A/N: *Hides behind couch* Please don't hate me.
Hermione chewed her lip nervously.
Minerva studied a strand of her hair.
A suffocating silence filled the room.
It had been ten minutes since they paced the floor, asking for a place to talk—10 minutes since the modest sitting room made an appearance. A couch, two chairs, and a small fireplace—It was simple, small, and held no distractions from their obvious discomfort. After sitting down on the plush couch, neither woman had spoken.
For Hermione, she simply didn't know what was meant to be said. Upon meeting at the train station, she had asked Minerva what her meeting had been about and Minerva had simply told her that they would speak later. It was now later. They were at the school. They had eaten dinner. Minerva had dragged her up to the room of requirement—and yet no words had been said.
As the minutes ticked past she grew more and more concerned by the struggling expression on Minerva's face, and found fewer and fewer ways to inspire conversation. So instead she just sat, nervously waiting for Minerva to tell her exactly what was going on.
Minerva, on the other hand, knew exactly what was meant to be said, and what needed to be said. That didn't make it any easier to formulate the words though. It had been hours since she left Fred and George, and in that time only one decision had been clear. She had to tell Hermione.
It would be wrong to make this sort of decision without discussing it with the woman she loved. Hermione would likely never forgive her. The question was how to explain—and what Hermione's reaction would be. She had spent hours on the train trying to find the words, but so far, none had come.
Now they were situated in a small room, and Hermione's eyes were boring into her own. Minerva sighed heavily, "Hermione, I don't know what to say," she finally sputtered out, her eyes closed tightly as she set her face in her hands.
Hermione wrapped her arms protectively around herself as she whispered, "Why don't you just tell me what's going on, rather than struggling to find the right words."
Minerva nodded and folded her legs under herself, "I went to see Fred and George today—they asked me to meet with them."
Hermione's head quirked to the side, and Minerva spared a moment to appreciate the adorableness of the gesture. "Why didn't you tell me that they were the ones who wanted to meet with you? I was worried, Min."
Minerva nodded again, "I know—I'm sorry. I just—I had an idea as to what may be going on—or at least what I was worried may be going on—and so I didn't want to mention it to you."
"Why?"
Minerva took a deep breath, glancing up at the ceiling as she whispered, "They—they've found a cure."
Hermione's mouth dropped ever so slightly, but she quickly schooled a careful expression on her face. She took a deep breath, and nodded slightly, "I suppose that was inevitable—despite what Dumbledore and Snape thought. Once the twins put their minds to something, it's going to happen eventually. Though I had thought it would take longer."
"Me too," Minerva said, suddenly feeling very small.
"So how long?"
"What?"
"The procedure, how long will it take for you to return to your old life?"
"Well, I hadn't actually decided I was going to do it," Minerva said slowly, a small frown on her face.
Hermione's expression was unreadable, but she shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous Minerva—you've wanted that for months. You'll be yourself again, you'll fit."
Minerva sat quietly, shock chilling her veins. "And us? I can't imagine dating your professor is much of an option."
Hermione's hand shook slightly, unnoticed by Minerva. "N-No," she said, stifling the stutter immediately, "But you wouldn't want to ruin your life because of some silly teenage love affair, there's no promise that this will last, and then where would you be? You-you should be happy. And being your sixty-five year old self again would make you happy."
"Silly teenage love affair," Minerva muttered incoherently, "Right. You're right, of course. When aren't you?" Minerva stood up suddenly, running a hand through her hair roughly. "Well then, I—I should be off. Things to—take care of. Yes." She nodded quickly, and turned roughly to the door.
"Bye, Min," Hermione said weakly behind her.
Minerva paused momentarily at the door, her hand trembling on the knob. She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again, shaking her head. She turned the knob and left without a final glance.
Minerva stormed through the doors of Weasely Wizard Wheezes, causing the products to tremble on their shelves and the air to spark with angry energy. "Fred!" she snapped, "George!"
The identical red-heads suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, both having obviously been about to retire to their flat. "Minerva?" George said confusedly, "What are you doing here?"
A window shattered behind the flushed witch, welcoming in the glow of a nearby flickering streetlamp. The light illuminated the tousled woman, eyes dark with unrestrained emotion, hair tangled hopelessly around her limbs. She flicked her wand stiffly, mending the window and dousing the light. "I'm ready for that potion."
"What?" Fred asked in surprise.
"Now?" George added.
Minerva pursed her lips, "Yes, now. I think I've spent more than enough time in this ridiculous form," she bit out, "Please fetch me that potion."
Fred and George shared a nervous glance, and Fred shook his head lightly as he said, "No, Min."
Her eyes flashed dangerously, "Pardon me?"
George shook his head, "We're not giving it to you, M&M. Not like this."
Minerva rolled her eyes, "How did you expect I would be? Skipping through your doors, delight oozing from my every pore?"
