Thank you for your support on this slow working story.

Alex

A Very Peculiar Encounter…

Minerva blinked as she looked at the ordinary house, with an ordinary lawn, with an ordinary picket fence, on an ordinary street. She looked around hoping no one would notice her presence. She was dressed in phenomenally uncomfortable muggle clothes. She wore an ankle length black dress not unlike her trademark fashion, but the fabric was exceedingly scratchy. It would be the last time she would let Albus do the shopping for her. She looked down at her list.

"The last one, thank Merlin," she sighed as she put her list back in her pocket. As she reached for the gate to the pathway straight up the middle of the lawn to the front door, a shot of cold slid up her spine. She shivered.

"Death must have walked over my grave," Minerva muttered as she closed the gate shaking her head. She looked to the house she saw the curtains flutter. Minerva's hand itched to unload her wand that was cleverly hidden with an older model of those battle holsters. She didn't survive two wars and countless skirmishes to let a damned muggle get the drop on her.

"You could always walk to the door, Dearie."

The voice came from behind her and damn near made her jump from her own skin. She spun around with the wand in her hand.

"Or not," spoke a young girl from behind her. The frizz of her brown hair blew in the breeze and some fell to her cheek as she cocked her head looking at Minerva. Minerva felt the chill crawl up her spine once more. The girl looked at her. No… she looked into her. For a split-second Minerva felt awe, fear, and then rebellion. She refused to think of this little girl as more than her. She refused to let this little girl and her deep penetrating gaze see into the depths of her.

"Evidently witches and wizards have different forms of etiquette. I am Hermione Granger and that," she pointed behind Minerva and Minerva spun around to an open door and a man with very similar features as Hermione, standing in the door frame.

"Is my father John," Hermione concluded as she spoke directly from Minerva's side as if she popped up from the middle of nowhere. Minerva straightened her shoulders and walked toward John keeping her animagus close to the surface. She heard the soft foot falls from the girl… Hermione behind her, and the shuffle of clothing from the father… John as she approached the house.

"Forgive me. I was slightly startled. Your daughter gave me a bit of a fright," Minerva exclaimed as she extended her hand toward the man before her, "Minerva McGonagall, pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Granger," Minerva introduced with a tight smile.

"Oh Please, call me John," he said charmingly as he took her hand. She almost jerked her hand away at the frigid fingers closed around her own, "Pardon, the air conditioner is on the fritz. One moment it's like hell in there and the next it feels like the north pole. As for Hermione giving you a fright, forgive her. She is solitary by nature due to her extraordinary nature. I am delighted to know there are others like my little girl," John gushed as he ushered Minerva inside the home.

"Don't push it… Dad," Hermione gritted as she passed her father and he only smirked. Getting one over on Hermione was very much a highlight of his year for he could not do it often, but when the occasion presented itself, he could not deny his rather impish nature.

Minerva looked about and felt that the inside did not fully represent the Grangers. It was decorated with knickknacks, and photos of John and Hermione but there was no mother. She stopped on one photo she knew so very well. Father and daughter recently stood together smiling and laughing at an inside joke on the shores of Loch Stenness, not too far, on a small stretch of land, was the Ring of Brodgar, McGonagall family ancestral lands, a keepsake as such. Minerva shook her head. Families did not keep landscapes and yet she was tied to one of the most powerful circles in the north.

"When does school start?" came Hermione Granger's softer voice but for some reason it felt commanding and hard.

"September first," Minerva replied.

"Excellent. I will show you to the door," ushered a hasty Hermione. Minerva tried to raise concern to her father, but he simply smiled, waved, and reassured her everything will be ok.

Wasn't she supposed to be doing that?

Maybe You Should…

"Dearest," Death sighed as his smile dropped and Hermione turned around and glared at her father. Hermione closed her eyes and let her body shift back into her original form and then she seemed to relax. Death hoped it was a good sign. He knew more than most Hermione was grouchy and abrupt on a good day, and downright vicious and volatile on a bad one. He was not sure which day this one was.

"Hermione maybe you should…" Death began but Hermione's her eyes snapped to his.

"I will not take instruction from you at this moment," Hermione bristled and turned to storm up the stairs.

Hermione found her feet would not move and her limbs froze. She squirmed and then felt her body leave the ground and then levitated into the living room. She glared at her father as he snapped his fingers and a glass of red wine blinked into existence and rest in his hand. His eyes, those bottomless cosmic eyes looked at her, and she realized she over stepped. She took a deep breath and stopped her fighting. Death's grasp left her, and she sat down on the sofa looking at her.

"I have given you a lot of flexibility with your actions but do not presume to misunderstand who exactly I am," Death's low voice was even and low, but it shook Hermione to the core causing her to recoil.

"I tasked you with this small mission and so far you have proven to behave no older than the child you are portraying," Death softened his voice and his posture, "Dearest daughter, you know my secrets, and weaknesses and we both know you are my only downfall. I feel I have sequestered you to the Domain for too long and you need to experience life," Death spoke to her full of care and love.

"I am at your service, Sire," Hermione said softly inwardly gritting at her submission, but she knew he spoke the truth. He never once hurt her or forced her to do anything against her will. In some aspects Death had been the best father a girl could have, but she had been an adult for too long. Working for too long. Independent for too long.

"Maybe you should enjoy this time given to you, and live with them, among them. Experience life with them," Death suggested, and Hermione sighed and nodded.

"What did you think of the Professor?" Death asked shifting gears. Hermione grinned.

"Too easy," she chuckled, and Death smiled with his eyes narrowed watching as he sipped his wine.

"Can you work with her?" Death asked continuing his observations.

"I think she would be a good contact. She certainly is quick with that little stick of hers," Hermione smiled at the memory, "Cat-like in her actions, but she is observant. Too observant. Those green eyes saw too much," Hermione said the last bit looking at death.

"I had not noticed she had green eyes," Death glibly remarked. Hermione blinked and looked away.

"I can't see how. They were vibrant, and one of the most notable aspects of her appearance," Hermione responded as she nodded to his glass and he snapped his fingers and a port appeared on the table before her.

"Maybe you should use this time to live," Death suggested. Hermione shrugged as she reached for her glass and sat back.

"Maybe I should," she replied and sipped from her glass. Maybe she should.