A/N: Alright loves, it's snowing in my part of the world and I'm all happy and excitable and last night I wrote like 5 more chapters. We're currently up to 15 or 16 I think. I'm envisioning about 20-22 at this point. Enjoy! Thank you to Lib, as ever, for keeping me on my toes, and for making sure my tenses are not too bad - cos we all know they're pretty dodgy when I'm left to my own devices.

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The smell of bacon simultaneously pleased her and made her a little angry.

"Bloody stubborn woman," Hermione grumbled, rolling out of bed and storming down the stairs. She stood at the door to the kitchen watching Minerva flip two eggs deftly, hips swaying to a song that was playing on an old-fashioned wireless.

"There had better be a serial killer in this bloody kitchen, as I distinctly recall telling Minerva McGonagall not to get up until I checked on her!"

"Madainn mhath!"

"Oh my God," Hermione groaned. "Is this you with brain-damage?"

"What?" Minerva chuckled. "No, of course not. I am feeling very much better. That is Gaelic for good morning."

"Oh god." She repeated, as she rubbed her hands over her face and looked out from between her fingers. "Madam Pomfrey is going to kill me."

"Nonsense," Minerva grinned. "She'll never know."

"Boody hell."

"None of that," Minerva tutted. "Come, sit. I have tea." Hermione sat at the counter and was presented with a mug of tea. "Breakfast will be done in a few minutes and there are scones in the oven." Hermione could only make a strangled noise as rest her head on the bench. "I did say it wasn't so bad."

"You clearly don't recall getting knocked unconscious and falling from your broom!"

"Ah," Minerva paused, spatula pointing at Hermione. "You are correct in that regard. I do not."

"Hopeless," Hermione huffed. "Can I check you over while you cook?"

"After we've eaten," Minerva waved her off. "I'm starving."

"You are very different when you're not at school. Much less stern, I think, when you're in your element."

"I am," Minerva smiled, pausing. "Does that bother you?"

"No," Hermione frowned. "Why would it?"

"Because I am very much the opposite of Professor McGonagall whenever I can be?"

Hermione opened her mouth to say that she wasn't in love with Professor McGonagall or anything like that but realised that was far too close to home, so she shook her head instead.

"Why would that bother me? I realise that teachers have lives outside of school. I think we've all established that by now. Well," Hermione shrugged. "I have. And, if I may, I'm looking forward to getting to know you better."

"Quite right," Minerva chuckled. "I, for one, might even give Ronald ten house points when we get back. He's given me an impromptu holiday to boot!"

"Were you expected to be working for The Order this week?"

"Aye," she said, sounding tired suddenly. "It seemed only fair that I, as one without immediate family, be the one to take that particular shift. Now, someone else will have to."

"What are you working on?"

"Nothing we shall be talking about, madam," Minerva said, looking shrewdly at Hermione. "I'm mildly concussed, not addled." Hermione grinned and sipped her tea. It was always worth a try. "Now. Tomatoes? Fried?"

"Ooh, yes please. I've not had fried tomatoes since before term started. Dad does a fry up every Sunday. We eat a late breakfast and go for a hike, most weekends."

"A man after my own heart," Minerva smiled, before glancing over. "May I ask a question?"

"I think it's only fair, considering the number I have asked, that you also get to ask some too?" Hermione shrugged.

"How are they coping?"

That was a curveball if Hermione had ever seen one. She had expected any other question but that and while it hurt a little to consider she found she didn't really mind talking about it.

"I," she took another sip, smiling as Minerva warmed it a little with a wave of her hand. "I am struggling with what to tell them. How much to reveal and how to protect them."

"Oh," Minerva gaped. "Oh how foolish of us! Hermione," Minerva pleaded. "Please forgive me for not thinking of them!"

"Don't worry about it," Hermione shifted. "It's -"

"Inexcusable," Minerva finished for her. "Eat up. How do you feel about inviting me over for Christmas with your parents?"

"What?"

"Tomorrow is Christmas day. If we get sorted here, we can be at your parents' house tomorrow, and I can ward the property. Or persuade them to move somewhere safe for a while?"

"I don't think they'll move. They have a rather successful practice."

"Practice?"

"They're dentists," Hermione blushed.

"You are ashamed?"

Hermione opened her mouth to immediately rebuff that idea but Minerva's eyes made her pause.

"No," she said finally after consideration. "But it is rather difficult to explain sometimes. And the prevailing opinion of Muggleborns is sometimes a lot to handle."

"I understand that," Minerva muttered.

"I was surprised for a moment to find a fridge," Hermione changed the subject slightly. "Until I remembered you are half Muggle, right?"

