Chapter 20: A memory of Explanation, A Memory of Truths, and A Memory of Acceptance
Minerva was dropped into the scene of a backyard garden, where stood Harry and Hermione in the midst of heated discussion.
"You are so fucking daft right now!" She yelled at him, her much younger, unblemished features contorting in disgust. "He knew EXACTLY the cost and he sent them there, outnumbered nine to one… Still, you defend him?"
Minerva peered from witch to wizard, they were both so young here. The backyard of Harry's home hadn't yet been sculpted by renovation, which indicated he had just purchased it.
"The Minister doesn't take lightly what has happened, Hermione… I've talked to him at great length, there really was no way of knowing that they were walking into an ambush." Harry's shoulders sagged in a disappointment. Whether due to the confrontation or the topic itself, most likely a mixture of the two. Hermione averted her gaze, those brown eyes staring right through Minerva at the house as she shook her head.
"Laurie survived but she will never be able to talk again, she'll never be able to walk or hold her husbands hand and Sean… His wife is expecting… Harry, they should have never been there!" She stated finally, her gaze alight with anger. Having heard enough, Harry found himself matching her ardent despair. "The request was so bizarre… We don't conduct business this way."
"Well, it's done," He seethed, taking a step toward the woman combatting him - even though his appearance depicted fury, Minerva knew, as she had almost raised the boy through his years, he was beginning to show signs of guilt. "We DID win, their efforts helped destroy what those monsters were planning and, for that, we should be eternally grateful for their sacrifices."
Hermione's eyes widened, realization mixed with dumbfoundedness playing across her face. She rose up to him, drawing herself to full height which did grant her an inch over the man as she stepped forward.
"It wasn't your sacrifice, Boy Who Lived… WE should have been there - I, at least, should have been there," She lifted her hands and gave Harry a forceful shove back, shocking him into stumbling, not only due to act but the phrase she turned against him. "If someone is told this is a routine mission, then it should be a routine mission… If not, that is when WE go."
Recapturing his footing, Harry lifted a hand to rub his chest, digits slipping beneath the unzipped layer of navy jacket to massage his affected pectoral.
"WE are not the answer to everything that goes wrong in the world, Hermione… WE are people, we would have ended up just the same." He growled, free hand raising to adjust the glasses that hand fallen askew down his nose.
Hermione scoffed.
"Speak for yourself, we are the most capable of ensuring these things don't happen… You've just discovered comfort, and fear, you're half the man you used to be." Was her snappy retort. The words hurt, she aimed to hurt him, because she didn't trust him. If Harry condoned the Minister's actions and orders then it gave her all the reason to be mistrusting.
"I swear, you have a fucking deathwish… I'm beginning to think this isn't about Kingsley at all." He spat, now fully recovered.
"Excuse me?" The brunette woman countered, her arms lifting to fold over her chest defensively. Harry met her eye and raised a brow.
"Ron said he went to see you last week and you were so fucking drunk that he had to put you to bed," At this, Hermione lifted her sights to the sky and shook her head, irritated. "He said that you've started drinking, Hermione… And I didn't want to believe it at first but this… Are you drunk right now, Hermione?" For a moment, Hermione only gazed upward at the sky, watching darkening storm clouds growing nearer.
"Fucking Ronald…," She muttered at long last and turned her gaze back on Harry. "No, I'm not drunk right now, right now I'm livid because you've turned yourself into a fucking lap dog who doesn't seem to care all too much about losing some of our finest in a circumstance that could have been avoided had they been more prepared." Green eyes narrowed in her direction, still Hermione pressed on.
"Ron found me in a moment of weakness that I'm not proud of, and that is that." Finished, Hermione turned her back upon Harry and strode to her motorcycle.
"Ginny is pregnant." He called after her. The woman seemed to slow, then turned half way. She caught his eye and he nodded his head. Hermione's lips formed a grim line. Minerva watched, a ghost on a the grass, and never could she have imagined their shared interactions were so… Demonstrative of a broken family.
"Congratulations." Hermione found herself replying, her tone was plain. She didn't really know what to say to the man. Being happy for his accomplishmnot was difficult when all she could do was question and surmise for herself and, knowing this news, meant… His career was about to change drastically.
"Ginny wants you to be its godmother," He stated from across the yard, his hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket. "Which is why I'm not going to tell her about this, and you aren't either."
