Chapter 18
Two and a half months had passed since the morning that Hermione had crept out from beneath the arm of the slumbering headmistress. Classes were in full swing, her students were ravenous for information, they seemed not to want to leave when class was over, but it hadn't begun this way. A period of adjustment took place. Not just for the children, but rather for the woman in front of the room, lecturing and guiding, in the hopes that maybe they would retain the information. The First Year students were easy. They didn't know her from Adam, but the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Year students… They clearly had easy work with their previous professor. It took a great deal of instruction and a few carefully planned whip cracks to force them to step in line. When they finally realized that their new, younger professor wasn't about to give a free pass, or an easy ride, to graduation, they began to step up their game. The phrase that seemed to cause them to shape up, Hermione continued to use… Impress me. And it was this day, when she was in front of her classroom, conducting a class of rather unruly fourth year students that she said it again. For how hard they were trying, Hermione could tell that they were growing frustrated. If they were doing any worse at casting their shielding spell, she would have gone easier on the bunch. Alas, they were struggling. At that moment, a hand shot up.
"Miss. McLaren, you have a question?" The tanned brunette motioned for the class to settle down with a gesture for them to lower the volume and pause their casting, her wand tucked against her palm. They did settle, and seventeen pairs of eyes cast themselves upon their fellow pupil in mild curiosity.
"Professor, why do we need to impress you, isn't it enough if we get it right?" The question at hand was stated in a tone that was familiar, never the less… Annoying. She had to think to herself Did I really sound like that too? It was so matter of fact, so severe in its own right, that Hermione felt herself smile.
"Why do you need to impress me?" She rounded on the girl, taking languid steps, and making a power play. As she discovered, this… This right here, was one of her most cherished moments. This was where the teaching began. "Why do you think you need to impress me, Miss. McLaren… Do you think it's for my benefit?" At that moment, just in her peripheral, she noticed her classroom door open, only by a few inches, but no figure stepped in. Focusing her attention on her student, Hermione's steps halted before the much younger girl. She folded her arms and appraised the rather outspoken Know It All. The girl seemed to grow uncertain, her eyes flitting from either side to classmates. No help was given, not until a Hufflepuff boy offered a few words.
"I think what she means to say is, Professor, if I may?" Politely, he lifted his hand to call upon Hermione's attention. She half turned, her eyes training on his face.
"Go on." She offered, giving him the floor to further himself.
"You do say it, not often or all the time… But what does impressing you mean toward our grade if we do just… Get it right?" This warranted a raised brow, Hermione felt rather impressed by his tact in questioning why she taught. Quiet murmurs filled the room, side conversations beginning to disrupt the quiet. A stern look was all it took to make these fall flat.
"Impress me was something I, myself, used to hear quite frequently from a dear friend," The professor explained pointedly. "A dear friend who is no longer with us." As she answered, she began to walk the line, eyeing the faces of her wards. "But what you don't understand, which I now will explain, is that it goes beyond the topical, I'm asking each and every one of you to show me that by the time you are ready to take your exams that you are one hundred percent capable of protecting… And defending yourself, in any given situation that life might throw your way. Before you leave this school, all of you must learn what it takes to hold yourself accountable, perhaps, even to someone else. But for now, you are accountable to me."
They seemed to look at one another, taken by their professor's enigmatic nature.
"Which is why, Miss. McLaran and Mr. Finney, even on your roughest days, when nothing seems to be going quite right, and your casting fails, but you are safe in this castle, I want all of you to hear my voice in the back of your mind asking you to impress me… Show me that you can improve and do better, don't give up, try. I put my faith in each of you and each and every one of you has shown me the utmost respect and dedication thus far… Which must mean that we are on the same page, yes?" Whether it be true or not, placing faith in their hands seemed to cause an effect. They looked at each other, and at their smiling professor, a sense of pride filling the room.
"That's enough for one day, we will come back to this on Thursday where I hope I will be impressed. Practice, my friends! It will not be an easy day… Dismissed." Books snapped shut and voices rose. It seemed like they were beginning to understand why she pushed so hard, it was for their individual betterment. And certainly something she wished she had had when she was a student within those walls; before the war, anyway. Her back turned toward the doorway and she started in the direction of her desk, her hands falling to her sides.
