Dear Readers,

Thank you for all your amazing comments over the past while, I realize it's been quite a long time since I've picked up my story! I have to say, it's been a crazy time here. Between getting hitched, starting my own little home life, and my job taking over my world, I completely lost focus on one of my most favorite hobbies of all time. Writing. So! Now that everything has actually settled down properly and all my ducks are in order, I wanted to return to my story to finish what I started, or, at the very least, try to do my thing again and get back into the world I so very deeply enjoy. Forgive my shaky words as I shrug off the rust, but, with the support of my partner and a fair few old friends, I feel confident that I can at least bring you guys a little bit of joy and entertainment. If you like the story, please leave a little note for me in the reviews! If you don't like the story... Well, please tell everyone in the reviews how it really is! Or you can always send me a little note in my inbox if you have any emotional outbursts, I'll be as quick as I can to respond.

Til The Next Chapter, Happy Reading,

+Scissers+

Consequences of Falling

Ch. 13

"And you slept together?" Incredulous. It was impossible to believe. "Do you have any modicum of an inkling how entirely INAPPROPRIATE that is?!"

"We slept in the same bed, we didn't make love into the early hours of morning, daft cow…" The flying instructor pinched the bridge of her nose and bit back another surly remark that, surely, would have landed her in the dog house even moreso.

After Hermione left her quarters and returned to her own, Rolanda paced for many minutes considering whether or not she should alert her other, more tenured, friend of the occurrence. It felt somewhat wrong to keep the information to herself, especially when there could be some way that, should there be a second or third time, they might be discovered. It was a tin of worms that best remain closed, and better handled simply by addressing it. Of course, the response was immediate.

"And how did you manage this, Rolanda?" Emerald eyes flashed with certain fury as jealousy overtook any semblance of sense she might have had but five minutes prior. The woman seated in front of her desk dropped her hand to her lap and leaned forward, planting her elbows on her knees as she peered at her elder friend.

"She came by my quarters last night in a rather right state and asked," Minerva parted her lips to interject immediately but Rolanda cut her off with a slight raise in volume. "I was in no position to turn her away, if you'd have seen her… She needed a friend, and I was there." She watched the Headmistress close her mouth and glance away, aiming her sights elsewhere for the time being, whilst ignoring the portraits who listened intently; their boring daily routine gladly interrupted.

"Besides, I know that you have the map… If it should happen again, if Hermione should ask not to spend the night alone, and you found her in my rooms with me, I thought you should know the truth - as a courtesy." This caused those averted eyes to return and lock on to her own. Minerva's gaze grew narrowed. Leaning forward, she, too, planted her elbows, but on the flat of her desk as her fingers laced.

"And how do you know about the map?" Rolanda arched her brow at the line of questioning.

"You seem to forget that Fred and George Weasley were two of my most prized beaters, there was little that they didn't tell me, I probably knew about that bloody brilliant contraption before you did," Stated the instructor pointedly, maintaining a crisp tone. "And you have adopted a rather uncanny ability of where to find people in recent years, which I attribute to you being in the possession of that map of Potter's, and little to do with those feline senses of yours." The two women peered at one another. One look more challenging than the next. It felt as though minutes passed. Finally, Minerva relented and hung her head, breaking the stand off with a sigh.

"Nothing gets passed you," She muttered, her severe tone lacking its previous harshness. Noting this, Rolanda relaxed back into her seat and crossed a leg, her arms folding over her chest in tandem. "You know, I spoke to her the other day and it gave me much to think about. I had a meeting with our Minister, also. If I had known what I was getting myself into, I think, it might have been best to just leave the woman alone." The flying instructor tilted her head.

"I don't think so."

"Then, clearly, you haven't been on the receiving end of her anger." This made the silver haired witch scoff, however, this faded into a chuckle as the womans' eyes traveled to the fireplace which remained crackling, even in the height of summer.