"Oh, really…" Hermione bristled to mask her surprise. Harry nodded.
"Now, you should go before that storm gets any closer," He stated, calming finally, as he turned toward his back door. "And stop drinking!"
Just like that, he turned from her. She watched as soon he was inside and tucked away, leaving Hermione to grumble to herself and mount her bike.
Pushed from the memory swirling in the pensieve, Minerva straightened. Hands fell from the sides of the bowl where liquid silver swirled. Hermione had, in fact, seen something quite like this before, this similar circumstance that called her away. The time previous ended in disaster and Minerva did recall such an instance, Ministry involvement was kept quite the secret, as it was announced this had been a horrible accidental crossing of paths that left Aurors dead and injured. No one came forward to dispute the Ministry's announcement. No one knew. Save for those who worked in that department, Hermione and Harry being some of those people.
Now she realized why her young professor acted in such a way; she did have reservations, she was apparently housing some fear, and she wanted to ensure that everything was set straight before undertaking what was being asked. The fact that she felt the need to approach Minerva at all offered insight into some unfinished business. Understanding that Hermione thought she had any unfinished business with her in the first place… It gave her hope. A hope that she never thought possible.
Prepared for the rest, Minerva took hold of the second phial and poured out that memory into the churning steel bowl. Thankfully, Hermione labeled the order in which her preference was for Minerva to view. Always prepared, diligent with instruction, she couldn't thank Hermione enough for being thoughtful in this way. The woman placed her hands down on either side of the short podium, bracing for that sweeping feeling that carried her away, and leaned in after a sigh of preparation.
"Would you have married her?" An echoing voice filled her ears before the picture painted itself. A woman Minerva didn't recognize sat on the edge of a worn looking bed, in an equally worn looking room, and at the window stood the brunette, peering out between the curtains into black night.
"Why are you asking me about this?" Hermione turned her back upon the window and leaned there against the sill. The blond woman leaned back in her seated position, rested on her elbows and relaxed on the bed facing her companion. Both were commonly dressed, Muggle clothes, the scene was an Inn that Minerva didn't recognize… And the blond, blue eyed witch was an American. Minerva took a wild stab and assumed this must have been Amelia…
"Because I'm a curious individual, and I'm a fairly secure person so… Not really jealous," The witch replied, a smirk curling the corner of her lips, as her head tilted and furthered that playfully inquisitive look. "So, would you have gotten hitched to the sexy teacher?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering under breath a few chosen curses. Minerva crept forward and leaned against a dresser, now capable of watching the pair in close proximity. Amelia was, as Rolanda had described, a beautiful young woman… Athletic, uncharacteristically pretty features… She could see a kind hearted playfulness about her. No doubt, an attractive feature to meld with Hermione's severity.
"Yes, Amy," Hermione sighed in exasperation. "I would have married the bloody woman if her head wasn't so far up her own ass… Are you happy now? Can we move on?" Pushing off her seat, Hermione reached for the bottle on the bedside table and uncorked it, lifting it to her lips and pouring back a large pull. Afterward, her features scrunched and she exhaled a breath, clearly affected by the burn.
"No, not really," Amelia replied, her hand lifting to address her coworker silently to pass the bottle along. "I sort of want to know everything, I told you everything about my first girlfriend… And how completely ridiculous that was."
"I didn't ask you, you just gave me the information." Muttered the brunette, petulantly. Off to the side, Hermione stood with an uncomfortable air permeating from her form. Unknown to Minerva, this conversation, or any conversation of Hermione's past, usually ended something like this. But, this night, her companion was not giving in… She accepted Hermione for who and what she was; unapologetically brilliant and broken. However, with the passing weeks and months the bond between them had grown, neither making a move. Until Amelia leaned forward and up to stand.
"Granger, you are… A conundrum wrapped in a fuckin' riddle, you know…" The blond told her, the base of that heavy half drunk bottle of liquor meeting the scratched surface of the bedside table again. Hermione shot the other woman a look as she heard the floor creaking and steps drawing closer. Amelia approached slowly, her hand lifting, until she was able to place her palm against Hermione's chest. The brunette looked flummoxed as the woman entered her personal space. The way those blue eyes were trained on her own caused her mouth to slacken, no longer frown, but lips parted in confusion.
