A/N: Fam! It's Spin's birthday today! And though she'd doing her best to pretend it isn't, please join me in wishing her the most fabulous day. Having a birthday during this time isn't the most fun birthday one can have, but let's show some love, cos honestly, without her, you'd have a very different and probably much less pretty and polished and honestly, there would be far more doors that lead to nowhere AND we would have broken Dumbeldore's nose again, cos I had Hermione throw a drawer at him... That's how I write, okay?!

Ahem.

Happy Birthday my wonderful friend. We love you.

For disclaimer, please see Ch2.

-0-

Hermione felt Minerva fall asleep but was still wide awake herself. She didn't want to leave the security of Minerva's arms though and settled down, letting her brain turn over everything it could. She was sure Dumbledore was going about it all wrong. Voldemort was not a complicated person. In fact, she winced at the thought, according to Harry himself, he wasn't all that different from Harry.

He was an orphan. He'd grown up here, at Hogwarts. And he'd desperately sought validation from his teachers, Dumbledore especially. It made sense that he was scared of him. Dumbledore had been the only one to ever see past the smiling face.

So, it stood to reason that he would have chosen things that made sense to him. Personal items, although as an orphan she doubted Voldemort had very many. She thought about the two items that Harry had told her about: the diary that had held Ginny captive, and the ring - both big parts of him, parts of his heritage. She would need to ask him more about that the next time she saw him. She realised that it would be hard now though. They only had five different classes together, three of which would be impossible to talk in and they would not even be eating together. She would have to figure that out later, once they settled into their new rhythm. She felt Minerva shift and looked up to see the woman frowning, though she was still asleep.

"Please don't -" she mumbled.

Hermione realised she was dreaming and reached up, tracing the woman's face with protracted interest. The worry lines left and her eyes fluttered as she went back to sleep.

Hermione, realising that this position perhaps wasn't the best for Minerva's still healing body, extricated her arm and wrapped it around Minerva this time, letting the witch settle partly on top of her, releasing the downward pressure on her ribs. She'd been reading about the aches Minerva still had and wondered why her brother hadn't thought to do more than a few different things to try and ease it. There were muscles on top of muscles and bones that had been knitted back together. She'd come to the conclusion that while a wand could fuse things back together, nobody could return muscle and bone to their previous condition, and surely nobody had thought about growing more of what they had, even if it was possible.

She bit her lip as she pondered that. Everyone knew that you could not create matter from nothing, at least, most people did. Hermione wasn't sure though if everyone understood that was what Gamp's First Law was really about. She made a mental note to ask Minerva about it.

The woman in question was sleeping soundly when a soft knock on the door made Hermione pause, wrapping her arm around the woman.

"Ah," Professor Dumbledore smiled, his eyes back to twinkling brightly. "I had wondered whether my wife would be present for dinner. It seems she will not."

"Sorry," Hermione muttered.

"I am not," he said sadly. "She sleeps fitfully, if at all some nights."

"I," Hermione paused, not knowing whether she had the courage to ask what was needed. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can." The Headmaster nodded. "Although I may not answer, especially if it is about what I think it is."

"Why will you not even listen to what I have to say?" Hermione asked, huffing in frustration.

"There are things beyond your ken," he smiled. "As it were. What Harry and I are embarking on is not something he can simply recount to you later. I have been researching this topic for many years, Miss Granger."

"Hermione," she muttered, frowning. "You might as well."

"Fine," he said reluctantly. "Hermione."

"I just don't think that Voldemort is that complicated. He's an evil version of Harry. They're predictable, underneath it all. And he's so arrogant. He wants to -"

"Miss Granger," he stopped, forestalling her argument. "Tom Riddle is complicated beyond belief. It is preposterous that you think you would have a better understanding of him than I do, someone who has been studying him his entire life. It would do for you to concentrate on your tasks here, instead of interfering in things that do not involve you."

"So it's okay to endanger my best friend, but the minute I offer help or a differing opinion, the minute I have something to add, you want nothing to do with it!" She gaped at him, standing there all ambivalent as if pretending to be above it all. "You're an arsehole -"

"Hermione Granger," Minerva's voice seemed to snap through the room. Hermione felt the glare but couldn't see it. "That was unkind." She squeezed Hermione's middle, an unspoken command becoming clear as Hermione raged silently at the Headmaster. "Hermione," she warned again.

"Sorry," she muttered, though she didn't mean it.

He was an arsehole. Dumbledore knew Harry would have shared everything he had told him, but to ignore her contribution completely was just stupid.

"While we are on the subject," Minerva said carefully. "Albus, you did not take into account Hermione's Prefect position."

Hermione stared at her feeling betrayed.

"No!"

"Ah," he said quietly. "So I did not." He sighed. "I shall be taking it back, I think."

"What?" Hermione said, looking between them. "No, that's -"

"You will not be rejoining the student population, Miss Granger, you have no need of it."

Hermione glared at Minerva who remained unmoved despite laying beside her on the bed. The blood rushed in her ears as she reached over and pulled open the drawer beside the bed. Hermione reached in and pulled out her Prefect's badge, flinging it onto the end of the bed.

"Fine," she snapped. "Take it."

She attempted to get out of her grasp, but Minerva's arm was surprisingly strong around her middle. After a momentary struggle, she gave up and huffed, crossing her arms and glaring at the floor. For a long time, there was silence until she looked up and found Professor Dumbledore staring at her pensively. Eventually, he nodded and left, taking the badge with him and closing the door behind him without another word. Hermione huffed and opened her mouth to speak.

"Don't you dare," Minerva said dangerously. "You were way out of line. And you are lucky to be here. Take it for what it is."

"But that -"

"Leave it."

"But -"

"Hermione!"

