Disclaimers: See chapter 1.
TRIGGER WARNING IN THIS CHAPTER: I must advise there's a recollection of non-con in this chapter which is quite in-depth. If this is something that may trigger, please do not read between the =Start TW= and =End TW=.
~x~
Minerva sighed as she looked down at the silvery light coming from her Pensieve. The contents, Hermione's memories of the time shortly after leaving Hogwarts, swirled smoothly yet ceaselessly in the stone basin.
She was curious, but also dreading what she would find in them after hearing Hermione's words upon banishing the Boggart back to its cupboard.
Upon their arrival at the Manse and after placing Isobel into a bed in the room opposite her own, which once belonged to her younger brother, Hermione had stated emphatically that she wanted to show her the memories before they went to bed, so leading the brunette through the sitting room, with the portrait of her màthair, and without saying a word, she continued into her small study, where she'd watched as the younger witch sat down and tried to grasp the gossamer strands of them with her wand while apologising unnecessarily for the time it took to extract them.
Hermione explained she'd tried her hardest to push some of them into the far recesses of her mind in the hopes they wouldn't continue to haunt her.
Minerva understood viewing the memories this way was far easier than resorting to Legilimency and attempting to navigate through the many layers of Hermione's mind, but it was far more personal to have memories willingly shared.
Bending her face close to her Pensieve, her nose touched the substance until she felt the room around her lurch and suddenly she was standing beside the iron gated entrance of Hogwarts, easily recognisable by the fact they were flanked by two columns topped with statues of winged boars.
She watched the gates close upon Hermione's exit from the school grounds and stepped beside the brunette as she traversed the path that would lead her to Hogsmeade, the Forbidden Forest flanking both sides of them. Glancing at the brunette, she smirked to see her hair still messy from where she had run her hands through it the night before, her lips still swollen from their kisses and her mating mark slightly visible between the shoulder and neck from the open collar of her pink polo t-shirt.
The sudden sound of branches snapping under heavy feet from the treeline, had Hermione stopping in her tracks and drawing her wand quickly from the bag on her shoulder. Upon recognising her best friend, she relaxed her arm and grinned at the young man. "Hey, Ron. What are you doing here?"
"I've just finished training." Ron stepped forward onto the path, looking rather worse for wear with a face full of three-day-old stubble and smudges of dirt on his nose and jaw. A frown formed on his face as he looked her up and down until his eyes landed on her throat. The realisation of what lay on Hermione's pristine skin had his eyes widening as a flush rose over his cheeks, eventually colouring the top of his ears. "Jesus, 'Mione. Look at the state of you." He husked in disbelief. "It's bloody obvious you just crawled out of McGonagall's bed. Fuck! I can see her mark on your neck," he shouted. "I'm going to fix this."
When Ron grabbed her arm, Hermione struggled as he dragged her into the trees before shoving her violently. She stumbled, tripping over a small root and landed hard on her hands and knees with a slight bounce and a low groan of pain. Her wand flew just outside of her reach.
=Start TW=
She turned and Ron fell on top of her, his large clumsy hands pulling at her jeans, pushing them over her hips and then tearing at her knickers until they were down by her ankles. "You're nothing but a slut. A whore," the young man hissed at her as he unfastened his pants.
"No!" Minerva yelled, despite knowing it was futile.
"Keep away from me Ronald Weasley," Hermione yelled, trying to kick out at him before attempting to turn onto her knees to scurry away and grab her wand.
Ron growled and clutched at her arm, turning her around, his open hand cracked against her face, splitting her lip so blood dribbled down her chin. Grabbing her waist and roughly turning her over fully onto her stomach, Ron fumbled to push her t-shirt up while pulling her by her hips towards him. "You were always meant to be mine." He grunted. "I'll make you mine, right now. I'll make you forget her."
"I'm goin' tae kill you!" Minerva howled in rage, watching in horror as Hermione struggled under him.