"I'm not asking you about your life to hurt you, I'm asking you because I need to know if you still love her, because if you do… I don't stand a chance, do I?" Hermione's voice caught in her throat. The blue eyed woman leaned up and in, hesitantly. She brushed Hermione's lips with her own and Minerva found herself unable to watch. The ebony haired witch turned her back upon the two in that memory, which is when she heard Hermione's voice through the quiet.
"I will always love her, I have never stopped loving her… But sometimes love isn't enough, and another love is," Tearfully, Hermione admitted those feelings as she loosened her folded arms and allowed them to fall to her sides, open; she had never spoken such a thing to a soul and doubted she ever would again. "So, because of that, knowing that… You have to choose if you can deal with it."
"As I said," Amelia replied, her eyes scanning those before her own, without skipping a beat. "I'm not a jealous person…"
Minerva found herself forced out of the memory. A dryness settled on her tongue. I will always love her… Rang through her mind and kept ringing like an alarm. She looked down at the bowl and the sea of memories within it, numbed by the fact that her thoughts were racing miles a second. She wasn't prepared for the last. Whatever it was, she couldn't possibly imagine. Regardless, she took up the last glass phial in a quivering hand and poured it in, watching the wisp of silver dissolve and discolour the rest, an indication of its permeation with the others.
Pursing her lips and setting her stance, she lowered one final time.
"Hermione! You can't stop avoiding it!" Exclaimed a peculiar, familiar voice as the vision grew clearer.
"I'm not trying to avoid it! I'm trying to find the words…" Hermione's tone was lighter than Minerva believed she'd ever heard it. Devoid of harshness or severity. It was present day, Hermione's features and the pale lines upon her visage only made that more apparent.
Harry sat on the floor with his son's, Ginny sat with Hermione on the couch brushing their daughter's hair, and the three were clearly sharing in afternoon tea together. With her elbows planted on her knees, Hermione sipped her tea, awaiting the onslaught.
"You really do need to apologize to the woman, you know… I've never been.. Uhh 'teased'... by you before but I can only imagine." Harry tried to sort out a different word other than 'slapped', for the sake of the children.
"Yes, well… How do you tell a person that you love that you're sorry for 'teasing' them, unprovoked, after 'playtime'." Ginny snorted at Hermione's poor choice of words then the words struck her. Harry mirrored his wife when they both raised their heads and looked at the woman sipping tea on their couch exuding nonchalance. Hermione glanced over at the two adults who'd fallen silent. Her eyes scanned their faces and she lowered her mug.
"That's… Rather bold." Harry said after a moment, Albus crawling onto his lap, the boy's entirely oblivious.
"How do you know that you…" Giving a brief gesture with the hairbrush in her hand, she beckoned for Hermione to continue. The brunette tilted her head at the other woman, her features displaying a look as though to say 'Oh, come on'. Minerva stood unseen, her hands clasped and held up to her chin, lip trembling, yet, holding it together as best as she could.
"Why do you think I'm so mad all the all the time? It certainly isn't because I abhor her… it's because I hate, after all this time, I… have hated myself so deeply for loving that bloody woman," Harry was speechless, he held Albus and looked at his wife who seemed to be absorbing the information as well as he, which was quite poorly. Hermione lifted her mug to her lips once more and sipped some tea. "Quitting liquor brings clarity, I guess."
"I'd say that." Resuming the brushing of her daughter's hair before taking those soft ginger strands in her hand, then placing down the brush, Ginny began braiding.
"What're you going to do about that?" Asked the green eyed man as he reached for his wand to hand to James to play with, which the boy had been sneakily trying to acquire for some time now.
"Well, there is the matter of the fact that I am not ready to enter into any sort of romantic relationship, regardless of how much I might feel for a person," The woman rested back against the cushions of the sofa, her hands cupping her warm mug on her lap. "And the fact that in about half a year we haven't even really been… friendly." It was her own damn fault… And the fact that her vices changed her attitude. Alcohol was a drug like no other, it was easily attainable and publicly accepted. But the more she drank, the more pickled in self righteous anger she became, and that didn't bode well for anyone.
"Whatever happens, you'll figure it out."