"She isn't angry, Minerva," The woman felt her friends' eyes burning into the side of her face. "The woman is scared witless. With each passing week, that's becoming more apparent. Of course, she'll be harsh and hard with you… As far as she's concerned, you're the bane of her existence. But, no… Not because she's angry. She's in a lot of pain." It was surreal for Minerva to listen to, what had been, one of her closest friends detail her past lover in such a way that made her wonder if whether the woman, also, harbored some feelings for the younger witch. Hooch was growing protective, only a fool would consider otherwise. It made Minerva uncomfortable. Born from discomfort was paranoia. The ebony haired woman appraised the professor opposite her briefly, and quizzically.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were attracted." It was blunt, to the point, and left an open ended question to be answered. A simple inquiry, it was. Yes or no. Much to her displeasure, Rolanda looked for a moment as though she'd been struck dumb, then her features creased. The woman started laughing; boldly and loudly, as though the joke was just so perfect that it could warrant no other response.

"Attracted? Are you mad? Attracted…," Rolanda repeated once again, a wide smirk rolling across her lips with ease as he turned to look at the woman who stared onward. "Minerva, my dear, dear friend… You have to understand, I don't make friends easily." The silver haired woman repeated words spoken once to her, ones that rang ever true since that moment. "You know that better than anyone, and when it comes to Hermione… Well, she understands me. We have an understanding. But as for attraction… No. I believe that if she were to ever have that again, she'd need someone who could keep up in a more intellectual capacity than I have. We both know that."

This sobered Minerva. Jealousy was a green eyed monster, anyone who knew anything about beasts knew it was difficult to reason with a monster when it reared. But, Hooch was quick to stun it with her sincere response. Trusting in anything lately was a trial.

"Since she's come back, I've become uprooted." An understatement, really. Minerva had had difficulties in her life that one could consider unwarranted, and unfathomable, although this seemed an entirely different tier in and of itself. She was thrown into the mix, into a massive problem that - even she, and her infinite wisdom - could not solve even if she wanted to. One simply couldn't raise a hand and halt an unstoppable force.

"You really need to lay off the woman, Minerva… She needs to come to you. If you have any chance at a friendship, you cannot be in control of this situation, let her be for a while. She's working through enough for ten people, on her own, and only just discovered this morning that she's incapable of doing it as she has been… In a roundabout way, maybe I'm paraphrasing a bit, but she's making an improvement." An improvement? This piqued Minerva's interest. Must have been some sort of drastic change if Rolanda was confident enough to convey any recent act as an improvement.

"If you'd have seen her, and the way in which she addressed me in this office, you'd be in the same realm of disbelief as I am currently." Mumbled the Headmistress without skipping a beat.

"I'm sure." Her friend replied, without a stitch of argument. She had no doubt in her mind that progress was unimaginable.

"She had a lover, you know." Minerva shifted, unsettled. Since it all began, she hadn't the chance to actually sit and discuss, to digest through conversation, all of what was transpiring. While Minerva remain in the dark, it seemed as though her closest confident turned most attention toward the newest professor. There was an imbalance. Now, the door was open for it. Not for gossip or hearsay, but for understanding. Minerva took it and ran with it. For who knew when she would have the next opportunity.

Across from her, Rolanda cleared her throat lightly. She wasn't wishing to be in any in-between or pass personally identifiable information that was revealed in confidence. Evidently, however, Minerva was made somewhat aware of the situation. Which made it easier, and made her feel less greasy for taking ownership of the topic.

"I'm aware, but I'm not aware of how much or how little to speak about it… She told me much in confidence."

"And I'm not going to ask you to break that confidence, but it was news to me," Minerva's features bore signs of wariness. As horrible as it was, and however awful it would have been to say out loud, the very thought of it was bothersome. "I anticipated that it would be the case, you know… I didn't expect her to be alone forever, I would never… It's not something I would have wanted…"

"Of course…" She heard Hooch agree, implying that she knew Minerva wasn't a total monster in this circumstance. Still…

"But, more than the lover, it is the acts she carried out on behalf of the lover that concern me." It was a simple truth. Hermione had killed people, as she recently learned through the conversation she had had with the womans' previous employer. These people were not good people, not by any stretch of the imagination. But that sort of act fundamentally changes a person. This is what struck Rolanda as odd.

