Author's note: Before we start I would just like to give mention that this chapter deals with rape and abuse so if this is too much or offensive to anyone, perhaps just skim or skip the chapter altogether. Other than that I hope you all enjoy and as always let me know your thoughts!

I would also like to say a small thank you to VaryMyDays for helping me once again :). She's super talented so go check out her work!


Part 9

When Minerva woke a few hours later, a little confused and her bones aching due to having slept in a chair all night, a fact that her bones were not thankful for, she woke to brown eyes looking at her tiredly but contentedly.

She had meant to leave before the younger woman had awoken, but as she sat up a little straighter and wiped the sleep from her eyes, it was obvious her body had had other intentions.

"Good morning," Minerva spoke softly, aware of the brown eyes that seemed to stay trained on her.

"Good morning," Hermione replied softly.

Feeling a little more awake, Minerva turned to Hermione and looked at her tenderly, "How are you feeling?"

Hermione shrugged as she looked back at Minerva with a smile. To be honest she felt quite wonderful; tired, but good. "Fine. I'm tired, but I feel fine."

Minerva looked at her, surprised, "Fine?" She paused, looking at Hermione curiously. "You took on a full grown dragon. I would have thought you'd be the farthest thing from 'Fine'," Minerva explained. "But I suppose it is you we are talking about, and I suppose taking on a dragon is nothing in the eyes of the brightest witch of her age?" Minerva wanted to smile as Hermione looked at her, dazed.

"A walk in the park," Hermione said softly.

"Mmm," Minerva hummed softly. Hermione was looking at her with a dazed loving look, as though she were holding the most beautiful and precious object, and she wondered why. The effect on her was unexpected to say the least as Minerva felt a blush creep up her neck and onto her high cheekbones.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Minerva uttered flippantly as she tried to feign disinterest.

Hermione smiled gently and shook her head.

Minerva looked around trying to evade Hermione's deep searching eyes for a moment. Where was Poppy?

Turning her head back to the younger woman, she found Hermione's eyes still fixed on her and Minerva thought she looked, well, there was no other way to describe it, high. Maybe she was?

"Did Poppy provide you with a potion before I woke?"

Hermione nodded leisurely and this time, Minerva did smile. Hermione Granger was as high as a kite. "Do you know what she gave you?" Minerva asked as Hermione smiled and shook her head.

"No, I told her it was not required but she administered it anyway," Hermione shrugged.

Minerva nodded as her lips remained curved ever so slightly upwards. "Well, I'm certain she was correct in her assumption, she is a good medi-witch and would not have given you the medication had it not been necessary," Minerva paused as Hermione looked at her dreamily. "Are you tired?"

Hermione nodded again and Minerva assumed that the woman had given her some form of sleeping potion so she could rest further.

Brown eyes stared at her unabashedly and she didn't feel awkward or frightened. She felt strangely comfortable, Hermione's deep brown eyes offering her strength and warmth, a homely, comforting feeling. Maybe the cobwebs of sleep had not yet been swept away from her mind, but she felt slightly hazier than usual and a few of the barriers she usually had raised were down.

The urge to touch the younger woman came flooding back, as it had last night. She wanted to feel Hermione's warm skin beneath her fingers and listen to the rise and fall of her chest as she took in oxygen to breathe and live. Minerva often found she needed the reassurance of life, of being alive, of seeing other people alive and breathing, to urge her on.

Minerva scooted further toward the bed and went to stroke Hermione's hair but hesitated, her hand barely above her lap. Realising what she was doing, and thinking herself foolish, she went to pull her hand back, but was suddenly stopped as a soft, small hand grasped hers.

Looking up she was met with brown docile eyes that stopped her in her tracks. Her breath caught and she barely remembered how to breathe as Hermione's thumb ran over her knuckles. She wondered if Hermione would remember this, remember what she was doing. Because, while the gesture was small, Minerva knew the action would stay with her for a long time to come and she wondered if it would stay with Hermione too.

She looked down at their hands and looked at the contrast, her pale, long fingers between Hermione's more tan and youthful ones. Maybe the fit was wrong and too different. She knew their age gap was one that perhaps would not seem seemly, but as she let her fingers tangle with Hermione's, relishing the softness between her fingers, she couldn't think of a more perfect fit or remember feeling anything more right, save for Amelia.

