Hermione didn't know how much time had passed since she had last seen McGonagall, leaving her quarters with a broken heart. If anything, it felt like an eternity. Nothing much was going on in Grimmauld Place, and she couldn't help but miss Hazel's presence as well, which was always refreshing. And the books, of course. The entire Hogwarts' library just for her, without the old Madam Pince hovering round her to be sure she didn't defaced one of the precious books. Here, the library was small and quite poor, in comparison: the only subjects who seemed to have ever interested the Black family was their own history and fame. It was all about the purebloods' society, and even though Hermione liked to learn new things, the pamphlets contained in those books, detailing how the mudbloods were a threat and an abomination, made her sick.

Her friends, oblivious to her inner uproar, were very thoughtful nonetheless. They tried their best to keep her entertained, but somehow, the brunette suspected it was also to keep her away from something else, but she couldn't put her finger on what exactly. Maybe she was just imagining things; it wouldn't have been the first time, she thought tartly, dragging herself to the room she shared with the youngest Weasley. Ginny was lying nonchalantly on her bed, a Quidditch magazine in her hands. Hearing her friend's footsteps, she lifted her head to welcome her with a warm smile.

"I see you found Ron's soft-porn," she said with a chuckle as she entered the room. "Doesn't he mind?"

"Stole it would be more precise," retorted the redhead with a wink. She closed the paper, stretching a bit before sitting on the bed, her back against the wall. "He, for once, didn't notice it," she carried on, a devilish smile on her lips as she saw the surprise growing on Hermione's features. "I believe it has to do with his mind being on something else." She let a brief pause, before adding with a childish grin: "Or should I say someone else?"

Hermione sighed heavily, half-amused half-annoyed by her friend's statement. She should have known Ron wouldn't let it go this easily and that, at some point, she would need to confront him, maybe a bit harshly, to make him understand. This wasn't the worst, she thought. The worst was that she somehow had to make that clear for everybody in this house that she would never grow to become Hermione Weasley.

"Ginny," she began with a weary voice that made the ginger lose her smile. "Your brother and I are just friends. As well as I'd love to have you as a sister-in-law," she added softly, as to assure her friend she was not as pissed off as she appeared, "this is not happening and never will be."

"I know, I'm just messing with you. I love him from the bottom of my heart but, he's not the guy for you. Not exactly the brightest bulb on the tree, my brother."

"Well, he's still —"

"Come on! I know you both! If he would certainly find a way to put up with your intellect, you would get bored out of your mind with someone like my brother, whose only diet is the chocolate frogs and only topic of conversation, Quidditch," she said laughing.

The older Gryffindor looked at her friend with a sheepish smile. She couldn't deny that what she may call the intellectual gap between them two was not really a turn on. She needed someone able to keep up with her, to have heated debate about the latest researches and discoveries in the magical world. Not exactly what Ron would expect in a relationship.

"Don't be too harsh on him, Gin'," she said, a veil of sadness upon her usually warm brown eyes. "It's not just about intellect or —"

"Like you would agree to date someone with an I.Q below 130," she retorted with a smirk.

Hermione was tired. She was frustrated being pushed away by McGonagall and the fact she didn't seem able to do any progress regarding her traumatism; true, she almost didn't wake up trashing her sheets anymore, but she still had flashbacks and nightmares she didn't dare to talk about to anybody. And those scars, those fucking scars she couldn't get rid off. Maybe this was just the final annoyance that pushed her of the edge. She felt like she was in a free fall. Everything around her was muffled by the thick silence growing between them two. Ginny was looking at her flabbergasted, in complete shock.

"What?" she uttered, disconcerted by Ginny's reaction and her growing paleness. "What is it?"

But what made Hermione truly panic, was the rage she saw in the redhead's eyes as they were glaring at something behind her. Never had she seen her friend this infuriated. She turned round, the words dying on her lips.

Harry was standing here, the doorknob still in his hand. He seemed as surprised as the brunette, whose brain came back to function, all of a sudden. She had said it. Admitted it. "Ginny, I'm in love with someone else!" She remembered it, now. She had scream it with as much despair as exasperation, and Harry's perfect timing had brought him in the room at this precise moment.

