A/N: First and foremost, I'm sorry this is being updated a bit slower, though I do seem to finally be working through my writers block. I assure you, this story has not and will not be abandoned. That isn't my style.

On to the update! I just want to squeal with how excited I am to give you this chapter. It bounces around a bit, because how could life at the Burrow be anything other than hectic and bouncy? But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Also, forgive the excessive swearing in this chapter. I generally support using other words, but every now and then profanity is just necessary! I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!


Minerva lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking.

It had been over a month since that morning in her old chambers, and things had been… different. She had missed all of her morning classes that day, only having been able to sneak out of her chambers during the lunch period, and earned herself a week's worth of detention for it—that hadn't been humiliating at all.

When she had left her sitting room that day, she had been decided; she was going to talk to Hermione. She would prove her true Gryffindor bravery and tell the young woman exactly how she felt—past life be damned, she wanted a chance at happiness, and Hermione seemed to be that chance.

But Hermione hadn't seen her for the rest of that day, not until dinner, and by then everything was different. Hermione was still friendly, still bursting with energy and curiosity, and their conversations were as scintillating as ever—but Hermione was somehow removed.

She didn't touch Minerva anymore. Not a guiding hand or a hug. She didn't even allow their fingers to brush if she lent a quill. There was a constant six-inch distance between them. At first, Minerva had even wondered if Hermione had cast some sort of charm to deflect Minerva. She stepped away from Minerva far too perfectly for it to be anything other than deliberate.

She also avoided whispering. If she needed to say something quietly, she would write it down, rather than lean forward to whisper.

All of this, Minerva probably could have handled, but Hermione had even stopped making eye contact. It was nearly imperceptible—Minerva was confident that Harry or Ron, or even Neville, wouldn't have noticed the small fact. But the miniscule difference between her eyes, and her inner nose, was enormous to Minerva, and absolutely infuriating.

For the first time since meeting Hermione, including as her sixty-five year old self, she could feel their age difference. Hermione had obviously discovered her own feelings, and panicked. Hence the unnaturally distant behavior. She respected Hermione's attempts to remain purely platonic, but this was simply ludicrous. She was making their friendship feel forced and awkward.

Minerva had of course tried to talk to her, but Hermione had just brushed her off. Making excuses about a quick run to the library, or the need for a shower, or having to send a letter. Eventually Minerva just gave up; obviously the young woman wasn't equipped to handle her own emotions at the moment, so she backed off.

Still—she wanted to shake Hermione and tell her to stop worrying. It was nearly Christmas, and she just wanted for things to return to normal. She was hopeful that after the holidays, and some time apart, that things could do just that.

She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, perhaps Hermione just needed a break.

Just as she began to drift off, Hermione came into the room, causing Minerva to sit up quickly—nearly falling off the bed.

"Alright there?" Hermione asked chuckling, and Minerva could only smiled awkwardly and nod. Why was she so incapable of formulating words around this woman?

Hermione placed her bag next to her dresser and smiled up at Minerva—eyes twinkling ever so slightly to the right of hers. "Ron wanted me to ask you about something."

"Oh?"

"Well Harry and I are going to be spending Christmas with the Weasely's, as we usually do, and Molly has extended an invitation to you," Hermione explained. At Minerva's apparently confused expression, she elaborated, "Apparently Ron has told her all about his new friend Mary, and Molly told him that he is to make sure you come with us for Christmas. She's worried about a nice girl like you alone for your first holiday after your parents."

"Oh," Minerva repeated.

Hermione shuffled her feet slightly, "I mean, you don't have to come—but it could be nice to spend some time away from the school."

"It would," Minerva said carefully. "But what if Molly and Arthur recognize me?"

Hermione shrugged, "It seems unlikely—I mean, you look so different, but even if they did recognize you, you know they wouldn't tell anyone. They would ask you, or Dumbledore, about it and move on."

Minerva nodded. On one hand, she adored the Weasely's and was sure that spending Christmas with them would be wonderful—especially compared to being alone at the castle. On the other hand—Hermione.

Minerva cringed as she heard her subconscious piping up, You can't spend the rest of your life worrying about her. If she's willing to step up—grand. Otherwise, move on and enjoy life.

Minerva nodded silently—for once she agreed. She wanted Hermione to become comfortable. She wanted Hermione. But she couldn't keep tip-toeing around like this. She wanted to be a part of something, and this was just the opportunity she needed.