Lifting her head, she let her eyes meet Hermione's as they were slowly taking on that heavy sate.

"What happened?" Minerva asked gently, knowing that Hermione would not be able to give a full answer but needing a small explanation until she could explain further.

Hermione licked her lips and tightened her hold on Minerva's fingers. "She was scared. I know… I know that feeling, I could not warrant standing by and watching helplessly," she muttered tiredly.

Minerva felt her heart go out to the woman and got the feeling that Hermione's past troubles during the war went far deeper than she had first imagined.

"Well, you have no reason to fear for her anymore. She seems quite settled without her restraints, although a little quiet. And you are safe also, so do not fret, just rest. You can explain everything to me once you are rested."

Hermione nodded as her eyes started to close but Minerva noted that her fingers didn't stop in their interaction with her own, tan fingers gently playing with pale ones, and Minerva felt another urge to stay and curl up beside the woman.

Minutes passed as Hermione's actions slowed and Minerva thought she had nodded off, but her eyes opened gently and smiled up at her a moment later. "Did I not say rest?" Minerva chastised softly.

"You never rest," Hermione rebuked, sleep evident in her voice.

Minerva resisted the urge to smile and tried to keep her face stoic. "There is a term, 'Do as I say, not as I do'."

Hermione didn't say anything and just kept looking at her.

A few, long seconds passed and Minerva tilted her head at the younger woman in a cat-like manner. "A picture would last longer," she quipped as she turned over Hermione's palm and started drawing indecipherable patterns.

Hermione just smiled lazily at her, wanting to say that it would never live up to the real thing but she kept her mouth closed.

Minerva didn't smile back, but let her fingers trail slightly further up Hermione's arm, enjoying the feel of her soft skin.

Hermione looked at her leisurely, "Feels nice."

Minerva nodded. "When I was just a wee babe, my mother would draw patterns on my palms for minutes on end and I would do the same to her. Often she would write messages on my arms and she would have me guess what she was writing. It is silly I suppose, but I always found the feeling a great comfort."

"It's not silly, not at all," Hermione replied quickly. The younger woman looked down at the pale, long fingers trailing across her arm and wondered what the woman was writing, "What are you writing?"

Minerva nearly smiled as she looked up into brown eyes, "That would be telling."

Hermione pouted, "I'm a sick woman - "

"Of your own accord," Minerva interrupted.

Hermione couldn't contradict the woman and felt a warmth spreading through her as they conversed in a manner they hadn't before, playfully. "It was for a good cause."

"I don't find you putting your health at risk for this 'cause' a reasonable enough excuse," Minerva chastised.

Hermione went to answer back but stopped when she realised that the older woman's words had shown concern. It was an odd but pleasant sensation. "Careful, you might just show some feeling," Hermione said quietly, unsure if her tone was teasing or serious.

Minerva felt her nerves kicking in as she looked away from Hermione's piercing eyes. It was true. She didn't show feeling often. It was foreign, even to herself. She wanted to snatch her fingers away from Hermione's skin and retreat into the corners of her mind. For a moment she thought she could resist the urge to flee and show Hermione that she could care, that she did care, but running felt safe and so she tore her hand from Hermione's and sat back.

Hermione regretted her words immediately as she watched the walls come down around the older woman. No longer did Minerva McGonagall sit before her, but the Headmistress.

"Rest," Minerva commanded.

Hermione went to open her mouth to apologise but the older woman stood and Hermione's hand fell limp against the bed.

Before she could react, the older woman was gone.

-Finding Words-

Days passed and it seemed that once again the two women were at a stalemate, neither willing to approach the other and take that first step.

To say that Minerva's feelings were hurt was an understatement. The words Hermione had spoken to her had gnawed away at her for the past two days. In previous years, to have been called unfeeling had not fazed her. Now, however, it was different and the feeling was not a pleasant one.

It was Saturday and Minerva had taken a moment of respite wandering through the outer corridors of Hogwarts, her intent to take a walk in the fresh air to clear her mind, which was how she came upon Hermione in the courtyard, wrapped up in a thick white scarf and navy outer robes, her nose pink with cold but her skin otherwise flawless.

