A/N: First of all, I owe you guys a huge thank you, for following and commenting on this story as reliably and lovingly as you do, it fills my heart with nothing but joy. I also apologize for keeping you waiting for an update, and even now that you are getting one, it's short and not really my best, but I hope you'll forgive me anyway. I can't promise anything for the next chapter except that it is already in progress and should definitely be finished before another month passes. Thank you so much, I wholeheartedly appreciate every one of you.

Another big thanks goes out to my beta Libby, always there when I need her. I couldn't do it without you.

CHAPTER TEN

The candles on the table were dancing when Minerva moved to stand up, creating just the slightest wind.

It was late afternoon to early evening, the lights were slowly fading outside and so the faces around the dining table at The Burrow were dipped in the light from the candles only, creating shadows and highlights in the faces of all people present.

Kingsley had gone an hour ago, instead Ginny had arrived and since then she and Harry were inseparable, occupying one of the sofas in the living room, quietly talking to each other.

Except for Ronald and Ginny, none of the other Weasley children were home and the house felt strangely empty, even though the space hadn't changed one bit since Minerva had first been here on a visit.

Before she entered the kitchen, she turned around, looking back onto the remaining occupants of the table. Ronald and Arthur were seated at one end, Hermione facing them and recounting once again the story with the thunderstorm, with which many had seemed impressed earlier, even Kingsley had raised one eyebrow, deeply concerned.

Arthur of course was paying attention to what the brown haired witch was saying but that was no comparison to the look in Ronald's eyes. She knew exactly what that look meant and she couldn't even blame him for it, if she could, she would be wearing it too.

Forcing herself to tear her eyes from the scene, she entered into the kitchen where Molly was cleaning the plates and cutting more of the bread she had baked just for the visitors.

"Do you need some help with that?" Minerva asked. She had not much experience in the kitchen and had no desire to change that fact but her upbringing called for good manners with such generous hospitality.

"Oh don't worry Minerva, I've got it all under control," Molly mumbled while wordlessly charming the empty glass Minerva held in her hand with more of the family wine.

Minerva, already feeling the booze of the alcohol in her system, decided she'd had enough though, so she placed the glass on the empty space on the counter.

"Did anything serious happen while we were gone?" She mumbled distractedly, to occupy her thoughts and keep refraining from looking back into the dining area.

"No, nothing of importance I can think of at the moment. Actually, everything was surprisingly quiet for the state our country is in right now." Molly's last words were almost drowned out by the clattering of a pot she was placing on the stove now.

"Filius tells me that reparations are going even faster than we'd hoped." Minerva charmed two dirty plates to wash themselves and move into the cupboard they belonged in, before taking place at a chair next to the tiny kitchen table in the middle of the room.

"Oh yes, Bill has done a fantastic job. It was a really good idea to suggest to him working on the castle. Give him something to put his energy into." She left the melange behind to cook itself and turned around taking a place on the only other chair and facing Minerva.

"My pleasure," the tall witch said. Not many people knew but she had been the one who had offered Bill the position, instinct had told her it would do him good. "It really seems like he is doing much better. Although I heard about George, Kinsley told me. Is he still not eating properly?"

"We tried persuading him to come back to live here with us at the burrow, but of course he refused. He wants to stay in their flat. His and Fred's." Molly sucked in deep breaths even audible at where Minerva was sitting and for a moment she was concerned the other witch might start to cry, but she recovered enough to keep on speaking.

"Arthur visited him two days ago, but George doesn't want to see anyone. Arthur says he looked terrible. Wasn't even dressed, living off of Cornflakes, if he's eating anything." Molly, who had turned around so that she was facing Minerva, scoffed a little, but Minerva knew her well enough to know that she was just trying to brush off the fact that she was deeply worried.

"Don't worry, Molly." Minerva charmed the heavy pot that Molly was still holding in one of her hands to fly loose from her grip and position itself in one of the many cupboards. Molly dried the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. She didn't even notice that the pot was gone.

"I know George. He just needs time to work through everything, and he'll be fine. You'll see."

Just then, Ronald burst into the kitchen, his face glowing with excitement.

"Where are the scissors, mum? I want to show Hermione a trick that I learned from Bill." Without even looking at his mother, he strode to the other side of the kitchen, when Molly didn't answer immediately. She seemed to have been pulled out of her momentary gloom, though, because she was watching him with an adoring smile.

When Ronald rushed past them and slipped through the door, a flash of laughter invaded from the other room into the kitchen, but before long it quieted down and the voices were only a muffled sound, resounding on the kitchen walls. Minerva thought she could hear Hermione laughing as well, although it could still be Ginny, both had a very low laugh for girls their age.

"Must have been a good trick," Minerva smiled, although her heart wasn't in it.

"Ron has a way with pranks and jokes. It might be annoying in class but it is certainly helpful now, when we all need someone to raise our mood. I'm just so glad that you lot got back alright, if something would have happened to Hermione as well… I don't think it would've been a shock either of the boys could recover from."

"Oh yes," Minerva played with the rings on her finger. "It is a good thing that they still have each other."

