Voices roused her. Quiet whispers. Consciously, she heard the conversation that was lowly murmured, however, she could not, or would not, move a muscle. Beyond tired, her muscles and her eyelids refused to budge even fractionally. But she did listen, and she listened intently, laying in bed without a passing thought of alerting the ones speaking. The echoing, and the comfortable mattress beneath her, the softness of the sheet, made Minerva believe she was no longer at St. Mungo's. This was no 'hospital bed'. In fact, she was aware of these particular beds far better than most, because they were housed in her school. Hermione had brought her back to Hogwarts. Thank Merlin.
"How long do you think she'll be out?" A voice asked softly.
"A number of hours, most likely… It's… uhh ten at night now, so, if she hasn't woken yet, then, I have to assume she'll be out through the night." The other soft voice replied. Minerva heard grogginess. Exhaustion. A bit of grit in that voice that wasn't often present.
"Is that normal?" The other woman asked inquisitively.
"Dependent on the person, she was… Stressed. Beyond stressed, and understandably so, so her body may just be recovering from that just as much as the surgery. Hard to say." Recognizing how she was feeling, Minerva remembered how quickly and how easily the young doctor was able to determine her every wish. She remembered Hermione meeting her gaze by the nurses station and knowing exactly the thoughts her mind conjured. She remembered before surgery, when her body felt cold, her stomach queasy, how the young woman stood in front of her and held to her hands, reinforcing that which she already knew - that she was in safe holding. Those memories flooded back as with each passing second she grew more conscious.
"And how are you doing? Have you eaten anything? You look a bit peaky." Rolanda… Minerva thought. It was Rolanda.
There was no telling how long they had been talking, but as she listened she discovered that they had built a rapport. She knew they were friends, or friendly, although she began to realise that, in reality, they must have gotten close. Unexpected… However, welcome.
"No… I haven't, but I haven't been all too peckish either," Hermione sighed. What Minerva didn't see was that the younger woman lifted a hand and ran it over her exhausted face, paying special attention to rub her tired eyes.
"You should, you know… Sitting here all day, waiting, you should eat." Minerva heard Rolanda say. She could almost picture the caring look upon her old friend's face.
"I can't eat," Hermione told her plainly. "I feel sick to my bloody stomach, eating will only make that worse." Obviously something had happened during the Headmistress's short break from reality which she was not aware of. It intrigued her. Now that she was quite awake, especially after hearing that Hermione had sat by her bedside for hours without nourishment, she continued to listen.
"You have to get it out of your mind, Granger… You did the right thing, you called it out and you put an end to it, let that be that."
She heard Hermione groan and the rustling of fabric, the squeak of a chair, that she assumed Hermione was sitting in.
"If she could tell, then anyone will be able to tell…"
"That's not necessarily true." Rolanda told the younger woman who gave a quiet, unceremonious snort of disbelief.
"You did, you noticed." Hermione's voice held humour of a self deprecating nature. Minerva could almost see the slightly cocked brow she most likely had rising up her forehead.
"To be fair, I didn't know there was really an validity to what I noticed.. All I saw was a woman quite obviously leering at the ass of her employer. That could have meant many things…"
"Oh, like what, Hooch?" Hermione did actually sound amused at that point, although Minerva was hung up on one word in particular. Employer.
"Maybe you could have been terribly jealous of how good her arse looked in those… Professor-y slacks? I don't know!" Hearing this, Minerva had to fight not to furrow her brow and rouse suspicion. The more she listened, the more her brain burst, the more her mind leaned into the confusion. Who were they talking about? Had Hermione developed an attraction toward a professor? If so, who? How? There weren't many professor's around for the Summer and the only person she really had had much interaction with was…
"If Minerva ever heard you say that she'd probably have much to say about her Professor-y slacks and how what's in them is none of your business." She heard Hermione chuckle.
"Still… I may have noticed something but I had no idea that you truly harboured any feeling toward her at all, in all sincerity, and since you were able to squash Evelyn's assumptions, I think you are safe."
Screeching to a halt, Minerva's mind shattered.
"I think… I should just stop, it isn't fair to me, it's not right, and Minerva… She should never know," The young woman stated softly. Her tone was level, but a peculiar sadness shone through. "Her friendship has been, and has always been, important to me… To lose that would be devastating."
"Who's to say you would lose her friendship? She's not a fickle woman, you know." Rolanda challenged. A short silence fell over the women.