"Okay," she answered with a smile, "I'll come along."

Hermione positively glowed as she smiled at Minerva's response, but then she seemed to check herself and dim her smile to a mere polite grin. "I'm glad," she said with a nod, and jogged down the stairs to inform Ron.

Minerva flopped back in her bed again—this was going to be an odd Christmas.


Minerva hadn't been in the house for more than five minutes when Molly managed to strategically get her alone—she should have known better than to think she could keep anything from the mother of seven. Handing her a cutting board and a bowl full of carrots, she was told "Chop." So she did.

After several minutes in silence, Molly smiled pleasantly at her, "So Minerva, dear, how have you been? Anything new happening?" Minerva choked painfully on the carrot she had just tossed in her mouth.

Wheezing for breath, she grinned, "Oh, nothing much, Molly. I've just been turned into an eighteen year old girl. But other than that—same ol', same ol'."

Molly let out a laugh, and hugged Minerva tightly, "You poor dear, I'm assuming none of the children know—they can be so oblivious at times. I, of course, recognized you immediately—Arthur too. But then again, we went to school when you weren't much older than you are now, so it would be easier to see the resemblance."

"Only Hermione realized, but I suppose that was unavoidable. I'm living with her, for one, but even if I wasn't—it's Hermione, there's no keeping a secret with her around."

"I should have guessed as much," Molly clucked, "But none of the boys know?"

"Certainly not," Minerva frowned, "This isn't something we can have getting around, now is it?"

Molly shook her head, "And how are you coping, dear? I can't even imagine my reaction if I was suddenly eighteen again. I'm sure there are positives, but all in all—"

Minerva groaned, "It's terrible. My temper is completely uncontrollable, as are my emotions. Even my hormones," she confided with a cringe.

"Oh, that would be bothersome," Molly said sympathetically.

"You have no idea," Minerva muttered under her breath. "I am enjoying being able to play quidditch again, that's an unexpected joy. And Hermione is simply wonderful to spend time with—I don't suppose I could have formed such a friendship with our age difference, and my being her professor and all."

Molly smiled, an odd look in her eyes, "I always thought that she was practically a miniaturized you."

"Without the quidditch," Minerva added.

"Or your propensity for blowing things up when she gets angry," Molly chuckled.

Minerva scowled at her, "That only happened once."

"Tell that to Severus' front door," she snickered, causing Minerva to laugh as well.

"Oh Molly, I'm so glad that you recognized me. I couldn't tell you, but I knew that once you discovered who I was, you wouldn't hesitate to continue our friendship. It's nice to talk to someone who knows both sides of me."

Molly smiled warmly, "I'm here anytime."

"Thank you," Minerva said genuinely.

"Just give yourself a break occasionally, Min. If I know you, you're probably tearing yourself in six different directions right now—just exhale and let yourself live," the mother advised.

"I know, Molly. I am trying. It's just—difficult," Minerva sighed. She wanted to talk to Molly about Hermione—to tell her how the emotions were confusing the hell out of her, and tearing her a part. She wanted to tell her that she was falling in love with a girl who had always just been a particularly bright student—but she couldn't. Molly could understand a lot of things, and would probably understand that better than most, but Minerva wasn't willing to risk a negative judgment. At the moment, she just really needed Molly in her life—even if that meant not sharing everything.

Just as she finished chopping the carrots, Ginny, Harry, and Ron came bounding in from the garden—enchanted snowballs following them, courtesy of a snow covered Hermione, who came stomping in behind them.

She laughed loudly at the maddened look on the brunette's face, "What happened to you?" Minerva giggled.

Hermione gave her a dirty look, "They decided that I looked hot."

"You should take it as a complement, Hermione!" Ginny called out, shooting a wink at the older girl.

Hermione stuck her tongue out, "You will pay for that Ginevra Weasely!" she shouted, sending an enormous ball of snow careening into Ginny's face. The young red head coughed on the snow for a moment, before she began muttering her own spell under her breath.

But before she could finish, Molly was shouting over the brood, "Outside, all of you!" With a final smile towards Molly, Minerva grabbed her coat and shot out the door with her newfound friends.


After Molly's discovery, she really shouldn't have been surprised when, less than two hours later, Minerva found her back pressed against the bathroom door, two identical red-head's leaning against the opposing wall and effectively trapping her in. Less than twenty-four hours, and they had already captured her. She should have guessed as much.