"Do you need something, Headmistress?" She called over her shoulder when finally left alone, her boot clad feet carrying her toward the front of the room as she tucked her wand away in a loop sewn into her belt. In front of her desk, she leaned, collecting her student's parchment to grade for the end of day, stacking them neatly in piles. The classroom door shut softly behind, still, audible enough for her to determine she was correct in her assumption that the Headmistress was there, doing her own assessment of sorts.
"You weren't at the staff meeting this morning, Professor Granger." The stern voice she was met with caused the hair on the back of her neck to raise. How she had begun to abhor that tone, that holier than thou, articulate, tone that she, unfortunately, was growing rather accustomed to in recent weeks.
"If it had been important, I would have attended but by the sounds of it," Hermione replied casually, unaffected. "Listening to Fillius and Grubblyplank bitch for an hour and a half isn't life altering, or pertinent to me." Turning on her heel, the young professor leaned against her desk, her hands planting firmly at her hips on either side.
"Insubordination will ensure that the Minister hears about it, professor." Minerva shot back without skipping a beat, crossing the floor until she stood before Hermione's podium, emerald robes flapping majestically… Just as they had always done.
"Really?" Hermione challenged, her voice lowered, darkening, as brown eyes were set aflame. "And how the mighty have fallen… Threatening blackmail." She sneered.
Growling furiously, Minerva gripped the handle of her wand and gave her wrist a flick, a silent sound barrier spreading like glass snaked down the stone walls. A rather pedestrian silencing charm, still, effective nonetheless. The corner of Hermione's lips twitched, curling smugly. How she had come to adore these frivolous back and forths.
"You are infuriating." The elder witch stated, her volume rising as she formed the words through gritted teeth. All she was met with was a quiet chuckle.
"I don't care." Pushing off her perch, Hermione strode from her podium, halting her stride only when she could take the wand from Minerva's hand. She gave it another, final flick and ensured her classroom door wouldn't budge, regardless of how forceful one attempted to burst through it.
"I could see to your unemployment, personally…" The older woman further threatened her young professor, uncaring that the woman still held her wand aloft. Emerald eyes flashed furiously, although something else melded with that anger to display an emotion entirely set apart. And when a tanned hand lifted and gripped the back of her neck, that unspoken look only blossomed further.
"Sack me, then… Get rid of m…" Minerva didn't allow her to finish the sentence, and instead claimed her mouth. It was the best part of it all, taking out the frustration on her awaiting lips, feeling the passion fueled by whatever struck a chord at any given minute. A long day or a miserable meeting drove one to the other, and had since the night Hermione chose her fate by asking Minerva to take her to bed. No one knew, not a single soul, in the eyes of the world they clung to the pathetic excuse of being at odds. But there, in that moment behind locked door, within silenced walls, they succumbed to the affair.
"Office…" Hermione moaned into Minerva's mouth, tugging the front of her robes and the back of her neck, drawing her forward with each backward step. Ultimately, she tore her mouth away, fingers clutching the front of the woman's robes as she drew her onward. Every foot of that room, Hermione had memorized. Every raise, every nook, yet, it always took her by surprise when, out if no where, Minerva made an adjustment to her expectation. In this case, forcing her backward with a swiftness until they both went crashing through Hermione's ajar office door. The pain that splintered across her shoulders only enticed her, and the teeth seeking the side of her neck in tandem only caused a loud growl to rise in her chest.
Against the desk in her private office, she hadn't a place to turn, no escape route between them, and that sense of claustrophobia excited her beyond measure. She wanted to be taken, taught a lesson of her own, showed the error of her ways… Who better to do so than the bane of her entire existence?
"Turn." Ordered the Scottish witch whilst shrugging her robes down her arms, the weight of the fabric hitting the floor audibly. Hermione did as commanded and turned herself around, bracing herself against her desk, flat palms resting against lacquered surface. Hands found the button of her charcoal trousers and made quick work of unfastening. Trousers were pushed down over her hips and tugged down her thighs, she could feel the constraint around her knees but no further. The anticipation was building and her breathing grew ragged, Minerva behind her ran those, less than delicate, fingers over the skin she had exposed. Unexpectedly, one hand found her shoulder and forced her nearly face down and shifted, that very hand landing between her shoulder blades as a sweet sensation of weight held her in place.
