CHAPTER EIGHT
It was indeed a house. The big shadow down the road turned out to be an old stone building with closed shutters and a red door under a canopy, which seemed like a gift from heaven when both witches finally reached the protecting roof.
Panting, wet from head to toe, but still alive, they flopped down on the stairs, Minerva's arm still draped over Hermione's shoulder from when she had needed support to walk with her injured foot. Wincing, she loosened her arm, the position had been quite uncomfortable, the height difference making things even more difficult.
"How are we going to get in?" Minerva asked when enough air had come back into her lungs, while the storm still raged around them.
Hermione brushed her wet hair back, once, twice, thinking.
"Well there are a few options, all unlawful, of course." She stood up, switched the outdoor light on and to her delight, a small bulb over their heads sprang to live and lit up the scene so that Hermione could inspect the door.
As a test, she knocked on the door twice. If anyone was inside, they would have heard them by now, storm or not. Then she rattled on the doorknob but it wouldn't budge. "Would have been too good if it wasn't locked," she mumbled under her breath. "Except…"
Leaving the door alone, she bent down and reached under the doormat to lift it up, then when she didn't find anything, proceeded to search under the flower pots next to the door.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" Minerva watched her, flabbergasted.
"Well, most Muggles always leave a spare key somewhere hidden near their front door. My parents, for example, used to keep theirs just over the door…" She trailed off, rising to the tip of her toes to reach up to the frame of the door and felt for something metal, until she stopped and turned around, a big smile on her face.
"Seems like the owners of this house had much the same idea," she smirked, holding up a tiny nickel-coloured key.
Turning the key and pushing the door open, both women watched while it opened slowly, revealing an open space in which they couldn't distinguish much, it had gotten too dark to see properly.
"After you, Madame," Hermione said, holding the door gallantly open for Minerva to pass through. When it shut quietly, it was completely dark for a couple of seconds, until there was a "click" and Hermione had found the light switch.
"Thank god, at least this house has electricity"
The young witch moved to take Minerva's coat, the glee so visible on her face that Minerva couldn't help but smile as well.
"What is it?" Hermione said, a moment of seriousness making her smile falter abruptly.
"Nothing," Minerva said, shaking her head shyly, but she didn't stop smiling, which made Hermione even happier. And suddenly, she wasn't so sorry anymore that they had landed in Dumbledore's house or that it was just the two of them, all alone on this quest.
''
With a last look back onto the simmering pot of pasta- fortunately this house was much better equipped in everything, particularly food- Hermione slid through the kitchen door, trying to make as little sound as possible.
It was very likely that the house they were staying in was a vacation home used only a couple times a year, the advertisement in the letterbox piled back several weeks and canned food, pasta and all essential utensils and requirements for a stay over the weekend were there. It was comprised of a bathroom with a shower and a big bedroom, as well as an open living and cooking area.
Upon arriving, they had lit a fire, Minerva resting on a couch while Hermione took the first shift showering. It felt strange intruding in other people's lives like this, without invitation and practically without boundaries (she gladly exchanged her clothes against those she found in a closet in the bedroom, but didn't dare to use the very nice perfume lining the bathroom wall). Her conscience fought hard, but her need for warmth and clean clothes was much bigger. They would return everything before the owners could notice anyway, it wouldn't be long before they'd have their wands back, but for now the "borrowing" was unfortunately a necessity.
Tiptoeing so her feet wouldn't make a sound on the floor, she neared the bathroom, where steam was still coming through the gap down at the door. She raised her hand, about to knock to tell Minerva that dinner would be ready soon, when she decided against it in the last second, letting her hand fall down, still standing with her cheek almost touching the wood, listening to the water pelting behind the door. She would give Minerva all the time she needed, the food could wait.
Just before she rounded the corner, she could hear Minerva's soft voice humming a muffled tune.
In the kitchen, she drained the pasta, set the table for two, and let the canned sauce cook at medium heat. She opened the terrace door, letting fresh air inside, watching as the rain dropped from the roof above her. She stayed like this for a while, her back to the kitchen, leaning against the door frame with the wind blowing the tiniest drops into her face.
"Oh, I hope you haven't been waiting too long for me?"
Startled, Hermione turned around. Minerva limped from the door to the kitchen table, subconsciously twirling her still wet hair around her right index finger. Hermione didn't notice it though, as some other changes in Minerva's appearance were much more attention-demanding. Laughing and immediately covering her mouth so as to suppress the laughter, Hermione just couldn't help the very surprised look she was still wearing.
"Please don't laugh…" Minerva said, looking embarrassed, while Hermione desperately tried to control her breathing. "I don't understand how any woman can be that tiny, nothing fit!"
While Hermione had found a pair of trousers and a shirt that were almost her size (although only after a thorough search of the closet), Minerva had had to pick her outfit from the husband's side of the closet. Even though she was taller than most women, she looked hideously small in the big flannel shirt and the baggy jeans, so not like the Minerva McGonagall that she had known since her first year in Hogwarts.
"No, no, you look great," Hermione said, still smiling but one hundred percent honest. "It's just… different, that's all."
