Chapter One

Minerva McGonagall smirked as she recalled the baby boom about three months prior, which had coincided with last Beltane and the near immediate Battle of Hogwarts. While in general people were responsible during Beltane festivals and only got pregnant if they intended to, not creating an overflow of children born forty weeks after the first of May, last year had been special because of the first question of some couples wondering if they'd even survive the battle to come, and then other couples so thrilled that they had, that the sheer lack of give a damn over contraceptive spells had been clear by the mass of pregnancies that followed. However, Minerva thought that this year, on the one year anniversary of Voldemort's death and the first Beltane since, the baby boom that would follow was likely to outstrip even the one that had followed the first fall of Voldemort.

It was to be the party of all parties, if the chatter in the halls of Hogwarts were to be believed. Five years worth of former graduates were all going to be coming back for the festivities with the first graduates since the war ended, and that didn't even account for the open invite of friends and family members that was a usual consideration for Hogwarts' graduates during Beltane celebrations. They were of age. They could do as they pleased. On the extreme downside, they were still her students so she was still obligated to supervise the merriments. Even more to Minerva's frustrations, last night's Order meeting suggested that the remaining Death Eater cell was planning to attack the Beltane celebration. What few members of Potter's DA who were as of yet still not of age had been informed through the grapevine, so in addition to the Order members and the Hogwarts staff, there were a number of older students who would be on alert and promised to stay at least mostly sober during the festivities, so they would be of use if an attack did happen. Minerva hated that, a year later, it was still even necessary.

On the plus side, she'd gotten a surprise visit from her brother Robert today. He'd come by and joined her for afternoon tea, just catching up. She couldn't honestly recall the last time he'd set foot inside Hogwarts proper. She usually met him in Hogsmeade, or in London, when he found time to meet her at all. While they did write often and she did like to think they were close, Robert was a dedicated Potions Master and one would think that his fingers were glued to his cauldrons. He travelled the world speaking at various conventions, well respected in his field, although he'd not taken on an apprentice since Severus. Minerva thought that Robert was afraid he'd come to love another student as much as he'd loved the dark haired man she'd eventually grown to consider a respected colleague, and again, lose them. Robert was no good at handling loss.

Pot, meet kettle, her subconscious inferred.

"Malcolm," she whispered to the gargoyle. It had been twenty years since Malcolm, his wife, and their two sons had been killed in a Death Eater attack. Two decades. Minerva couldn't fathom such a passage of time, and yet there it was. She and Robert both had vowed to rebuild the McGonagall family that night, and yet a year later Robert had been hit with a curse that left him sterile, shattering that option for him unless he adopted. They talked briefly about him adopting Severus, but by then Severus was working for Voldemort, and by the time he defected back to the light, it was as a double agent, and Robert couldn't viably adopt him without blowing his cover, and Robert wouldn't consider adopting anyone else.

That left her. Minerva had tried a few relationships over the years, but every time she started to get close to someone, she panicked and bolted. She told everyone, mostly Robert, that it just wasn't the right woman for her, but if she was perfectly honest with herself, she'd been afraid more than she felt the relationship was doomed to fail. She was afraid she would fail. She was afraid she'd learn to really love someone, and she'd fall short, and then they would get killed just like Malcolm and his family had. After a few years, word started spreading that she was a woman who wouldn't let anyone get close, and the only women who would get involved with her anymore were the ones who didn't want a serious relationship. Minerva had never been the sort who wanted meaningless sex, so she didn't pursue those sorts of women, and rarely gave in when they pursued her. By the time Potter began school, and Voldemort began to make his presence known again, all but justifying her instinct not to have a family, it had been a number of years since she'd been involved with anyone.

She was, in effect, a spinster. This did not stop Robert from nagging. As far as he was concerned, up to and including another lecture from him this afternoon over tea, she was still plenty young to find a wife and raise a family. He didn't figure she'd be up for going through pregnancy at this point, especially considering what those stunners had done to her a few years ago, but that did not negate her ability to impregnate another witch. Ideally, in Robert's opinion, a younger witch.

Minerva had needed to remind Robert that any younger witch had most likely been a student of hers within the last few years, and how inappropriate it would be for her to pursue a woman like that. Her brother had countered that it was ridiculous for her to limit her dating pool to women she hadn't taught given how long she'd been teaching, and Minerva had to admit that was a fair point, especially if she had any hope of reproducing. Of course, she wouldn't admit that out loud and certainly not to Robert, because the reality of the matter was that she was content being a spinster and had absolutely no intention of seducing a former student, even if they hadn't been a student for a decade. She felt wretched enough about the women she'd slept with - one night stands - who'd been students two decades ago.