"Fucking hell, woman…" The brunette hissed between gritted teeth, mere seconds before a harsh intake of breath inflated her lungs and her eyes sprung wide.
Digits forced themselves within her, hitting their mark with expert precision. They lingered, unmoving, a second feeling more like a lifetime. She heard Minerva moan at the feel of having her fingers wrapped by her soaked core. Slowly, the woman withdrew until mere tips were all she was granted, but a well aimed thrust had found those fingers buried once again. And then again… Until Hermione found herself being utterly, and thoroughly, ploughed. The frame of the woman worked tirelessly above her and showed no sign of exhaustion, zero indication of stopping, until an orgasm tore through muscles with the intensity of a tempest raging across high, open seas. The young woman's hands ached with the strength exerted as she clung to the wood beneath her, her voice piercing the room with a loud, unbridled yell of passion. Only then did fingers halt in their battling across her flesh, leaving her body to slacken beneath the weight of another. Upon quieting, blood pounding in her ears, she could only make out the faintest sound of syllables.
What had been a beautiful illusion was dashed when those syllables strung together formed words. And those words caused her blood to run cold.
"Get.. Off.." She growled, forcing herself up and reaching behind her to push the woman away. Pained, Minerva did exactly that. That moment of weakness… Oh, how she had tried to fight it as best as she possibly could. Every single damn time they found themselves in this position, it had grown ever more difficult. Hermione couldn't possibly imagine… Three times a week or more since that bloody night, here they were. Fucking like fools, saying hardly a kind word, and then walking off in two different directions.
"I can't do this anymore, Hermione." She stated, raising her hand to dab her wettened cheeks with the back of her sleeve. When she turned back round, chocolate brown eyes shot daggers. Trousers had been well replaced and fastened, the young woman's hands then working on tying her hair up in a tight bun.
"You… Have no fucking right saying those words to me." Hermione couldn't believe the circumstance, she didn't want to. Minerva didn't respond immediately. She bent down and grabbed her emerald robes from the floor where they had been laid, then she parted her lips to address the other woman.
"I have every right to end this… This…" She floundered, pausing, her gaze averting to an empty portrait on the wall, trying to find the word to describe whatever it was they had been doing… However, it was a mistake to falter, for when she found the strength to turn her gaze back, she realized she was peering down the length of Hermione's wand. The brunette woman was positively trembling. Color drained from her cheeks.
"I heard you say those words… I told you, never again." Hermione's crisp voice wavered with outrage. The ebony haired woman realized her misstep having been heard. Despite the faintness of her whisper, now she understood why she placed herself firmly on the receiving end of Hermione's rage. It wasn't merely the statement of no more. It was so very much more than that. The elder woman stared past the wand and into the chocolate brown eyes aimed upon her own.
"I do… I do love you…" A harsh slap reverberated off the walls. Searing pain spread across paler skin, reddening the cheek, and shocking not one, but both. Never in Hermione's wildest dreams did she ever imagine that she would have legitimately raised a hand against the woman standing, head cocked to the side, before her. Something deep in her very soul snapped. Cautiously, Minerva straightened, her hand lifting to touch the sore skin of her cheek. She had half expected the fury to still be crackling in the eyes of her lover, but was surprised to find terror written across her scarred features. The absolute horror shaved ten years.
The young woman fled. She didn't utter one more word.
_~*HHMG*~_
Harry and Ginny had only just put their children to bed, not an easy feat by any stretch. They returned to their kitchen and began to tidy their dinner dishes, one washing while the other occupied themselves with drying, quietly, but not without conversation. Every once in a while, Harry couldn't help but to wonder what his parents would make of his life. He would discuss this with his wife who listened, kissed his cheek, and confirmed that, she believed, they would be so incredibly proud. He was a doting father, a most involved and appreciative supporter of their dreams, and a loving husband. Despite his troubled past, he managed to come out the other side, all the better.
As they talked and mused about their family, Harry looked up and out the kitchen window to see a peculiar sight.
"Are we expecting company, love?" He asked abruptly. His redheaded wife glanced side long in confusion, following his nod toward the back yard with her gaze. There stood Hermione, leaning against her bike, peering back at them. She lifted a hand.
