Chapter 24

It didn't take very long for the discomfort of laying in that position to really start grinding on Hermione's patience. Consciousness had only just really begun to settle into her body but instinctively, she knew, she must have been in that position for much longer than she would have liked. They began to talk. Or, well, she had begun to actually string along more than one word sentences after quite a few minutes of trying to locate the words. Harry was kind enough to bring her some water which made the will to speak so much easier than without it. She could even sip it her own damn self, which she was glad for. Before shifting into a more seated position, Harry begged her to get Pomfrey first. She grumbled, none too pleased, but allowed him to quickly run and grab the medi-witch. Only because of the look on his face when she had tried to do it on her own.

Even though her body was extremely sore, and her muscles were taught and tight, she had zero want for the bed. Staying prone for too long had never been her forte. Stagnancy was a much larger irritant than pain.

When Poppy arrived with Harry, she couldn't deny that she was glad to see another friendly face. Hermione expressed her wish to be seated properly which Poppy advised would be appropriate. For a period of time, at least. But, of course, it came with the caveat of only for a while, you must rest, and do not over work yourself. Hermione was well aware of what she had done and what she'd been subjected to. There wasn't really a possible way to start running laps around the school in her condition, so she agreed for the time being. They brought pillows and blankets, anything soft that they could manage to pile behind her. With Harry's strength and help, he was able to sit her up and hold her while Poppy did the majority of the work until Hermione was able to lean back and remain upright.

When she was upright, she was finally granted the opportunity to inspect herself. What she noted garnered a low hum of disappointment.

"Well, that's new." Her gaze cast itself at her bare legs. Somewhere between then and at that moment, she'd been swapped into a pair of her pajama shorts and a tank top. One leg looked rather fine, if not bruised, but the other… A mangled mess. Her hand fell upon her thigh and a chunky looking scar that spanned, almost spiralling, from the middle of its flat down the side to her knee. "And here I thought you'd have tried to de-blemish me in my sleep, Pomfrey."

"But then how will you scare the students?" Was the clipped reply to her croaked words. Fair enough, Hermione thought. With that, Poppy left a few phials of relief potions on Hermione's bedside and took her leave, Harry thanking her as she passed. The man pursed his lips, his gaze returning to his friend who sat on the bed, fully inspecting her own figure.

"Were you there?" She asked him, settling back against the comfort of pillows and blankets behind, her eyes lifting to look at the dark haired wizard.

"When I received your owls I wasn't sure what to think, but I waited… Then the distress call came through and I left to come find you as quickly as I could." He drew his hands together, his fingers fidgeting with the nail on his thumb.

"Did I get him?" She asked, her gaze growing steely for a fractional moment. Harry gave a nod.

"You did… But why that way? Lewis told me that it was your plan…" Hermione sighed and gazed down at her own hands, her fingers lacing and relacing on her lap. At the time, it made sense… To be the first one in and to end it as quickly as possible, especially with the commotion outside, so many of them.

"You know, when we got there we had a plan, but you know how these things go… There was the surprise of many more Death Eater wannabe's, one opportunity to resign a leader and I took it knowing the cost, ensuring the survival of others was my priority." She told him plainly. Harry knew how she operated. It shouldn't have been a surprise. The fellow just smirked in disbelief and cast a glance at her wardrobe, anywhere else, but at her face.

"When I dug you out, I thought… Well, fuck… There goes the best of us…" He heard her scoff and looked at her, her face betraying the humor she found at his statement.

"Come on, Harry… I'm hardly the image of greatness…"

"You, silly twat… Are the best of us, you were smart enough to see things that I didn't want to, you threw yourself directly into harms way and, this time, it was to save the life of others, you'd nothing to gain, but to ensure that a corrupt system that I have had a hand in maintaining was thwarted… You are the most brilliant, the most feeling, and the bravest of us and I am so tired of you not seeing your worth." Harry's voice hit a crescendo, his own emotion getting away from him. After what he'd seen, and what he'd waited through, the fact that this infuriating woman could doubt her stake drove him mad.

He stared into her and she back at him with a sober look.

"I didn't know you felt that way." She ventured to say, her lips forming a thin line to mask the slight frown they so wanted to display. Harry collected himself and cleared his throat, shaking his head with a sorry look about face.

"Of course you wouldn't, would you… Because I'd sure as hell never say it to your face, until it was too bloody late."

"Not too late…" She told him. A softness graced her voice that he didn't often have the opportunity to hear. He missed it. He missed how tender Hermione could be, because he knew it lived there somewhere still. Beneath all the torment she'd let herself be steered by for so long, he'd almost forgotten how a few syllables could bring him back down. He neared the edge of her bed and sat down, he leaned over her legs and planted a hand down beside her opposite knee, squaring with her.

"Once all of this is said and done, will you come back to work with us, start clean?" It was something he'd been wondering. She needed the break and she had it, and then she vanquished an unimaginable foe while making sure others were looked out for. There was no reason why the Ministry wouldn't take her back. But the look she gave him, it took him aback a little. She smiled. Even through the bruises it shone with brilliance.

