A/N: Good afternoon. Here we are again, worshipping at the altar of Minerva and Hermione and their slow-burn loveliness. This will not be a behemoth fic, but it's not going to be too small either. We have 12 chapters at the moment and there's a few more beyond it yet.

Thanks for the love you've all shown. And thanks to Lib McGranger for the help and general awesomeness.

-0-

She knocked quietly as she arrived back at Minerva's door and heard the muffled invitation. She poked her head around the door and smiled at Minerva's drowsy but open eyes.

"Hi."

"Hello."

"Do you need anything?"

"Yes," Minerva whispered. "Come," she said, patting the space beside her. Hermione hesitated for a moment but Minerva was patient yet unrelenting. She sighed and made her way over to the bed. "Sit down."

Hermione contemplated arguing but when she saw the mark on Minerva's face she remembered that she could have prevented this. She did as she was told.

"You are not to blame for this," Minerva muttered. Hermione opened mouth in argument, but Minerva held up her hand - a well-known sign from Professor McGonagall to zip your lip quick-smart or suffer the consequences. "As Poppy said, I am a grown woman. I was teasing you, back at The Burrow. There was nothing you could have said that would have dissuaded me. I made up my mind to play and had Ronald not ruined our afternoon, I dare say it would have been the most exciting afternoon I've had in a very long time."

She fell back, her eyes closing as her head rested back on the pillow. Hermione's eyes never left Minerva's face. She knew it was not polite to stare, but she did.

Though she knew she needed to let go of this silly crush, it was so hard while Minerva was looking so beautiful. Her skin, aside from the forming bruise, was pristine. It seemed to glow, pale like the marble statues she'd seen in Italy on the trip she'd taken with her parents. And close up, her hair was just as sleek as she thought it would be but, if she looked closer still, there was a halo of whisps just around her hairline that had a tell-tale trait she could not mistake. Hermione smiled. She'd seen those sorts of whisps before, in the mirror, while she tried to tame her own hair.

"You're a woman of many mysteries, Minerva McGonagall," she said gently, in case Minerva had fallen asleep.

"I dare say you are not wrong but why pray tell, would you say that now?"

"You have curly hair!"

"I -" Minerva frowned, then winced. "You caught me," she chuckled. "I do not wear it down very often, for reasons you and I are both aware of. And when I do, it is plastered with Sleekeazy's."

"I can't imagine how it looks."

"You will find out soon enough, no doubt. Providing you're willing to stay?"

"I," she swallowed. "Can. No," she admitted. "I would like to. Do you," she looked at her hands. "Would you mind me staying for Christmas?"

"Honestly?" Minerva asked. "I would like that very much, providing you will not be disappointed if it is a little low-key?"

"Not at all," Hermione breathed. "Thank you. The Weasley's can sometimes be," she shrugged. "A lot."

"You are welcome. I have not planned much as I had intended to go to Poppy's. I imagine I will sleep for a while, but I cannot sleep like this. Would you be a dear and help me up?"

"You really shouldn't," Hermione started.

"I know, but I will only change and let down my hair and then get back into bed. Is that an acceptable bargain?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she groaned. "Come on." She helped Minerva to her feet and although she spoke a big game, Hermione could feel just how wobbly she was with her legs under her. "Easy," Hermione said. "Go slow."

"Thank you," Minerva muttered. "And for catching me, no doubt. I would have been in a worse mess had you not."

"I won't ever let you fall, Minerva."

She made a noise but Hermione had taken her to a door off to the side of the room that Minerva opened into a bathroom.

"Do you need me to get you anything?"

"I," a dusting of pink dashed across Minerva's cheeks. "My nightgown. It is on the dresser."

"Take this," Hermione said, placing Minerva's hand on the bathroom counter. "Don't let go, just in case."

Minerva smiled but did as she was told. Hermione gathered the nightgown, trying not to think of it as a nightgown and trying as hard as she could to remain professional. She was here to help Minerva heal. She would not be perving on the woman, for goodness sake.

"Thank you," Minerva said as she placed the nightgown on the counter.

"I'll be right out here if you need me. No matter what."

"I'll be fine," Minerva muttered. "But, thank you."

Hermione stepped back and closed the door, letting out a long breath as it did so. She looked down at her shaking hands and scoffed at herself. What a pathetic mess of nerves and overzealous emotion.