It was useless. Ron was so much larger and stronger than Hermione, and when he pressed her down into the uncomfortable ground and forced himself into her she heard Hermione gasp. "No, stop!" She cried out. "Ron, please," she begged. "You're hurting me. I said no! Stop it!"
"Oh, you feel so good," Ron mumbled deliriously, ignoring Hermione's pleas. He pulled out and then thrust back into her forcefully causing her to scream. He held one arm around her waist and began to rut into her while the other pressed against the back of her head, pushing her face into the dirt and cutting off her cries. He moaned loudly. "I know she can't do this for you. not the way I can." He grunted as he rapidly pushed his cock into her. She twisted her head and let out a cry, her eyes expressing the desolation she felt.
Minerva sensed when the fight returned and hatred roared through Hermione. She started to resist fully, bucking her hips in an attempt to get him out before he could unload into her.
As if sensing it, Ron pulled out and still forcing her head into the ground, used his other hand to achieve his climax, shooting his seed over her backside. "I wouldn't want to knock you up the first time," Ron muttered as he stood and tucked himself back into his jeans, zipping them up quickly. "That'll happen once we're married."
Hermione reached out, moving just enough to wrap her fingers around her wand, but upon making to turn and cast her hex, a heavy boot slammed down onto the wood, snapping it in two.
"You fucking monster." She roared out in anguish, her magic crackling through the air despite not having a wand to channel it. "You vile, loathsome—I despise you! I hope you suffer!" Hermione hissed. "Flipendo Duo!" Ron flew back when a powerful blast of wandless magic hit him full force in the chest. "Sectumsempra!" Wide slashes appeared against Ron's cheek and chest and as he cried out in pain and fell to his knees, blood poured from them. "Cruci—"
Before the unforgivable curse could be completed, Ron staggered to his feet and with a crack, he disapparated, leaving a devastated Hermione on the forest floor, scrambling for her knickers and trying to clean herself up as strangled sobs tore from her throat.
=End TW=
Minerva couldn't believe what had happened to Hermione, that one of her best friends could do something so brutal to her after everything she'd sacrificed for them.
She remembered that when Hermione had first returned to Hogwarts for her final year, she wasn't sure what to expect, other than needing to make up for the year on the run. Ron had been expecting her to be with him and she'd tried, but after a few months, she'd broken up with him and he'd told her he understood her dilemma once she explained she loved him but had no interest in him, or any other man, sexually.
"Oh, lass," Minerva whispered, falling to her knees beside the young witch and wishing she could touch her and offer some form of comfort.
The image of Hermione sobbing on the forest floor dissolved and she found herself knelt in an almost empty room. Glancing around, she spotted Hermione curled in a ball on an unmade bed. Her hair was wet and her skin red and almost raw looking in places. She quickly came to understand that this was the same day when the younger witch had tried to rid herself of the violation at the hands of someone she loved and trusted. Her heart broke afresh at the sound of her gut-wrenching sobs and the sense of despair surrounding the young woman in the room.
Standing, she moved closer to the brunette, reaching out her hand, wanting to offer Hermione comfort but knowing she couldn't touch her. She spotted the broken wand on the table beside the bed.
Once again, the room disintegrated, and Minerva found herself in an open-plan living room, the warmth of the sun filtering through large windows. The man she recognised as Mr Granger was pacing, his fingers running through his thinning brown hair. Spinning on his heel, he glared at his daughter. "How dare you do that to us?!"
"Dad, I know it was wrong, but as I've tried to explain, I did it to save your life." Hermione cried.
"What gave you the right to mess with our memories? To banish yourself from our life and give us a new identity?" Mr Granger roared. "We should have been told, given a choice in this. You should have trusted us."