"I've been thinking about it, I'm terrified," Hermione answered after a few silent moments, so quietly that Minerva had to strain to hear. "I am positive that I've felt this before, when I was in school… I always thought it was adoration, inspiration or that I simply revered her… Now that I look back with a clearer view, I think I felt deeply for her then but I didn't know how to compute that. I couldn't diagnose it. It was beyond my control, it just happened slowly over time and I was powerless to stop it. I was so young…"
There was a pause. Minerva wished she could have opened her eyes and peeked in on the scene without being noticed. She knew that was not possible, still, she wished she could have seen the look on Hermione's face, or, at least, look into her eyes. Her eyes couldn't tell a single lie. Not that she thought Hermione was lying, but to see the depth of what she felt as she explained it. The curiosity caused a great swell of something undefined within the seemingly slumbering Headmistress.
"I don't think I ever really recovered from that, you know. I thought about it less not being in proximity but I don't think I ever resolved those feelings or that attraction, it wasn't something that was ever spoken aloud but deeply felt that I loved her… Deeply, deeply loved her. She always saw me and, when she did, she made me feel seen - made me feel equal. And now we are older and now I'm orbiting around her again and, once again, I feel that same feeling… I've ignored it for a very long time and now I have to face it. And she cannot know."
Again, silence.
Of all the things that she thought she would ever hear in her lifetime, a declaration of love made by Hermione Granger, whether the woman was conscious of the fact Minerva was listening or not, was not what she thought she would ever hear. She had no idea. She didn't know what to think. To know that it was something that might have even begun during her years at Hogwarts made Minerva search back through the files of her memories for evidence or signs of it. Her surgery and the ache she felt in her back were ultimately discarded entirely beneath the introduction of this new, shocking information.
"You know what I think?" Rolanda asked gently.
"Hmm, what do you think…"
"I think that you should give it time."
"Give what time?" Hermione replied, tonelessly.
"All of it, just give it time… Maybe, it'll pass, like you hope… Maybe, it won't - But sometimes it is easier to get it off your chest and let it just be, at least, in my experience, letting something fester and stay hidden like that never really served me… You are different, of course, so who knows, perhaps, it might serve you just fine. But you aren't hurting anyone, you haven't hurt anyone, loving someone… That's nothing to be ashamed of." Rolanda sounded far more sage than she had any right to, being that, more often than not, she was a joking, playful, almost brutish woman sometimes.
"Well, it hurts me, Ro. Of all the women in the world, maybe it's karmic justice for what I did to Ronald - to love someone who will never have the capacity to love me."
"That's a crock of shit."
"Who's to say?"
"I say… And I'm bigger and stronger and older than you, little Granger, all that elder shite that you need to hear, so listen. Aye?"
"Aye." She heard Hermione sigh.
"You should probably get some sleep, it's nearly eleven."
"You go on to bed, I'll be here." She heard Hermione reply through a yawn, once again the squeak of the chair and a sound, like a scraping, as though the chair was moving on the flagstone.
"You're certain?" Rolanda's evident concern came through in tone.
"I've slept in worse positions, I need to be here for when she wakes, last thing we need is for her thinking she can get up and just start running across Hell's half acre, she needs to heal and I need to check on that wound… Thank you, by the way, for helping me with that earlier."
"Of course, anything for the good doctor… Take care, little Granger."
"Have a goodnight, Rolanda."
Minerva listened to the sound of footsteps drawing away. At least, she was at Hogwarts. For that, she was thankful. A few moments later, a weight on the end of the bed alerted her to movement. It wasn't heavy enough to be someone sitting, but it was there nonetheless. Time passed slowly, she couldn't say how long. She was still reeling from the private conversation she had listened to and how it made her feel. To be perfectly candid, she had no idea how she felt. All she kept thinking was how? Why? She didn't know what to say. Purely, a state of shock.
An eye ever so slightly opened. Adjusting to the dim, candle lit environment, Minerva's gaze ran the length of herself in bed. There, at the end, a head of chestnut hair, tied back in a ponytail, was laid atop folded arms. She couldn't see Hermione's face, just the back of her head. Hermione was choosing to sleep in a chair at the end of her bed, rather than give herself the comfort of a proper night rest in bed in her quarters, under the assumption Minerva would not wake. Hermione was dedicated. She was kind. Smart. Stubborn. Funny. She was many things that Minerva enjoyed. She should have felt flattered that such a person found her… Interesting? Inspiring? Attractive? But the very thought caused her to stall.
