Chapter 17

When Hermione and Ginevra returned to the kitchen that morning, they had smiles on their faces. Some mending had been done, unbeknownst to Hermione the moments had stacked in her absence where all Ginny had wanted was her friend back. Being around boys 24/7 without a close female companion to talk to had taken its toll. Sure.. Luna was an owl away, and a few others, but no one knew their history the way Hermione did. No one had been as involved in their lives. The brunette witch truly didn't comprehend her place at the table. Ginny prayed she would eventually understand. A step up was needed.

Harry and Ron looked more relieved than they had in months.

Back around the table the air settled and comfort was retained. Eventually, the party moved into the living room for chatter. Molly and Arthur loved nothing more than to sit quietly and observe, their full house raising their spirits just as it had always done. It almost began to feel like old times. The kids began once again to warm to their aunt - James would always be a given, but Albus and Lily were younger, and more shy -, they bombarded her with questions about everything, anything, and all was well and fine until Lily ran upstairs in search of her sketchbook.

"They never stop. They have the energy of a pack of wild hippogriffs." Harry chuckled as he bounced Albus on his lap, craning to playfully peer at his youngest son's face. "Don't you, Alby… Gotta be the center of attention."

"They get that from you, Mister Celebrity." Ronald laughed into his mug of coffee, his eyes swirling with amusement. Harry shot him an unreadable look while Ginny just rubbed his shoulder, trying mightily to hide a smirk.

Lily bounded down the stairs with her book in her arms and carried it to Hermione. She recognized it immediately. She had seen it a few times before. Her heart started beating with the fervor of someone who had sprinted a mile with nails being pounded into their feet.

"Oh, goodness." Hermione's voice cracked minutely, her drying mouth and tightening throat constricting her tone. Lily was oblivious. She placed the book on Hermione's lap and began flipping pages. Flashes of colourful scenes displayed before the woman, the child unaware of the effect of some of the drawings. Just as Lily was about to flip the page one more time, her hand shot out instinctively to halt the movement with a gentle touch. Without saying a word, she just held the young girls hand and peered down at the pencil drawing.

"Your house… Auntie helped me draw a roof, I can draw a roof now." Ginny and Harry exchanged glances as Hermione's eyes devoured the page. This drawing wasn't done by a child's hand, but she knew exactly who had crafted it. Hermione began to flip more pages herself and watched the transition of Lily's drawing of houses and places morph, becoming more detailed, as she guessed weeks and months had passed. She flipped until the pages grew blank, still, in all the rest she could detect hints of mimic… Lily took a lot of inspiration from what Amelia had placed on those pages.

"You're very impressive.. You should be quite proud." Her voice wavered, although she was sincere. "May I have a copy of these ones? I would love to have them above the fireplace." Hermione flipped back to the two spreads, Amelia's on the left and Lily's reprint on the right. Throughout the exchange, Harry remained mightily impressed by his companions resolve to maintain a sense of decorum. He could only imagine how much it must have rocked her to be faced with one of the things she feared most: memory.

Lily seemed to pause but, ultimately, she took the book from Hermione's lap and brought it to her mother.

"Mummy, can we take these out?" She asked curiously. Ginny looked over the pages and binding, humming softly.

"If we take these out, Lils, you do know that they don't belong to you anymore.. Are you okay with that?" Ginny asked her daughter softly, gazing across the innocent features opposite her own. As Hermione held her breath across the patterned rug, the little girl nodded her head and held the book still as her mother withdrew her wand and helped remove the pages without bringing harm to the book.

Hermione was presented with drawings and a shy smile, and she opened her arms with paper in hand to give the girl a strong hug. Over the girls shoulder, Hermione and Ginny met gaze. Thank you. She mouthed. Ginny just bowed her head in a nod, understanding partially the gravity of the gift.

_~*HHMG*~_

It wasn't too long before mid afternoon rolled by and evening began to draw a veil over the property. Hermione knew it was time to take her leave, she was utterly exhausted. Human interaction wasn't something she was accustomed to, she wondered if it would grow easier with time, but, for now, her battery was nearing complete depletion. With hugs and a few kisses, she crossed the lawn with papers tucked neatly away. She got on her bike and waved at the kids, flashing as bright a smile as she could muster. The smile remained etched into her features until about the time she was a third of the way back, but when she hit that point everything that was momentarily put on pause flooded her veins full force.

