A/N: I'm well aware that Wands Up didn't happen in the book, but honestly, it's about the only bit of the movies that anyone did right, in my opinion, so we roll with it.

Thank you, as always, to the Lib McGranger for her help.

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Trigger Warning for the death of Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore: Order of Merlin (first class), Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, but most importantly: Minerva McGonagall's best friend.

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Hermione's entire body was numb. There was not a single thing that she could feel and there was a whining in her ears that would not seem to quiet. As she, and what felt like the rest of the student body, spilt out into the Courtyard, even her heart seemed to go quiet.

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

She glanced up at the sky, to where the tower stood stark against the swirling clouds of evil that still hung there, and saw her best friend. Her Harry. Looking down at them from above. She had known that he'd left the castle with Dumbledore. She'd felt the coin she carried warm in her pocket in warning. She had felt the terror as she heard the bells toll and the doors seal shut. She had sat in the Common Room, her hand wrapped around Ginny's, helplessly chewing on her fingernails. She had known that it would have been Minerva leading the battle, along with The Order, against Draco and his band of Death Eaters.

Minerva.

She looked around hurriedly and found the woman standing in front of Dumbledore's broken body, staring. Everything felt so quiet but even over the whine in her ears, she could hear the waves of whispers. Like the tide breaking on a desolate shore. She took one step forward. The students parted in front of her.

Another step.

More moved out of her way. Like they knew where she was going.

Another.

The whispers grew louder as she moved to Minerva's side, standing beside her and staring at Dumbledore's body. Harry stumbled through the doors and followed in her footsteps, pushing past the other students to get to Dumbledore's side. He dropped to his knees and Hermione's heart shattered as he gently smoothed the hair from Dumbledore's face.

A shuddering breath from her side caught her attention and she turned to look at Minerva, whose eyes were fixed on the scene before them. Hermione didn't speak. She couldn't. Her face was damp from tears and the sadness that permeated the stone around them heaved with an emptiness that Dumbledore had filled. Instead, she swallowed a sob and reached over, sliding her pinky into Minerva's.

She watched as Minerva's eyes closed at the contact. They stood silent and resolute until she heard another shuddering breath. Minerva's wand shifted into her other hand and without looking or letting go, she raised her wand into the air and pointed it at the sky. Hermione followed suit, and then Madam Pomfrey, Luna, Ron and of all their classmates and teachers. No spell was spoken, but their pain and sadness - their love - lit the sky in Dumbledore's memory and removed the sickening mark of his death. Harry's sobs into Ginny's shoulder permeated the silence.

Just as she was about to slide their fingers together, Minerva shook off her hand, spun, and left the courtyard without a word.

For reasons Hermione could not name, Madam Pomfrey looked up at that moment and their eyes met. She did not know what conversation they had in the silence, but after a moment, Madam Pomfrey nodded once in the direction Minerva had just gone and Hermione understood. She turned, just as suddenly, and followed Minerva back into the castle. Just as she reached the doors, she saw Minerva disappear from where she stood. In her place, a pretty tabby cat with spectacle-shaped eye markings. It looked balefully at Hermione before sprinting away at a pace only a cat could keep.

Hermione sighed but kept a more leisurely pace back to Minerva's quarters. Albus Dumbledore had been Minerva's friend and colleague for more years than Hermione had lived. The woman could have some time to fall apart. Hermione would help build her up again.

They had grown closer since the Diffindo emergency. Instead of being too busy, they had decided, independent of each other, to make time to meet outside of class. Minerva had summoned her at odd hours, whenever she had time, just for a cup of tea or a chat. Hermione had, of course, dropped everything to attend. Through it all, they learned and talked and studied. They had laughed when it was necessary and cried when that was, too. Minerva had spent countless hours holding a sobbing Hermione, who bemoaned how unfair life was, and how angry she was at Ron, or how much she hurt for Harry taking on the world alone. Hermione, in turn, had eased Minerva's sorrows when the Order's missions went awry, and when countless people died at the hands of the enemy. And, at times, they had argued fiercely when they butted heads over Quidditch rules or Order missions, or lately: Draco Malfoy.

How long ago that all seemed now. And Draco! Hermione scoffed, breaking the muted blanket that seemed to have descended over the Castle. Draco had orchestrated everything. And Minerva knew that now, or would, soon enough and would blame herself for not seeing it, for not stopping it. Hermione vomited suddenly. Her entire being rebelled against everything that there was. She felt the tears running down her cheeks as her breath heaved against her lungs. She did not know what to do, other than to be there for Minerva. And she wanted that. More than anything.

She wanted to be Minerva's everything, but for now, just being was enough. Getting to know Minerva, deeper and deeper, had blossomed her childish crush into something more. She had thought that she loved Minerva, however one-sided, when she first realised her feelings. It was that fantastical sort of love that she grew up watching on the television and in her precious books. The fairytale love.