Minerva smiled sadly but didn't comment and Hermione realised she'd stumbled into murky water.

"Sorry," she said quietly.

"Oh," Minerva said, shaking her head. "No, don't be. You are fine. I was lost in memories. Yes, my father was a Muggle. My mother, though she was a witch from a rather old family, lived as a Muggle for many years before we were born. Fridges and kettles will always take precedence in my home, over stasis and warming spells."

"Is it me or does a warming spell just not make a good cup of tea?"

"Yes," Minerva chuckled. "I've tried to tell Poppy for years there's a difference but she insists it's ridiculous."

"She's pureblood?"

"She grew up in a Wizarding household," Minerva corrected gently. "But yes. Then she married Will and," she chuckled. "It all went downhill from there."

"If you are quite well, why don't you go to theirs for Christmas? You don't need to entertain me?"

Minerva paused in the plating and considered it for a moment.

"For one, I am rather enjoying spending time with you. It is rather an exciting prospect to get to know you better, even if in a week or so you will have to go back to doing as you are told, by me. The second part is," she blushed. "Well, I confess to feeling a bit like an intruder sometimes. They insist that I am not, but," she shrugged. "Their family is their own. They don't need me at all of their milestones."

"Perhaps they just want you there," Hermione soothed gently, though she understood completely. "Having said that," she decided just to be honest. "I get it. I always feel like that at The Weasley's. They're lovely and welcoming and second-to-none in terms of care and affection, but sometimes I feel like if it came down to it, as welcoming as they are, I'd need to back off. Not that they'd tell me to, but because it was the right thing to do."

Minerva smiled gently and nodded.

"Yes."

Sensing that the discussion was turning a little melancholic, Hermione raced to change the subject.

"Okay Chef McGonagall, what is for breakfast?"

Minerva snorted a little and met Hermione's eyes. Something passed between them that Hermione couldn't identify before Minerva waved her hand and a rather impressive chef's hat appeared atop her head. Hermione giggled.

"For the first course, madam, we have the humble egg. Versatile and useful for most things, a fantastic source of protein. Second course is, of course, black pudding and sausages. But don't turn your nose up, black pudding is an essential part of any Scot's breakfast. For the third course, we have toast and some marmalade if you wish. Otherwise, bon appetit."

Hermione was laughing by the time Minerva took a deep bow and the chef's hand fell down over her eyes.

"Bother," she chuckled, banishing it from wherever it came from.

"You can definitely keep the black pudding for yourself," Hermione winced. "Any baked beans?"

"Oh!" Minerva said, acting like she was wounded. "No black pudding and a lover of baked beans. Whatever will we do with her."

Hermione was still laughing as Minerva pointed to the pantry.

"If you don't like them so much," Hermione grinned as she poked her head into the cupboard. "Why on earth do you have so many?"

"William likes them," she deadpanned. "Which translated into all of his progeny liking them as well."

Hermione snorted a little indelicately and opened a can, warming them with a spell, rather than on the stove.

"It's only for me, I don't care."

"Good," Minerva said, setting two plates down. "Now, eat."

Hermione settled on her seat and watched as Minerva paused for half a second before shaking it off and eating. It was confusing to Hermione as she'd seen a similar movement before; when her Grandparents ate meals with them.

"Were you -" Hermione bit back what she was saying when Minerva looked up, her eyes wide. "No matter."

"He was a Deacon, my father, at a small church in the village where we lived. I," she frowned. "Old habits," she shrugged. "Christmas is a time of memories, I find."

"I didn't mean to draw attention to it. I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"Oh," Minerva chuckled. "Don't be. That is a part of getting to know each other, isn't it?"

"Yes, but not at the expense of a good mood or other, happier memories."

"While I refuse to call myself old, Hermione Granger, I have lived quite long enough for those memories to become increasingly more distant."

"Can I ask how old-"

"You may," Minerva smirked around a mouthful. "I'll be," she considered it. "I technically turned 61 two months ago."

"You don't -"

"No," Minerva chuckled. "I don't. And Albus does not look as old as he is, either."

"So there is some truth to the rumour that we age differently?"

Minerva wiped her mouth daintily with a napkin.

"I," she considered it. "Believe so, yes. Studies have never been done, if you can believe that. I think it is just assumed that is how it is." She thought about it for a moment. "Or they have never had a comparison like Muggle-borns?"

"That's," Hermione frowned. "Why is the Wizarding World like that?"

"I believe history has a terrible way of making people feel comfortable in their space. People like you - and I, if I'm honest - are ready to burst out of it and because of that, they malign you. And yet," Minerva chuckled ruefully. "You are in the right!"

"I do like talking to you," Hermione laughed. "You always make me feel so much better."