"Color me confused." Brows furrowed and features sank, Rolanda wasn't entirely sure what Minerva was playing at. Speaking in riddles didn't exactly grant insight. Meanwhile, behind green eyes, a woman warred with herself as to whether she should speak or remain tight lipped, offering few details. She was aware of the budding friendship, aware that information was both a gift and a burden, and, no… She didn't feel so inclined to try and deter Hooch from pursuing the encounters. But she needed a sounding board, herself. Which is why she parted her lips to further explain.

_~*MMHG*~_

The back tire met earth first, followed by the front, and, before Hermione could say Quidditch, she found herself spitting stones behind her as she rode down dirt road. The wind brushed her cheeks like comforting hands, it sucked the air from her lungs as a searing kiss would have done - it was pleasant, it was typical, and she loved the thrill, even still. Thrilling as it may have been, in the distance she saw the lilting outline of a wooden framed tower, added onto over time with the expansion of a family. Rooms jutted out and remained, even now, even after all the children had vacated their parental home and found marital walls of their own. The sight of it, the closer the wheels drew her in, was a hard punch in the stomach.

Where were the arms that were supposed to be holding tight around her middle, where were they now?

_~*MMHG*~_

A distant rumbling caused knitting needles to still. Familiar, although it had been some time since it had been heard. So long, in fact, that it caused alarm before any other immediate feeling. Especially as The Burrow was empty, save for herself - Arthur had left for Diagon early in the morning, he had frequently become stir crazy since retiring later the previous year. She couldn't blame him. A man could only tinker in the shed for so long before surrendering to the monotony. This often came in the form of the man wandering off for the day, sometimes Molly would join him, but today she wanted nothing more than to sit in her chair and knit for the grandchildren, despite their full drawers of jumpers, cardigans, and scarves. Nothing brought her joy more than that.

She gingerly rose from her chair and peered suspiciously out the window, seeing nothing but dust being kicked up in the distance. No note, Arthur gone, and she hadn't been anticipating the children… Not when they arrived by Floo Network ninety nine percent of the time. The ginger woman took off her apron and glanced around the room. It was in its perfectly managed chaos, as usual. There was a moment when she wondered if maybe she'd forgotten something, but then the realization dawned. Spinning on the spot, knitting needles fell to the floor at her feet as the figure in the distance, and the vehicle on which the figure was riding, became just that more clear.

"It can't be…" The woman whispered to herself.

By the time the motorcycle entered onto the property, Molly was flying out the front door and out into the yard. She hardly had the time to react as the woman seated on the motorcycle was inconsolable. The engine died and the kickstand was forced, leaving the elder witch to wrap her arms around the clinging, sobbing, figure that slid from the leather seat and to her knees on the grass beside it.

At long last, the lost child came home.

_~*MMHG*~_

The pair of witches sat in silence, the portraits didn't dare make a sound. Once all had been said and done, there wasn't a dry eye between the two. How the mighty did fall. Minerva gave herself the moment of freedom to utilize this chance to display her deepest sorrow at the thought of what had driven Hermione to her weakest point - it had much to do with her, yet, nothing at all. Hermione had always had the absolute power to do anything she wanted to with her life, the brightest witch of her age, and with that knowledge came power, extreme power; the power to make or end a life.

"I can't say I wouldn't have done exactly what she had done, if I was in her position… If I had the opportunity to do it." Rolanda stated thickly, a hand reaching to wipe the moisture from her cheeks.

"You think so?" Mild surprise laced the inquiry, but the notes weren't strong, they were soft. Quiet. The voice waned.

"If someone hurt her, murdered her in cold blood in front of you, would you not avenge Miss. Granger, Minerva?" The ebony haired woman paused. The very thought of it… It made her blood run cold.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps?"

"Possibly." Rolanda looked at her friend with searching eyes, scouring the face for a sign of certainty upon an uncertain answer. "I cannot say what I would or would not do. It isn't in my nature to raise my wand as she has done."

"It isn't in her nature either, Minerva." The Headmistress sighed heavily, her hand smoothing over the lacquered wood desk top her eyes were drawn to.

"I'm not saying that it is, but she clearly has the capacity… And her lesson plans… Great Merlin, half of the content I don't know if we can even use, I haven't the slightest how she is planning on teaching it."