"Preferably you wouldn't be shattering windows with a glance," Fred deadpanned.
"Your mood seems to have changed since this morning," George pointed out.
"Yes well, I've been forced to do some rather serious thinking, haven't I?" She snapped, "I've made my decision and I would thank you to respect that."
"No," they said together, the usual humor lacking in their shared tone.
"If you can convince us," Fred said carefully.
"Then we'll give you the potion," George finished.
"But we're not going to let you make this decision lightly."
Minerva screamed with rage, causing an entire display of love potions to shatter at her feet. "How dare you!" She thundered, furious tears gathering in her eyes, "You offer me the damnable opportunity, you give me hope for a happier life, and now you won't let me take the bloody potion?"
Another display caught fire behind her, causing the twins' eyes to widen. "Minerva," Fred whispered, "What the hell happened today?"
Minerva extinguished the small fire behind her as she paced the room. "What's happened is that you're wrong. You thought she loved me? You thought she would love me young, old, and anywhere in between?" Minerva paused for a breath, turning away from the twins. "She doesn't. She told me to go back to being 65. She told me that this was just a silly teenage love affair and she told me it wouldn't last. And to think, I was prepared to tell her that I was going to stay—well to hell with it. It was easier being the heartless old hag of a professor."
"M, she loves you," Fred insisted.
"No."
"She took on the Ministry for you!" George argued.
"No."
"And the way she looks at you," Fred tried, but Minerva shot a hand out, silencing them both wordlessly.
"No." She said again, her voice shaking. "It doesn't matter what happened, or what she did. She had fun, I don't doubt that. She wanted to do the right thing, I don't doubt that either. But she obviously doesn't share the same depth of feeling that I have. Which is her prerogative—I'm just appreciative that she was honest with me now, rather than dragging it out."
"Minerva," they tried again, but she shook her head.
"I'm going back to my home. I'll be back for the potion in the morning. Please be the friends you have claimed to be, and respect this decision," Minerva slumped with the declaration, the emotion suddenly banished from her voice and her eyes, instead hopelessness seemed to take up residence as she numbly flicked her wand and repaired the damaged merchandise.
Harry watched as Hermione entered the room, her eyes lost and emotionless. "Hermione?" he asked, voice filled with concern and curiosity.
As the name left his lips her knees crashed to burgundy carpet of the common room, an impact which would undoubtedly leave dark bruises on her pale skin. The noise which echoed from her lungs as she fell could only be described as that of a shattered being, cornered in the darkest recesses of their mind.
He watched as her magic seemed to leave her, pooling on the floor at her feet, it's essence as tangible as the tears which flowed from her eyes, leaving damp trails across her skin. Her eyes darkened and dimmed, and her hair fell limp and straight upon her shoulders. All the while, her complexion turned more grey and more pale, as if she was crumbling into ash.
He watched as his best friend died, from the inside out.
Moving quickly, he gathered her in his arms, carrying her up the stairs to her room and away from the prying eyes of their housemates. He knew that when she recovered—if she recovered—she wouldn't want all of them to have seen her in this state. Laying her gently on her bed he watched as she curled into herself, a deathly sound freeing itself from her soul as she cried helplessly.
"Hermione," he said again, carefully and softly. "What's the matter—tell me what happened?"
"She's gone," she rasped, her voice crackling painfully as more tears gathered in her eyes. "She may as well be dead for me."
Harry sat thickly on the bed beside his friend, "Minerva?"
Hermione just shook her head, not quite answering, and Harry started to panic. Who else could Hermione be talking about? "Minerva is back," she whispered bitterly, her voice nearly inaudible. "The Minerva she always wanted to be, at least. Min is dead—Mary is dead. The woman I love is dead."
His eyes widened as the story began to come together. Minerva had been healed?
"Hermione, it can't be as terrible as all that. She loves you."
Hermione just shook her head, sobbing into her pillow. "No, eighteen year old—hormonal Minerva loved me. But I'm never going to see her again."
"Hermione, you see her every day!"
Hermione sat up quickly, her eyes angry and feral, "No! I'll see Professor McGonagall every day! She doesn't love me. She and I—we both agreed. We can't be together if she's like this—she said it herself. Dating my professor isn't an option. It wouldn't work, our lives are too different and I—I love her. I love her fifty years ago—I love her today, but she won't even be able to look at me the same way—she's not even going to be attracted to me in this body."
Harry shook his head disbelievingly, "Hermione, she loves you more than anything. You can see it plainly, there is no way that she would just—"
"Harry, stop!" Hermione screamed suddenly, "We ended it, alright! She chose to be 65 years old again—which I knew she would! As long as she wasn't worrying to much about my feelings. The moment I gave her the option, she took it. She chose to leave me behind. It's over."