Minerva didn't deny that Hermione was a beautiful woman, stunning in both mind and body.

She paused in her steps and for a moment hid behind the pillar in front of her, happy to simply watch the younger witch read. It wasn't polite to spy, but Minerva refused to call it such. Admire, she thought. Yes, she was admiring the younger woman.

But the longer she looked, the more she knew that this silence could not continue and that while words would not come easily in that moment, she hoped her presence would be enough to communicate a different type of conversation.

Pulling herself away from the pillar, she walked forward and took a seat beside Hermione on the cold, stone bench.

She said nothing, tucking her scarf into her coat and smoothing out any creases in her clothing before staring straight ahead. The only indication of Hermione noting her presence was the way in which her book lowered slightly.

Minutes passed with no words passing between them save for silence. A bird flew down and perched itself upon one of the stone walls opposite them. Minerva did nothing but sit and watch as the little bird hopped about, searching for food, totally unaware of their presence.

"If you've come for an apology, I'm sorry," Hermione muttered quietly.

Minerva shook her head gently. "I did not come here for an apology. There is no need for you to apologise. What you said is neither here nor there. A silly, fleeting comment, nothing more," she elaborated.

Hermione paused for a while and finally looked to her right, taking in the stoic form. "Then why are you here?"

Minerva didn't turn and look at Hermione for a long while, instead she kept looking at the little bird, so innocent and carefree. She remembered a time so long ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed since she had attended Hogwarts. She had been innocent once and so had Hermione, much like the little bird and the children she helped Hogwarts look after and keep safe. That time had passed and the years had ripped away that innocence, leaving scars that one could never quite recover from.

"May I tell you a story?" Minerva inquired softly.

Hermione merely nodded.

"A long time ago, there was a girl, a young woman even. She was smart, beautiful and above all, kind and innocent, willing to help anyone so long as it did not tarnish her grades-"

"Minerv-"

"Shh," Minerva interrupted. "That girl accompanied two kind and brave boys on a quest, given by a foolish old coot who never quite understood the value of innocence, though, I believe in his mischievous nature, he tried to recapture that innocence every day since he'd lost his own. During their quest the girl and her friends were captured and taken to a house where some believe she was tortured. Days later they were released. Lives were lost but she survived and while in her statement she claimed that she was unharmed, there are rumours that her cries while she was tortured were heard as far as Azkaban." Minerva finished and finally turned her head to look at the younger witch.

Hermione's face remained stoic but Minerva could see the undercurrent of emotion brewing beneath deep mocha irises.

"I'm not forcing you to divulge. However, your tendency to step into harm's way is exceedingly apparent and without thought. I cannot keep you safe if I don't know what is running through your mind. Especially when past experiences and emotions influence your actions," Minerva's voice betraying her emotions. "There will be a time when you are not strong enough or I am unable to save you."

Minerva sighed as Hermione stayed silent. "Your actions regarding Fera were brave and entirely foolish… You were lucky that she was not feral. You could have died, but it seems that fact is not an important one to you. The value you put upon your life is as fleeting as the wind."

"I do value my life," Hermione bit back harshly.

"Do you?" Minerva questioned with surprise. "Because from what I have seen that is not true, at all. While your bravery cannot be faulted, your logic is lacking."

"Are you saying that my motives are not sound?"

"They are sound, but your end result is none existence; you have no care for what happens after."

Hermione said nothing and just scowled while trying to keep her tears at bay.

"You have no idea-"

"Don't I?" Minerva scoffed. "Whether you believe it or not I have lived through three wars, I know what it is like to not value one's life. I know how it feels to have your innocence taken from you, to think that you will never see light or feel hope again... I know how it feels to not want to be touched by anyone," Minerva breathed.

Hermione's breath hitched slightly and if it weren't for Minerva's animagus traits she doubted she would have noticed it at all. But she had, and Minerva felt her eyes close as she thought back to a night of torture of her own. The difference was, she'd had sixty years to think about it and try to deal with it. Hermione had only had ten.

Minerva sat silently as she watched Hermione's mind tick and falter. She waited.