"You told her?" he asked, thinking about that mysterious female crush she had. Hermione knew perfectly what he was referring to, but to the young Weasley, it must have looked like something else.

She looked at him, then back at Ginny. Oh crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Ginny was stiffer than ever, already rising from the bed, pure hate dancing in her eyes. Hermione was the only one to know about their freshly started relationship. They had both trusted her, as she was the one partly responsible for it; even having been both sorted in Gryffindor, the two lovebirds had needed a little kick to step out of their shared shyness. But this? This was just ridiculous. Come on, did she really thought that Harry and her, Hermione, the best friend and never more, were… involved? A glance at the sparks escaping from Ginny's wand, as she held it so tight her joints seemed to be about to break, answered her silent question. Yes, she was thinking exactly that.

"Ginny, this is not —"

"How could you — why did — and Ron! What Ron will say when — when —"

She was hysteric. So hysteric she had burst into tears and couldn't seem to stop herself from stuttering. Harry had stormed inside, trying to comfort her while processing what was happening and giving a curious look at Hermione, but he only found himself rejected by the young Weasley.

"Gin', Hermione," he said in a surprisingly calm voice. "What —" He, nevertheless, didn't really know how to address the situation. "What just happened?"

The brunette was about to answer, but Ginny was faster.

"What has happened, you bloody Don Juan," she hissed, her jaw so clench she was almost gnashing her teeth, "is that I just discovered Hermione rejected my brother because of your little — your little…" she took a deep breath and spat out: "— infatuation."

"What?"

"Don't act dumb with me!" The sobs were heartbreaking. "Go! Go shag her, you despicable —"

"For Christ's sake Ginny! I'm not in love with Harry, I'm in love with Min— "

A silence. A long, astonished silence.

Both Harry and Ginny were fixing her, dumbstruck. The redhead had stopped crying, her wand had left her hand to fall with a little noise on the floor; she didn't even seemed to realise it and made no move to pick it up. A strangled noise erupted from her lips, like the shocking admittance had given her hiccup. The boy for his part was obviously remembering the conversation he had had with his friend at the Three Broomsticks, because his lips formed a silent 'M'. He suddenly looked like having connected the dots, as his green eyes grew even wider.

"No. No, no, no! Wait, I — I mean — It's not —"

What could she possibly say? What could she possibly do? There was no way she would possible get out of here without telling them, she knew it.

Ginny had scrambled backwards, sinking into the mattress, like she was about to faint. She was stuttering something inaudible, her hands trembling on her lap. Harry was livid, rotted to the spot. He looked like gathering all the strength he still had inside to whisper with a strained voice:

"Hermione, is this professor McGonagall we're talking about?"

She closed her eyes. Why? Why everything needed to be so screw up? Wasn't it enough, being turned down by the woman she loved? Did she really had to betray herself as well?

"Yes," she whispered painfully, "yes, I love her."

She heard her friends gasp and felt herself struggle to breathe.

"Does Ron knows?"

"No. Of course not, he would… "

Harry and Ginny seemed to have enough trouble dealing with the situation already, but Ron? No way. He would freak out, yell… Hermione knew this was the last thing to do, because the teenage boy would be hurt. She had tried to make him understand nothing would ever happen between them two, and he had some obvious difficulties grasping the idea. Hermione in love with their Transfiguration teacher? That would be the final blast. Obviously, her two friends seemed to think the same, as they silently nodded in approval.

"And McGonagall? She knows, doesn't she? That's why you come back to Grimmauld Place."

There was a slight note of deception in Ginny's voice that made the brunette feel sick. If she hadn't been rejected, would she have came back? Probably no, she'd have stayed with her beloved mentor. Seeing her friends suddenly understand they were some sort of second bet, she felt ashamed. Terribly ashamed.

"She said I could stay but I thought it was better to leave as…" The young Gryffindor was on autopilot, answering the questions like an automat. She let the end of her sentence float in the room, wondering why she had really left? Did she really believe McGonagall's statement, that she needed some time for herself? Did she withdraw because she was hurt? "She said I needed time," she finally whispered, biting her lower lip, lost in thoughts.