"Fred—George," she greeted, "Er… lovely to see you."

"M&M!" they chorused cheerfully, grabbing her from under her arms and pulling her up the stairs, and into their room.

"Fred, George! Put me down this instant!" She screeched.

"Not nearly as intimidating these days, is she Forge?"

"Not at all, Gred—she's down right puny."

"How dare you!" Minerva shouted, stomping hard on each ones foot, while shoving them both onto one of the beds, "I may not be as formidable as I once was—thanks to you might I add—but I'm also not bound to refrain from hitting you!" She smacked each of them firmly on the back of the head.

"Truce!" The cried together, and Fred continued, "We weren't really trying to upset you, Professor, we were just joking, honest—just wanted to get you alone to see how you're fairing."

Minerva glared at them for one more moment, before allowing herself to relax. She crossed her arms over her chest, pouting slightly, "Reminding me of how puny I am isn't the best way to start a conversation, for future notice."

"Sorry," George said, looking properly ashamed.

Minerva sat down on a chair in front of their desk, folding her legs in on herself, "In regards to your questions, I'm doing fine. I certainly miss my old life, but I believe I'm settling in as well as can be expected."

Fred snorted, and glanced at George, "She looks like a duck, and she walks like a duck—but she sounds like a Professor."

Minerva laughed, "Sorry, I go back and forth. There are time when Hermione can't even seem to tell that I'm not a genuine eighteen year old."

"Such as when you're insanely jumping out of Gryffindor tower?" George asked with a smirk, causing Minerva to cringe.

"Yes—that would count."

"So do any of them know about you?" Fred asked curiously, "I mean, you look almost completely different."

"Hermione knows," Minerva started.

"Shocker," George interrupted.

"As if you could have kept it from her." Fred continued.

"But none of the rest are aware," Minerva finished.

"We guessed as much," Fred snickered, causing George to smack him lightly, "What? She deserves fair warning!"

George gave Fred a dirty look, but grinned nonetheless, "Ickle Ronnikins seems to have developed quite the crush on you," he explained. "We've tried to dissuade him in our letters, but he insists that you're just shy and that's why you haven't agreed to go to Hogsmeade with him yet."

Minerva groaned and rolled her eyes, "What is wrong with your brother?"

"Genetics?" Fred offered.

"Couldn't be," George responded, "Look how well adjusted we are!"

"I told him I wasn't interested—I made it very clear."

The twins just laughed, "This is Ron—he isn't going to get it," George said between breaths.

"He'll leave you alone as soon as you start dating some other bloke, but until then…" Fred supplied.

"Good Luck!" the chorused, laughing again.

"He would be completely mortified if he knew who you really were. I mean, it wouldn't matter to us—oh newest Grffindor Goddess," Fred flirted.

"Certainly not!" George agreed.

"A gorgeous bird is a gorgeous bird—and being able to fly" Fred winked.

"Well that's just the whole package isn't it!" George said with a grin.

"But for Ron…" they said together.

"He's bloody terrified of you!" George finished.

"You two are an enormous headache to speak with—you know that, don't you?" Minerva snapped. "I miss the days when I could make you quiver."

Fred snorted again, as George winked, "I'm sure you could make us quiver again, Minnie my love!"

"Ugh," Minerva groaned, standing up. "I'm going to find Hermione—I need some civilized conversation."

"You wound us!" they laughed, as she closed the door behind her.


"This is a bad idea," Hermione scolded, trying to control her tone. It was becoming harder and harder as Harry sat in the corner laughing at her.

Ron reached higher, trying to pin the offensive branch to the ceiling—obviously having forgotten he owned a wand again. "It's a great idea, Mione! I can see it now, a few butterbeers, the Christmas spirit lightening her heart, then 'Oh, is that mistletoe'" he said in a dimwitted falsetto, "Then I'll show up and kiss her, and she will be forced to admit that she finds me irresistible."

"That's completely ludicrous, Ronald! She's likely to slap you!" Hermione moaned.

"Come on, Hermione. Just because you're never interested in any fun, doesn't mean Mary isn't. I mean, she's cool—she's smart like you, but she also likes Quidditch, and is bloody gorgeous!"

"And what about that makes you think she'd want to kiss you," Hermione huffed.