"Maybe it's not for you to know," Minerva shot a sharp glance at the woman, however, Rolanda carried on. "With all due respect, Headmistress, rather than considering the worst… Which, I realize under the current circumstances, is of great difficulty… Allow her the room to breathe, and to grow. Maybe, in time, she might come to see exactly as you do." Minerva gave a small shake of the head and traced a line in the wood grain with her fingertip, apprehensive at best.

"Give her time, once she sees the children, understands what it's truly like to be the primary caregiver of those young people, I guarantee you, she will see when she needs to draw the line."

"You're talking about a veteran of war, Rolanda… While she still wore the school crest on her robes…"

"Trust me, she will overcome it all… Didn't you after Robert and Dougal," Minerva's head snapped up at the mentioning. Her brother and previous lover was not what she had been expecting to be brought up, not now. The eyes boring into her own showed no sign of wavering under the weight of her stare. Not even in the slightest. "As I recall, you've entered into some dark times yourself, my dear. What makes this woman any different?"

The Headmistress couldn't deny that her dear friend did have a rather compelling argument.

_~*MMHG*~_

Coffee, some small cakes, and jams had been spread out on the table in front of her. It was amazing how large that table felt without all of them crowded around it. The kitchen still smelled like roast and potatoes, fresh garden vegetables, and various baked goods. She wondered if those scents were now just so deeply embedded in the wood that they would never truly fade. Tears had long subsided and her breath had been caught. Now the hysterics seemed childish in hindsight. Still, the last time she had been seated at the long Weasley family table, there had been a hand resting on her thigh and an arm draped across the back of her chair. Laughter, teasing, and close friends; she didn't feel any of these things anymore.

Adoptive mother and adoptive daughter sat in stark silence. Neither touched the food, but they did sip on hot coffee, each waiting for the other to begin, while neither were ready to do so. All the while the family clock ticked on.

"It's been a whi-..."

"I'm sorry I have-..."

They both began at once, when the silence became so stifling that Hermione felt like she was about to choke on it.

"Don't be sorry, dear… I know why. I just wish the reasoning was different." Molly stated in her motherly way, reaching to lay a hand on top of the one resting, palm down, on the table. Hermione's scarred features reddened, a heat rising above her collar and crawling up the sides of her neck and cheeks. She was embarrassed - embarrassed that after these years she would appear out of the blue with these marks snaking their way across her face.

"I must look a fright to you, now." The young woman mused, turning her hand beneath that aged, paler one to hold.

"I wouldn't know, let me take a look at you…" With a squeeze, the ginger woman removed her hand and shifted her chair closer to the corner of the table where Hermione sat. Confusion washed over the brunette's features for a moment before two hands reached and gently turned her face. She could feel the temperature ever rising.

Molly cradled her face in her hands, her eyes took in every detail, every line… From the deepened crease between brows, the edges of her eyes and the wrinkles they were beginning to bear, and those two thin white marks, her trophy scars, that decorated her once blemish-less complexion. Eyes fell upon eyes, and Hermione could see only that of contentment, as though this woman was looking at her seeing nothing but who she was, truly was, which had not been done in longer than she could readily recall.

"Very grown up, beautiful, my dear."

The brunette felt her lips trembling. She took in a deep breath through her nose and held it for a moment, considering it, then let it release through parted lips. Tears which sprung were wiped away with a pair of loving thumbs and Molly withdrew her hands to grasp Hermione's to hold.

"Being here, seeing this place, is very hard for me," The voice that rose in the young woman's throat was low, near cracking, and the woman who sat opposite her gave a shallow nod. "She's everywhere here."

"What made you come home?" Molly asked after a brief pause, tilting her head to get a better look at the woman who returned to peering down and away. As much as she wanted to read the face hiding there, Hermione had grown fascinatingly adept at clearing her features from much of a lead. The sigh, however, that slumped her shoulders spelled nothing other than defeat.

"Ron came to see me yesterday, he…," She felt Molly's hands tense within her grasp. "He told me about what has happened. Between Lavender and him." Her hands may have tensed, but the look of the woman, upon Hermione's glance, remained eager to listen.

"It was a very sad day, he was devastated. They both were," Stated the woman in a quietened tone, the gravity of the event still etched upon her conscience. "It's difficult to lose a child, one of the most… Heartbreaking experiences a parent can go through."