Hermione stood abruptly and swayed before running towards the bathroom, barely managing to reach it before dropping to her knees and vomiting. Eventually, she'd expelled the scant contents of her stomach and the retching stopped, but Mr Granger was still shouting about her actions. Resting her head against the toilet seat, her mind slowly acknowledged someone else was in the small room with her, a hand rubbing soothing circles against her back as a cold washcloth was pressed against her neck.
"You feeling better?" Mrs Granger asked.
Hermione nodded but quickly returned her head over the porcelain and gagged when bile rose into her throat. Forcing herself to calm down, she took deep breaths until her nausea had abated.
Mrs Granger moved away, to take up her position on the sofa once more when Hermione finally stood and flushed the toilet before washing her hands and rinsing her mouth out.
Re-entering the living room, Hermione sat on an armchair and closed her eyes. "I'm sorry." She pleaded. "I didn't have a choice. Because of my friendship with Harry, and due to some prophecy that stated he was the only one capable of defeating Voldemort, I was a target, and by extension so were you. At the pinnacle of the war, Muggle-born witches and wizards and their families were being targeted. They murdered entire families like ours and didn't want to lose you." She reiterated for what felt like the millionth time that day.
"You did the right thing, lass," Minerva stated, perching on the arm of the chair beside the younger witch. "I hope you know that."
"You still had no right." Mr Granger stated stubbornly. "We were happy before you came back. What are we meant to do with all this knowledge of who we used to be? Are we expected to return to our old lives, as if Wendell and Monica Wilkins never existed? Can you erase the memories again?"
"No!" Hermione shouted, clearly horrified by such a request. At the angry gaze levelled at her, she swallowed deeply. "I don't have a wand anymore, and I have no plans to return to that world."
The image faded and Minerva found herself in a beige room. It held multiple uncomfortable-looking chairs and she realised it was a doctor's waiting room. "Miss Wilkins?" A lightly accented voice called out. Hermione stood and Minerva followed the woman into a small office, holding a desk, two chairs and an adjustable examination table. She glanced down at the brunette as she bit the side of her thumb nervously. "Miss Wilkins, the test today proved what I initially thought. You're pregnant."
"Oh, God." Hermione whimpered. "This can't be happening."
"You have options, which we'll discuss once we know more." The doctor smiled encouragingly. "First things first though, I'd like to do an ultrasound, to see how far along you are and to check everything's okay with the baby."
"I'll be ten weeks on Friday or Saturday," Hermione whispered. "I know when this happened."
"I'd still like to check all is as it should be." The doctor advised. "Hop on the table, and we'll begin."
Exhaling a shuddering breath, Hermione followed the doctor's orders and lay back on the paper towel-covered exam table, closing her eyes as it was raised to a better level for her doctor to do what she needed.
Minerva watched in confusion as Hermione lifted her t-shirt and the Doctor covered her slightly bloated stomach with a clear gel that had her hissing.
The doctor began to trail a plastic wand over Hermione's stomach as she spoke. "How are you finding life in Australia?" She asked. "I know it can be a massive adjustment."
"My parents are here, although these days our relationship isn't exactly the best. I thought it was only right for me to come and try to make amends for a few things that happened in the past. They haven't been particularly receptive, so far." Hermione admitted.
"I hate to tell you this, but some bridges can't ever be mended, Miss Wilkins." The doctor advised gently as she turned to the monitor and zoomed into an image with a couple of clicks. "If their response isn't what you expected, the best thing for you to do is to cut your losses, take the time you need to grieve and then move on with your life and let them move on with theirs. You can't force forgiveness."
"I know," Hermione admitted as with a few more clicks, a low whooshing sound was followed by the speedy triplet beat of their child's heart. The awe on her face was enormous and Minerva noted it exceeded that of her first view of the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall. She couldn't stop the smile that formed as they both looked at the foetal monitor showing the strong rhythm of Isobel's heart.
"So you are right about the timeframe for conception and everything's looking as it should. Now, about those options—" The doctor started.
"I'm keeping it," Hermione announced firmly.