Women were interesting creatures. Men, as well. In her lifetime, she'd never been attracted to or desired a woman. To be fair, she had only ever been attracted to, or desired, two men. One a tale of love lost, and the other a tale of love found… Then, lost once again. Since then, she hadn't really put much stock into finding love. And then there was Hermione Granger… What an absolute mess. Whatever Minerva's personal feelings were, she set aside for a moment and considered what Hermione had taken the time to explain.
It was a feeling, a strong feeling, felt from years prior. Now that it was peaceful and quiet, she really looked back on those years. She recalled the conversation she and Hermione had had over tea in her quarters many weeks ago now, when she had stated that she had not much time to think about herself, who she was, what she wanted, when they were in the throes of ensuring the preservation of their school, their lives, and in the middle of war. Glimpses of moments passed her by entirely. There was no way she could have known the secrets the young woman held. She… never thought it possibility.
Thinking very hard on all that she had heard, digesting it after a great length of time, led to falling back to sleep.
It was around eight in the morning when Minerva woke once again. She opened her eyes and tilted her head to find Hermione seated, sitting up, and flipping the page of a book. She glanced at its cover to find it was a book of potions. She appraised the younger woman silently. The ache in her back was still quite present, however, she did not feel nearly as queasy as she had the night before.
"Good," Her voice cracked, and the Scottish witch had to swallow and clear her throat as the young woman she addressed turned to look back at her. "Good morning, Madam Granger." Rough from lack of use, she hardly sounded like herself.
"Good morning, Headmistress." Hermione greeted her softly, closing her book and placing it down on the end of the bed. She rose from her chair and lifted it, drawing it a bit closer toward the head of the bed where she placed it and sat herself back down. "How are you feeling?"
Brown eyes gazed into green, Hermione's head tilted just so. As she did so, the memory of the previous night reentered into Minerva's mind quite suddenly. Looking into Hermione's eyes, seeing the slight upturn of the corner of her mouth, Minerva had to remind herself that she knew things now that Hermione did not want her to know. She'd made it a point to state that a few times the night before. So, she needed to school herself quite quickly.
"I feel… Not too bad, my back and shoulder are aching, but that is to be expected, I assume."
"Yeah," Hermione drew out the word, trying to mask a wince. "Things went well with the procedure, as good as we could manage, but we still really need to work together to finish up the rest… It wasn't quite what I had planned."
"What do you mean?" Minerva eyed the other woman closely. There was a moment, a hesitation, as Hermione laid her hand on the bed. She almost looked like she was going to touch Minerva's hand, however, she simply laid her hand on the blanket and feigned the act as resting on her arm. There it was… An instance that Minerva could detect.
"Well, we needed to remove a lot of tissue… Years of growth," Hermione explained gently, her features relaxing or, at least, aiming to express a calm. Unknown to her, Minerva had caught the slight misstep she had made. "There is still a wound that cannot be closed because if we were to graft skin, you would be left with a wide and deep scar, which we do not want - so we need to replenish your muscle, rebuild it, so that way I can do a quick and easy skin renewal and seam it all together. No open wound."
"You are telling me that there is an open wound on my back…" Minerva repeated slowly, her brow arching. Hermione paused, looking at her, and then slowly gave a nod.
"Yes, about the size of… I'd say, a large hard boiled egg," Giving a reference of size helped Minerva to understand that she shouldn't be expecting something terribly massive, but still large enough to be an irritant. "Right now it's packed with potion, and gauze, but I will need to redress it twice a day, in the morning, and at night, that way we can monitor it…"
"For how long?"
"Until it's healed… There's no time frame, just… Until it's healed. I'll be frank, Minerva, it purely depends on you and how seriously you want to heal." Understanding this, Minerva nodded her head. It would take time. That was a given. But she wished she could know how much.
"And in the meantime?" She asked further, watching the corner of Hermione's mouth upturn. At this, Hermione gave her a gentle pat of the hand. Nothing lingering, purely friendly.
"In the meantime, we're going to be spending a lot of time together, my dear," Hermione stated with an easy tone. "Because you're going to need a lot of assistance and I have a lot of spare time."
Minerva wasn't sure how to react, initially. Then she remembered… Nothing had changed. Hermione was still Hermione, she was still Minerva, and before the discovery, Hermione had been a wonderful friend. She was a wonderful friend. And also her carer. She had to continue to remind herself of this - Nothing had changed.