Her smile fractured and tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes filling faster than her hands could brush away. She had achieved exactly what she had set out to achieve, she had shown she could be human, so why didn't she feel good? More than half of her expected to leave the Burrow with a feeling of triumph, anticipation to dart across the sky with a sense of relief, maybe even a bit of that happiness she had been missing, but no… None of it. Instead, empty. She felt possibly even more empty than she had when she left the school that morning. Her mind might have set expectation but every other tangible fiber didn't care to follow in the footsteps of ideals. And so she landed exactly where she started; broken.

The castle grew closer in the distance, its looming towers beckoned her 'home'. Tears had subsided a few miles back although features took on a look more steely. At first chance, she avoided Hagrid's looming form and quickly parked her bike away. She avoided the large man leaning in his doorway with a mug of hot tea, they said no word to one another as she passed to make her way up to the school.

All she wanted in that moment was the burn of whiskey stinging the back of her throat.

Promises, promises, promises… She thought to herself as she climbed stone stairs. The worst thing you could do to a desperate woman was give them the idea that the thing they wanted was something they couldn't have. It was almost like having an affair. She made love to a bottle more than she made love to anyone else.

Into her quarters with the door snapping shut, she couldn't contain it any longer. Hardened leather soles made audible noise across stone floor and floorboards until her hand gripped the neck of her prized possession, and outpoured love into a short glass.

She drank.

She drank a lot.

She drank enough until the room felt so small that she needed to leave it behind for a while. Drunken, appeased, the brunette woman wandered down to the teachers lounge to see if anyone was afoot.

Entering into the lounge, she was met with laughter and voices.

"Ah! And look who it is!" Sprout exclaimed, waving Hermione over with a wide gesture. In her state, the younger woman couldn't help but smirk.

"What do you want, Pomona.." She drawled as she pulled up a chair and seated herself, crossing a leg over her knee as she sank into the cushion. The older woman just giggled. Minerva sat a distance away, reading.

"I wanted your opinion…" Her eye caught Rolanda at the drinks bar and Hermione saw the golden eyed woman shake a bottle in silent question. Hermione nodded.

"And why on earth would my opinion warrant weight with you, my dear?" She responded, dryly. Fillius chuckled, a twinkle in his eye making it all too clear that she hadn't been the only one tasting liquor this night. Hermione's gaze found itself settling on the ebony haired woman seated away, but close enough still to grant the illusion she was still taking part.

"Poppy, you see, has an interest." Pomona pressed on while her medi-witch friend groaned into her hand. Chocolate brown eyes bounced to the reddening face of the elder woman, brow raising a titch. Poppy just peered back at her in embarrassment.

"Then I am the last person whose opinion you want," Hermione found herself laughing as Rolanda passed her a glass and perched herself on the arm of her chair, arm draping across the back of it. "My lovers end up dead, or worse… over popularized." She heard the woman beside her nearly choke on her drink. Minerva's gaze shot toward the brunette who returned the woman's glance with one of teasing over the rim of her own glass.

"Over popularized… You are looking for trouble, aren't you." Hermione heard Rolanda whisper behind the guise of taking another sip of drink.

"You thought it was funny, admit it." She replied quietly in turn.

"And you two?" Fillius motioned with a spindly little finger toward the two women. They both looked at each other and back at the little wizard. Mischief lit his eyes like fireworks.

"What of us two, short man." Rolanda replied smoothly, a slight edge crisping her tone. Fillius just giggled ever more, making him appear ten years younger, yes, but even greater was the vision of a wiley gnome.

"You would be very well matched, me thinks." His voice rose in volume which made it pitchy, lilty, while sherry in his glass swung precariously close to spilling with his enthusiasm.

A gasp shook the air and their heads snapped from one old drunken professor to another.

"Oh my yesss," Pomona seemed to hiss, her eyes widening at the thought. "I have thought one and the same with you, professor."

"You are all mad." Finding her voice through a small bout of laughter, Rolanda raised her glass while Hermione raised her own and offered up a cheers.

"Never in a million years will Rolanda and I find ourselves in an entanglement, I can guarantee it." Hermione added after a beat.

"Me thinks the ladies doth protest too much?" Poppy found her confidence and finally got a word in edgewise, warranting chortles from her fellows. All save from the newest professor who eyed Poppy with feigned disappointment.

"Madam Pomfrey… I trusted you to be better than these two old crones." A snap alerted them all and Minerva placed her, not so quietly closed, book down on the table at her side.

"Well, I've had just about enough excitement for one day, it's time that I retire for the evening." She stated abruptly while rising from her chair. There was barely time for a goodnight before she left the room.