~x~
When the memory faded, and she returned to the present time, she was grateful Hermione had the foresight to share that final memory with her as it had tempered the rage that had been roaring through her at Ronald Weasley and the Granger's actions towards her mate. She may not have witnessed first-hand the moment Hermione's pregnancy became a reality, with the sound of the fluttering heartbeat, but to have it shared with her was a true gift.
Glancing at the brunette stood nervously waiting for her to finish with her memories, she witnessed the anxiety held in her eyes and held her hand out. When it was grasped, Minerva led her back into the sitting room.
Hermione settled on the couch, biting her lip nervously as her eyes roved around the room, taking in the bow-fronted windows and open hearth.
Minerva put aside her anger and with her hands in her pockets, stared up at the portrait above the hearth. "I doubt it means much now, after so long, but I'm truly sorry you had to experience all that." Minerva offered up sadly. She turned her head to glance at the brunette. "Would you have stayed if—"
"Yes." Hermione's reply cut off her question.
Moving abruptly, Minerva strode forward and knelt at her feet. She grasped her hands gently, offering them a light squeeze. "Mo ghraidh, tha thu bòidheach." She whispered. She translated the words with a small smile when Hermione looked down at her, her eyes showing a clear look of confusion. "My love, you are beautiful." Not waiting for a response, she stood and let go of Hermione's hands, to ease herself down next to her. Hesitantly, Hermione reached for her hand and Minerva sighed as she relaxed deeper into the back of the large couch. "I do believe I'm far too old to be kneeling on the floor, even if it's at the feet of the most beautiful enchantress I have ever beheld." She stated, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes, even as her fingers played with Minerva's and a light blush covered her cheeks and throat. "You sweet talker, you! You're only 75, love, and I'm no enchantress." She sighed. "I've noticed I've been ageing quicker over the last few years."
"Soon to be 76, while you're still a beautiful 31-year-old." Minerva grinned.
"Soon to be 32," Hermione teased. "And currently looking every inch of that age."
"Leaving our world and suppressing your natural magic will have aged you at the same rate as your Muggle counterparts," Minerva explained. "Then again, none of us can look 17 forever." She glanced up at the portrait of her màthair and saw her watching them as she raised a cup of tea to her lips daintily, her eyes twinkling. "Would you like some tea or something stronger and perhaps something to eat before we retire for the evening?"
"Tea would be perfect." Hermione agreed, standing. "I'm happy to go and—"
"Sit, please." Minerva urged, tugging at her hand, which she'd refused to let go of. "Effie?" She called.
The small house-elf appeared wearing a red, blue and green tartan smock and bowed her head slightly. "Yes, Mistress?" She asked in a high squeaky voice.
"Och, enough of that," Minerva declared. "Yer called me by my given name jus' this morn, and yer called me a numpty and a bampot last night, so don't yer dare put on airs an' graces 'cause we have guests."
"Effie's not wrong, so shut yer pus." Effie squeaked, grinning mischievously, her large bat-like ears wiggling and her dark eyes expressing delight at her mistress's relaxed state and clear happiness. "Yer bum's oot the windae."
Hermione sank into the couch, her free hand against her lips, her eyes wide and shoulders shaking as she fought the sudden urge to laugh out loud. Small choking sounds erupted from her, followed by a loud cackle of uncontrollable laughter.
Shaking her head, Minerva found herself chuckling at the unexpected mirth from the younger woman. "Would you prepare us a pot of tea, please, Effie? Once that's done, you can head tae bed."
"Aye, Minerva. I'll be right back." Effie disappeared quickly.
"Your bum's out the window." Hermione continued to laugh. "Oh God, I've never heard anything like it."
Minerva's smile widened. "Believe it or not, Effie picked up that nonsense from my athair. Once he got used to having an elf running his household better than he ever could, he came to adore her." Her smile widened. "And it certainly doesn't mean what it sounds like."