There was a knock on her door. "Enter," she called.

In walked Pomona, and it still hurt Minerva to see the lack of light in the other woman's eyes that had been missing for the last two years. Severus' tenure as Headmaster and the reign of terror that was the Carrows had burned Pomona out, and death of the Creevy boy had hit her especially hard, during the battle. She'd not been the same since. "Are you about ready to head down to the festivities?" the Head of Hufflepuff asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Minerva replied. "Filius better understand that he owes me one for letting him man the fort up here."

"He'll be trampled if he goes down to that shite show," Pomona said, smiling a little, giving the same excuse she always gave for Filius bowing out of Beltane duty. Everyone on staff knew it was complete crap, but they all let him get away with it anyhow. There was a Goblin holiday which coincided with Beltane that he liked to honour, and giving him care of the castle meant he could honour his people's traditions while looking out for a castle that was almost entirely empty.

"What time is it?"

"Half past seven," Pomona replied. "I saw Robert breezing through earlier. Did you have a good visit?"

"We did," Minerva replied, grabbing her cloak and following Pomona out the door of her quarters. "We had tea after lunch and played some chess. The tea tasted a bit off so I'm pretty sure my brother dosed me with something. Knowing him he built a time delay into it so it won't hit me until I'm in front of a few hundred people. Likely I'll sprout cat ears and a tail or something equally ridiculous. He kept telling me I needed to lighten up."

"I'm sure it's nothing harmful," Pomona agreed. "Robert would never put you in danger, and he did know that there is a chance of an attack tonight."

"Which is why I didn't confront him about it," Minerva agreed. "I'd already drunk it by the time I realised he'd likely dosed me, and I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of having to beg for an antidote for something that is likely perfectly harmless. He is right. I probably do need to lighten up. It's been a stressful year."

Pomona patted her arm as they walked. "It's your first year as Headmistress. Setting aside everything else, that's a big job and that kind of transition is bound to take its toll. Get a drink or two when we get there. You're Scottish. That won't impair you enough that you'd be useless in a fight, but it might let you relax a little."

"Remind me, Pomona," Minerva laughed. "What is the point of relaxing? It's been so bloody long."

"Well, ideally, it makes you approachable enough that someone in this massive crowd ahead of us might have the nerve to talk to you," the Hufflepuff teased. "Who knows, maybe you'll make a friend."

"A friend?" Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow.

Pomona elbowed her. "Maybe even a really good friend. Been awhile, hasn't it? Seriously Minerva, if you can't remember the point of relaxing, then you're overdue an orgasm or two."

"I don't require a friend to get an orgasm, Madam Sprout," Minerva teased, laughing incredulously at her friend's boldness.

Pomona shrugged. "But it's so much more fun that way, and Merlin Minerva. It's Beltane. Live a little."

Hermione Granger traced her fingers over the light scar on her right shoulder. It was old, and easily concealed with muggle makeup at this point, although when she'd gotten it at the age of eight it had been a large, ugly wound and a brutal reminder of a horrible accident that she'd had no business walking away from. The emergency responders who'd rushed to the scene of the double decker versus sedan collision had been unsurprised to find the nanny who'd been driving already dead. They'd been unsurprised to find Hermione's brother, Nicolas, already dead. They'd been stunned and hailed it a miracle that she'd had only bumps, bruises, and one laceration on her shoulder to show for herself, despite the fact that the entire car looked like a crushed tin can, having been pressed forcefully between the median and the bus.

As Hermione got older and learned more about magic, and how children can even unconsciously utilise their magic in extraordinary ways, she'd come to realise that her survival must have been a result of her brother using his magic to save her. She'd lost consciousness on impact, but she vaguely remembered feeling him hold her hand. Nicolas had been her twin, and where she had always leaned heavily on logic he had believed in magic long before there was any proof of it. The day Professor McGonagall had come to tell her she was a witch, Hermione had cried herself to sleep, wishing so badly that Nicolas was still alive to go to Hogwarts with her. He'd have felt so vindicated to learn that magic really was real.