Hermione closed her book and ran her fingers over the leather-bound cover. It was an old book she had found in the library. Nothing much, old theories on spells she had known for what seemed like forever. The distraction it had given her had been welcome and had been working up until Minerva had sat beside her.

If it had been anyone else, she might have been able to hold it off, but nothing could prepare her for the guilt and pain she felt starting to flood through her.

"I couldn't stand by and watch the way that dragon was chained. It was barbaric," Hermione confessed.

"Others were chained, yet you did not put your own life on the line for them. Why her?"

Hermione shook her head, unsure as to how to explain what she had seen in those few moments. How could she explain that she had known the look that Fera had given her? That she had experienced that look, and that there had not been a single doubt in her mind as to what had happened to Fera. She had just known.

"She gave me a look," Hermione paused, as though she were thinking back. "I saw in her eyes what I have seen in my own - fear, desperation… guilt," Hermione whispered.

Minerva frowned, confused as to why Hermione would feel guilty, but at the same time understanding the self-loathing and disgust that usually came after having been touched in ways that were entirely unwanted. To feel tarnished and dirty.

"Guilt? Why should you feel guilty, you helped her, did you not?"

Hermione stood and looked at Minerva far more worriedly than Minerva liked.

"I'm an awful person," Hermione whispered.

Minerva scoffed, "I'm certain that is not true-"

Hermione shook her head as the first tear spilled across her cheek, "You don't understand."

Minerva looked at her, trying to pass on her strength to her in that one look. "Then explain it to me, just… try," Minerva implored, still sitting as the younger woman stood before her.

Hermione closed her eyes and Minerva felt her heart ache as Hermione's hands started to tremble.

Not once in all her years since the war had Hermione spoken of this. Not to anyone. But Minerva was right. While she had believed she had moved on, it had become obvious in recent months that she was reckless with her life. Things needed to change, and maybe telling Minerva would help. But, Merlin, how she knew it would hurt when she confessed her crime.

"You were correct. I was captured. I was tortured. Raped…" The word barely made it off her tongue. "I was chained and forced into unspeakable acts. I was branded, humiliated." She shook as she recounted it briefly. "What I saw in Fera's eyes... I know mine had reflected that look nearly ten years ago. But Fera, poor Fera…" Hermione let another tear slip past her eyes. "Her darling child was killed too. She feels guilty that she is alive and her daughter is not," Hermione wept.

Hermione's whole body started to tremble and Minerva's stomach started to flip flop, knowing the floodgates were about to open. She just prayed that when they did, Hermione was strong enough to get back up again. What Minerva did know, however, was that when Hermione did fall, Minerva would be there to help her back up.

"Tell me."

Hermione covered her eyes with the book briefly as she braced herself to bare her soul. Her past was something she had made sure to bury as deeply as possible. She had made sure no trace could be found. So to speak of it now, to dig up memories she had long since buried, was almost too painful. She couldn't do it and started shaking her head.

Minerva didn't approach her, fearing she would bolt.

"I can't!" And bolt she did, walking away quickly.

Minerva had known it would come though and jumped off the bench, running after the woman. She was a hair's breadth away when she grabbed her arm, and before Hermione could make heads or tails of anything, Minerva had apparated them to the Headmistress's quarters.

Minerva flicked her fingers as they arrived and the doors locked.

Hermione's chest rose and fell heavily. She tried to apparate but felt the block immediately, Hogwarts oppressing her own magic.

Minerva said nothing as Hermione started to pace, tears falling quickly. "I can't, you'll hate me, what I did…"

"I will not hate you. I promise," Minerva tried to assure her.

"You don't know that."

"I do. If I know anything, I know that I will not hate you no matter what you tell me," Minerva promised.

"No."

"Yes, do you hear me?" Minerva snapped, because it was true. While there had been times in which she had wanted to throttle the woman, she had never been able to hate her. "I will not hate you."

Hermione calmed down somewhat, but refused to look at the older woman. How could she feel something that no one should ever feel? "The love Fera has for her daughter is all-consuming and unexplainable. It cannot be described in one word."

Minerva nodded, still waiting for an explanation.