She remained like this, not knowing how much time had passed before she heard the mattress squeak as Ginny stood up and approached her, two thin yet incredibly strong arms engulfing her in a tight hug. Harry patted her back awkwardly, a forced smile twisting his lips. Hermione burst into tears, clutching to her friends, her body shaken by desperate sobs.

"She rejected me," she uttered, forcing the words to pass the lump in her throat.

"There there, hush now. She's —" God! How weird it was to speak about professor McGonagall in such a context. "Maybe she's the one who needs time."


Minerva was comfortably ensconced in the large leather armchair behind her desk. The hands crossed nonchalantly on her lap, she was following with a distant interest the parade of two birds near her window. More than a week had passed since her pupil's departure, and she had no idea how things were going at the Order's headquarters.

The Order's meeting had been postponed. They were getting bogged down, not finding anything new about the Death Eaters' attacks and their potential target. The recruitment was slowing down as well, to the Headmistress' displeasure. The Minister's law-enforcement officers were getting more and more violent and intrusive. It was not rare to hear that they had shown up in the middle of the night into suspect households, without any warrant. Usually, someone was strangely disappearing that same night, and nothing could be done. The press was as corrupted as the higher realms of the politics, contributing to the growing paranoia in the magical world.

The Purebloods were safe and respected. Nearly worshipped. Half-bloods had to be careful already, and many families were cutting the ties with their muggle part. The muggle-borns, for their part, were starting to get refused some services or access. Some display windows had angry signs on them, refusing those who were not from good families as customers; the Ministry's flow network had been changed as well, some fireplaces allowed only for the pures; and the anti-muggle propaganda was gaining an alarming importance, and the caricatures describing them as the lower race disfigured the walls of Diagon Alley and the wizards' newspapers.

A knock on the door draw her out of her thoughts. Merlin, she had completely forgotten about the tea with Filius and Pomona.

"Come on in," she said, rising from her chair to welcome her two friends. "I apologise my appalling memory, it slipped out of my mind."

"As we noticed," squeaked Filius with a malicious smile. "Not that I blame you for not wanting to come to our quarters, as Rosie has now invaded our living-room, thanks to Pomona's lousy so-called educational methods." That earned him an amused chuckle from Minerva, who never really understood Pomona's love for that kind of plants, and a little slap on the arm by Huffelpuff's Head of House.

"Well, if you hadn't try to feed her some weedkiller," she mumbled, giving her husband an intense 'yes-I-saw-you' look.

The diminutive Charms professor feigned not to notice the ominous stare she was giving him, and moved towards the nearer chair.

"Shall we take our tea here, Minerva?"

She nodded wordlessly as she sat in her large armchair.

"Hazel," she whispered, the little elf materialising with a light 'pop' in front of the desk. "Could you please prepare us some tea and biscuits?" The creature bowed and disappeared with the same noise.

The conversation went on the Ministry and the latest articles of the Prophet, the three professors scandalised by the way the situation was developing. Hogwarts was still a safe place, but for how long? Repeatedly, the Minister had tried to interfere in the school's business, without too much success hopefully. But they couldn't help to feel it was just a matter of time before darkness shaded the castle as well.

"Any news from Miss Granger?"

The sudden question took Minerva by surprise. She felt her heart pulse race for a second, not sure if something was hidden behind that apparent innocent inquiry, but her friend's genuine concern quickly reassured her.

"No," she sighed, a hint of regret in her voice. "No news since she left for our headquarters."

"Hmm… That's odd, isn't it? I thought she was quite content to stay here, and yet, she leaves overnight."

A metallic noise cut the conversation. Hazel was standing in an arthritic posture, fiery eyes glaring straight at the Headmistress. On the floor lie the iron biscuits box that had escaped the tiny shaking hands, and the precious gingernewts. If Filius and Pomona looked at the elf with curiosity and solicitude, Minerva's face had went paler with apprehension. Merlin, not now…

"Hazel…"

She had no time to find what to say that the little creature draped in velvet toga was already thundering at her, leaving the portraits and the two other teachers dumbfounded.

"The Mistress lied! You lied to me!" There was a desperate note covered by anger that made the Headmistress wince. Worst, the elf seemed completely racked with a biting despondency. "You said Hazel needed to prepare the Manor because she'd come but it was just to keep Hazel out of the truth! The girl left!"

