No, your eyes do not deceive you. This is in fact a new actual story from me. Hope you enjoy. More to come. :)
Chapter One
Minerva McGonagall was tired. As a young woman, she'd had dreams of this and that, and imagined all sorts of adventures she might go on, but she'd never imagined living through three wars. One had been plenty, and during Grindelwald's rise she'd been content to be old enough to be in on the action, but young enough that none of the pressure was on her to make decisions about tactics. By Voldemort's first rise, she'd been plenty old enough for Albus to rope her into a more active role off the battlefield, though Merlin knew she saw more than a fair few skirmishes during that war as well. When Voldemort rose a second time, she'd been looked at as second in command, and then rose to be the leader of the Order of the Phoenix once Albus had died.
Minerva sighed, remembering those last few years of the war. Things had been quiet until Harry Potter came to Hogwarts. His first year, he and his best friends Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom had managed to save the Sorcerer's Stone from Voldemort. She and the rest of the staff hadn't realized their colleague, Quirinius Quirrell, had been taken as a host for the still-spirit form of Voldemort, and privately she still kicked herself for not noticing. In Harry's second year, there had been the debacle with the Chamber of Secrets. She didn't even like thinking about that. If not for Longbottom's fascination with dangerous plants and creatures alike, the boys might not have deduced what waited for them in the Chamber was a basilisk. Third year, Harry had been given a time-turner by Albus to allow for extra training time, given that it was obvious Voldemort was not going to leave the boy alone. While that had created a pile of messes, it had also saved poor Sirius Black from the Dementor's Kiss, when the trio had used the device to go back in time and rescue him. Saving Sirius, of course, had provided the Order with a much-needed safehouse in the form of the Black heir's childhood home - Number 12 Grimmauld Place - and it gave Harry and his godfather two years together, before the latter was killed in a duel at the Ministry of Magic. Fourth year was that blasted Triwizard Tournament… no. She was not thinking about that. She still had nightmares about that.
Harry's fifth year, the boy and his friends had formed an underground Defense Club, having about had it with incompetent instructors up to that point. She'd known about it, and turned a blind eye. Having been tutored privately by Albus, and later Remus Lupin, Harry was more than able to help his classmates learn to defend themselves. His sixth year, that group of students had helped prevent greater loss of life when Death Eaters breached the castle, the night Albus had died. During the final year of the war, Harry, Weasley, and Longbottom were officially not at Hogwarts, although in truth were hiding in the Room of Requirement when they were not out of the castle searching for Horcruxes. Once all of them were taken care of, Harry and his friends had cooperated with the other Professors to lure Voldemort and his followers to the very defensible castle for the final battle. Ronald Weasley, young as he may have been, was an excellent strategist. Neville Longbottom had been a wonder to behold - the once shy boy now an able general, organizing the older students and Professors alike for the fight, and evacuating the younger students through the secret passages. While Minerva herself was technically in charge of the castle, for that day, Harry Potter became the Head of Hogwarts, leading the Light as Albus had groomed him to do. It really was no wonder that the wizarding world hailed the three young men as The Golden Trio.
All of that said, Harry and the others gave her way too much credit for their successes, and she was now suffering a very unwanted bout of popularity, and at least once a week she found herself escaping it in the Muggle world, where thank Merlin, nobody knew who she was.
Hermione Granger sat on the train with a book in her face, although she wasn't really reading. It was simply a large enough book to cover her face, and she carried it with her when she went places to avoid the people who knew her on sight, but didn't know her at all. As a child, Hermione had excelled in school, and her parents had encouraged this. By excelled, she meant that she had enrolled in University by the time she was thirteen, and at twenty years old, she was working on her fourth and fifth degrees. Her first had been Physics, her second in Chemistry, her third in Dentistry (to appease her Dentist parents), and her current degree program was a double major in Biology and Anthropology. She thought that after this degree program, she would likely start looking for work as a forensic anthropologist, perhaps in Oxford. She'd tried to find work after the degree in Dentistry, but found no employers willing to take on a sixteen year old, regardless of how smart she was. Hopefully, now, she was old enough to be taken seriously.