"Yeah, right." Minerva said, sitting down at the table, brushing her slowly curling hair behind her ears. "I just don't understand why anyone would want to wear such a thing. Muggles have very weird taste."
"You think so? Well, I believe it suits you. You know, accentuates your figure."
Minerva looked at Hermione testily, then scoffed amusedly and turned her attention to the still steaming pot of pasta in front of her.
"I can't remember the last time I ate pasta."
"Seriously?" Hermione, who had been fetching the sauce from the stove, turned around, shocked.
"Hmm hm." She nodded, grabbing the bowl and putting some of its content first on Hermione's and then on her own plate. When Hermione sat down across the table, the younger witch put sauce on her pasta, then handed the pot over to Minerva. She waited for her to be done before starting the meal, even though great hunger was grumbling in her stomach.
"Thank you for making dinner, Hermione," Minerva said sincerely and both took that as an invitation to start eating.
"It's nothing. Maybe I should have made the rice instead, if you don't like pasta."
"Oh, I do like it," Minerva said, taking another bite. "But Hogwarts doesn't serve it and it's been ages since I've eaten out, there was always too much going on for me to justify dining outside the school, when there was a perfectly good kitchen right under the ground floor."
"Right." Hermione said, and both ate in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from their clattering cutlery and the slowly retreating thunderstorm.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" Intrigued, Minerva lifted her head again to look Hermione in the eyes, before answering. "Sure."
Hermione nervously dodged a Penne with her fork before asking the question that had been on her mind for a while now. "How come you stayed at Hogwarts?"
Minerva stopped eating as well, furrowing her brow she moved in her chair, adjusting her shirt. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, why didn't you just leave Hogwarts? I'm sure you had many more job opportunities than teaching horny teenagers about Level one Transfiguration. Couldn't you have gone to teach at any institution in the world, with a resume like yours?"
Minerva laughed, shaking her head. "Oh I don´t know if that's true."
"False modesty?" Hermione said, raising a brow.
"No, no. My grades were exceptional. But I wasn't married," the older witch shrugged.
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed into a frown. "I don't see why that should have been a problem," she said sternly.
"No, of course not," Minerva smiled. "But they were different times, back then. It wouldn't have been unusual for a young lady like me to blow up my dreams and get married to a nice fella. You see, when I was born, all women were wives, and their place was at home. It was unwelcome, seeing a woman make her hands dirty. Scandalous, almost."
"But you did work at the ministry for a couple of years."
"That is true. But war was a different time. Women were needed. For a couple of years, we were accepted in the cabinets, conference rooms. Not that we had much say. But we were part of the society for once, not only witnesses. We had the same responsibility as everyone else: winning the war. But as soon as that was over, opportunities shrunk. Suddenly, we were supposed to go back to our boring lives as if nothing ever happened. For our protection they said. Nobody really cared what we thought on the matter.
Of course there were still some who didn't want to have a career. But I never identified as such. I wanted to take matters into my own hands. And I got lucky. An important ministry employer at the time took a liking to me. So I worked for him for a couple of years. We had a great time and he was one of the kindest men I knew but when he proposed the second time, even after I had made it clear that I was not interested several times, I knew it was time to leave the unit. Fortunately, my good old professor Dumbledore had a teaching position offered to me, so I went back to Hogwarts. And I stayed."
"And life as a teacher really satisfied you? Why not try something more diversified?"
"Oh there was always too much going on, genius students with no one to take care of them, pranksters making my life hell, the war. The time to leave was never right."
"Is it ever?"
"Probably not." Both witches stayed silent for a while.
"I tried applying to laboratories and institutions after a couple of years, I must have been around what, 30? They all refused."
"I don't understand…"
"Well as I said, they were sceptical about a woman who had never been married and of course, it was public knowledge that I refused the hand of one of the most liked as well as respected Ministry officers and then, you know, there were the rumours…"
She said it so casually that she made it seem as if the topic was discussed as frequently as the weather and they were old friends that had been elaborating on them since even before the first wizarding war. Meanwhile, the food between the two witches had been completely forgotten, the pasta slowly turning cold.
Hermione stared at Minerva. She wouldn't say anything until Minerva said it. But she waited in vain. Minerva just looked at her in a way that made Hermione's throat tie up until she could feel the lack of oxygen clouding her brain.
"What rumours?" Hermione finally said.
"Oh you know, this and that. You are very lucky to grow up in a world that is much more excepting of the abnormal."
"I am very aware of it, I appreciate the freedom our generation was given. But that wasn't my question."
"Then what is your question?" Minerva tilted her head to the side, holding Hermione's glance. Hermione's hands were sweating, her chair suddenly becoming uncomfortable, the adrenalin rushing through her veins once again. It was intense. Inside, she was fighting a war with herself. Cowardice won.
"I… I mean they were just rumours. I just don't understand why anybody would refuse to hire you because of some unimportant thing people said about you."
"Well, public opinions mattered a lot back then." Minerva turned her attention back to her food.
"They still do." Hermione sighed, half-heartedly taking another bite.
"With time you learn not to care anymore. Yes, some things changed, but some things also stayed the same. Back then I didn't even have time to think about such things. I suddenly found myself in the midst of a war in the looming, and it has never really stopped. Until now."