As Minerva felt herself being torn from that world, she could faintly hear Hermione's voice saying Someday, perhaps… It left Minerva so weak in the knees that she did fall to them, shifting to sit on the floor of her office and against the stone podium that the pensieve sat upon. She put her head in her hands and drew up her knees, weeping without care. It had been years since she cried like that; with complete abandon.
If everything the memories depicted were true, then Hermione had never allowed herself to truly close her heart in its entirety. Which meant Minerva had some sort of hold. And now it was a game of waiting. That was all well and fine - or would have been for someone else -, but Minerva, as much as she might have been in the business of enforcing rules, she loved to break them.
_~*HGMM*~_
Kind enough to give Hermione lodging for the night, Madam Rosmerta received her owl mere minutes before she arrived. Of course, she would allow Hermione a room. With what had been going on, the attacks growing nearer, she felt she'd be a fool not to have a little added protection, even if just for a night and a day. The woman never changed. Packing as light as she did, the young woman sat at the bar and asked if she could have a cup of coffee. The woman busied herself behind the counter, preparing her, one and only, patron a drink and a roast sandwich. She didn't linger long with Hermione, rather she gave the young woman the keys and told her to guard them with her life. Rosmerta had had plans to visit a gentleman caller but the safety of her pub meant more than a dalliance. With an Auror in her pub, she finally had the opportunity to leave without fear, and when she told Hermione of her plans, the brunette couldn't help but shake her head and smirk. 'I'm old… Not dead!' She heard the older woman call as she grabbed her coat from the store room.
It wasn't too long after that when the brunette found herself alone by candlelight and dim lamps. She ate and drank, then, as promised, cleaned up after herself. Of course, there could never be enough coffee. Making a pot of coffee was an art she had yet to master without somehow getting a few grounds at the bottom, still, it was therapy to quietly brew. Wandering back to the castle, her thoughts remained detached when thinking about what she might have been missing. She wondered if the Headmistress had looked in at those moments of her life and found solace in that, truly, her adverse reactions were really masking a much larger demon.
Despite the presence of liquor surrounding her, spirits and wines of all varieties, Hermione hardly cast a glance of acknowledgement at the bottom lined shelves behind the bar. Wanting or needing didn't enter into mind… She felt nothing toward it. All she had to do was avoid it.
Head snapped toward the front windows when a deafening pop emanated from outside. Brows furrowed, the young woman instinctively reached for her wand and rounded the end of the bar counter. Hogsmeade was so vacant these days, it only made the sound ever more prominent. The late hour lent for imagination to run wild. Already heightened by her own circumstance, her hand gripped her wand and she crept between tables and chairs to take a look through the front window, her eyes catching a figure through the thin, maroon lace curtains. Whoever it was, their outline strode quickly by and Hermione couldn't help but to question if it was only one, or more.
She held her breath.
Knuckles rapping on the door made the brunette woman release the breath she had been holding. It was in her experience, anyone who had plans of waging an attack usually wasn't as courteous to simply knock. As The Three Broomsticks was considered to be closed, she waited for whoever it was to leave. That seemed the most obvious course. Although, after a few silent minutes, the knocking grew heavier. The least she could do was politely inform that no business was being conducted here, for now. Calculated, light, footsteps carried her to the door and she called through it.
"The pub and inn are closed until further notice!" And then she waited to hear a grumble and a shuffling off, the typical routine, she imagined. No sound in return met her for a short while, and then a voice called back.
"I'm well aware!"
Blinking at the wooden door, Hermione didn't believe, at first, that she had been sought out or followed. Minerva didn't do it back then, why would she do it now? Unless, Hermione thought, she had taken a dive into the pensieve. Unlocking the door and opening it, outside in the cold evening air, stood the disheveled ebony haired witch. Hermione took another step back, widening the portal for Minerva to walk through. When the other woman was inside, she closed and locked the door, utilizing a few of the keys Rosmerta had left her.
Afterward, Hermione turned to appraise the Headmistress with whom she stood in the vacant pub. Neither woman could string along a phrase. Neither knew where to start. Hermione took the first step in the direction of communication.
"Coffee?" Offering something to break the strange quiet that had settled, she slackened her grip on her wand and gestured to the bar. Minerva nodded.