"No… we aren't." She replied, her features growing concerned. Certain that the children wouldn't wake, the Potter's crept out the back door and closed it softly behind them. Hermione rose and helped close the distance. The closer Ginny and Harry got, the more concerned they grew. She looked… Horrible.
"Hermione, what in Merlin's name is the matter?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing. Despite her will not to crumble, Hermione's lip trembled. He had seen that look before… "Oh no.." Finally, near enough, Harry had to take two more larger steps to make sure he caught Hermione before she fell to her knees. A hand covered her mouth to try and hold back the sobs that threatened spill over. Instinctively, Harry drew Hermione into his arms, holding her to his chest, his wife meeting his eye over her shoulder.
Since the morning of August 31st, Hermione had no longer stayed in hiding. She was trying. Owled letters were sent back and forth every other day, where no indication of an impending breakdown had been read. She had been positively fine, as far as they had been concerned. And their relationship was slowly starting to heal.
"Tell me what's wrong…" He murmured, his wife keeping a short distance but still rubbing the arm of the woman held by her husband. Hermione only seemed to bury her face further against his shoulder.
As evening further darkened their property, at long last Hermione seemed to calm. Harry didn't let her go, but he did lead her to their cottage home and, with Ginny's help, managed to help the woman inside. They led their friend to the kitchen table and got her situated in a chair. Her eyes were bloodshot, she found herself shivering, her nerves shot, and Ginny couldn't help but to busy herself with making tea.
Harry pulled his chair close, his hand taking one of those trembling, and held it tightly in both his stronger, larger ones. Hermione finally met his gaze.
"What happened, Hermione?" He asked again, softly.
"We fought…"
"Who fought?" Ginny asked, placing their kettle softly down on a flamed burner. She glanced back at the woman sitting at the table and turned, leaning against the counter. She didn't know what to think. She didn't smell alcohol on Hermione's breath, which was a sign of growth. But she wasn't certain… Taking a steadying breath, Hermione peered at the ginger woman.
"Minerva and I have been having an affair for the past… almost three months now." She told them, waiting for the thunder. Harry's eyes narrowed.
"Three months… Since before breakfast?" He questioned, his thumbs stilling from their gentle massage of the back of her hand.
"Since the day of breakfast, that night… I did take drink, I… Instigated it. But I haven't had a drink since… But we have still been…"
"Why would you instigate an affair with a woman who you have been swearing up and down for years ruined your life?" Harry found himself asking, utterly perplexed. Ginny eyed Hermione with a furrowed brow, at first… She was angry. And then she was just saddened. She knew the way back would potentially have its bumps, she had prepared for it, but all else… There was the friend they had been so missing. And she came to them of her own volition when she was in pain. That was a step forward; something they had been waiting for.
"I needed to feel… Something." What that something was, she couldn't say. Harry took back one of his hands to rub his face, at a loss. "I am so sorry." Hermione furthered quietly.
"I'm going to tell you something, because, Merlin knows, my well intentioned husband never will." Ginny sighed, taking the boiling kettle of the stove before pouring steaming hot water into three mugs.
"Ginny…" Harry warned, his head twisting to view his wife. Fear crept through the man. They had made such advancements, Hermione was volatile, the last thing he wanted was to make this place deemed unsafe. Ginny ignored him.
"What?" Hermione ventured to ask, her eyes bouncing between the two. Suddenly, she realized something was being hidden. "What is she talking about, Harry?" Her voice began to strengthen.
"For years after you took off on your own, Minerva would come here… Countless times. She would ask after you, ask how you were, never to me… Always Harry, since you two worked in the same department," Ginny explained thoughtfully, dropping tea bags into three mugs. "Harry never told her about Amelia, but all she wanted to know was if you were okay." Bringing over two steaming mugs to the table and placed them down.
"Is that true?" Hermione turned to Harry with knitted brows. His mouth slackened, and features grew mild.
"Of course, it's true," Ginny filled in, returning to the counter, and her own mug. "Harry never planned to tell you because he thought it'd upset you too much… But, I digress, I think you needed her specifically. Not the sex."
If anything had been planned, nothing would have turned out exactly like this. Hermione didn't know why she was driven to this place at the signs of turmoil, but one thing was for certain… She now found herself wishing she hadn't. Green eyes and chocolate brown stared back at one another. Immense shame and a bit of frustration held in Harry's.