"She was injured on your watch," she muttered to herself, turning away from the door and looking around the room for the first time. It was exactly as she'd imagined Minerva McGonagall's bedroom to be like. Dark wood and deep colours that seemed to cocoon a person.

She spied a crystal jewellery tray and wandered that way, running her hand over the back of the chair, set before it. Minerva was not a woman for flashy jewellery, Hermione knew that already. Indeed, there were a few plain-looking rings in one of the sections that Hermione took a closer look at. Plain-looking certainly, but they weren't cheap or pedestrian. Without touching, Hermione could see the craftsmanship in them and could tell that the silver ones weren't silver at all White gold, perhaps or even platinum. In the adjacent space there were a few delicate bracelets, just as finely crafted, that Hermione could just imagine gracing those slender wrists. She reached out to touch one of them when the door opened.

"Oh," Hermione squeaked. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Minerva smiled. "Much better."

Hermione, however, was rooted to the spot. Minerva was leaning tiredly on the bathroom door frame clad in a tartan dressing gown that ended above her knees. Her hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves of curls and while Hermione tried not to embarrass herself, it was a lot to take in. She'd had seen Minerva in a dressing gown before, of course, but never one like this. And her hair certainly hadn't looked like that.

"I took the Sleekeazy's out," Minerva said, breaking the silence. "I thought you might want to see?"

"It is," Hermione almost couldn't breathe, she was so lightheaded. "Beautiful."

"Oh," Minerva chuckled, brushing it off her face. "Well, thank you."

"I -" Hermione realised she needed to help Minerva back to bed before she blurted something inappropriate across the room and ruined everything. She rushed forward and took her arm, smiling at the look Minerva gave her.

"I meant what I said before," Minerva said once Hermione got her laying down again. "What you did, today? From stopping my descent, to Apparating us here and making it inside? That was incredibly impressive, Hermione. Thank you."

"I just knew I needed to get you help, away from St. Mungo's." A shiver went through Minerva as Hermione pulled the covers higher up her body. "You don't have to tell me unless you want to. I understand, as much as I can. But know that you can, if you wanted to?"

"I," Minerva sighed. "Will tell you, I think. But it cannot be today. I am not capable of -" her voice cracked and Hermione's self-control went out of the window. She leant in the bed and ran her hand over Minerva's head.

"Shh," she sighed. "Don't think about it. I'm not taking you to St Mungo's. I promise."

"A promise from Hermione Granger is one I shall hold onto for life, I think," Minerva said quietly, echoing the words Hermione had said to her not too long ago.

"We are a pair," Hermione chuckled, doing the same. "Sleep, Minerva. I'll be here."

"The House is yours," Minerva muttered, already losing the battle with sleep. "There are no off-limits areas. Please make use of whatever you like."

"I will," Hermione whispered, her fingers scratching gently over Minerva's scalp.

"Oh," she whispered as she finally lost the battle with sleep. "Lovely."

Hermione kept it up for a while longer, mostly for selfish reasons, before she withdrew quietly to the hall.

-0-

Though Hermione had not had many friends in her life there had been one, in the first few years of primary school, that had spent a lot of her time snooping through Hermione's things. The friendship hadn't lasted very long. The indignity of someone looking through your personal belongings was enough to sour the interactions they had.

Hermione felt like that now. While she was curious, she did not particularly want to rummage through anything that belonged to Minerva McGonagall. What she did want was some food. She hadn't eaten since breakfast and she felt like she might cry at some point, too. Crying was always better over some food.

Besides the horrendous emotional component, the reasons why all this had come about were appalling. That Ron would do such a thing horrified her, whether he meant it as maliciously as it had seemed or not. It only cemented, in her head, that they would have to be careful around him moving forward. He was their friend perhaps, but he clearly could not be trusted. He was too emotional, too volatile to be involved in their plans for Voldemort and Dumbledore's tasks.

How she wished Ginny was with her.

Ginny had a knack of knowing just what to say at just the right time. She could cut through all the panic and overwhelming noise in Hermione's brain and take it down to the bare bones with barely any effort at all. She realised she was still standing in the hallway and beat a quick path away from the bedroom and down to the kitchen. She sat down at a small but well-loved table for a breather. The cacophony of noise in her head stopped as she looked around and she couldn't help but smile. Ginny's words floated around her.