Hermione took a breath. She was just drunk enough to make some choices, yet, not drunk enough that she would forget. She laid a hand on Rolanda's thigh and squeezed it.

"I'll be back." Stated the young woman before she rose and left the group behind, Fillius, Pomona and Poppy returning, unfazed, to their previous conversation about life and love without really noticing much else. Before Rolanda could stop her, Hermione crossed to the end of the lounge and left through the same door Minerva had moments previous. Once tucked safely on the other side, she set off in the direction of Minerva's quarters at a bit of a jog.

Activity may not have been her grandest idea for the time. If anything, it caused the drink to surge through her limbs and set off a haze in her brain. Turning a corridor, she saw the outline of the woman down the dimly lit hall. She must have made enough noise to catch the emerald eyed woman's attention, for the headmistress turned in time to see Hermione striding toward her. She halted. She waited.

It was Hermione's intention to discuss the previous interaction they had had, and how utterly inappropriate it had been; it could have been considered an entirely unforgivable offense. She had every right to tell Minerva as much, and use that momentum to make the woman feel worse. Still, as she stepped up to the woman who faced her without so much as a word, Hermione found herself at the fork in the road. Something in the back of her mind made her stop dead in her tracks. She breathed deeply but words weren't formulating. This pause gave Minerva the opportunity to speak.

"Professor Granger, I am not in the mood for your drunken antics tonight." Drunken antics… Hermione repeated this in her mind.

"Your rooms." Is all she replied, her voice laden with gravel. Brown bore into green. Although she would have loved nothing more than to turn Hermione away for the night, it wasn't clear as to why she was being summoned. Curiosity at the unexpected request sparked a moment of acceptance.

"It can't be too late, we have a lot of preparation for tomorrow." Minerva turned her back on the woman and immediately began in the direction of her private rooms, Hermione following behind.

The headmistress was clear of mind, she hadn't touched a drop. However, as actions had proven, she had no need for a drink of whiskey to act in any which way, at any given moment. It was part of the at Scottish rage which impacted most relationships. She thought along the way whether or not the previous afternoon would be the topic of conversation, and the apology that she would need to provide in order to move forward. She had been out of line, she was well aware of her behavior, and understood the requirement to remedy it. Whether Hermione accepted this would remain to be seen. But she was prepared.

When they arrived at her rooms, Minerva opened the door for them both and allowed Hermione to pass through. Peppermint and cinnamon filled Hermione's senses. Her eyes darted around for any sign of significant change to what she remembered but, no… There was none. Articles and journals splayed across a lavish desk in the corner, tartan and Gryffindor colors decorated the tapestries and curtains… The woodgrain adornments and small silver trinkets, picture frames, and knicknacks remained relatively intact; a place for every thing, and everything in its place. A wave of emotion hit her like a sucker punch to the stomach. She knew it was the liquor.

"What is it you wanted?" Minerva asked as she crossed behind the woman to pour the drink she knew she was going to need.

"You never redecorated." The Scottish woman felt eyes upon the back of her figure as she poured herself a strong drink at her mantle.

"Why would I redecorate when everything is perfectly to my liking?" She mumbled. Hostility became the norm between them, and it deeply impacted her tone when in the presence of the other woman. Despite this, Hermione was unaffected. Rather, the young woman found herself turning to sit down on the chair by the door, the same chair she remembered vividly the morning she had tied her shoes and left. It was there, when seated, that she did the complete opposite and removed her boots. Minerva, in this time, had turned and watched Hermione with a slightly furrowed brow. It was in those seconds that Hermione had made a choice. She, herself, questioned what she was doing and why she was doing it, but something buried was making its presence known and so, with alcohol fueling her actions, she committed.

"Again," Minerva began as Hermione's fingers made fast work of buckles and laces. "What did you want to talk to me about."

"I didn't want to talk to you." Hermione bristled as the realization dawned that her cells were screaming in the woman's presence. She set her boots aside and got up from the chair, crossing the floor she found herself willing to lean against the mantle at Minerva's side. She reached past the woman for the bottle of scotch, which had been previously lifted by the older woman, and uncorked the loose fastening with her thumb. Utterly bewildered, Minerva witnessed the witch poor at least another two ounces into her glass.

"Why are you here? I think you are both drunk and confused…"

"How much did you hate it when Fillius stated that Rolanda and I were a perfect match, Minerva?" Hermione asked in all seriousness, while taking the glass from her hand and raising it to her lips, pouring it down the back of her throat as though it would quench her thirst like water. It was just enough that she required to return her to a more bold state of mind.

