A.N.1: I have seen many great variations of HG/MM stories. I don't think it has ever been done like this before. It's an experiment, don't flame me. :)
A.N.2: The first part (chapters 1+2) of the story takes place during Hermione's 6th year at Hogwarts. She is of age by then: Born September 19, 1979 and starting Hogwarts in 1991, she turns 17 at the beginning of their 6th school year (1996). The second part of the story (from chapter 3) is set after the war against Voldemort.
I.
Albus Dumbledore flicked this hand upon hearing the knock and the door to his study swung open.
"Minerva. What a surprise. I wasn't expecting you at this hour."
It was well past midnight.
The Deputy Headmistress stepped across the threshold and closed the door. She looked somewhat distressed, Albus noted, as she approached his desk. No one else would have noticed, of course, but he had known her long enough to recognize the wisps of lose hair that had escaped Minerva McGonagall's trademark bun and the red spots on her neck that only ever appeared when she was aggravated.
"Has something happened?"
Minerva shook her head curtly and pressed her lips together.
"Do take a seat, dear. Can I offer you anything? Tea perhaps? Firewhisky?"
Again the briefest of headshakes, but the Transfiguration professor took a seat vis-à-vis of the Headmaster on the other side of his desk. She didn't relax into the chair though. Her back remained straight, her hands lay folded in her lap and her knuckles, Albus realized, were white.
"Albus, I must be apologizing for disturbing you this late. However…"
Minerva paused and her gaze darted through the room, finding the curtains and settling on the flowing fabric. Albus didn't interrupt her. After a few seconds, it seemed that the curtains wouldn't come to Minerva's help in spitting out what was on her tongue. She looked back at Albus and took a deep breath.
"However, I think I require your assistance tonight."
"Has the time come again?"
Minerva nodded.
"I told you, it must have to do with my animagus traits. Whenever my animagus goes into heat, I just…"
"How bad is it?"
"Very. I've been trying to suppress it for the last few days, but…"
Albus furrowed his brow. If Minerva had been fighting her needs – for a lack of other words they had agreed to call it like that – for days, she had to be under enormous pressure now. Minerva misinterpreted his pause for hesitation. She got up hastily, pushing back her chair.
"Albus, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come and bothered you with my issues."
"Minerva, sit down, please. I'm not going to let you down. Listen, I have agreed to help you with your problem and I will not back out. Now, sit."
Hesitantly, Minerva resumed her seat opposite him. She buried her face in her hands.
"It is so embarrassing, Albus."
"Don't forget that I'm your friend. Not only your oldest, but, and I am quoting you here, your best friend. There is nothing you can do to make me feel ashamed for you."
Minerva lowered her hands slowly.
"Thank you, Albus."
"No worries, dear," Albus smiled. "Now, shall we proceed?"
Minerva nodded.
"Do you have everything?"
Minerva reached into the pocket of her teaching robes and drew out a tiny box, which she placed on the desk and wandlessly enlarged it until it reached its original shoe-box size.
"And the potion?"
Again, Minerva's slender hand dove into the depths of her robes and drew out a small flask filled with a blue liquid. She handed the flask to Albus.
"Thank you," she whispered again, but didn't look into his eyes. For a moment, Albus felt the urge to cover her cheek with his hand and tell her that she needn't worry, that everything was alright. However, he didn't.
"I suggest we move into my private sitting room. The portraits are resting already, and I can imagine you don't want them to witness –"
"You're right, Albus."
The woman got up from the chair and carefully tucked the box under her arm. The pair moved to the backside of the room where, as soon as the Headmaster touched the wall, a door handle appeared under his fingers. He held the door open for his Deputy.
"After you, Minerva."
The witch bowed her head slightly and stepped into the private quarters of Albus Dumbledore.
