Sunday was perhaps the most important day of the week for the faculty of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The non-teaching staff took the supervisory shifts so that papers could be graded, lessons prepared, and sometimes, responsibilities shirked altogether.
Minerva and Hermione weren't shirking, though. Hermione reviewed the material she was to be assisting with in the days ahead before picking up a tome on advanced life-to-life transfiguration – the next level of her mastery, and one that very few practitioners had reached, even accounting for skipping the optional step of achieving animagus status. The book was old, and the writing dense, but Minerva's marginalia were immensely illustrative.
When she had entered the world of magic, the wizarding habit of scribbling notes directly in texts had left her aghast, but learning a simple spell could erase any notes one cared to inscribe in a text had opened new horizons of convenience for Hermione (and new horizons of trouble, for Harry, in their sixth year).
Minerva was writing letters – her Sisyphean task – this time to parents of children who would need encouragement over the course of the semester in order to remain on track. After so many years, the first week gave Minerva a pretty good idea of whom she would need to keep an eye on. As much as she missed teaching, she felt like her near constant attention on the marginal students (or the ne'er-do-wells) was very beneficial for the student body. She had loved Albus Dumbledore like a brother, and he was as talented a practitioner of magic as there ever was, but dealing with recalcitrant and struggling students had not been his forte – the man had been far too whimsical.
As someone whose school years were spent with less academically inclined best friends and peers, sharing space with Minerva while they were both working was a revelation for Hermione. The other witch's absolute focus had a similar effect on her, and there was the fringe benefit of being able to watch Minerva work, which would make Minerva smile, sometimes bringing her eyes up to meet Hermione's gaze.
Hermione was watching her now, having finished a chunk of the assigned text, she was cogitating, and watching. Minerva smirked, her thin lips stretching in delight to show even, white teeth.
"How do you always know?" Hermione opined, causing Minerva's smiled to widen.
"Magic," husked Minerva. "Come and sit with me a while, little fox. Tell me about what you have read."
Minerva lifted an arm to allow Hermione to snuggle close to her on the sofa, flushing with pleasure when the younger witching did so un-self consciously.
"That book is a tough one," Hermione mused, leaning comfortably against Minerva, whose contentment she can feel glowing in her chest like a small star.
Minerva hummed in agreement. "The only way to get through it is to discuss it. That is how Albus taught me, and I have not been able to find a better book, or a better method, in the forty years since."
"You could write one," suggested Hermione with an impish grin.
"Yes, in my copious amounts of free time, I shall write a text on fourth level transfiguration concepts that is both theoretical and practical."
"Well, when you put it that way…" Hermione drawled, and they both chuckled. "Perhaps when I've finished my studies, we can write a book together – a join effort."
Minerva turned a radiant smile on Hermione. "I think I would enjoy that – co-authoring a book with you. Though don't imagine it will be a best seller, my dear."
"I'm perfectly alright with that."
Minerva smiled again. "Enough stalling, 'Mione. Tell me, what is the logical conclusion to our author's theory in the first chapter?"
Hermione grinned and took a deep breath before launching into another endlessly stimulating conversation with the smartest witch she knew.
They were so absorbed in one another that they did not hear the sound of feet on the stairs, nor did they hear Tilley clear her throat, at least not the first time. They hadn't been kissing or anything, much to Hermione's relief, when she looked up and saw Harry staring at them wide-eyed, but the position they were in was unquestionably intimate.
Her need for affection from Minerva had been growing by the day, and she knew Minerva felt it too, so after giving Minerva a good head rub, she had happily positioned herself for the foot massage the other woman had offered her. It would have been impossible for anyone to misinterpret the look on Minerva's face; she appeared to be perfectly at peace and very much in love. Hermione suspect that a similar expression was evident on her face, along with a healthy portion of bliss, from the strong fingers massaging her tired feet (the day before had been rough on her paws).
Minerva blushed furiously; Hermione could feel that she was intensely embarrassed, and couldn't help her own frown in response to that. Some discussion and reassurances were warranted, but she couldn't do much now, so she laid a comforting hand on Minerva's shoulder before swinging her legs around to stand up.