Hermione felt her bottom lip tremble. "Somewhere out in the world there is a little girl with my eyes and the face of a man I cannot even put a name to. When I was raped, I fell pregnant…" Hermione brought her hand to her face, hiding her tears. "I didn't even know until it was too late. I hid it, and no one ever knew. I didn't want her. I hated the very thought of her, so I hid it. And when she was born, I gave her up. I couldn't stand the sight of her and she repulsed me," Hermione whimpered. "How is that possible? The one thing in the world I am supposed to love above all else, an all-consuming, unconditional love, and I hated her!" Hermione sobbed.

Minerva felt the barrier break and braced herself as she watched Hermione's core magic start to swirl around her.

"All I could see was his face as I looked at her. A beautiful baby and all I wanted to do was smother her…" Hermione whispered. "I should be locked up."

"No. What happened to you was unforgivable and what you feel is understandable. You didn't harm the child. She is safe, is she not? And with a family that love her? You gave that child her best chance. You do not need to carry this guilt."

"But I don't love her!" Hermione cried and Minerva took a tentative step forward as Hermione's magic rattled the floorboards beneath them.

"You loved her enough to give her a home…"

Hermione shook her head as she started to cry, "I shouldn't hate my own child."

"We shouldn't feel a lot of things but we do. And they aren't right, but nor are they wrong. They just, are."

"She is innocent, I know this, but I don't ever want to know her. I couldn't look at her without seeing his face before me, without remembering how he hurt me. He told me things that I will never forget. During the battle I came across his body and I smiled. I remember feeling elated, I wanted to laugh and dance. I felt happiness at the thought of someone's death. What kind of human rejoices at the thought of death?"

"More humans than you might imagine," Minerva assured her.

"Fera. She wept for her daughter, a child she would have given her life for and here I stand, not even caring for the girl that is my flesh and blood," Hermione wept. "I have not shed one tear for my daughter until this moment, until I saw what I saw in Fera's memories; how good and pure it was and how tainted my own image was."

"You have done nothing wrong!" Minerva stepped forward again.

"Haven't I?"

"No. Have you murdered anyone in cold blood? No. Did you give that child up so she could have a good life? Yes. You were a child, Hermione, barely out of school, you knew you were not ready to have that child. Do you wish that child safe now?"

Hermione cried. "Yes," she whispered.

"Then you have done nothing wrong."

Hermione sobbed further and braced herself against a nearby cabinet when suddenly she felt long, lithe arms wrap around her. She let her emotions spill out. She cried for her baby girl, she cried for herself, she cried for all the years she had subjected herself to guilt. She cried for Fera, she cried for hating the man who had hurt her in the worst way possible, and she cried for Minerva, a woman she had come to love in a way she'd never realised was possible.

"If I have done nothing wrong, then why do I feel so guilty?" she sobbed as she leant back into Minerva's embrace.

Minerva's own eyes gathered tears as she held Hermione around the waist with one arm while stroking her hair with the other. "Because while you say you are unfeeling, you care very much." Minerva laid her cheek against Hermione's. "Very, very much," she whispered as Hermione gripped her, holding onto her arm and hand tightly.

As Hermione's cries got progressively worse, Minerva began to whisper hushed words of comfort and when Hermione began to gasp, Minerva helped her out of her outer robes and helped her to control her breathing until they were an exhausted heaped mess on the floor.

For a long time Minerva leant against the cabinet with Hermione between her legs, stroking her hair gently. Hermione's eyes felt heavy but she refused to close them for longer than a few seconds. Instead, she shifted so her back came into contact with Minerva's groin while her head sat firmly against her belly.

As Hermione rested against Minerva, she began playing with the edges of Minerva's robes around her as Minerva stroked her hair caringly.

"Did you give birth alone?" Minerva asked gently.

Hermione's heart squeezed. "Not exactly," she whispered quietly, remembering how she had been in a library when her water broke and then her struggle to get to the hospital on her own. She'd nearly collapsed from exhaustion when she arrived at St. Thomas hospital in London. "I gave birth in a Muggle hospital. The midwife stayed with me," Hermione recounted.

Minerva said nothing, but gathered Hermione's hand in her own and interlaced their fingers in hopes that it would impart some assurance that she was here, with her. She had been just a child, thrust into a war that had taken pieces of their souls as payment.