He laughed patronizingly at her, "It's obvious isn't it? The two best Quidditch players…" Harry coughed loudly, and Ron's ears turned red, "Okay, Harry and I are tied, but still."

Hermione shook her head, "I tried to warn you, don't ask me to do the healing charms when she's done with you." Hermione stomped off into the sitting room, trying desperately to ignore the babbling red-head behind her.

Throwing herself on the couch, Hermione hugged her knees to herself. Ron was obviously an idiot, that could be the only excuse. Couldn't he see that Minerva had absolutely no interest in him?

"Can't you see that Minerva has absolutely no interest in you." The voice in her head whispered. She shook her head firmly, that wasn't the same thing. She wasn't going after Minerva—she was just being a good friend.

"Though things have been a bit off recently, haven't they?" the voice asked, causing Hermione to cringe. That was true, Minerva seemed to be acting oddly around her—ever since that day. Obviously she had felt uncomfortable with the way Hermione had acted.

"What is it you always say, Hermione? You're thinking so loudly I can hear you in the other room?" Hermione's head snapped up, as Harry walked in and sat down beside her, "Why don't you just tell Ron that she's a lesbian and you're in love with her?"

Hermione laughed at his obvious statement, "It isn't quite that simple, Harry."

"Oh?" he asked, smirking slightly, "Please, explain."

"For one, I don't know that she wants anyone to know that she's a lesbian—I don't even know how you know that."

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it? I mean, she isn't interested in Ron, she must hate men," he joked, causing Hermione to swat at him.

"You're an arse," Hermione laughed, "Also; I'm not in love with her."

"Sure, I'll pretend that I believe that."

Hermione huffed, ignoring his statement. "And, she doesn't feel that way about me, so it doesn't matter what I'm feeling. All I know is that she isn't interested in Ron—and I've told him that. It isn't my fault if he doesn't want to listen."

Harry shook his head, "I suppose that's true—but how exactly are you going to react if he kisses her?"

Hermione's face turned red at the thought, "I will sit very still, be very quiet, and enjoy watching her hex him very much." Harry shook his head, laughter bubbling out. "Well I'm glad one of us is amused."

"I'm telling you, she likes you. I don't know what has convinced you otherwise—but she's crazy about you."

Hermione shook her head, Harry couldn't understand—not without knowing the full truth. Whatever messages Harry thought he was seeing, he was mistaken, because Minerva could never see her that way. "We'll see, Harry. We'll see."

Standing up, Hermione made her way back into the kitchen, intent on making a run for the back yard. Despite the snow, she could use a walk. Just as she walked through the doorway, she found Ron redfaced and arguing with Charlie, while Minerva stood silent and unseen on the stairway.

"Dammit, Charlie, stay the hell away from her!" Ron shouted, seemingly forgetting how small the burrow was, and how everyone would soon be able to hear him. "I like this girl, and you don't even know her. She's mine. Find someone else to go after! Besides, she's eight years younger than you! That's creepy!"

Minerva snorted quietly on the stairs, and Hermione couldn't help but smirk.

"I'm not going after anyone. I was just saying that your ridiculous mistletoe plan could work just as well for any of us, couldn't it? And I'll tell you right now, I'm not going to shove her away if I suddenly end up under some mistletoe with her. She's a pretty bird…"

"She's not a pretty bird, she's my pretty bird! You—you should promise me that you won't go after her!"

"Enough!" Minerva snapped from the staircase, causing both men's heads to snap towards her. Hermione cringed, this wasn't going to end well for either of the Weasely men. Minerva stepped into the light, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Ron was about to realize her secret. Minerva stood, arms crossed and lips pursed, with a distinctly McGonagall look about her.

"I am not a bird—pretty or otherwise," she snapped, facing Charlie. Then turning towards Ron, "And when looking for men to snog, I don't generally look towards those who are possessive, nor to those who must resort to trapping a girl under some miserable nargle infested plant."

Both men tried to interrupt with fruitless apologies, but she silenced them both with a hand in the air, "Last but not least—and I feel I need to make myself dreadfully clear on this matter, seeing that all of you Weasely men seem to have completely ignored your father's charming example as to how to woo women—I will not be being snogged by any of you. For one, you're acting about as charming as those gnomes which infest your garden, and second of all, I'm a lesbian! So unless you're feeling particularly in the mood to disconnect yourselves from your cocks, you don't have a bloody chance," she thundered.