With her outburst complete Hermione crumbled back on to the bed, sobs wracking her body, as Harry stared on in complete shock.
He didn't know what had happened, he didn't understand. Despite everything that Hermione was saying, he knew that Minerva loved her. And he knew how much Hermione loved Minerva. Minerva unceremoniously ending things and choosing to return to her old life—it just didn't make sense.
Harry could only hope that after Hermione had calmed down he would be able to get more information, but until that time, he just had to find a way to keep her head above water.
"Okay, Hermione." he whispered before lying down beside her in the bed. He gently wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to cling to him desperately as she cried. He had no words of comfort, all he could do was quietly hold her, and hope that things worked themselves out soon.
Dear Harry,
It seems we have a mutual problem which needs sorting out, specifically two stubborn witches. We're not sure what's going on, but don't doubt that together we can all sort it out.
If you're available, meet us in the Shrieking Shack at eight o'clock. As Minerva is bent on taking her potion at eleven, the earlier we meet the better.
Cheers,
F&G
Harry blinked sleepily at the letter in his hand, it was nearly 7:30 and he had spent the entire night holding a sobbing Hermione. She had finally fallen into a fitful sleep an hour ago, and he was nervous to leave her, but he didn't see any other options. He needed to know what was going on, and if the twins thought that this could be fixed, they had to try.
Hermione and Minerva were both stubborn, but they were also soul mates. As someone who had lost more than his fair share of loved ones, Harry didn't generally like to use those words. It felt far too final. As if you could never find happiness again should you lose that one person—that was a terrifying thought for him. And yet Hermione and Minerva seemed to epitomize that term.
Apart they were fierce, determined, and intelligent. They were entirely self-sufficient and capable—but they were also closed away from the rest of the world. They had both kept themselves hidden and safe for quite some time, but when they met that had all been forgotten. Harry could clearly remember the look in Hermione's eyes on that first day. It was as if the sun was suddenly shining in her world. She had found the missing page from her book.
He had always worried that Hermione would have trouble finding the kind of love she deserved. He worried that she was too clever for most people—that they wouldn't be able to keep up and she would always be bored. Minerva seemed to have had the same problem in her life. But when the two witches met, and under the right circumstances, there was no way they could deny the reality. They found their place in this world together.
And he wasn't going to let either of them throw that away because of silly insecurities or selflessness.
"Why did we decide to meet him here again?" George asked with a groan as he shoved at the old door.
Fred kicked at it unhelpfully before pulling out his wand, "Because Harry's less likely to get in trouble, and less likely to get caught." He flicked the wand and sent the door flying open—a thick cloud of dust engulfing them.
Both men coughed as they stepped through the door, glancing around them. "Merlin, this is way worse than I remember it," George wheezed.
"True," Fred snickered, "But we remember it from before a giant snake tried to kill someone in this room…"
"No excuse to let the dust gather," George clucked, in a perfect impersonation of his mother, causing Fred to laugh loudly.
"Glad you two are having such a lovely morning," Harry grumbled from behind them. The twins raised their eyebrows at his disheveled appearance, and he rolled his eyes. "I spent the night with Hermione and I only received your letter half an hour ago, give me a break."
Both twins immediately looked serious, "So she's upset too?" George asked.
Harry glared at them, "What do you mean, so she's upset? Of course she's upset!"
"Calm down," Fred interrupted, "We thought she would be, but we just wanted to clarify."
"We think that both women have told severely different stories," George explained.
"Hermione doesn't lie to me," Harry defended.
"We don't think she did, we just think they both thought different things were being said," Fred inserted quickly.
"Miscommunication," George added.
Harry sighed, "That sounds like them." He drew his wand and carefully conjured several of Dumbledore's signature chairs before sitting down. "So what has Minerva been saying?"
"That Hermione never loved her, told her it was just a 'silly teenage love affair', and that she should go back to being 65," Fred sighed.
Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Of all the ridiculous Gryffindor self-sacrificing nonsense," he muttered.
"We're still missing some pieces here," George pointed out.
"Would love to know what's going on," Fred added.
"Hermione told me that she gave Minerva the chance to run without hurting her, and she took it. Said that Minerva wanted to be herself again, and didn't want her as a student."
"So you're telling us, that Hermione pretended not to care," George started.
"So that Minerva would feel free to choose what she really wanted?" Fred finished.
"Yes—because she's an absolute idiot," Harry grumbled, causing both twins to smirk.
"Min was planning on staying that age, that's what she wanted, until Hermione shredded her heart by trying to be idiotically selfless," George explained.
"And if she had to be older again, she was hoping Hermione could still love her."
"Idiotic women—who would have thought they would ever be the example for a failure in communication," Harry complained.
"Well unfortunately, it's now up to us to fix this stupidity," George grinned. "So who has a plan?"
Thank you for reading, and for the wonderful reviews! They really do keep me going! More to come!