But she had been wrong all along.

That love, created for stories, was fleeting. That love was only a fraction of what real love felt like. It was something that people invented to make things feel happy, to end their fantastical narrative on a high note.

Hermione had discovered that love, real love, was as much pain as it was happiness. Love required mutual understanding. A knowledge beyond what you could learn, simply by looking. She knew Minerva now and as their friendship had grown, so had her love. When Minerva hurt, Hermione hurt. A deep, endless chasm of pain. And she only knew to do one thing to help.

She would hold Minerva together until she could hold herself together again.

She wiped her mouth and drew a bottle of water from her beaded bag. Gradually, thanks to Minerva's teaching and advice, there was more and more in it and the extension charm had been altered, three times already, to accommodate the items she might one day need. She rinsed out her mouth and freshened her breath to take away the taste.

And then she stood.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and straightened her jumper and she strode purposefully to Minerva's door where she stood for a moment, looking up at Minerva's entry-way portrait - a man named Michael. A proud Scott.

"I request entry," she said quietly. "The password is Thistledown."

"I cannae do that, lass," the portrait said gravely. "She changed it, not thirty minutes ago."

"You need to let me in."

"I cannot," he shrugged.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she said fiercely. "I am Minerva's friend. I need to be in there with her."

"Aye, I know," he apologised. "But unless you have the password, I cannae bid you enter, Hermione. You ken that."

"But how am I supposed to know what it is?"

"It'd no' be above yeh ken, lass. Have a wee think about it," he said quietly. "She didnae make it hard."

She paused. He looked at her for a long time and nodded as she stared at him. Her insides seemed to crumble to dust as she whispered a name into the silence and he closed his eyes. The portrait swung open and she started up the stairs, preparing for whatever was beyond the door.

But no one could have prepared for what she found.

It was a catastrophe.

Books were strewn across the ground and pages still floated through the air like a tornado had only just swept through. Minerva's favourite tea set was in pieces on the floor by the sofa and her own favourite armchair, where Hermione had sat and had tea so many times, was smouldering. She doused the smoking remnants and was about to start repairing and tidying up when an almighty crash came from where Hermione knew Minerva's bedroom was. She didn't wait, she didn't hesitate nor stand on ceremony. She raced into the room just as Minerva whipped around, her wand outstretched and the most terrifying expression on her face.

The hangings on the bed were aflame, the dresser; not unlike the one in Minerva's home, was in splinters all around the place. Hermione, though, did not have time to look at anything else. A bolt of magic, spinning with red and gold intertwined, came hurtling at her and she sidestepped it quickly like Minerva had taught her and put up a shield to stop it from grazing her as it exploded.

Minerva's wand clattered to the floor and the anger was replaced with desolation.

"Herm-" she squeaked. She stepped forward and stopped as she seemed to realise what she'd done. Hermione knew she would have to move quickly before their friendship was destroyed by Minerva's mourning.

"Stop," Hermione said, taking two steps forward into Minerva's space. "It's okay. You didn't mean it."

"I -"

"Shh," Hermione whispered, reaching out gently to touch Minerva's elbow. "It's okay. No harm done. I should have announced myself."

"He -"

"I know," Hermione nodded, her heart breaking as two fat tears gathered at Minerva's eyes and rolled down her face.

"He is -"

Hermione gathered Minerva up in her arms as she broke. Endless waves of pain and anguish escaped from Minerva's throat and it tore out her soul even as she sought to patch the hole in with her own. She didn't speak, she didn't know what she might say, so instead, she held on. She put out the fire on the awning and moved them both onto the bed. She removed the top-cover completely with her wand. It took with it, most of the detritus and the reminders of what lay around them. Ignoring what she could, Hermione knelt on the bed and pulled Minerva with her.

"I'm here," she said finally, as she moved away so she could ease further onto the mattress. Minerva grabbed her tightly enough that Hermione would likely have bruises but she didn't make a noise. Instead, she turned her hand over and held Minerva right back. She sat and patted the pillow beside her and guided Minerva down onto the bed. "I'm here," she said again as Minerva pulled her close and sobbed against her shoulder.

Time passed outside of their small island of peace. She had no idea how long it had been and cared even less. She imagined how she would feel if Harry, or Ginny, had been the one to lose their life and Hermione cried herself at the thought of Minerva hurting that much. And she cried for the idea of their shining beacon of all that was good being snuffed out so cruelly. And she cried for the pain of Minerva's heart and the loss of such a man. A lifetime of love, and respect, and care, gone in an instant.

She cried for the loss of so much hope.

As so often happens, eventually her tears dried and her breathing returned to something close to normal. What surprised her was that, at the same time, Minerva's did too. When they had been in a similar situation before, Minerva's embarrassment had got the better of her and she'd escaped quickly from Hermione's arms. This time was different. Minerva didn't let go and Hermione didn't move. She held on, just as tightly as she had and they stayed there for endless seconds, minutes, hours even. She breathed in Minerva's scent and gently pulled the pins from her hair, letting it free.