With a swish of her robes, she stormed into the back yard, muttering a warming charm as the door slammed behind her. Hermione just shook her head at the two stunned men. "You're both lucky your mother isn't home, she would have slapped you."

"I didn't know she was listening," Ron defended.

"That doesn't change how entirely terrible your conversation was," Hermione snapped, and then shook her head disapprovingly. "And Charlie, I thought you would have known better."

Charlie blushed darkly, "Sorry, Hermione. Please apologize for me—if you see her first, I wasn't actually planning on trying anything—Ron was just annoying me, so I decided to press his buttons a bit."

Ron grumbled under his breath, and then shot a glare at Hermione, "Did you know? That she's a—that she likes—I mean, that's she's…"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Yes Ron, I knew that she's gay."

His faced turned beet red again, "You didn't tell me!"

Hermione's expression became frigid, "I told you she wasn't interested, that should have been enough. You were pigheaded and blind, don't blame me for that."

"But you could have told me!" He argued.

Hermione drew herself up to her full height, her words biting, "I could have told you all of her secrets because you weren't dedicated enough to have any conversations with her which didn't involve Quidditch? I'm sorry, should I be just spouting off my friends' secrets left and right? I didn't realize that's how it worked," She stepped slightly closer to Ron, her voice dangerously low. "Living with someone in a tent for a year is a good way to learn their secrets."

Ron paled, obviously knowing what she was referring to. Other than Bill, his family didn't know that he had abandoned her and Harry that Christmas—he had begged them never to tell. "I'm sorry," he croaked, "I didn't think of it that way—I was just frustrated. I'm—I'm sorry."

Hermione nodded, "Be sure to apologize to her as well, Ron."

Hermione stepped around the pair, and exited out the back doors as well. She had planned on taking a walk anyways, hadn't she? Casting a quick warming charm, she followed the footprints ahead of her.

She walked through the back yard, and past the garden, headed into the orchard which was nestled just beyond. In a clearing ahead, she could hear frustrated breaths and the sound of shattering glass.

Glancing around a tree, she finally got view of Minerva. The young woman's eyes were dark with fury, and she was shivering, her warming charm having obviously warn off quickly—magic had the tendency to do that, when high emotions came into play. She waved her wand around her like an Orchestral conductor, creating ice sculptures from water which she spouted through the air. As quickly as she created them, they seemed to explode, shards of ice shooting in every direction.

Hermione had seen Minerva do magic, of course she had. But she had never seen Minerva like this. This was beautiful and terrifying all at once, it was like watching a piece of music come to life, like watching an epiphany occur.

She was wild, passionate, and furiously angry.

"Minerva," Hermione whispered, knowing the witch would hear her—but still partially afraid.

Minerva's eyes flashed towards Hermione momentarily, and then the witch threw a furious spell towards one of her creations, causing it to shatter to the ground, "65 bloody years!" She shouted as the ice crunched around her. Shooting off another spell, she destroyed a second creation. She screamed as the ice shattered around her, "Sixty-Five. Mother. Fucking. YEARS!"

Tears fell from her eyes as she screamed this time, and suddenly all six of the still-standing sculptures exploded, Hermione ducked to avoid the shards of ice. "I kept that damn secret for sixty-five years," she cried as she crumpled into the snow, "And I let it out after only a week of knowing you, and now several months later I'm screaming it! These damn emotions, and these damn hormones, and my damn temper—I can't keep anything in!"

"Minerva," Hermione tried, but the young witch couldn't bear to hear her yet.

"I can handle the emotions, and the feelings, and the fact that my old life has been erased but I want to have some secrets left. That is none of their business! That isn't anyone's business, and because I couldn't hold my temper, or contain my words, I just told them both—and in the most crude way possible. By the end of the day Molly and Arthur will know—all of them will know. The whole damn school is going to know."

"You really hadn't told anyone?" Hermione whispered.

Minerva shook her head, "That wasn't exactly accepted when I was growing up. Sure—there have been a few women over the years, and I would guess that Albus knows, though he's always been polite enough not to bring it up. But other than that—I kept it to myself. I wanted to keep it to myself."

"Minerva, they don't mind—they understand. And Molly—well, Molly knows about me, and she doesn't care. She was a bit unhappy that I wouldn't marry any of her sons," she chuckled, "But she wasn't upset or anything."