"Please, dearest, take a seat," Albus pointed at the large settee that dominated the sitting room. Minerva took a moment to glance around the room. She had only been in Albus private rooms a couple of times, and on all of these occasions she had been too distracted to pay attention to the décor. She admired Albus' choice of furniture – while most people would have guessed that the Headmaster favoured Gryffindor red and gold, it was only known to a handful of his closest friends that his favourite colour was indeed blue. The room reflected that taste. The walls and ceiling were painted a dark night blue and were charmed in a way that they showed the stellar constellation on their ways across the night sky throughout the year. The few pieces of furniture – apart from the huge settee, there were only two armchairs in front of the fireplace, a coffee table with a chess board and a sideboard which doubled as a bar – were cream coloured. The mossy carpet, on the other hand, was a bright purple, just like the curtains. The room was very Albus Dumbledore. Minerva's eyebrows shot up momentarily when she saw the large collection of houseplants on the windowsill.
"I didn't know you were into muggle cactuses."
"Oh that. Aberforth gave me my first one as a Christmas present a couple of years ago. I found them to be quite entertaining."
Minerva chuckled at the thought that the undemanding cactaceae were probably the only plants that Albus could keep alive. Then she remembered the reason they were here and swallowed hard.
"Albus, you really don't have to –"
"Minerva, I thought we were past that."
Albus stepped closer to his friend and with a gentle movement, lifted her chin, so that Minerva was forced to raise her downcast eyes to look at him.
"It is so wrong," she whispered with a soundless voice.
"But you need it, don't you?"
"I do," Minerva whispered, blood shooting up into her cheeks as her friend forced her to admit to what she considered her shameful dirty secret.
"What happens within this room won't leave these walls," Albus reassured her. "If you want to continue, we can, but the decision is yours."
Minerva closed her eyes for a moment, her face still flushed.
"Fine," she eventually said.
"Do make yourself comfortable then," Albus smiled, "Help yourself to a drink if that relaxes you."
Minerva awkwardly sat down on the edge of the sofa.
Albus regarded her for a long moment. Then he remembered the bottle that he had put into one of his pockets. He took it out and raised it. The liquid glowed a mysterious steel blue.
"I'll be back momentarily. Your eyes –"
"I'll take care of that."
Albus turned and opened the door to the adjoining room. As he turned, he saw Minerva lifting the lid of the box from the corner of his eyes.
In his bathroom, Albus put down the flask on the sink and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Every now and then he was doubtful about their arrangement. He remembered the first time Minerva had come to his office because of her issues, as she called them. It had been about half a year ago. She had been drenched in tears, desperate, frustrated. Scorning herself because she felt human. Albus had listened. He had tried to convince her that what she felt wasn't wrong. He had implored her to act on her feelings. Minerva had all but shoved him the chess board into his face.
The next time she came, he had been thinking. He suggested the arrangement. He had, with great forethought, safely tucked the chess board away beforehand. The jinxes she fired at him had left ugly holes in his robes, though.
The third time she came, she had grudgingly agreed. He didn't know if she had simply given in to her animagus' overwhelming desires or if she saw no other way out of the situation. He suspected that, had Minerva seen any loophole to fix her problem, she wouldn't have come to him.
He had to admit, it was an unusual arrangement. Albus had only suggested it to Minerva because, well, she was his best friend and he had no doubts that at some point in the future, the issue could be resolved in a different way.
But standing here in his bathroom now, he wondered what the whole situation did to him. He shook his head irritably, now was not a good moment for having doubts. He took up the flask and held it up to his eyes. The blue liquid bubbled, as if excited.
"Well, at least you are looking forward to what is to come," he addressed the potion.
The flask seemed to hum between his fingers. Resolutely, Albus Dumbledore uncorked the bottle and downed the contents. If it was their arrangement that kept Minerva sane, he could live with the fact that they were walking a very thin line here, with merely half a foot left on the side of morality.
The blue liquid burned its way down his throat. He cleared his throat and already heard that the potion had started working. As much as he'd have liked to rinse his mouth to get rid of the foul taste, he knew that clear water would counter the effects of the potion, so he just cleared his throat again, trying to get used to the taste.
He faced the mirror again.
"Well, Albus –"
He flinched at the strange sound of his own voice. Although it was not the first time he had used the potion, the results of its impact always took him by surprise and it took him a moment or two to get used to his new voice.
"Well, Albus. What have you gotten yourself into again? Anyway, let's get over with it."
Albus Dumbledore left the bathroom. His usual, baritone voice had become much higher. It was the voice of a woman. The voice of a girl. Of a student. It was the voice of Hermione Granger.
What do you think?