As they had discussed once, over tea, such heavy use of magic had made her curly hair wind tighter and Hermione smiled sadly as it almost stood on end. She smoothed it out, running her fingers through it and felt the tension in Minerva's body let go a little. She kept doing it, alternating dragging her fingers through Minerva's hair with raking her nails across her scalp.

Before long, Minerva sighed and shifted. Hermione stopped, but Minerva shook her head and Hermione continued. Time slipped by them still and eventually, Hermione's arm tired and she threaded her fingers in Minerva's hair and came to rest.

"I need to get up," Minerva said eventually, her voice gruff.

"When you're ready."

"I don't know how to do this. I don't want to lead."

"But you are made for it," Hermione soothed. "You must."

Minerva sighed.

"Sometimes I just want to curl up in the window at home and pretend the world does not exist."

Hermione knew that feeling very well. As their lives had darkened over the last few months, she had started dreaming of that moment more and more. When she had sat beside Minerva, shoulder to shoulder, and sipped tea while they watched the snow float through the air, and then later when they had curled around each other in the quiet.

"I will join you there if you are amenable," she said finally. "After we help Harry kill this asshole."

Minerva snorted, squeezing her hand between their bodies and wiping her eyes.

"Thank you, Hermione," she whispered as she started to pull away.

"You're welcome," Hermione smiled and let her.

Minerva sat up and Hermione followed, watching as Minerva blinked and looked around. Her eyes went wide at the destruction and she gasped, seeing the burn mark on the wall where Hermione had been. Hermione followed her gaze and ran her thumb over Minerva's hand.

"Please don't worry. You weren't thinking and I snuck up on you. You could never hurt me. I know that."

"I don't know what I'm doing," Minerva whispered, looking at their joined hands. She looked up. "I -"

Hermione simultaneously saw what was about to happen and knew that it could not.

"Min?" Hermione whispered, placing her fingers over Minerva's lip. "You're going to stand up, do your hair and go out there and organise them. You're going to protect us the best you know how to. And you're going to lead us like I know you can. We," she frowned. "We won't be able to meet up, before the end, and I know we'll have to pretend like we are not -" Her voice broke. "Friends, for both our sakes. And whatever happens, Minerva, I know you'll take care of them, but I need you to take care of you first." Minerva looked at her with such sadness in her eyes that Hermione nearly couldn't finish what she was saying. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. "Promise me," she whispered. "Promise me, that no matter what happens, you'll come out of this?"

"I promise," Minerva breathed and Hermione nodded her acceptance. The air was so heavy with unspoken words and sadness and disappointment that Hermione didn't think she could move. Minerva seemed to sense that. "Hermione," she whispered. When she said nothing else, Hermione looked up and watched as Minerva smiled like she had not done in many many months. "I promise."

Hermione smiled back and nodded.

"I do too," she whispered. "And," she shrugged, indicating the room around them. "I'll take care of this if you like. You need to be out there and I can do this for you. Then, I guess we're going home?"

"Yes," Minerva nodded. "I will send them home. After a ceremony or," she shrugged. "Whatever the rest of the Professors and I decide to do instead."

"I'll be at the Weasley's. Will you see Mum and Dad?" she asked. "We'll definitely be being watched now, I don't want to draw attention to them. Bill and Fleur are getting married in July and they'll have to get Harry before he ages out?"

"They will no doubt have instructions," she shrugged. Hermione had only recently discussed blood wards with Minerva and they had come to that conclusion themselves. "And yes, I will talk to your parents. I did receive an invite from Bill," she chuckled. "I had not intended to accept, unless -"

"I'll be there."

"Then so will I."

"Might skip the Quidditch this time though," Hermione chuckled.

Minerva snorted and pulled Hermione's hand close and kissed the back of it. She used the leverage to pull Hermione even closer and slid her hand around Hermione's neck. Before she knew what had happened, Minerva's lips pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering like she couldn't pull away.

"Please take care," Minerva whispered against her skin. "I will see you at the wedding."

"I'll put your rooms back together."

Minerva nodded but didn't move until Hermione knew she must.

"Go," Hermione nodded. "It's time."

Minerva stood, her eyes clear and a small curl of her lips as she stared endlessly into Hermione's eyes. Her hand lifted almost in goodbye and her hair did itself up, into her usual tall bun. She stayed a beat longer and though her mouth opened as if she was going to say something, she fled the room, leaving Hermione on Minerva's bed with a huge hole in her heart.

Albus Dumbledore dead, Minerva gone. Harry, Ron and herself alone in the world with no direction but with everything to do. She could already see what would happen. She knew, just like she'd discussed with Harry, that everything was going to change for the worst and there was nothing they could do about it.