What would it be like to cook with Minerva?

Hermione knew now, what that would be like. This was a kitchen that belonged to someone who loved to cook. Everything was in its proper place. The saucepans were hanging from a wrought-iron frame on the ceiling, directly above the sink, on an island in the middle of the room. The table she sat at was out of the way, clearly an afterthought to the marvellous kitchen, rather than the centre point. The sink was deep and well-used. She opened a few cabinet doors and found a full china service in one, but in another cupboard, a plate, a side-plate and a bowl. A little chipped in places, and not nearly as fine.

It echoed of someone who ate alone.

Who lived alone.

There was certainly no evidence in here that Minerva had anyone at all in her life, aside from perhaps Madam Pomfrey and whoever made up her family. One had to be fairly close to someone to join them for Christmas and Madam Pomfrey said herself that Minerva didn't have anyone. Hermione felt sure of that now.

It was comforting for reasons she did not want to examine.

She opened a few more cabinets and drawers, finding the junk-drawer that every home seemed to have, and finally a pantry. Mrs Weasley had the same sort of layout in the cupboard, with an area down one side under stasis. Minerva, however, had no such thing and it confused Hermione a moment before she opened the cupboard next to it.

A fridge.

Minerva McGonagall had an honest-to-gods fridge in her home. It made Hermione giggle until she remembered that Minerva was almost as Muggle as she was.

She withdrew a normal-looking bottle of orange juice and poured herself a glass, before perusing the vegetable crisper for a snack. She found a green apple that didn't look too mealy and took both into the living room where they'd first started.

This room, despite it being in Minerva's house, didn't feel like it belonged. It was cold, somehow and as she looked around, Hermione realised it was because this was a sitting room for guests. It had very few personal touches and that made more sense when Hermione poked her head out of the room. It was the closest room to the front door and while visitors were clearly few and far between. It was probably the only room connected to the Floo as well.

Deciding that she didn't want to be in a room that didn't feel like Minerva, she picked up her apple and her juice and went exploring properly. She poked her head into the other downstairs rooms. She saw the study, a small bathroom and a formal dining room. She realised, quite quickly, that on the few occasions she had visitors, Minerva must entertain in the kitchen, or the library. Everything else felt very unlived in.

She climbed the stairs again and slipped down the hallway into the library and once again, let it take her breath away. That feeling she'd been ignoring was back in her stomach. That warmth that seemed to radiate out of her like a beacon. The idea that Minerva had this in her house was almost too much. She sat down in a soft, inviting chair and ate her apple. Taking her time with it, she banished the core to the kitchen sink and looked around properly. She took in the windows, once again, but looked closer at the actual room. If she had asked most people what Minerva McGonagall's bookshelf looked like, they would likely insist that it would be ordered, alphabetised and pristine. She had learned earlier the previous year that no such thing was true. Minerva's bookshelves were messy with books she had read and not put back. Or bought and not found room for. They were vaguely in the correct area, but it made Hermione smile at the thought of such an ordered woman being so unordered in arguably the most important part of her life.

She got up and walked over to the closest shelves, finding myths and legends in this section. Books on every culture imaginable - Muggle and Wizarding. She read the spines as her fingers trailed over them, but left each one where it was. People imagined that she had an insatiable need to read every minute of every day, but that wasn't quite true. Sometimes, Hermione read to keep people away from her while she was thinking. In a house where the only other occupant was currently unconscious, she did not need to do so.

She almost wished she had a paper and pen to take some notes down, but upon further thought, decided it was probably a good thing she didn't. The only notes she wanted to make were those on the reasons Minerva McGonagall was the most brilliant, beautiful, intelligent, exciting woman on the whole planet, and how impossible it would be to mean something to her. She growled, angry at herself for even thinking like that; in such shallow terms. Minerva was a fighter. An agent of The Order. She didn't need someone following her around like a puppy. Besides that, it wasn't as if Hermione didn't also have important work to do. Huffing again, she dropped back onto the chair and pulled her knees up under her. She was so confused and discombobulated, she didn't really know what to do with herself.

She sat with that feeling for a while and then realised she would attack this problem as she did any other. Calmly, rationally and without emotion.

She took a deep breath and let it out again.

Yeah, right.