"What was Hermione like when you were alone? I know she moved in with you only shortly before you were swifted away, and we did find you before anything bad could happen, but did she say anything to you? Ron tells me she's been struggling because of her parents and all that."

Minerva thought back on the last few weeks, but only snippets of memory danced in her conscious, vivid images of Hermione on the platform, looking so lonely and frail on the platform that first morning. Hermione's joy, when they had cracked the password at Albus' door and her anger, when she had discovered the burnt documents. Hermione laughing, her smile, over and over again. Her brilliant eyes. That was all.

There was no doubt in Minerva that if only for these handful of weeks, Hermione had belonged to her. It was as if they were still glued together, two inseparable minds and presences. Even though Minerva knew it was bound to happen eventually, she couldn't imagine ever being more than 100 feet away from Hermione.

Suddenly Minerva felt the urge to lay out all that had really happened the last few days to someone, even if it was only Molly. She knew she shouldn't, not even in the weakest of moments. But fighting against these endlessly vanquishing emotions, she felt weaker than ever before. How was she to hold back when the strength to keep on going, to still pretend even after so much had changed, was slowly evading her grip? For the first time in forever, there was so much passion within her, that she wanted to throw it all into the wind.

"You know Molly… only three weeks ago, Hermione and I could have been perfect strangers, and still know just the same amount of information about each other that preceded name, age or occupation but since then we've grown fonder of each other than I'd ever imagined possible. I've discovered what a woman of grace and cleverness still mostly hides behind protecting layers of averageness and it's been… astonishing to watch her come into her own."

Minerva found that she was smiling, her eyes were glistening with joy, and Molly too seemed moved. She took Minerva's hand and squeezed it tightly, like a good friend might do after one of the tougher tests of life.

"She is so bright and brave, a young warrior that has prevailed against all challenges and will continue to do so in the future, I hope."

Molly nodded passionately, never letting go of Minerva's hand in her own. "She will undoubtedly become a force of nature within her own time. But until then she needs someone to guide her, Minerva. As all of us know, she has always looked to you first for advice. You two, together. You will make this world a better place. You can help her realize what is possible."

"You're exaggerating, Molly. I am but a headmistress, not a superwoman. And neither is Hermione. She still has much to learn. She is still very young."

"Nonsense, she is perfect! Pretty, smart, loyal. She will bring hope to this nation. She already has them all twirled around her finger."

Minerva knew she was walking on thin ice, but surely this was evidence that she wasn't going insane. It wasn't only Minerva's foolish mind, making up all the sorts of wonderful things about Hermione. She wasn't hallucinating. Hermione had become a woman, worthy of her respect, and in return, Minerva might be worthy as her equal as well. It was then that she had almost said it out loud, how she really felt about the enticing brown haired witch. Maybe Molly would accept it, even understand it. And if what she was saying about how Hermione spoke of her was indeed true, maybe Minerva didn't have to give her up. There was still a chance that everything might go well in the end.

"Do you really think that? Do you think she'd accept me?" She inquired, desperate to get an answer.

"Oh yes, I believe she'd be more than happy to. She has been talking about you a lot, you know. It's obvious that she looks up to you."

"Looks up to me?" Minerva was confused, her mind refused to understand. Whatever did Molly mean?

"Yes! I mean, you aren't married or have any children or anything, and I respect of course your decision. But in any other regard you are the perfect role model. She will have a family to defend. And not just any random, family. She will be your daughter as well as she will be mine."

Numbness spread through Minerva's body and her robes, her hair, suddenly seemed too heavy to bear. She willed her breath to stay calm, and her face did not show the slightest bit of displeasure but inside the agony raged to destroy her.

But Molly must not know, at least not yet. Not while she was thinking that Hermione was going to marry Ronald just as Harry Potter would marry Ginny and Fleur Delacour had eloped with their brother Bill. It was what the Weasleys did, and she would have cheered for every one of the happy couples, except one.

How could Hermione plan to marry a red haired fool with the tendency to make bad jokes? Had Hermione not refused his hand upon the termination of the battle? Or had she been promised all along, and Minerva had only been living in a dream, too much tangled up in her own feelings that she failed to see the truth?

Just when she had gathered up all the courage to tell Molly that the other woman did not understand a thing about Hermione's feelings regarding marriage, or Ronald as a husband, the door to the living room flung open again, and as if on cue, Molly raised in her chair.

"Mr. Weasley." Minerva had to fight to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"Professor." The boy seemed nervous, his head was tilted to the side and his feet were audibly shuffling on the floor, making Minerva even more irritated than she already was.

"If you have a matter pressing on your heart, I suggest you voice it now before we have waited the whole of the evening."

"Well…" Hair had fallen into his face, covering nearly both eyes from her view, and suddenly she knew what he was going to ask, she didn't know how, but what else could a boy his age, vibrant with energy and self-importance, possibly be nervous about.

Thinking back, she would never remember his exact words and even her own replies would come to be vailed with time, surely a mechanism of her own subconscious to rid itself from unbearable pain.