"I should have been here."

"Shush, now… Guilt will do nothing but make it all the harder to be here," Hermione fixed her gaze on the womans', the coffee sitting cold; forgotten. "Ronald and Lavender will, eventually, heal after this, they are already considering trying once again to start a family, the question is… If something should ever happen, will you be there for next time? Or is this a one-off…"

"I don't want it to be." Answered the younger woman. For the first time during their interaction, Molly's gaze narrowed. Only just. Just enough so Hermione could catch the look before it morphed into something that conveyed understanding, and acceptance.

"If you truly believe that, if you really do, and you aren't just blowing smoke up an old womans' ass," That cheeky little look, the little curl of lips, that Hermione could easily recall being signature throughout their long relationship returned to the older witch's face. "Then, please, come 'round… You will never be a stranger here, unless you make yourself one."

Hermione nodded her head, a small, honest, smile tugging the corner of her mouth. It wasn't like the one she used to wear, but it was close enough to the real thing that Molly accepted it.

They spent the afternoon talking about everything that had happened, not everything as dreary was what Hermione imagined the conversation could be. Molly told her about the kids, the youngest generations, and Hermione began to feel more at ease in the presence of the woman. Gathering from the tales she was regaled with, she began to feel as though she had missed much. Which, in all honesty, she had. Every once in a while though, when she least expected it, the troubled woman felt herself want to turn to her left and look at a face that wasn't there, to see the expression that could have been, if the woman on her mind had been seated beside her. It was painful, yet, by the time Molly was closing her arms around her slender figure and waving goodbye, Hermione realized that she had made it - she had walked the more winding path and made it to the edge and back unscathed. What more could she have hoped for?

"Come on, babe… Let's go home."

Like a memory in her ear, that voice, what would have been said as she crossed the grass to her parked motorcycle. But she wasn't going home tonight, and that was for the best… She had to return to the castle and back to her quarters where, hopefully, she'd be able to unpack a little more. She had to try. That was all that was being asked of her. To try; a simple request, really. Try. A three letter word that held the weight of the world - her world, at least -, and, without managing to make the feat, would ensure that that world would become quite a bit smaller. She didn't want that. As much as it felt good to break her own back, if a man such as Ronald Weasley sent himself to make sense of you… You know you must be some kind of fucked up. Luckily for him, a shred of the woman could still see sense, even after all that time.

_~*MMHG*~_

Forcing oneself to relive the most horrific memory must have been the womans' daily life. Minerva hadn't settled to think on her own in a great length of time. There she stood, out on the astronomy tower, arms folded, as she looked across the grounds and the dark forest that lay beyond, wondering how that must feel. Having spent many hours of many days pitying herself, to a degree, for her lack of action that day of graduation… It caused her to think internally, meanwhile, externally… There she was.

There had hardly been a decent interaction since she arrived. This, in part, was Minerva's doing. She tried to force herself in, impose based on authority, when, the ebony haired witch remembered, just how irritating it was when Albus had done the same. During the First Wizarding War, she had lost a great many things; her brother, the man that she, at the time, loved so dearly, her students Lily and James Potter… She'd lost sight of herself even. And it took Rolanda reminding her of these losses to resurface who she was then, and equate it to who Hermione was now.

Dark times, was an understatement, in a way. Those were the darkest of times - during which even Dumbledore had to show much restraint in dealing with her, it nearly lost her her post. What Minerva knew, and what she was so hesitant to say, was yes. If she had to answer Rolanda's question in all sincerity, Merlin forgive her, but yes, she would have blazed a trail a mile wide and destroyed every man or woman who had laid a poor finger on the brunette woman; that is, if it were to happen. This terrified the Headmistress. It made the drop from the high horse that much steeper. It made her no better, and no worse, but equally the same. From the second the question was posed, Minerva knew it would be true. With that being said, or at the very least thought, she was made highly aware of what she needed to do.

The scariest thing of all; She needed to actually just leave Hermione alone. Relinquish all power. Nothing more, nothing less, than that. And it was this that was her worst possible nightmare, despite it being the last, and only, option.