She never told Harry and Ron about her brother. Somehow, she felt closer to Nicolas while he remained something that was just hers and hers alone. However, after the battle at Hogwarts, and Fred's death, Hermione opened up to George about what she'd been through. All throughout school, she'd watched Fred and George with a bag of mixed emotion. Her logical, rule-favouring core found their antics somewhat deplorable at times, but at the same time she wondered if she and Nicolas would have developed a similar bond, if time had allowed it. She wondered if Nicolas' more relaxed demeanour would have rubbed off on her eventually, or if perhaps they were always destined to be different, much like the Patil twins weren't particularly alike. She wondered if her brother would have sorted to Gryffindor with her, or if he'd have sorted elsewhere.

If she was perfectly honest, she thought he'd have probably sorted to Slytherin. He had been so cunning, and while she certainly had that aspect about her, it was not her dominant trait. Of course, a Slytherin muggleborn would have shaken things up at Hogwarts. If not Slytherin, perhaps Nicolas' loyalty would have been his defining feature; if she was right about his last act in life, then Hufflepuff would certainly have suited him. As much as it may have been fun to be in the same house, Hermione had been the child climbing trees and taking dares from a very early age. Nicolas had been afraid trying new foods would cause an allergic reaction. He reminded Hermione of the boy in The Pagemaster, whose intelligence caused him to become something of a coward, always rattling off some statistic to make you fear walking out your own front door.

Hermione stopped staring at her naked chest and quickly finished getting dressed. George was going to be here any minute. Harry and Ron were on their own for the evening, both having committed to staying sober and on the lookout for any trouble with Death Eaters. She, however, as gracefully as she could possibly have managed to say so, told the Order that they could go fuck themselves if they thought she was going to give up her last opportunity to be a proper teenager.

It was laughable, really. She'd be twenty in four bloody months and this was only the second big party she'd ever been able to attend. The Yule Ball, in Fourth Year, had been the first. Hermione had given up the better part of her youth for this damn war, and for once she was going to be selfish. There were plenty of other adults and self sacrificing prats, Harry and Ron among them, to mind the defences. She was entitled to be irresponsible this once. In fact, she intended to be so irresponsible that she felt like hell in the morning. Everyone should have that kind of experience, she thought. Hermione didn't want to look back on her life and feel like she'd never been anything other than some rule abiding bookworm.

Just on time, there was a knock on her door. "Come in!" she called.

"Well don't you look like a minx," George said, offering a low whistle. "Too bad I'm into men."

"I fail to see why one should have to choose," Hermione bantered. "Men, women, whatever. Attraction is attraction. I don't know why the bits have to matter."

"I dare you to shag at least one man and one woman tonight," George said, grinning. "Miss I'm-So-Open-Minded."

Hermione shrugged. "Fine."

George gaped. "Seriously? You're gonna do it?"

"Why not, George?" she shrugged. "It's Beltane. It's not like I'm agreeing to a handfast or anything. Some people are signing up for orgies. I'm not into that, admittedly. I would prefer one on one encounters, but I'm not so closed minded that I wouldn't go from one partner to another, gender be damned."

"In a single night?"

"Ordinarily, I'd find that tacky, but it is Beltane," she replied. "That's basically a free pass for all sorts of indiscretions, isn't it? Aren't you going to hook up with someone?"

"Probably," he admitted.

"Someone in mind?"

"Not really."

"So why is what you're doing less tacky than what I'm doing?" Hermione pressed. "Because you're a guy?"

"Less because I'm a guy and more because you're Hermione Granger," he posed. "I'd be having the same conversation if I was having it with Ron or Harry. You three are sort of this public image of virtue. If the public found out one of you went out on a shag fest, indiscriminately, hang gender, tongues would wag."

"Hang the public," the brunette said. "I didn't care what Voldemort thought about me, I don't care what the public thinks of me. My parents don't know I exist, and if Nicolas were alive he'd be bloody well cheering me on right now. Harry, Ron, and your opinions are about the only ones I care about, and I know you all love me no matter what."

"What about McGonagall?" he asked. "You've always held her opinion in high regard. What if she thought poorly of you having sex with a woman?"

Hermione laughed. "That would be hypocritical of her, George."

"How so?"

"Because she's a lesbian," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "How did you not know that?"

George looked dumbly at her. "Seriously? Seriously? So we went from having a gay Headmaster to having a lesbian Headmistress? Is it a job requirement to be homosexual? Should I plan my career accordingly and get my teaching credentials now?"

She laughed. "Professor Snape was straight, as far as I know. Don't forget about him in between Dumbledore and McGonagall. And I am almost certain that Dippett was heterosexual as one could possibly be, if Dumbledore's random musings about him were anything to go on. I don't think you need to go into teaching on account of your sexual preferences."