Minerva sighed deeply, laying her head on her arms, "I'm not worried about their reactions—really I'm not. And I think I had realized, somewhere in me, that I would have to come out about it all eventually. Especially if I'm staying in this age. I guess I just wanted to be in control of that. I wanted to make that choice—not have it made by my uncontrollable temper."

Hermione moved closer, sitting beside Minerva. "I completely understand that," she laughed. "Most people don't know about me—I had to tell Mrs. Weasely, because she kept pressuring her sons to ask me out. It was terribly awkward for everyone involved. But other than that, it's only Harry."

"How did he find out?"

Hermione laughed lightly, "Harry seems to have a good sense about these things. Some time ago, I was interested in someone and he caught me on a bad day—the idiot just started pestering me about it. I didn't want to say anything, and yet the whole conversation ended with him singing that ridiculous children's song, about people kissing in a tree."

Minerva laughed softly, "I think I know the one."

"Yes well, he thought that was the proper way of telling me he knew—which I suppose it was. But it was still jolting. I didn't want to talk about it at all, and yet suddenly all of my emotions were uncontrollably pouring out of me."

"Did he tell anyone?" She asked quietly.

Hermione shook her head, "No—and he won't, not until I'm ready. He hasn't even told Ron."

"He's a good kid, his mother would be so proud of him. She was that kind of person."

Hermione nodded, "You should tell him that someday, after he knows who you are. He would like to hear that he's like her—in some way other than his eyes."

Minerva lay back in the snow, and Hermione cast a heating charm over them both. "You should probably know," Hermione whispered, "Harry knows about you as well—I didn't tell him, but he figured it out."

Minerva nodded, "He knows a lot more than he lets on these days—it seems he's finally learned to think before he acts." They were silent for several moments, each watching the slow falling snowflakes which slowly blanketed them.

"Minerva?" Hermione asked after a turn, her voice shaking slightly, "Are we—are we alright?"

Minerva turned her head towards the younger witch, "What do you mean?"

Hermione sighed, "We've spent so much time together over the last few months—and yet this feels like the first real conversation we've had in ages."

"It's certainly the first one during which you've looked into my eyes…" Minerva said quietly, obviously trying to keep the hurt out of her voice.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, not even trying to deny it. "I didn't think you had noticed."

Minerva took a deep breath and sat up next to Hermione, "It was hard to miss, Hermione. We went from being those friends whose eyes lingered just slightly longer than is entirely proper—to being those friends who are never closer than six inches."

Hermione sat in silence, unsure of what to say, of how to respond. This was dangerous territory and she shouldn't have let them get this far. Her chest fluttered uncomfortably, and she felt her face heating up, despite the snow which surrounded them.

"Hermione," Minerva whispered, touching her hand lightly, "Please don't run away from me again."

"I was never running," Hermione spoke, her throat uncomfortably tight, "I was trying to find a way for us to still be friends. I was trying to do the opposite of running."

Minerva laughed quietly, "You told me I was perfect, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and then literally ran to my fireplace and disappeared. I would certainly call that running, dear."

Hermione blushed scarlet, taking a moment to clear her thoughts. It seemed that Minerva had been paying attention all along—that she had seen. At this point, there was no use in lying; either this friendship would work, or it wouldn't. "Alright, I was running," she admitted. "I didn't want to ruin our friendship, and I was afraid of the things I had revealed to you."

"I assumed as much," Minerva sighed.

"I care about you," Hermione said, struggling with her words. "You are quickly becoming one of my dearest friends, and I care about you far more than is strictly appropriate."

"And why isn't it appropriate?" She asked quietly.

Hermione let out a laugh, and tried to ignore the pressure on her chest. Was this conversation actually happening? "You know damn well, McGonagall. Not only are you my friend and roommate—which makes you automatically off the list of logical romantic interests, you are also my ex-professor. And, even if all of that was okay, I know damn well that you would never consider anything of the sort with someone who was your student up until 3 months ago."

"And what If I would?"

Hermione's heart stopped. Well—not literally, of course. But it felt as if it had. Minerva had just uttered five words which practically screamed that she felt the same. It was no longer a question of whether or not Minerva was flirting—at this point, Minerva either cared for her, or was being deliberately manipulative, and she would never suggest the latter.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to keep her heart—and her voice, steady. "Then I would be concerned that you are still learning to handle the hormones and emotions which have recently been thrust upon you—and I would worry that you would regret it as soon as it began."