"That is my job as a teacher, no?"

A squelching feeling suddenly sprang up in Hermione's stomach.

"Um, yeah," she said awkwardly, pushing away her plate. Food suddenly wasn't appealing anymore.

"I have just upset you."

"No," Hermione lied. "No, just not hungry anymore. Sorry. I might have a shower."

She left the kitchen and fled to the spare room. In truth, it was so easy to talk to Minerva, out of the confines of school and to a lesser extent the public, that it was easy to forget that she was still her teacher. She got into the shower and stood under the hot water for a long time, long enough that the tears she cried had dried up and she could breathe again without hiccupping. By the time she had emerged freshly dressed, there was a fresh, steaming cup of tea waiting for her on the bedside table with a note.

I'm in the library. And I apologise for the misstep.

Hermione sighed and sat on the bed. It wasn't Minerva's fault that she'd suddenly remembered that she had a huge crush on the woman, any more than it was Minerva's fault that she had an occupation that didn't really align with what Hermione wanted at that moment. She'd just potentially ruined a friendship, let alone whatever might be possible afterwards.

Rubbing her face tiredly, she picked up her tea, smiling at how warm it remained and made her way to the library.

"Hi," she whispered, feeling suddenly very shy.

"Hello," Minerva said gently. "I'm sor-"

"Please don't," Hermione frowned. "It's not you. You did nothing wrong, I think I just," she sighed again. "Forgot for a moment that this isn't how life goes sometimes."

"Whyever not," Minerva said, putting her finger in her book.

"Because regardless of what happens next, you will go back to being a teacher and I, your student. My parents will go about their daily lives because I know them. I know how they think. They'll think this is ridiculous and that they won't cower away - despite not realising the danger they're in. And you," Hermione bit back a sob, but only just. "You will go back to spying for the Order and I," she put the tea down and started pacing. "I have to help Harry work out what Dumbledore wants him to do because God FORBID Dumbledore says it in a way that Harry can understand and at the end of it, we might all die anyway. I mean," she was crying and she was getting angrier about it. "Why are we -"

"Hermione," Minerva said gently. "Breathe."

Before Hermione could protest, Minerva had wrapped her up in an embrace that Hermione all but collapsed into. She held on so tight that she was half afraid that she was hurting Minerva, but the woman made no move to stop her. Instead, she held on right back and eventually led her over to the sofa where they sat down together, Minerva's arm still around her shoulder.

"It's okay to be scared, Hermione. We are all scared."

"That does not make me feel better," Hermione chuckled, wiping her eyes. "If you're all scared what hope is there for me?"

"Fear is useful," Minerva mused. "It keeps you on your toes. And it gives you caution. It is also a great indicator."

"For what?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Courage."

"I'm not brave," Hermione muttered.

"I would, very much, beg to differ."

"I -"

"You, as a First Year, ran after your friends in order to help make sure that one of the evilest men I've ever known could not come back from the dead."

"I -"

"And in Second Year? You ran through the castle, warning everyone you could that there was danger lurking around every corner and did your best to save everyone you met. At great expense to yourself, I might add."

"But I -"

"You saved Sirius, turned time and achieved what no other student has ever done in your Third. At fifteen, you were the one that taught Harry everything he might need to know to keep himself alive, dealt with the press with the greatest of aplomb and last year," Minerva shivered. "Last year you did all you could to protect as many people as you could, where," her voice cracked. "Where we could not. And you punished," again she cleared her throat. "People that needed to be."

"I have never wanted to harm another like I wanted to harm her," Hermione whispered. "It scared me."

"I know the feeling," Minerva mused. "My point is, dear one, that you are," Minerva stared at her. "An essential part of our war against evil. I know that Albus keeps all of his moving parts hidden, but I know, in my heart, that had you not been with us from the beginning? We would not have prevailed so many times."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione blushed. "But thank you."

"You are most welcome," Minerva smiled, her thumb twitching against Hermione's cheek.

For a moment, Hermione thought she might say something else, but instead, Minerva frowned for barely a moment and let go, getting up suddenly and moving to the bookshelf.

"To that end," she said, turning back to face Hermione with no evidence of whatever it was that had just occurred. "Let me help you, where I can. Christmas is a time for celebrating family and we will do so, tomorrow if you are still in favour, but today, perhaps, we shall learn?"

"I'd like that very much," Hermione grinned. "But you cannot be doing magic."

"Tosh. I'm fine. I won't tell if you won't tell. Also, I happened to have done quite a bit this morning."

"Minerva -"

"Fine," Minerva chuckled. "Take out your wand then, and I'll teach you the basics until you'll let me do some proper magic."