Academic excellence had been a private point of pride until last year, when a news station had gotten wind of her status as a prodigy, and decided it was a worthy story to do. At the time, she'd not seen a reason not to agree to the interviews, although if she could go back now, she'd never have done it. After the night the story aired, she could no longer go anywhere without being accosted by fans, or worse, suitors. She thought perhaps she'd have minded less if she'd actually accomplished something worth noting, but that's not what the public believed.
As such, she was now suffering a very unwanted bout of popularity, and on the weekends she found herself escaping it by taking the train from London to Edinburgh, where thank God, nobody knew who she was.
"Edinburgh!" the conductor called.
Hermione gathered her things and made for the exit of the train, and after leaving the station, she meandered toward the center of town where there was a coffee shop and a bookstore side by side. About a block up the street was the inn where she'd stay the night, but for now, she was content to just find a book to read and then settle down in the sun with a cuppa, and not have to worry about being bothered by some well-wisher or distant relation or whatever other far-fetched story someone might give for inflicting their presence on her.
It didn't take her long before she found a battered old book claiming to be instructions on magical transformation. Of course, there was no such thing as magic, although the part of her brain where her physics degree sat wondered, if magic were real, how physics would apply to such a branch of sorcery. She paid five pounds for the book, and made her way to the café. "Miss Granger," the woman behind the counter greeted. She did come here every week, so it was no surprise that she was getting to know some of the locals.
"Hello, Janet. How was your week?"
"Took a trip down to Paris with George," the middle-aged woman said. "Only got back in yesterday."
"Special reason?" Hermione inquired, wondering if the couple had gone on holiday for an anniversary or birthday.
"Nah," Janet replied. "We just both love to travel. About once a month we take a few days to go somewhere. That's the great thing about living in Europe. So much to see, all within a short distance!"
"True," Hermione agreed. "Though you live in such a beautiful place, it's a bit of a wonder you'd want to leave at all."
The two chatted for a bit about travel - Janet hinting that, while she enjoyed seeing Hermione, the younger woman might try taking weekends other places as well sometimes - and then Hermione took her tea to the back patio. Usually, this area was empty, although today there was another woman sitting there, also alone. Further, she had her nose in a book much like Hermione would shortly, and that caused the young woman to smile a bit. There was only one table on the patio. It was large, round, and had a smoky glass top which made a sharp clinking sound when her ceramic mug was put down. "I hope you don't mind if I join you," Hermione offered when the sound alerted the other woman to her presence.
Green eyes considered her for a moment, before nodding. "Of course."
The accent told Hermione that this woman was Scottish, although the accent was not a local one. Further north, she thought. Possibly the Highlands. She couldn't help but note how beautiful the woman was, and a small part of her wondered if she'd be open to an advance on Hermione's part. The woman was probably only forty or so. That wasn't too great an age difference, she thought. God knew she had a weak spot for Scottish accents. "Hermione Granger," she offered, holding out her hand.
The older woman looked somewhat amused by the introduction, and slightly irritated. The raised eyebrow seemed to say 'How dare you interrupt me? I'm reading,' and this just attracted Hermione to her all the more. She smirked in response, waiting patiently for a reply.
"Minerva McGonagall," came the answer after a moment. They shook, and then Hermione sat and took out the book she'd just purchased. It landed on the table with a thud, and Minerva eyed it curiously. "Gamp's Law? First Edition? Where on earth did you find that book?"
"Place on the corner," Hermione replied. "Seems to be about some sort of transformative magics - not that I believe in that sort of thing - and I was curious if physics applied to this so-called magic."
"It's called Transfiguration, my dear," Minerva replied. "I am… somewhat familiar with the concept."
"Have you read this book?" Hermione wanted to know.
"I own a copy of the eighteenth edition," the older woman admitted. "In certain circles the book in your hands is quite valuable."
"Is there really still such a prominent pagan society?"
"You'd be surprised. I daresay you seem intelligent enough to understand that many people don't place all their cards on the table, and very few would admit to an… interest… in a subject frowned upon socially."