"This is a surprise, Harry." Hermione greeted him with a bit of reproach in her voice – showing up at someone's home with no warning was not the way to remain in her good graces. At least when Harry and Ron had lived on the opposite side of the Gryffindor tower, the castle's stringent enchantments prevented them from invading the girls' space whenever it suited them.
"Uh, hi, 'Mione. Prof… er, Headmistress." He was blushing and stuttering like he was still a third year who was utterly intimidated by his teachers. How awkward.
Minerva stood too: Hermione couldn't tell her emotional state; it was too muddled, and a mix of feelings was pinging through the one-way bond, embarrassment and pride seemed to be chief among them.
"I need to have a chat with Roland about quidditch tryouts," she stated, making steady eye contact with Harry, but briefly placing her hand in the small of Hermione's back. Hermione bit down a smirk at Minerva's subtle, and welcome, possessiveness. "The Ravenclaws are planning something."
"Mister Erickson certainly is an enterprising captain," Hermione said with a snort. She had encountered the sixth year again during her classroom duties, and he had immediately begun campaigning for her to ask Harry to come worth with the Ravenclaw's young seeker, who was only a second year. She had had to be rather firm to get him to back off.
Minerva rolled her eyes emphatically. "He only thinks we haven't seen it all before." Hermione chuckled, as did Harry, remembering Oliver Wood and his schemes.
"I hope you will join us for dinner, Mr. Pottter," she offered, magnanimous despite her embarrassment and his less than stellar manners.
"Thank you, Headmistress, I would like that. Cooking for myself just doesn't have the same appeal as the elves' cooking."
Minerva smiled at that. "It never will, Harry," she quipped, then swept down the stairs that led to her office, as elegant and composed as ever, despite her messy hair and informal attire.
Now that Minerva was gone, Harry was goggling at her. She supposed she should get used to such reactions, but it didn't make it any less uncomfortable, especially coming from her best friend. She waited for him to regain control of his faculties.
"So Ron wasn't just being paranoid when he said you and McGonagall…" He trailed off, as if he was unable to say that she and Minerva were together, or perhaps he didn't know how to say it.
"He was being paranoid, Harry," she corrected. "All he saw was the closeness of a supportive friendship."
"He said you were strolling down Diagon Alley with her arm around your shoulders!"
"It may shock you to hear this, but my life hasn't been particularly pleasant over the past eighteen months or so," Hermione spat. "I had had a rough couple of days, and the Alley was crowded, and my friend was lending me a shoulder."
"So there's nothing going on between you and McGonagall?"
"I didn't say that. I said Ron was being paranoid, possessive, and not a little mean. Minerva and I have begun…" she paused, looking for the right words, not thinking he needed to know the details of her magical bond that had merely cemented what Hermione had already been feeling – made her more sure of what was happening. "We've begun a romantic relationship."
"Are you… Do you really know her, Hermione? It's only been a few weeks."
"I may not know every detail about Minerva's life, Harry," she spat. "But her character cannot be questioned.
Harry's face screwed up in a familiar visage of concentration. Hermione wasn't trying to be testy with him; she didn't want to be mean to her best friend, but not only had she spent years dealing with his and Ron's ill-advised and immature romantic entanglements and crushes, she had also dealt with their weird possessive protectiveness when she had so much as shown an interest in someone, and she was over it.
"I guess this means you won't be getting back together with Ron, then, if he…" Apparently he was having a hard time verbally acknowledging that Ron was suffering from some as0yet-undiagnosed mental illness.
"No, Harry. I'm happy here, and I'm happy with Minerva, and I doubt that I would have been happy very long with Ron, in any case," she explained gently.
"I guess I always assumed you friendship would overcome any other incompatibilities."
"And I was clinging to the familiar, and then trying to guide a friend to get help, and protect him, and myself from the inevitable shit that the papers would put us through if our problems came to light."
She sighed and flopped back on the sofa, gesturing for Harry to join her. "I had to move on, Harry, and I wasn't expecting anything more than a job and an apprenticeship with someone I trusted."