When Ronald explained that he would ask Hermione to marry him again, this time in all seriousness, this time with more precision, this time successfully, she had no doubt that Hermione would accept. He would do it right this time, she could see it. He would wait until she was ready, not force her into anything she didn't want, go by her time, not his. He knew her too well.

Hermione would say yes, and they might be happy together. Who was Minerva to decide fate for a person other than herself? Hermione and Ronald had been dancing around each other for years and even if Hermione looked at her in another way entirely, her love for Ronald might still be enough to make her happy for a lifetime.

Minerva couldn't be the one to mess it all up. It wasn't her right to claim anything that did not have a substantial existence in the here and now. Ronald did, and so Minerva would leave the decision to Hermione alone. She could never forgive herself coming in between something that Hermione had not yet fully decided against. It could not be any other way.

What could she have said instead? What? "Hermione does not want to marry you?" "I love her more?" Hermione wouldn't have wanted that. She would have loathed her for it.

"I wish you all the happiness in the world." Summoning her cloak, giving Molly her thanks and goodbyes, she was out of the back door in a matter of seconds.

At least now it was decided, she told herself. There was nothing that she could do. Except wait. Until Hermione decided, either way.

"Minerva!"

She turned around.

"Where are you going?" Hermione looked slightly confused but cheerfulness was still having the upper hand, having made her cheeks colour in the loveliest way.

"Home." After looking at Hermione for another moment, Minerva turned around and raised her wand, ready to apparate.

"I'll meet you there," Hermione called after her, just as the world was deforming in front of her eyes.

"Until then," Minerva answered, rushed by the time running out, and then she was gone.

''

Restless, Minerva had left her bed after hours of endless tossing and turning. Her mind wouldn't slow, it spun and spun until Minerva was almost feeling sick.

In her office, it was much too cold to walk barefoot or without her dressing gown but the little pangs of cold on her feet and arms were just the right thing to let her mind calm down.

Lost in thought, she wiped the dust of one of the shelves in the back of her office, where even the moonlight couldn't reach the last corners in the room.

She halted when she noticed a square of perfectly clean wood surrounded by a thin layer of dust, starting at its corners. The box. Minerva wasn't sure if she should wish that it had never existed or taken into action sooner.

She moved further along the shelves, tapping every edge as she did so. She hadn't checked if Hermione was still asleep, although she could feel it in her heart that she was. What she would have said if the young woman had suddenly decided to come down and surprised her in the office, she didn't know. She hated the undecidedness that had grown within her ever since Hermione had started to invade her thoughts and feelings on a daily basis. The end of the great war had brought with it another, staged within herself, against herself, for herself. It was painfully clear that she wouldn't come out the same person, no matter the outcome.

The sky was beginning to lighten when she finally stopped moving. She watched the sun rise from a chair in her office, saw the first workers start their day at the camp, and the birds outside, having resumed their chanting the morning that Voldemort had fallen, sang the blue of the night away. And when the first ray of sunshine outstretched their fingers over hills and water into the office, Minerva was gone, just like her restlessness.

''

The air was still cold outside but fresh like it had just been born, and the sky was of a crystal blue. It would be a marvellous day, no doubt.

Minerva watched as a child, not older than seven, strode past her with a curious look. She was wandering about in her feline form so as not to raise too much awareness of her presence but the smart child had noticed her still, a normality on a normal day, but nevertheless not familiar enough.

Another child walked past her, part of a group of children this time, all carrying small backpacks and a look on their faces suggesting a mixture between excitement and anticipation, a look only first graders could wear, no matter their age or background.

Minerva waited in the shadow of a weeping willow until the stream of children had thinned out before starting to make her way across the paved street and into the adjourning neighbourhood, an accumulation of small, pretty houses painted in pastel colours and hedges with a steel gate leading into tiny front gardens.

In front of the third house down the road stood a girl of about six years old with auburn hair that was held back from her face with a purple hairband, wearing a dress over a pair of jeans. She was jumping from one leg to the other, seemingly waiting for something.

Only a moment later, an older woman, probably her grandma, came rushing down the stairs, waving a lunchbox in her hand. She had hair a shade lighter than the girl and she wore it in a cropped hairstyle, rather than long like when Minerva had last seen her, but it was undoubtedly the same person.

With the lunchbox now stored in the backpack, the girl sprinted through the gate and in Minerva's direction as fast as her little legs would carry her, and without shooting the tabby cat on the sidewalk a single look she had passed Minerva in a matter of seconds.

Minerva waited until the woman had disappeared into the house again. Looking around she made sure no one was watching when she transformed back into her human form. With a last check of her appearance, she made her way to the door of the girl's home.

Polite as she was, she rang the doorbell, and although the woman had only moments before disappeared into the house again, it took a while until the door was opened.

For a moment, the other woman was speechless, staring at Minerva openly, her gaze gliding over her still mostly black hair, face and clothes, before a small smile turned the corner of her lips upward.

"Minerva," she said, very calm, seemingly only mildly surprised.

"Hello Celia." Minerva's emerald eyes twinkled. "How good to finally see you again."