"I had planned on telling you once, actually… But that day was the first day you brought Amelia to meet us, something I hadn't been expecting, and when I saw how happy she made you… I couldn't," He admitted quietly. "I thought that, finally… You had found your happiness, and everything else didn't matter anymore."
"Minerva said she loved me and I… I slapped her. That's why I'm here." Ginny's brows shot up to her hairline.
"You slapped her?!" Minding her tone due to sleeping children, Ginny's voice sounded restricted. Hermione withdrew her hand from Harry's and ran her fingers back through her hair, her hands holding still there on the back of her head. She sighed, closing her burning eyes for a brief moment.
"Hard… I slapped her so hard." At this, husband and wife tossed a glance. Hermione was never a violent person… Not toward anyone but herself, and dark wizards that stood in her way.
"As much as you will hate to hear this, that woman has shown nothing but honest intentions with you… I would never lie to you when I say I really do believe she did love you… And if she has said it, again, then she does feel it." Harry stated, leaning back in his chair, as he vaguely peered at his cup of cooling tea.
"I don't know if I can bring myself to love her again." Words were faint, the recent information draining her of all energy. She knew that Minerva had reached out to the Potter's in the past because Harry had mentioned it once before but never had she imagined that it was a routine… Or nearly as much as they were now depicting.
"I think it's more a question of whether you can bring yourself to acknowledge that you might already love her, I doubt you ever stopped." Ginny knew Hermione. She knew how deep the woman's emotions ran, how rampant and vigorous she could feel. She had seen it time and time again.
"Amelia and I…" She began but was interrupted.
"No one could ever deny that you two were in love and loved each other very much, no one would ever argue against that," Ginny saw a fresh wave of tears forming, so with tea in hand she approached the other woman and placed her hand on her scarred cheek, upturning her face so their eyes could meet. "Don't ever think that if you find yourself feeling for someone else, even Minerva, that it would lessen or void that relationship you had… Because every single one of us knew how beautiful that was, but you deserve… And you owe it to yourself not to let what has happened make you miserable for the rest of your life."
"I'm trying…"
"We know you are, love," Harry stated, letting a hand fall on Hermione's knee.
"I think you might have to bite back some of that pride and apologize."
If only it were that easy, Hermione thought.
_~*HGMM*~_
When Hermione returned to the castle that night, she was exhausted. She went to her quarters and slept. The next morning, she was in class, powering through grading parchments until students began to file in.
It was a day like any other, yet, she was distracted by the conversation that had unfolded at the Potter's. She didn't wander down to the Great Hall for meals, rather she took them in her office, pouring over pages, ink staining her fingertips.
There she stayed for twelve days, hardly leaving. She brought a few different outfits, only returning to her rooms in order to take a shower. In that time Rolanda tried to meet her but Hermione explained that it wasn't a good moment. That was the story she stuck to. In the back of her mind, she knew she would have to approach the Headmistress at one point or another, a circumstance she dreaded. But, also, a memory kept returning in the quieter moments. And as much as she kept pushing it away, it remained constant and more unforgiving as the days passed.
"If I die, would you still want to live here?" A woman asked her partner in the twilight hour. The arms around her squeezed.
"I love this house… And I love that you're in it. But I don't know." There would always be an element of danger in their work. Still, a conversation of mortality had never passed those lips.
"If you wanted to have this house, and the garden, and the yard… It would be yours, and if I die I would never want you to be lonely, I would want you to have a full life." The woman felt her hand being brought to lips and felt kisses begin to be pressed to her fingers.
"Only if you do exactly that if I die." Amelia stated between kisses pressed to her lover's hand.
"I will never let that happen to you, so I won't ever have to make that choice." Though the stakes were stacked, Hermione's confidence outweighed the potential for harm. She would never allow Amelia to fall to harm so long as she lived and breathed. If anything, she imagined, she would be the one to fall. That was just her luck.
"Seriously though, promise me… If something happens, don't do what you did before… Promise me you will try to be happy again someday. I never want to entertain any thought of you hurting yourself like you used to." Amelia turned in Hermione's arms, brushing blonde strands from her eyes as she found the brunette's face. Hermione only smiled and lifted her head to press a kiss to her chin.
"Because that will never happen, I can easily promise you… I will never be that way again…"
TBC...