Minerva frowned, a small crease forming between her eyebrows as she thought, and Hermione tried not to smile at the familiar expression. "So, if I'm understanding this correctly," she started, "You have feelings for me. I have feelings for you. But you are convinced that, if I was in my right mind, I wouldn't be interested in you. Therefore, any feelings I may have are most likely the result of the frolicking hormones which have recently been forced upon me?"

"That makes me sound like quite the bitch," Hermione responded with a frown, "But for the most part, yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"I don't think you're being a bitch at all—I think you are being overly rational, something which you've been prone to for many years now, and something which I like about you," Minerva explained, and then paused, thinking again. "What if I could convince you that my feelings are legitimate?"

Hermione couldn't contain the small smile which threatened to spread across her face, "Well, I suppose I would be forced to give in."

Minerva nodded seriously, "I apologize, usually I would attempt to woo you in a much more spontaneous and romantic way, but as it is, I think this is the only way I can convince you. Midnight broom adventures and gifted books simply won't do it this time."

Hermione grinned, "So that was you flirting?"

Minerva smirked, "Indeed. Some good it did me."

Stealing her nerves, Hermione held Minerva's hand gently, "I think it did you quite a bit of good."

Minerva took a deep breath, and looked directly into Hermione's eyes, "I want to make a few things clear to you, Hermione. Several months ago, you held my face in your hands—like this," she whispered, taking Hermione's face gently in her hands, "And you told me, in no uncertain terms, that you think I'm beautiful and intelligent and perfect."

Hermione nodded lightly, the smell of Minerva's skin making her dizzy, "I meant it," she whispered.

"Miss. Granger—In sixty-five years, I have never managed to find another person who could match me in ambition, intelligence, or spontaneity. There wasn't a single person who managed to keep me entertained or interested. Until you."

Hermione blushed darkly, and Minerva dropped her hands and took Hermione's in her own. "You make me want to do something other than sit in my dimly lit room and read my books—not that I don't still love them, mind you. But you make me want to explore, and laugh, and fly, and feel. You compel me, Hermione. You help me to fit.

"It doesn't hurt that you are also brilliant, and witty, and so sinfully beautiful that it is really quite a good thing that I didn't notice earlier. Please believe me when I tell you that my emotional confusion and my hormones are what make this feeling impossible to ignore—but my heart and my mind are what make these feelings exist. I'm not confused, and I'm not using you as a coping mechanism for some horrendous form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder—I'm simply falling in love with you."

Hermione stared, eyes wide and mouth gaping slightly. She tried desperately to catch up with her senses, to tell her eyes to blink and her mouth to shut, "We are not a codfish," but she just couldn't seem to wake up.

After a moment's silence her mouth seemed to be in working order again, yet she didn't have any real control over it, "Really?" she croaked disbelievingly.

"Really," Minerva answered. She waited another moment, wondering what Hermione would do, but finally, she decided to speak up, "Did I convince you?"

Hermione's eyes flashed back up to hers, and Minerva couldn't help but relish in the site of them. How had she lasted these past months without them? Then Hermione surprised her completely, leaning in and stealing a soft simple kiss. A kiss which was so soft and so brief, that you would have scarcely believed it happened, and yet Minerva's heart felt as though the kiss had lasted a millennia and pounded recklessly in her chest. She couldn't contain the smile which spread across her face as Hermione whispered, "I suppose this means that I'll be forced to give in, eh?"

Minerva smiled, "Well, I wouldn't want to force you, but I suppose I would be rather pleased if you agreed to go on an official date with me at some point once we were back at school."

"I think I could do that," Hermione said, blushing darkly.

Minerva felt a cruel breeze cut past them, apparently the warming charms were fading, which made Minerva wonder just how long they had been outside. "I hate to say this," she sighed, "But we should probably get back inside. They'll be looking for us soon."

"I don't suppose we should make this overly obvious quite yet?" Hermione asked as she stood from her place in the snow, holding a hand out to Minerva.

"It would probably make Christmas a little bit odd," Minerva admitted, taking Hermione's hand as she stood.

"Alright," Hermione agreed, "We'll keep things quiet for now." Then Hermione sighed dramatically, "Though I would so love to tell Ron about how I managed to seduce you without using a single piece of 'some nargle infested plant'."


There you go! I hope you enjoyed, and PLEASE review and let me know what you think. Every review gives me a push to keep writing!