Hermione looked thoughtful. "Perhaps. I suppose if I'd look more at people and less at books I'd be more aware of that. I'm afraid I'm the wrong person to ask about what is considered the social norm as I certainly don't fit into that particular box."
"Are you studying at a University?" Minerva asked.
"Double major in Biology and Anthropology," Hermione admitted.
"And yet you referenced an interest in this book being the Physics of it."
"That was my first degree."
"And this is your second?" the older woman asked, looking surprised.
Hermione frowned. "Um. Fourth, actually. Or fourth and fifth, depending on how you look at it. There's a degree in Chemistry and another in Dentistry between them."
While Minerva did look impressed, she didn't react with the flabbergasted expression Hermione was so used to, and for that the younger woman was grateful. "Common denominator suggests an interest in forensic anthropology, though the dentistry degree seems a bit redundant considering you'll cover that in biology."
"My parents are dentists," Hermione admitted. "While they understand I want to build my own career, they didn't see a reason I couldn't get a degree in their profession, so I'd have something to fall back on. I just didn't want to argue, and it's not like anyone was going to hire me at fifteen anyway, so it was a good way to kill a year."
Minerva nodded in understanding. "My father was a bit pushy with my brothers, urging them to follow his footsteps and become Ministers. Parents are like that, I suppose."
"What of your mother? Did she push you to follow her career path as your father did your brothers?"
"My mother gave up the promise of a career in law enforcement when she met my father. He wanted a housewife, and she loved him," Minerva admitted with a sigh. "To say the least, the housewife life was not for me, even if she did, yes, wish I'd follow her lead."
"No handsome young man swept you off your feet, then?" Hermione teased, hoping she wasn't behaving with too much familiarity. While normally she felt like the awkward one in a conversation, talking to this woman was just easy.
"Hardly. I became a teacher, and when I did bring someone home, my parents were less than thrilled to meet the woman I'd just eloped with," Minerva admitted with a wry grin. "Who, ironically, was in law enforcement."
"You two still happily married, then?" the younger woman asked, hoping she wasn't being too obvious in her interest, now knowing that yes, Minerva was attracted to other women.
"Unfortunately, she was killed in the line of duty two years ago," Minerva answered softly. "Until then, yes, we were happy."
"Oh, I am so sorry!" Hermione gasped, feeling very much like she'd put her foot in her mouth. "I didn't mean to pry, honestly…"
"It's quite alright, Hermione," Minerva assured. "Trust me when I say that if I'd been unwilling to share, I would not have done so."
"I'm still sorry; for your loss. I can't imagine losing someone… like that," she whispered. "God! Violence is so senseless!"
Something about that moment seemed to seal a bubble around the two of them, and when Minerva indicated a few hours later that she needed to be on her way, Hermione couldn't help but ask if they might remain in contact, and perhaps meet again. Minerva had hesitated for a moment, seemingly unsure, before agreeing and pulling out a business card with her name, and an address where Hermione could write. In turn, Hermione pulled a scrap of paper out of her bag, along with a pen, and quickly jotted down her own mailing address. While it was her understanding that people generally exchanged phone numbers in the modern world, she found that the novelty of actually putting pen to paper and writing a letter appealed to her.
It was only two days before Hermione received the first letter, and it was written in perfect penmanship with a quill, on parchment paper. Having taken a calligraphy class and still having her quill and parchment stock, Hermione returned the letter in the same medium, which Minerva found quite endearing. After Hermione complained about how fine the quality of Minerva's parchment was versus her own, inquiring after where she'd gotten her supplies, the older woman simply returned the letter with a package of a new quill set and several rolls of parchment. It was the nicest damn quill Hermione had ever laid eyes on, and despite going over the writing tool with a magnifying glass, she could find no manufacturer mark. Minerva stubbornly refused to tell her where she'd gotten it.
Letters went on like that for a few months before they were able to meet again, once more in Edinburgh, by which time both women could say they knew the other fairly well. Hermione was sure that once they were together in person again, the chemistry growing between them would become palpable, and with any luck, the attraction she'd felt at meeting Minerva would actually become something tangible.
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