"Hard to forget the bloke who blew my ear off," George admitted. "And good. Not that I hate children or anything. I love them, honestly, but I don't think I have the patience for teaching. Speaking of teaching though, you'll never believe who I ran into down at the Broomsticks before I came to pick you up."

"Who?"

"Professor McGonagall's brother, Robert," her friend said, clearly swooning. "He's legendary in the Potions field. He was Snape's Potions Master, back in the day, did you know?"

"I did not," she admitted, impressed.

"He does lectures all over the world," George rambled on, having to raise his voice as they began to mingle into the crowd of the Beltane festival. "I talked to him for over an hour, and probably learned more about Potions in that time than I did in my last term at Hogwarts. It was fantastic!"

"I'm sure it was," she agreed. "Now I'm going to go get drunk and probably laid. Tell me all about it later, yeah?"

He grinned at her. "Catch you later, 'Mione!"

With that, Hermione was off into the busy crowd, picking up drinks from a stand and within an hour, she was well on her way to getting drunk. She was just at that stage where her mood was light but she was vaguely suspicious of everything around her, so when she ran headlong into to Draco Malfoy, it was no surprise to her when she shot off a defensive retort, her manners out the window in the wake of her inebriation. "Watch where you're going, you prat!"

He grinned at her. "Prat? What are you, a first year? Come on Granger, if you're going to be mean to me, do better than that. Otherwise, it's Beltane, and I'd really just like to enjoy myself like everyone else. I won't sling insults if you won't. Besides, it's hard to insult you when you're looking like that."

"Looking like what?" she asked.

"Shaggable," he said bluntly.

"How drunk are you, Malfoy?" she choked.

"Fairly," he admitted. "Drunk enough to be honest, anyhow."

"Fine then, be honest," she demanded. "Let's have it."

"Very well," Draco replied, standing up straight. "I can't say I've ever liked you very much. It had less to do with your blood status and more to do with the fact that you're a self righteous swot, and it's bloody well annoying. That said, you've grown into a very attractive witch, and I think if the opportunity presented itself and you were willing, I wouldn't turn down the chance to shag the shite out of you."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Then, she remembered George's dare, and she grinned a little. Draco Malfoy may not have been someone she'd have gone looking to shag, but he certainly wasn't hard on the eyes. Honestly, she had similar feelings about him as he had expressed for her. She didn't like him. She never had and never would. He was a conceited brat. It had very little to do with the fact that he'd served Voldemort. She understood that he'd been more or less bullied into it, and she even respected the fact that he'd all but defected there at the end, doing as little as possible for Voldemort, and even lying to protect their identities at Malfoy Manor. She supposed, if the opportunity presented itself, and he was willing, she wouldn't mind shagging the shite out of him either. As it happened, it seemed the opportunity was presenting.

"I suppose if ever there was an opportunity," she said slowly, slinking toward him, making eye contact. "It would be the night of Beltane. I mean, honestly Malfoy, who would even judge us if someone happened to find out? We're drunk."

His eyes widened, and she could see his breath quickening. "Bloody hell, Granger, are you serious?"

Hermione shoved him between two buildings, away from the crowds, and cast a few wards to ensure their privacy. "Are you?" she asked.

Draco only paused for about three seconds before he lunged forward and ran his fingers through her hair, pressing his lips to hers. She kissed him back eagerly, and their dance began. Spells were cast to remove their clothes, and before she knew it, she felt Draco sinking into her as her back was pressed up against the wall. It wasn't her first time; her final year at Hogwarts had been full of sexual exploration with a fair few partners. Any good psychologist would tell her that she was desperate to feel alive in the wake of witnessing so much death, and they'd be right, but she didn't care. Here and now, it wasn't about love. It wasn't even, at least with Draco, about attraction in the strictest sense. She didn't find him unattractive by any means but she did feel a certain connection to him magically speaking; like on a certain level they were kindred spirits even if personality wise they'd never really get along well.

Hermione and Draco were opposites in many ways, coming from very different walks of life. However, they'd both been asked to deal with hell at a very young age, and both came out the other side utterly changed for it. In this way, they were the same; kindred. In that, they could connect, and for that reason, Hermione relished in their coupling, and her body responded strongly as he moved within her. She felt her magic rising up to meet him in a way she'd not felt with other partners, and she vaguely wondered if it was her lowered inhibitions that was allowing her magic to move so freely. She didn't really care, ultimately. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like life, and that was the feeling that she'd spent all year chasing.