Filius and Pomona were looking at each other, uncomfortable with the argument and what was coming out of it.

"Hazel, it was for the best that —"

"Is that what you told her?" she asked scornfully, her hysteric voice trembling with rage. "That is was for the best she left the castle? In her state, do you think it is — what's the word you like to use again? Oh right: wise. How wise could it be to send that damaged girl away when she needs you the most?"

"I did not send her away, I…"

"Oh yes you did! You and your pathetic excuse for feelings did!" She let out a disdainful snort, shaking her head, sizing the witch up. "So much for that so-called Gryffindor's courage: you're not even brave enough to tell her you lo—"

"Hazel, enough!"

The elf stopped in mid of her speech, a surprised look on her face, as the strong dismissive tone of Dumbledore cracked like a whip. His blue eyes had lost their usual mischievousness and were now flashing with a frozen anger. The two other Heads of House were dying with embarrassment and concern for their friend, who was staring blankly at her desk, her lips set in a painful and guilty silence. Hazel left without further ado. Finally, the Headmistress rose from her chair and slowly moved towards the tray, before brewing the tea. Every soul around her, living or not, was holding its breath, waiting for an outburst, something…

But she stayed perfectly calm — to all appearances at least — and that was maybe scarier than if she had screamed. She was acting like a perfect composed housewife, who restrain herself from slapping her obnoxious husband in front of his boss when he derides even her slightest move, and go fetch the dessert in the kitchen, choking back her tears and pride. The Charms and Herbology teachers took their respective steaming cup, not daring to utter even the faintest 'thank you'. They glanced awkwardly at the tall black-haired witch who quietly sat in front of them. Her green eyes seemed to take a peculiar interest in her inkpot, as she was fixing it wordlessly, obviously lost in thoughts, long fingers curled below her chin.

After a long, agonising silence which had only been interrupted by the light clink of the spoons on the porcelain, she finally spoke, in a hollow voice.

"I took a shine to her at her first Transfiguration lesson. I don't think I ever had such a bright and eager to learn student." The way she had transfigured that match into a needle, like it was the most natural thing to do. The wand's movements were already precise and quick, the spell well articulated. And that little smile gleaming with a modest pride. Never since that day had Hermione stopped to be her star student. "I never — I was her mentor. The girl needed to be taken under someone's wing, and as her Head of House…" During the brunette's years in Hogwarts, Minerva often been the shoulder to lean on for her pupil. They would share a cup of tea, discussing the latest publications on Transfiguration Today. It never ceased to amaze the teacher, how cunning the student was. "When they found her —" Her voice broke. She swallowed, and took her teacup with a trembling hand. "I realised. Then I realised that somehow, I wanted more. That she wanted more." A pause. She sniggered at her own foolishness. "I allowed myself to have feelings for her, for a student. The worst part is that I'm not that ashamed. Not anymore, at least." A bitter laugh passed her lips. "And the girl," she said with a bitter sneer, "the girl always stares at me in complete awe, like I was her saviour, when all I did was plunging her into that ridiculous dependence towards me. I fucked up everything."

The last sentence imposed a shocked mutism in the audience. Minerva never swore. Never.

"It's so laughable it sickens me. I should have foreseen this would never work. I crushed her like she was the most repulsive worm. And now what?" She turned to her two friends, her eyes filling with tears and her mouth trembling with sorrow as she forced a terrible laugh past them. "I find myself longing for her. How ridiculous is that? I can't be with her nor leave her. She deserves someone young, fresh; someone who will know how to take care of her. But how jealous I am… Merlin, I never thought I — but to think someone else…" She let her sentence pending, not quite daring to verbalise what the ragging anger storming inside her urged her to scream. "Maybe one of you two could go to Grimmauld Place this week? To ensure she's alright?" They nodded, starring speechless at their friend standing up. "I need to find Hazel," she breathed, looking confused, almost dazed. "Close the door when you leave, would you?" And with that, she left.


A.N: Sooo? Any thoughts? Thanks for the reviews, it's always a pleasure to know what you think :)