Finally gathering herself together and settling down, Hermione turned, placing her legs across her lap. "So what was she saying then?"
"She was simply telling me I talk nonsense and to shut up," Minerva explained. "She's been with my family longer than I can remember. She belonged to my uncle and upon his passing, she came to me."
"But surely you can see it's cruel to keep house-elves—?" Hermione started.
"I used to think the same and when she came to me from my uncle I tried to free her, however, she pleaded with me not to, explaining that her freedom would be the ultimate disgrace. Instead of freeing her, we worked together to create the smock she now wears, in the ancient tartan of my clan. She's bonded to the family but accepts a wage and days off. She spends her time between here and Hogwarts, setting her schedule and she's happy. She's treated with kindness and respect and that means more to her than anything else."
"Oh, that's good." Hermione relaxed. "I wasn't aware that the McGonagall's had a tartan," She stated as a silver tea service appeared on the low coffee table in front of them, along with a small plate of Ginger Newts. "I did look for it at one point, hoping to get you a new scarf, but I found nothing." Her cheeks reddened at her admittance.
Leaning forward, Minerva busied herself with the tea. She poured tea into two china cups, added a splash of milk into her own and milk with sugar to Hermione's. "The McGonagall's don't. However, Clan Ross does, and as heir to House Ross, I decided it was suitable to use the ancient red of my clan."
"The heir to House Ross? But that means—" Hermione looked flabbergasted.
"That I am Minerva McGonagall, Order of Merlin First Class and Laird of the Noble and Ancient House Ross." She interrupted, offering up her full title. "And my only daughter will eventually inherit the title and all it entails." Minerva sighed softly. "My brother, Malcolm, should have inherited the title as the firstborn son and I have not laid claim to the title, as yet." Her chin trembled. "I am also the heir to House Urquart, through my marriage to Elphinstone and if I choose, my child may inherit that title too." She glanced at Hermione and saw her incredulity. "I told you, once I claim her as my own, she'll want for nothing. She will be untouchable." Feeling the shock emanating from the younger woman beside her, she closed her eyes and spoke from her heart. "As you should have been once our soul bond was made known to the world."
"Minerva, may I ask you something?" She nodded. "When did you realise we had a bond?" Hermione asked lightly.
"I believe it was shortly after you came of age. I caught the scent of you and on some level, I recognised you were my soulmate. However, I couldn't act on it." Minerva bit her lip nervously, her anxiety rising over what she was admitting. "I'd noticed how beautiful you were becoming even before you came of age. You looked particularly enchanting at the Yule Ball." She shook her head. "And then at William and Fleur Weasley's wedding, you took my breath away and I almost asked you to dance, but then the Deatheaters attacked. When you didn't return to Hogwarts for your seventh year, I found I missed you, lass, but I told myself that my feelings were due to stress, with the loss of Albus and everything that was happening at the school. And then you returned to Hogwarts for the battle and I had to force myself not to run towards you and gather you up into my arms. I felt such relief at the sight of you. After that, with you choosing to return and finish your education, I swore I'd keep things purely platonic."
"Why didn't you tell me when you first became aware?" Hermione asked.
"To be fair, the notion of finding my soulmate, after so long, and not only being a woman, but my student, seemed like a cruel trick of fate. I initially told myself that there was no way on Earth that you could ever possibly feel for me, the way I did for you." Minerva admitted softly. "I needed time to realise that rather than being cruel, fate had simply made me wait for my perfect match and after doing some additional research into the phenomena, I discovered the soulmate connection is never unrequited. That's just not how it works, lass. We came to speak of it shortly eventually and then—well." She shrugged.
Hermione smiled softly. "What else can you tell me about our connection?" She shrugged. "It's clear I accepted it, but I must admit I don't know all that much about it."
"Are you interested in the soulmate connection, or our actual soul bond?" Minerva questioned.
"Is there a difference?" Hermione's brow knitted in confusion.