Hermione thought about that for a while, then she answered.
"You know what makes me so angry?"
Minerva answered with shaking her head, encouraging Hermione to go on.
"All the lives that vicious man stole- not only those we mourn for, the departed and the dead- but also those of the living. What about Harry's life, Ron's… what about yours? Who mourns for the Minerva McGonagall that lost her life when the war began?"
Gently, the older witch smiled at her. "I don't. That Minerva wouldn't have known any of you beautiful children. She would have been bitter, bored with life. I'm not saying that anything that happened wasn't painful. But in some ways, it was worth it. And that is what we cling to, until we don't have to anymore. Bad things happen, but good things can grow out of them."
Hermione had to swallow heavily. "I am so glad that you are here."
In silence, Minerva reached over the table and grasped Hermione's hand, taking it into her own, staring at their fingers curled around each other. "Me too." She said and she didn't let go of Hermione's hand until Hermione returned her smile.
''
After they finished their dinner, they were so tired that they decided to go to bed right away. Hermione offered Minerva that she could sleep on the couch to get a proper night's rest, but Minerva refused to accept the suggestion, saying that she was obviously in a well enough condition to sleep on a couch. They argued a little, before deciding that Minerva should sleep in the bed.
As a result, Hermione set up camp in the living room, taking blankets and head pillows and making a comfortable pallet just next to the fire.
She laid down in the middle of the nest created, staring at the ceiling, listening to the fire crackle. When suddenly she heard footsteps on the floorboards.
"I couldn't sleep. It feels so strange, lying in someone else's bed. Like sleeping with a ghost next to you." She shivered and Hermione smiled, scooting over for Minerva to sit down next to her, but to her surprise the older witch just went to lie down completely. Hermione joined her, both lying on their backs, listening to the faint rain dropping on the roof above them.
"Don't you just love being inside in the warmth when there is a thunderstorm raging around you?" Hermione turned her head to look at Minerva`s silhouette, illuminated by the oranges of the fire.
"Emphasis on inside." Minerva chuckled, turning too. "To be honest, I've had it with thunderstorms for a while, after our little adventure out there."
Hermione just nodded, lost in memories of the afternoon they'd spend together. Minerva watched her think, a content smile on her face. In a thoughtless gesture of affection, she brushed some of the curls out of Hermione's face.
"Only the wild harpies loved thunderstorms more than any other weather…" Hermione mumbled.
"Pardon?" Minerva said when the younger witch didn't elaborate any further, her eyebrows furrowed.
"…and flew with howls and screeches around the robber's castle on Mattisberg," Hermione continued, her chocolate eyes focusing on Minerva's emerald ones again. "It's a children's story I used to adore as a child."
"What is it about?" Minerva turned on her side and propped an elbow up so that she had a better view on Hermione.
"About a girl called Ronia, who grows up in a castle split in half by lightning the night she was born, surrounded only by her parents and their robbers clan. Her father doesn't like it when she goes out into the dangerous woods, because he is very protective of her, but then again she is a robber's daughter who shouldn't be afraid of anything."
"Oh I can imagine how you must have loved that story, growing up."
"You haven't even heard the best part," Hermione grinned. "In the woods, she meets this boy called Birk, who is the son of the enemy robber's leader. At first they hate each other, but soon they become friends and decide to live in the forest together, tired of all the rivalry between the clans. They call each other brother and sister, since they never had any, and both their father's turn away from them because they don't approve of their friendship. But the shorter the days get, the more the fathers seem to realize their mistakes and would welcome their children back at home, however that would mean they could never see each other anymore. They can't stay outside either, though, because then they'd freeze to death."
"Hmm, I see. Very tricky situation, indeed." Minerva nodded sleepily.
"Exactly!" Hermione said, her hands gesturing wildly.
"So what happens then?" Minerva turned on her back again, so that they couldn't see each other anymore but they were still so close that they could feel the other's presence next to them.
"Ronia's father comes to beg forgiveness. He wants her to come home. But he knows that she would never accompany him, if he wouldn't invite Birk too. So they both go back home, though only under the condition that they would never become robbers like their fathers, who by now have become partners. And when the winter is finally over, they leave the castle again, to welcome the spring together."
They lay in comfortable silence for a while but when Minerva still didn't say anything for what seemed like a couple of minutes, she turned around.
The older witch had fallen asleep. She looked so peaceful. And so beautiful too. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, her lips stood just the slightest bit apart.
In the sleep, her shirt had slid to the side a little, revealing soft skin that Hermione had never seen before. She was lying so close that Hermione could have counted the freckles on her skin.
Hermione was tired but she couldn't sleep. She couldn't stop looking at Minerva. She wanted to watch over her, make sure that she was resting comfortably.
When Minerva sighed a little, Hermione smiled, waiting if she was going to wake up, but the older witch slept on serenely, her breathing deep and regular.
Hermione covered the sleeping form of the raven haired witch before settling into her own covers again. It wasn't long before she dozed off too. And her dreams were as peaceful as ever.
A/n: Ahh, the quiet before the storm... Can everyone see the new chapters now btw?