"I doubt that," Minerva stated, allowing herself to faintly smile. "I'm sure I will be just fine."
"Oh, you absolutely will be just fine, eventually… However, no lifting, no wand work, no tugging or a lot of movement on your right side, so… You will need help… Dressing, showering, so on." Hermione told her seriously.
Again, Minerva's thoughts came to a crashing halt. Dressing… Showering… So on. What was so on?
"What?" Her voice was deadpan, as was the expression on her face. Hermione's features adorned an expression as though to say Yeah, you're going to need a lot of work.
"I'm sorry, Minerva… But just because you're technically free of infection doesn't mean that you're out of the woods. If you want to be back in running form, waving that arm all over the place, transfiguring 'til your heart's content… You will need to rest it. And you will need help. It doesn't have to be me, it can be… Someone else, if it will make you more comfortable, but it needs to happen." The younger woman stated. The expression paired with the tone left little room for argument. Minerva pursed her lips.
She wasn't sure how she felt about a woman who secretly held some sort of attraction helping her with such things… Although, as much as she hated to think of it… Did it impact her? No… If she thought about it logically, a situation such as that would have been far harder for Hermione than it would have been for her… Of course, these were just assumptions.
Nothing had changed, she told herself. They were still the same. Smoothing her hand over the blanket, she noted that her arms were bare. Cautiously, and with a perpetually furrowed brow, she used her unaffected arm to lift the covers to look down at what she was wearing…
Hermione watched and parted her lips to address it.
"Oh, I didn't feel comfortable rooting around your quarters without your permission, and, as my memory serves, your sleep wear is more… Cumbersome… For this situation at least, so, you're borrowing mine." Watching an understanding cross Minerva's features, Hermione couldn't help but think that there was something… Something that seemed off. Having spent a lot of time watching and interacting with the Headmistress, small tell-tale signs presented. Typically, the Headmistress was easier. She gazed directly, she smiled, although, perhaps, it was just the fact that she had just come out of hospital. Hermione let that be the conclusion.
"Thank you… These are… Comfortable." Minerva told her, lacking any other response than mild surprise.
"Don't mention it," With that, Hermione rose from her chair and made to round the end of the bed, shifting away from the Headmistress who watched her closely. "I'll have to check in on the wound so we'll get you up and out of bed… If you'd like, we can start slow and walk back to your quarters and get you set up with some breakfast and tea."
"That sounds… Reasonable." Minerva told her, watching as the young doctor strolled up to the left side of the bed. Together, using Hermione's hand and guidance, the Headmistress inched herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. There was tension in her back and, like Hermione had insinuated, it had hurt to try and use her right arm for assistance. It felt, when she moved incorrectly, like a stabbing pain in the upper right quadrant of her back. Hermione noticed the discomfort immediately.
"Let me get you some pain relief and then I'll check it before we head to your quarters." Hermione told her, inching toward the bedside table for the drawer and the small phials of potion within it. She plucked one, uncorked it, and handed it to the Headmistress who administered it to herself quickly, swallowing its contents without a second thought. Taking the emptied phial from Minerva's hand, their fingers brushed and Minerva found herself watching Hermione very closely. There was no reaction. Not a physical reaction, at least that was easily detectable.
She watched the young doctor replace the empty potion bottle in the bedside cabinet and then remove fresh gauze, then turn away back toward her office where she disappeared, reappearing a few moments later with another, larger bottle of potion.
They met one another's eye and Hermione offered up a small smile as she rounded the end of the bed and behind the Headmistress, leaving the Scottish witch to look down at her knees and the floor.
"This will be uncomfortable, but, hopefully, not painful," Hermione explained as she began to lift the back of the tank top, revealing Minerva's lower back. "If you wouldn't mind taking your free hand there, yes… Exactly that, and just hold this up so I can patch you… Perfect." Minerva guided her working arm and helped the young doctor by holding the back of the tank top up about her upper back, holding it so Hermione could get at her injury.
It was, as the young doctor described, uncomfortable and strange, but not painful. Hermione worked quickly and, for that, Minerva was thankful once again. Once the old bandages and the gauze packing her wound were removed, they were quickly replaced and done so with confidence and no conversation. Afterward, Hermione told her to release the fabric and ensured that her back was once again covered.