"Aye, there is. Both things are based on ancient magic. The soulmate connection is one of the deepest bonds that you can form with another human. It's two people who were meant to be together, not just in one life, but for eternity." She smiled sadly. "For magical beings, when the soulmate connection is ignored, our magic eventually weakens. and when the soulmate connection is accepted, it is an incredible experience. It's intense, pure, overwhelming, and magical. It creates the most beautiful relationship, one of mutual desire, respect, and love. It is something that many people search for but never find."
"And what if it's accepted, and the soulmates are separated?" Hermione asked.
"If the pair are separated, the euphoria you experience at having your soulmate disappears along with the anticipation that you would usually feel at the thought of seeing them again. You have found your other half but have lost them. Life feels hopeless and impossible and you're left with a constant, overwhelming feeling of apathy as part of your soul dies. The experience causes both physical and emotional distress, but life goes on, and there's nothing you can do about it." Minerva sighed and picked up a Ginger Newt. She dipped it into her tea to soften it before popping it into her mouth and humming.
Taking a few minutes to finish her biscuit, she continued. "Our soul bond comes from me being Animagus and that part of me accepting our soulmate connection." Minerva nodded towards Hermione's throat. "It was the need to claim you as my mate. The fact is, I believe I may have imprinted on you without recognising it before the actual consummation. Being soul bound has effects, such as allowing you to conceive, as long as both parties are committed to the bond." She took a deep breath. "For 12 long years, I've kept everyone at arm's length, so they didn't see the crippling grief I encountered from being without my mate." She admitted. "And right now, having you here is overwhelming. All of a sudden, I feel optimistic about the future and all the old despairing emotions I've held close have all but vanished." Minerva stopped and looked down, unwilling to show her vulnerability from being so honest.
"Didn't we have a choice in this?" Hermione queried.
"No Hermione, we can't change who our soul decides is its mate. But even if we could, I doubt I would change it in any way." A single tear dropped from her eyelashes and trailed down her cheek. She flicked it away quickly. "You're a talented witch and a beautiful and intelligent woman and I would be proud to be able to tell the world you're mine," Minerva stated.
~x~
After popping her head into the sitting room and greeting her màthair, Minerva entered the open-plan dining kitchen and was surprised to find both Isobel and Hermione still dressed in their pyjamas and helping Effie with the preparations for breakfast at the AGA. She was amused to hear Isobel bombarding her small house-elf with questions while she whisked eggs without even giving her the chance to respond.
Glancing at the brunette, she was pleased to see she looked rested. She had been uncertain if the other woman would be able to sleep in a strange bed, something she often struggled with when she travelled. Then again, it had been an extraordinarily long day. The evening before had been rather emotional, having spoken of the past and with Hermione answering her questions and likewise responding to the ones Hermione asked.
They had made no plans for the day, and she was free to spend the day at home. She just hoped Hermione and Isobel were willing to stay with her a little longer. Opening the French windows to the garden, she sat down at the dining table, ignoring the comfortable sitting area knowing she'd only have to move again.
"Minerva, good morning." Effie squeaked, catching sight of her as she turned away from the stove. "Little miss Izzy was helping make scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, while Mistress Hermione was making tea after setting the table."
"Thank you for being so welcoming, Effie," Minerva replied, knowing how much her elf disliked having her kitchen taken over. The last time she had attempted to help, she'd been banished from the kitchen entirely outside of the meals she ate there.
The house-elf grinned. "They're good helpers. They didn't nearly burn the house down, unlike someone I know."
Minerva laughed as Hermione stepped close, placing a pot of tea on the table before offering her a small smile and turning away. She happily hummed along to the music playing on the Wizarding Wireless Network, enjoying being able to witness the two curly-haired witches moving around her home comfortably as if it was theirs.