Hermione brought Minerva's hand closer to her, almost inspecting it as she started drawing indecipherable patterns across her palm.

"There was never a desire to know her," Hermione spoke gently. "I didn't love her as a mother should. But I- I wanted her safe, I wanted what I could not give her. I… I visited her once. A few years ago. She didn't know I was there, neither did her parents, just me. I don't want her, but I wanted to make sure she was safe and… happy."

Minerva looked down at the woman who was still playing with her hand, "Is she happy?"

Hermione didn't smile or look up at her, "I believe so. She- she looked happy."

"Then what is this guilt you seem so adamant about carrying?"

Hermione sighed as she blinked back tears she thought she had run out of, but it seemed she was wrong. "I just, I worry she will find me one day and ask me why I gave her up, why I did not want her. And what am I supposed to tell her? That I couldn't look at her? That I didn't love her? That she was a child conceived in a non-consensual act? I'm certain it would scar the girl."

"Then if she ever comes to you, don't tell her. Tell her that you were too young, which you were, and that despite wanting her, you weren't ready and that you wanted her to have a home that could give her more than you could give. I'm sure if she is half the woman you are, she will understand."

Hermione breathed in, closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, trying to stop the tears she knew wanted to pass her eyelids, until she breathed out, "But it would be a lie."

"Not entirely. Sometimes a white lie is kinder than the truth."

Hermione turned into Minerva slightly and the older witch pulled her closer, bringing her in contact with the brown eyed witch as much as she could.

In that moment Hermione had never felt safer and more comfortable in someone's arms as she did in Minerva's. It was a strange sensation considering that up until a few years ago, physical contact with anyone had been an abhorrent thought. But as the ebony haired witch pulled her tighter against her chest, Hermione felt as if the guilt she had been carrying became shared and didn't seem so heavy anymore. It was still there and in her heart she knew it always would be, and while she didn't quite understand the new sensation, it was one that was welcomed.

Minerva found herself unable to understand how life could be so cruel. How could people believe that hurting others was right? How could that man think it right for him to abuse this wonderful woman, so smart and beautiful and above all else, kind? But, she supposed, for a long time she had been cruel and uncaring too. While she did not condone it, she understood that certain acts of life changed you. And not always for the better.

"I do not hate you," Minerva said suddenly, quietly.

"I know…"

"No, what I mean to say is, in relation to our previous interactions… I do not hate you. You oft rile me in ways no one else can, but I, I do not hate you," Minerva confessed.

She hoped it would convey all that she was not saying and yet at the same time conceal the depth of her feelings. She wasn't sure of the effect it would have, and in truth she wasn't sure if she wanted Hermione to see past her vague announcement, or not. She wasn't sure what she wanted. But it felt good to reveal something that she had been concealing for so long, even if it were only a small piece of information in the grand scheme of things. To her, it was something.

Looking up, Hermione took in the defined jaw and high cheekbones that made up the frame of the older woman's face. She then looked at her eyes, always so stern, so calculating. When they had first met, Hermione had been convinced they could never take on an emotion other than disdain. But now, as long, elegant fingers lay entangled with hers, eyes cast down upon her face, Hermione saw a plethora of emotions dancing in the emerald orbs. She couldn't pinpoint each one, but one she could easily decipher, was a level of care. Minerva cared for her. In what capacity, she was sure it was only minor, but the fact that the woman felt an emotion other than disdain for her was more than Hermione could have hoped for, and to hear the woman say it, made the day's events a little easier to bare.

"Did you have any particular plans for today?" Minerva enquired softly.

Hermione shook her head, "No."

Minerva was glad. In truth, she didn't want Hermione out of her sight for the next several hours until she knew that the younger woman had had time to process everything.

"Alright, how does lunch sound?"

Hermione didn't say anything, merely nodded in agreement.

"Would you like to remain in the castle?"

"Please."

"Then here we shall stay," Minerva promised. "However, I confess my bones are not as young as they once were. I suggest we move to the couch and give them a little respite."

Hermione felt guilty for a brief moment, "Oh, forgive me, I didn't think."

Minerva waved her off as they stood, each helping the other into a standing position.