"Excuse me?" The half drunk glass was thrust back into her awaiting hand. Minerva peered at the swirling liquid, the confusion building. When she raised her gaze, Hermione was looking back into hers with an unreadable expression.

"I know you, I have seen all of your expressions, I know everything there is to know about your jealousy and your moodiness…"

"You are towing a very fine line, Professor." Minerva growled as she brushed past the figure and walked further into her living quarters, tipping her glass against her lips and taking a sip, welcoming the burn.

"I'm towing a fine line? Do you have any idea what could have happened if we had been seen? In broad daylight too… We're getting rather bold, aren't we?" Hermione laughed through her statements, but it wasn't an honest, good natured sound. She was almost incredulous, teasing, poking fun at it all. As if it meant so little… It was this that drove Minerva closer to the edge of frustration.

"I have made many mistakes, I will gladly admit to that… That moment was one of them." There it was, the admittance that Hermione required to regain some of that fire.

"Ah, so… You regret it." Flat palm slapped against the wood top of the Headmistress's drink bar, the brunette turning on the spot to view the pacing witch. The statement caused the other woman to stop in her tracks.

"And you don't?" Minerva questioned. If there was anything that could be considered entirely shocking would be if Hermione hadn't come here to gloat, to express her vehement distaste, and to say she did not, in any form, absolutely abhor the acts that had taken place during their last meeting. Minerva waited on baited breath as Hermione's features shifted, she sobered in that moment and really considered it. Even with everything that had gone on that day, the day previous, all of the avoidance and the stupidity of it all, of course, she had considered regretting it, she had considered using it as ammunition and adding it to the line of nails in the coffin, but if she were to be honest with the woman standing in front of her and herself… Did she regret it?

The brunette found her hands placing themselves on her hips, she strolled a short distance to the fireplace trying to find the words she wanted to say. Explaining her shattered mind to someone who could be seen, in her perception, perfectly complete was like trying to hand someone a five hundred piece puzzle where, at the very least, half the pieces were misshapen and missing. Minerva hadn't a singular clue as to how her day had made her feel. And it wasn't her business, really. But Amelia was gone, Rolanda was a dear, dear friend, and Minerva… Well, she was but one misshapen piece of the puzzle.

"Today I was supposed to feel better, more healed," She stated furiously, her volume rising. "I went to the Burrow, I allowed myself to be a part of their lives and it took everything I had… But, if I have to be entirely honest, the only thing that made me feel… Anything at all… Was my godson, and fucking paper." The realization dawned that Hermione, drunken or not, was talking to her. Not just talking at or beratting, but giving insight. Because something in her mind was giving her the opportunity, Hermione was willingly imparting information about how she worked, and adapted, leaving Minerva to stand there, a few feet away beside the couch, watching the woman closely.

"And the only other thing that made me feel anything at all other than absolute fucking anger these past few months, if I had to be entirely clear," Hermione stated as her hands lifted to the fabric of her button up shirt, her fingertips working at the small, delicate fastenings with precision. "Was what happened atop that Merlin forsaken tower, with you. So no, I don't regret it."

Turning on that spot, she unbuttoned her shirt while Minerva's eyes grew ever wider at the sight.

"So, I need you to finish that drink," Hermione growled, shedding plaid and balling it in her hands before throwing it half-hazardly at the floor at the other woman's feet, the smell of peppermint fogging her addled mind further. "And then I need you to take me to your bed, and, at the very least, give me the opportunity to make that decision for myself rather than doing what you did the other day and without my fucking permission."

Bra followed the previous article, this time landing on the couch. The young woman didn't care. It had been years since Minerva had seen her skin, really took in the sight of the woman standing half-dressed in her quarters. The vision of tanned, toned, scarred flesh made her both feel incredibly shocked and utterly perplexed; as did the request. It was then, when given the time to gaze upon Hermione, that she could see the years of torment written over that once blemishless skin. Discolorations of varying lengths and sizes indiscriminately adorned her chest, her ribs, her flat, almost chiseled stomach… Long gone were the days of a delicate, mildly athletic but not worked, figure. She was beautiful, she still was. And the love for the woman, in any form, still existed somewhere beyond the ether.

For that moment, they peered back at one another. Hermione fully embracing the truth of her predicament, that she did want to be in Minerva's bed of her own volition and Minerva… Hardly had the will to deny her request for her own selfish reasons.

"Fine." The Scottish woman finally said, despite the heat rising beneath her collar from the thought of what she might be inviting into her immediate space for the next… However many hours.

"Good."

TBD