"Please." The pair wandered over to the counter and Minerva found herself taking a seat. Hermione, again, went round the end and began preparing two mismatched mugs, finding it easy to navigate with how much time she'd spent there as a girl. And although she felt Minerva's eyes trained on her every move, she didn't feel smothered by the gaze.
She pushed a hot mug toward the other woman and kept one to herself, placing her wand down between them on the visibly quite used wood grain surface, marred by years of cups and plates scraping the dark oak. The bar between them was a necessary barrier. Standing there on the other side, the two looked upon one and other. Eyes searched for signs of deceit or conviction. Sighing deeply, Minerva pulled the mug closer and cupped it in her hands on the bar, her gaze averting to the scalding coffee swirling within it.
"She was a beautiful woman." Minerva finally stated, her gaze affixed on her mug. The brunette's brows bounced just a little in the affirmative, her own gaze dropping to the cutlery holders next to the hand she leaned on.
"She was," Confirmed the tanned woman standing opposite the Headmistress. "The one thing I loved most about her was how she did accept who I was, and who I am, and who I've grown into." Emerald eyes rose to meet brown, which had lifted in that time to inspect her features.
"And who are you?" It was a candid question. One Hermione had hoped for for so long now. It was an acknowledgement of sorts, a recognition on Minerva's part, that she had, in fact, aged. Exhaling softly, the ghost of a smile played upon the corner of her mouth.
"I won't lie to you, somethings will never change," She answered with a pin drop of humor. "I love to read, I love peace and quiet, I adore my garden… I ache to learn and know everything, as would a Know It All." The ebony haired witch raised her cooling drink to sip, trying with every inch of her being to focus and not crumble on her stool. It was more intensive than she had been expecting, emotionally.
"But I have also witnessed and done many things that I am not proud of, I am… An alcoholic, which is no surprise, and I have compulsively put myself in situations that I know… Are very dangerous." Minerva's mug landed on the bar a little more harshly than she had intended but she ignored it.
"Is this one of those moments of compulsion that you're so inclined to?" She asked of the circumstance, her eyes beginning to water but maintaining control. Hermione lightly tapped the handle of her own mug, shaking her head.
"Sadly, no," She replied softly, witnessing the effect the tone of the talk was having on the other woman. "It's because I know I can't be the only one doing this, and, as I had said before, I should have been at the first… If anyone can help make better a poor situation, with all the knowledge and magic I have to use, it'd be me."
Whatever anyone else may have thought, it wasn't arrogance. It wasn't a matter of pride or over calculation, it was, in Hermione's very heart, a truth. If something happened, she knew her being close by would make a difference. It was time to actually put all the skill she had acquired to good use and save lives, even if it meant taking a few along the way.
"Would you have preferred that I had said nothing about my sense of feeling for you?" Hermione asked after a few moments, bringing her mug to her lips, finally admitting in the flesh that those feelings were in the realm of reality, and not just in visions. The ebony haired woman felt a chill shake her spine.
"What feeling?" She asked directly, needing to hear it. She wanted to hear it spoken aloud, as if throwing it in the air made it real. Hermione sensed it. With trepidation, the young woman decided the barrier needn't be entirely necessary. Minerva looked on as Hermione moved, her boots softly thumping against the creaking floorboards as she emerged from behind the bar. The brunette approached the sitting figure, and the woman on the stool turned on her seat to face the younger witch. Hermione hesitated. As though she was being held captive a few feet away by an unseen border. Her footsteps stopped.
The women looked at one another, neither making any sudden movements. Minerva would not stand for fear of losing all sense of composure. She would wait. Patience had become a virtue that she found she could acquire, if needed. Apprehension, as it appeared, had a firm hold of the brunette.
In Hermione's head, sirens were going off. Realizing she was about to step into another situation and that she had no control over the outcome, her instinct kicked in and told her to run in the opposite direction as quickly as she could. She froze. The one thing that kept her rooted to the spot rather than doing just that was a voice asking for a promise to never let herself do what she had done again. Sober, and allowing herself to remember every promise made, she found the strength somehow to take one more step, and then another, until she was standing between Minerva's knees.
Hermione tentatively raised her hands and rested them on either side of the woman's neck, her thumbs tracing over the gentle slope of Minerva's jaw. She leaned in slowly and brushed her lips against those which belonged to the woman she swore she would never allow herself to feel any ounce of affection again and murmured.
"I do… I do love you."
TBC