Minerva gestured toward the couch and followed Hermione as she went. She ordered a light lunch and a pot of tea. They conversed lightly and while there were a few awkward moments of silence, there was an underlying sense of comfort and security too.

-Finding Words-

The next day…

Minerva's gait was quick as she swept toward the Great Hall for breakfast, her robes billowing behind her.

After lunch with Hermione yesterday, the brown eyed witch had bid her goodbye and she had not seen her since, save for dinner. During dinner she had been quiet and Minerva didn't blame her. This morning Minerva was eager to see how the woman was faring and for the first time in a long time she wasn't afraid of the feeling. She let it fill her with internal anticipation and willingness.

She was adjusting her robes as she stepped into the Great Hall when she was stopped by Filch.

"'eadmistress, if I could 'ave a moment of your time?"

"Yes?" she entertained him despite her displeasure.

"I 'ad a peculiar 'appenin' last night."

"Oh?" Minerva sighed as Filch tirelessly went on. She often wondered whether the man would live forever. She'd often sat on the fence with regard to her opinion of Filch but she'd come to the conclusion that he was kind at heart; suspicious perhaps, but not a threat.

She was trying to appease Filch's concerns when she felt a soft touch in the middle of her back and then it was gone.

Turning her head she was greeted by the view of Hermione's back. She didn't smile but the kind touch she'd received sent a warmth through her.

"'eadmistress?"

Minerva looked back at Filch, "I'm sure what you heard was merely Hogwarts adjusting itself. You know how the castle likes to stretch and adjust sometimes. I'm sure it was a mere fluke. But you may keep an eye out and inform me of anything else."

Filch nodded, "Yes 'eadmistress," before he scampered away.

Minerva watched him go and then turned back toward the head table where Hermione was just taking her seat.

Like her own, Hermione's eyes soon found hers as a soft smile accompanied the smiling brown orbs.

It took a lot for Minerva not to break out in a smile herself. She felt a little ridiculous really. She shouldn't be smiling considering what Hermione had been through, but for some reason she felt like they had taken a step forward and nothing could stop the delight from bubbling in her belly.

She nodded her head and Hermione nodded hers back.

It was with an eagerness Minerva had not known in years that she carried on toward the table, her eyes every so often lifting back up to meet Hermione's.

-Finding Words-

One week later…

Hermione sat at her desk sipping her tea, going over her third-years' essays when a knock at her door came.

Looking up she smiled when she found Minerva standing in the doorway looking as regal and, well, she could not deny it, beautiful, as ever.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she questioned when the Headmistress stayed firmly put in the doorway.

"You weren't at dinner," Minerva chided gently.

Hermione ducked her head, "No," she admitted. "I wanted to get these finished," gesturing to the students' homework.

In truth, since she had confided in Minerva, she had been delving into her work more so than ever. While she felt lighter, it had brought back memories she didn't want to dwell on. Work seemed like a reasonable enough respite from the nightmares she couldn't escape.

Minerva said nothing and took a step over the threshold.

Hermione took in Minerva's stern gaze, "What?"

"Barely a week ago you nearly died. Skipping meals is unacceptable."

Hermione sighed, "I didn-"

Before Hermione could even finish her sentence however, a plate full of food was sat in front of her and her papers had been neatly stacked to the side.

Hermione rolled her eyes but she appreciated Minerva's concern.

She picked up the cutlery before looking up at her boss quietly, "I'm fine."

Minerva didn't move or say a word.

When the Scottish witch did not reply, Hermione decided to tuck into the food, knowing Minerva would not leave until she had done so.

When she swallowed her first bite she went to look at Minerva pointedly but the older woman had already walked through the door, only her back in sight.

Hermione watched as she went. She was a peculiar woman, she frequently thought, a mystery, and yet, she felt drawn. While she carried a front that was, quite literally, world-renowned, she held a level of care that couldn't be denied either.

Hermione looked down at her food. There was something in the way Minerva didn't wait for thanks but just gave, that Hermione admired. Stabbing a slice of beetroot, she popped it into her mouth as she looked back over to Minerva's retreating form until she had turned the corner.

If it wasn't obvious to the brown eyed witch already, Hermione would soon come to realise that she was very much in love with the woman.

Author's note: Hope you enjoyed X