Once breakfast was ready, everyone, including Effie, settled at the table and they helped themselves to the food and drink, buttering toast, piling scrambled eggs on their plates and pouring mugs of tea. They didn't speak, but simply enjoyed the meal together.
When Isobel finished, pushing her plate away slightly, she gazed expectantly at her parents. "What're we doing today?"
"What do you usually do on a Saturday morning?" Minerva asked curiously.
"Well I wake up and watch telly while eating cereal," Isobel explained. "Mam usually sleeps in a bit, 'cause she works two jobs and—"
"Two jobs?" Her eyebrow rose as she looked at the brunette. "You didn't mention that when we talked last night."
Hermione blushed. "I have two part-time jobs." She admitted. "When Izzy was younger, I needed hours that allowed me to drop her off and pick her up from school." She bit her lip. "I work as a receptionist at a dentist from nine-thirty until one on Monday through to Friday, then work at the local corner shop a few evenings a week, just stocking shelves and serving customers before it closes at eight."
Minerva frowned. For years now, she hadn't truly needed to work if she didn't want to, but when she was younger and had finished school, it was different.
Thinking back, she could easily acknowledge that she'd initially enjoyed her time at the D.M.L.E, although she had found herself becoming disheartened by the inner politics and had finally quit in protest over the continued prejudice towards Muggles and Muggle-borns. She'd loved every moment of her time teaching at Hogwarts, which was why she'd managed to last 42 years before becoming headmistress. "And how is your work? Do you find it fulfilling?"
Hermione shrugged. "It's work " She chuckled darkly. "It wasn't what I originally planned for my life but it pays the bills. You might remember from my fifth year that I wanted to work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and be an advocate for the rights of magical creatures." She shrugged. "In my final year, I considered taking up teaching. There was something about the idea of imparting my knowledge to the younger generations, that appealed to me, especially after everything."
Minerva sat back and imagined what it would have been like to have Hermione at the school full time, working and living together, and felt the loss of the brunette anew. It would have been a damn sight better to have Hermione teach than the slew of nincompoops that arrived with startling regularity, never lasting more than a year or two.
Glancing at Isobel, who was listening to their conversation, she decided to change the subject by speaking to her directly. "I do not have a television, mo nighean," she admitted. "So perhaps we could spend some time outside this morning, while the weather is fine. Perhaps I could teach you to fly."
"Minerva, I don't think—" Hermione started to say.
Isobel squealed happily. "Really?" She queried. "I can fly?"
Minerva's lips twitched in the hint of a grin at the excitement blazing in her daughter's eyes. "Aye," she glanced at Hermione and saw her concern. "I'm aware that some witches and wizards, your mum included, do not enjoy such things, but I find the wind rushing through my hair when I ride my Firebolt invigorating."
"What's a Firebolt?" Isobel asked quickly.
"Why, it's a racing broom, of course." Minerva grinned while Hermione groaned.
"You fly on a broomstick? Like a real witch?" Isobel gasped. "Awesome." She looked at Hermione and saw she was about to object. "Please, mam. I'm sure màthair will keep me safe."
It was the first time Isobel had used the honorific title when speaking about her, and Minerva was equally surprised and delighted by it. She beamed at the two witches on either side of her. "I promise, she shall go no higher than the first floor." Seeing Hermione's wariness, she added another caveat. "Or perhaps I could ride with her."
Hermione exhaled. "Fine, but not too high and the moment Izzy starts behaving recklessly you'll put the brooms away."
"Yeah!" Isobel pumped her fist in the air in excitement before jumping up and offering Hermione a sloppy kiss on the cheek. "You're the best, mam." She hopped towards Minerva and leaned into her side. "Come on, màthair. I want to go out now."
"Okay, okay." Minerva grinned ruefully. "Just give me a few minutes to have another cup of tea." She smirked at the little girl. "And perhaps you could take the time to dress warmly. The wind chill can be quite fierce and I doubt your Winnie the Pooh jammies are suitable."
~x~