After they finished they both dressed without magic, silently. "You're really something, you know that Granger?" he finally said.

She laughed. "You too, Malfoy. It's been fun. See you around?"

He shook his head. "Yeah, I guess. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

With that, he dismantled the wards and was gone, and after a few more minutes she rejoined the crowds. She stopped at the Three Broomsticks to get some dinner after a while, bumping into a few friends there, and then she was back into the fray. At about ten, she was another few drinks in, when she saw Professors Sprout and McGonagall near the edge of the bonfire. Ordinarily, she'd have just let them be and moved on, but McGonagall was laughing like a loon and Sprout looked deeply concerned. It got Hermione curious, so she moved closer.

"Why not?" McGonagall begged. "It'll be funny!"

"Half the student body having heart attacks will not be funny!" Sprout insisted.

"What does she want to do?" Hermione asked.

Sprout let out an exasperated sigh. "She wants to dramatically fall into the fire, you know, safely with a charm so she doesn't burn up, but to use Transfiguration to make it look like she is burning alive."

Hermione couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips as she imagined the look of utter horror on Harry's face. He'd lose his bloody mind. "As much as I can see the merits in that sort of prank, Headmistress, I'm afraid I'm going to have to side with Professor Sprout. It's too soon after the war for that sort of thing. Too soon after losing Professor Dumbledore, as well. It is rather clever, though. So points for that."

"Points to Gryffindor?" McGonagall asked, giggling.

The younger witch grinned. "Yes, Headmistress, points to Gryffindor."

"Psshh," McGonagall said. "It's Beltane, Hermione. Lighten up and call me Minerva."

Professor Sprout squeaked in surprise. "I think hell just froze over. Did you, Minerva McGonagall, just tell a student to call you by your given name? Are you actually that drunk?"

"I've had three drinks! And I'm Scottish!" McGonagall defended herself. "I am allowed to just enjoy myself now and then, thank you very much. Further, Hermione isn't just any student. She is the brightest young woman Hogwarts has seen in decades, and deserves some bloody respect, so there, I'm giving it to her."

Hermione brightened at that thought. She'd certainly respected Minerva McGonagall for years, but the idea that McGonagall, or rather, Minerva, might respect her in turn was something of a novel idea and it pleased her immensely. "Thank you for that," she said softly. "I'd never presume, of course."

"You're not presuming," Minerva stated. "I'm giving you clear permission for the foreseeable future. Ta-da."

Sprout shook her head. "Can I leave her clearly drunk arse in your care while I do rounds, Miss Granger? You know, with all the mutual respect going around and all that?"

"I'm not drunk!" Minerva insisted.

"I think we're both a little tipsy," Hermione hedged. "However, Professor Sprout, I do believe I can stop her from jumping into the Bonfire. I make no promises about other Gryffindor antics. We may cook something up together."

"Merlin save Hogwarts if you two actually become friends," Sprout muttered. She paused. "Or friends."

Hermione was not drunk enough to miss the implication and hissed under her breath at the Herbology Professor so Minerva didn't hear. "I realise I haven't exactly been subtle around Hogwarts about my proclivities and I also know Minerva isn't straight but you must also know I'd never take advantage of her while she was inebriated!"

Professor Sprout laid a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. "My dear girl, first, I would be tickled pink if Minerva managed to get laid tonight. Second, it is Beltane, and there is a free pass for anyone drunk to take advantage of other drunk people on Beltane, so long as they are still able to form the words yes please and bugger off. That's pretty much the tradition. Third, I am less worried about you taking advantage of her and more of her taking advantage of you. She is currently checking out your rear end unabashedly. Now would be a very good time to decide if you are prepared to be seduced by the Headmistress of Hogwarts, Miss Granger."

Hermione's head whipped around and looked back at Minerva so fast she thought she might get whiplash. The older witch didn't even bother pretending she hadn't been looking. She just smirked. Hermione looked back at Sprout. "Bloody hell."

"You two have a lovely evening," the Head of Hufflepuff said with a happy grin. The password to her quarters and to her office are both Malcolm until she changes it sometime tomorrow. I figure you'll either need that to escort her back to her quarters at some point, or to… escort her back to her quarters at some point."

"You literally have no shame!" Hermione squeaked.

"Did you really think I got to be Head of Hufflepuff by being demure?" the older woman laughed. "See you later, Hermione."

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