"Why is everyone treating me like I'm an idiot? I told you all I'd go to Azkaban!"

"And a fat lot of good a Prefect's badge would have helped you in there," Minerva snapped, making Hermione jump. "Now," she said and Hermione felt the deep breath she took. "Let it go."

"I don't like being treated as if I'm a child."

"We are not treating you like a child. We're trying to keep you safe," Minerva soothed, her arms tightening when Hermione went to leave again. "No, don't move, stay here. I'm comfortable."

Hermione snorted, her anger dissipating a little, and relaxed back into the bed.

"Albus," Minerva clicked her tongue and sighed, settling again. "If he has but one failing above the many others, it is that he is protective to a fault. He will fight tooth and nail with the very person he seeks to shield from harm. Sometimes not realising that he is doing as much damage by doing so."

"He doesn't give a -" Hermione mumbled.

"Stop," Minerva said, leaning up on her elbow with a groan. "He does. He does because I do. Do not doubt that, so please stop now before you say something you don't mean. I do not want to be upset with you, Hermione. I adore you. But I am his wife above all else and for all his faults, I love him deeply."

Hermione sighed.

"I just -"

"Darling?" She met Minerva's eyes. "Let it go."

Hermione huffed, knowing she would get nowhere at all by talking in circles with her. And she didn't really want to insult the man in front of his wife, no matter how much he annoyed her.

"That's better," Minerva smiled, wincing again. "Could you," she frowned. "I'm loath to let you get up, but could you possibly get me a pain potion?"

"Where?" Hermione asked, already rolling out of the bed and replacing herself with a pillow.

"Our room, through the door at the back. Left-hand side of the bathroom cupboard."

"I'll be right back."

She assumed Dumbledore had gone to dinner and confirmed it when she peered around the doorway of their room. It was exactly as she had imagined Minerva's room to be. Deep, dark colours. Cocooning, almost.

Comforting.

Hermione desperately wished she could stay and run her fingers along the dressing table she found, remembering doing that to her mother's dresser when she was small. Like her mothers, Minerva's was an organised mess that she couldn't help but smile at. Makeup, hairpins by the hundred, a bottle of perfume and a whole case of broaches. Moving beyond the bedroom, she found what she was looking for, and made it back to Minerva in no time at all.

"Here," she said, letting her hand slide under Minerva's neck and held her head still as she swallowed.

"I can move a little, you know," Minerva chuckled, making Hermione blush. "Thank you."

Hermione nodded and bit her lip.

"I see you have a hundred questions for me," Minerva said, trying to get comfortable. "But seeing as I'm missing dinner for this, come and get back in, because -" She didn't finish.

"Because you're still in pain."

"Quite," Minerva admitted. "You were helping immensely."

"Has your," Hermione winced. "Brother? Not said anything about it?"

Minerva chuckled introspectively.

"I do not go to my brother for medical advice any more; we both learned that the hard way many years ago," Minerva said, sighing as she got back into the same position she was in before. "Oh, that's better, thank you, darling. Though there is no better healer, in my opinion, little brothers and big sisters do not always see eye to eye."

"You're welcome, and I wouldn't know," Hermione muttered, her brain already twelve steps ahead. "So, who's your healer?"

"Hermione!"

"I just mean," Hermione huffed. "They should be doing more."

"Oh, there's plenty they want to be doing," Minerva muttered, and Hermione noticed a blush on her cheeks.

"Are you ignoring their advice?" She looked hard and realised the truth. "You've not told them anything! You're avoiding them!"

"Hermione, I," Minerva started before stopping and rubbing her forehead. "It is embarrassing."

"What is?"

"It is confronting to face your own mortality, Hermione, to feel your body betray you," Minerva whispered. "Poppy - Madam Pomfrey - is my sister-in-law. One of my best friends. She fusses and makes me feel silly. And she does not hide her thoughts well."

"Would it help if it was someone you didn't know?" Hermione snorted before she'd even let Minerva ponder it. "Never mind, that's ridiculous. You'd hate that more."

Minerva chuckled, but Hermione was off and thinking again.

"If I told you to do something, would you do it?" Hermione headed her off as she opened her mouth. "No, I mean medically, well, kind of. If there were exercises you could do on your own? I could show you how to do them then you'd be responsible for doing them yourself." Hermione looked pointedly at her. "With no audience."

"I don't understand."

"Well, in the Muggle world there's something called a physiotherapist."

"A what?"

"I'll explain, hush," Hermione huffed, not willing to be headed off this track and ignoring the look she got from Minerva. "When a Muggle gets hurt they have an operation, where the doctor goes inside the body and fixes it. But in doing so, they have to cut through muscle and sinew and sometimes bone. I think," she winced. "I think that's sort of what happened to you. They," she glanced at Minerva, who was staring at her with something Hermione couldn't quite figure out in her eyes. "They damaged you, inside. And the Healers 'fixed'," she made air quotes, "you, but they didn't - couldn't - put the muscle back to where or how it was before. When it is healed," she frowned. "It's as new?"

"More," Minerva clarified. "You can make more of something -"

"But you cannot make it appear from nothing," Hermione muttered, interrupting, and oblivious to the look on Minerva's face. "Not that that has ever made sense," she carried on, glancing up at Minerva. "What?"

"You, watching your brain work is a treat for an old teacher like me."

"I wish you wouldn't say that," Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're hurt, not old."

"I feel old when you speak."

"Maybe I should stop?"

Hermione almost choked as Minerva's fingers dug into her ribs and tickled her until she cried for mercy.

"Don't you ever stop talking to me, Hermione Granger," Minerva whispered, pulling her closer. "That would be worse than anything else in this already dreadful universe."

"I promise," Hermione assured, hearing the plea in her voice. "I promise."