."
"Muggle poems?"
"Yes, they are sonnets by William Shakespeare. The first was basically to let me know that they had feelings for me and would try to win my affection over time. Most since seem to fit in with what is happening around the school, they even tie in with my moods and actions for Merlin sake."
"Do you feel that this person is dangerous?"
"No, that's not something I have even thought of. I don't get that impression at all."
"Maybe your admirer is simply shy and needs to seek your approval before they can reveal themselves."
"I don't know Albus, I get the impression that they think there is something to keep them from confronting me directly and won't act until that obstacle is gone. Which means it is another member of staff, it has to be."
"Our no fraternisation rule is not quite that strict but some might fear for their jobs or your rejection. Do you have any likely suspects?"
"I just hope it isn't Snape."
"He is disdainful of anything of Muggle origin – it wouldn't be his way to send you muggle poems. Have you even thought about whether it is a man or woman?"
"Only in trying to guess their identity, in a practical sense it makes no difference to me."
He smiled at her, "Ah yes, I forgot your proclivities for a moment."
She smirked at him and for a moment he could see the young woman that she had been, "That is besides the point Albus."
"It could be Hooch, she's had a crush on you for years."
"What?"
"Or even a student for that matter."
"What?"
"Is it so strange? Though I am sure it has escaped your notice you are an attractive woman, I am sure that there are many who would admire you if given a chance. Do not reproach someones desire to seek that which they desire."
"If I didn't know better Albus I would have to ask."
He smiled at her, placing a hand on the stack of letters she had put before him. "The person who wrote these has a depth of feeling for you that I will never have. Should you ever discover who it is, I suggest that you give your own feelings serious consideration."
"My feelings?"
"You do have them I presume?"
"Can you help me find out who it is?"
"No. It is better you discover that in accordance with their plan."
Minerva looked closely at him, "You know who it is don't you?"
"I have a good idea but no Minerva I am not going to tell you. There is plenty of time for all of that, so just enjoy the suspense. I always find that surprises are most enjoyable when allowed to mature to fruition without interference."
With this the Headmaster ushered her out of his office, he would have to owl the ministry regarding Sirius and time was getting on. Minerva left more bemused than she had been before she had spoken to him. Which wasn't actually that unusual when talking to Albus Dumbledore.
Third Year – April
The next letter was delivered by owl as Minerva sat at breakfast. Quickly she gave the owl some bacon and slipped it into her robes, ignoring Dumbledore's sidelong gaze. It was a post owl, the kind that could be hired at any Wizarding post office and there was no way to trace it. T'was just the latest attempt by her secret admirer to hide their identity, the letters were always in different places, presumably delivered by a different method.
Excusing herself Minerva left the staff table, abandoning what was left of her breakfast. She never noticed the adoring eyes of Hermione Granger following her exit with great interest, nor Dumbledore's assessing gaze at the young Gryffindor.
O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify!
As easy might I from my self depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie
That is my home of love. If I have rang'd,
Like him that travels, I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd,
So that my self bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature feign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call
Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.
For a moment she sagged against the wall, lost in the beauty of the bards prose and the intent of her admirer.
Third year – Third letter
It was a few days after the students had left. Last night had been the staffs' annual party, Scottish or not it still took time for Minerva to recover. Very carefully so as not to jar her head she began to pack some belongings into her case to take back to her manor for the summer.
Crossing to her desk she took out the pile of letters, including the one she had received just before the end of term, she took a moment to read them all again before carefully placing them in her bag.
To me, fair friend, you can never be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eye'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winter cold
Have from the forests shook three summer's pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons I have seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah, yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no peace perciev'd;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and my eye may be deciev'd.
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
She smiled, suddenly she couldn't wait for next year.