"Alright, see? No harm, no fuss, and now we can leave. I'm sure you'll be more comfortable in your rooms." Hermione mused as she threw away the bandages. She watched Minerva slowly rise and stand, turning at the edge of the bed to look back at her. Again, something felt… Off. But she couldn't figure out what exactly. The way Minerva looked at her, guardedly, made her wonder if perhaps she'd done something wrong that she was unaware of. Hermione continued to consider it a byproduct of the hospital stay and the surgery, for there was nothing else she could think of that would cause the Headmistress to act so strangely.
The days that followed were interesting. Minerva adjusted to this new routine slowly. Hermione essentially moved into her quarters and, at first, Minerva had her reservations. However, it took a day or two for those reservations to be dispelled entirely. The way the young woman cared for her spoke volumes as to the level of responsibility she felt for the Headmistress - she was at Minerva's beck and call. She ensured every little detail was carefully thought out from how she helped the woman dress in the mornings, change clothes, and even the more uncomfortable tasks like helping her use the loo. She was discreet and, while Minerva watched her, she noticed how often Hermione's eyes were aimed away. They fell into conversation easily again, given how much time they spent with one another. Hermione helped her organize herself for the new school year, she ran back and forth between the Headmistress's quarters and the Headmistress's office gathering everything Minerva needed, she ensured her comfort at all hours, and during lulls in the day, offered her a reading companion or companion in debate. It was easy to talk to her. It was easy to enjoy spending that time. Minerva could hardly believe how she had almost refused it.
That morning in particular, the Headmistress felt in dire need of a shower. So, Hermione helped her to undress but not once did she actually look upon the Headmistress. Her eyes remained hovering either over her shoulder or focused somewhere else entirely, giving privacy that seemed almost too proactive. Once Minerva was in her robe, nude beneath, Hermione led her into the large bathroom and told her to wait for a moment. At first, Minerva was confused when Hermione returned with a small couch sidetable, but as the young woman withdrew her wand and transfigured the piece of furniture into a long, cushioned bench, she understood a bit more.
The young doctor positioned it next to the clawfoot bathtub in a t-shape, so that Minerva could lay down and have her head over the edge of the tub. Hermione explained that she would wash Minerva's hair and then dry it, help her on with a bathcap, so that she could wash the rest of herself in the shower. Again, all the details were ironed out. She went above and beyond. It made Minerva almost jealous that she knew that so many others were taken care of by this woman in such ways over the course of years.
As Hermione helped her to lay down, there was discomfort, however, as soon as she was in position, it was gone. Then Hermione ran warm water and left the room, returning shortly with a pitcher from the kitchen. Minerva couldn't help but to look up and watch Hermione begin to fill the pitcher with water moments before she carefully began to pour warm water along her hairline. The look of concentration on her face… The way her hand carefully ensured that every lock was wetted before she reached for shampoo. Again, she was delicate and these actions were deliberate, thoughtful, and kind. Minerva had found herself growing guilty over the course of the week for her initial reactions upon hearing that secret conversation. She should have known Hermione better than to think that such feelings would be cause for uncomfortable instances. In fact, quite the opposite, if Minerva hadn't overheard that conversation, she would have never once thought Hermione felt anything beyond a strong bond of friendship with her at all. Not once did anything untoward present itself in any form. She was the same, unapologetic, brilliant, and kind witch she had always been.
Still, as Minerva laid there, her eyes being forced closed by the sensation of two expert hands massaging shampoo into her scalp, she felt guilty for knowing anything at all. She should have opened her eyes that night in the Infirmary. She should have alerted them to her consciousness. Then she wouldn't also be at fault for carrying a secret.
Carrying a secret like that was eating at her like a persistent itch. But she didn't want to address it with Hermione and cause the young woman undue anxiety. While Hermione continued to wash her hair with care, Minerva decided that she would need to address it with the only other person she was aware of who knew: Rolanda. She needed to release it. To discuss it with someone who would be considered safe. Perhaps, then, she would be able to force it out of mind.
Hey friends,
Thank you so much for your comments and observations. It really gives me life to read your thoughts. I hope this chapter brings you some happiness this lovely season. I know I had a week there where I really had absolutely no time, but my hours have changed a little bit. So, hopefully, I'll have a bit more time to dedicate to the story! I'm really loving writing this. LOL It's a bit of reprieve from some of the other works I'm working on in the background. But, those won't be uploaded until this one is complete. (I really suck at multitasking).
Appreciate you all so much!
Haughty