"Fuck no," She stated. "I've had my fun, I don't belong with you lot any more… I like my books, the children, and my freedom. I'd like to break that Defense Against the Dark Arts post curse we used to joke so much about. I think this little excursion taught me that I'd much rather return to studies." It wasn't the answer he had been expecting but he was almost glad for that. Almost. Hermione was an asset. She was the most knowledgeable person he knew. He didn't doubt for a minute that she wouldn't take a favor if some additional research needed to be done though. The man leaned in as he made to stand up. He planted a kiss on her forehead and mumbled.

"Good, because I don't want to do this with you again."

"Go home to your kids, Harry." She told him, which is exactly what he did. But not before making sure he presented her with her wand. How it managed to survive was unknown, but while she took the brunt, her wand lay virtually untouched beside her hand when they found her. It presented Hermione with a unique silver lining. She laid it on her bedside table and rested, the urge to try and get up mounting with the passing seconds. Still, she was impatient, not an idiot, so in bed she remained.

_~*HGMM*~_

She thought she wasn't an idiot.

But she also really had to go to the bathroom.

Madame Pomfrey left a token by the bottles of potion on her bedside table, all Hermione had to do was rub it in her hand and the infirmary would be notified that she required assistance. Hermione didn't want assistance. She wanted to be able to go to the bathroom on her own. Pride definitely overrode stupidity, but she had a plan. Hermione reached for a bottle of potion and drank it, feeling the mild ache of her joints and muscles subside in a matter of moments.

That was the first part.

The second part was a bit trickier. The fundamentals of transfiguration were part deformation and part will. It wasn't a charm or a mask, it was to truly change the object from one thing to another. Such as a handkerchief to a walking stick. Which is exactly what she had in mind.

Taking up her wand in hand and laying her handkerchief down on the bed, she practiced her understanding of the exchange incantations. She transfigured her handkerchief into a quill expertly. Feeling as though she was on the right path, she continued by flicking her wrist and transforming that quill into a long, fireplace matchstick. Then was the time to see if she had the power to transfigure it one more time into a larger walking stick. The challenge was not knowing the words, or at least their latin counterparts. Certainly, it couldn't be as simple as to utilize part Vera Verto and part will to stand, or walk. Creating a spell took, sometimes, many years. Many failed attempts. But she had to start somewhere.

LIfting the matchstick for a moment and inspecting it, she bit the inside corner of her mouth. It could work… If she chose the right word. Ambulare to walk… Stare to stand. Which one… She cast a brief protective spell over herself to ensure that if there were any pops or excitement, she would at least be safe. Once preventative measures were taken, she laid the match stick down on the other side of the bed and raised her wand, giving it a swish over the object that she wished to change, and willing it in her mind to create what she desired.

"Vera Stare." She whispered. The matchstick swelled, elongated, until about hip to heel height. It knotted at the top with roots, a handle, to hold onto. A perfectly formed walking aparatis. Oh how Minerva would be pleased… She thought. Then she realized that she hadn't seen the woman. Her brow furrowed for a moment. She wondered if Minerva had seen her. If she knew. Of course, she had to know, she was in her bed in Hogwarts castle. But why hadn't she come to visit where as Harry was there? Chewing on the inside corner of her mouth, Hermione summoned a pair of loose trousers and a proper shirt, something that she could put on to maybe take a proper stroll. Getting into the pants was definitely a fight but, not as difficult as she thought it was going to be, and certainly didn't take as long. She pulled on her maroon sweater, took up her cane, and began the arduous process of getting out of the bed, to which, she had been confined.

Carefully, she began to move herself into a seated position on the edge of the bed, testing the waters. It wasn't bad. It did hurt a bit, but her leg was tight. She knew how muscles worked, she had worked for years to attain a certain figure. Her leg was definitely not in top form. She reached for her makeshift cane and set her jaw, taking it slow. Where one leg was utterly bummed, the other felt quite fine. It was just a matter of rising. That's all that had to do; prove to herself that she could stand and the rest was hopscotch. Grabbing another potion from the table, she shoved it into her pocket, then slowly, and so carefully, used force down upon her walking stick and the strength of her good leg to stand. Before she knew it, she was upright. But not without side effects. She got dizzy. Blood began to circulate her body and her limbs. She had to take one small step forward and lean against her wardrobe. Still, she was upright. She managed.

Getting used to the stick was another area considered problematic. She had to call upon her inner Mad Eye to drive herself forward. One foot in front of the other. With the potion working its magic, all she could really feel was an extreme tightness in her leg. It hurt minimally, but the feeling was there that had she not had her potion, it could have been much different. She managed to get herself into the bathroom and for the first time since waking, managed to use it on her own. No sweeter feeling could be had but independence. She hated having to wait, abhorred having to depend on someone else for basic needs, it wasn't a life she enjoyed living if she had to do either of those things. Being that this was the new norm, for however long, she would need to pull out her old cauldron and get to work. She didn't want to have to rely on Poppy as, she was sure, the woman had much more important things to deal with than her.

Hermione's main concern, in that moment anyway, was the students. She didn't want to have to fight through them to get to the Headmistress. Once she was zipped up and off the toilet, her hands washed, she took to her cane once more and slowly wandered out into her living space to find the clock. It was about quarter past five. There would still be many mulling about, but it wasn't the mad dash to get to another class. She could manage it. And so she did.

Hermione left her quarters, knowing full well that if she ran into Poppy she would be sent right back, but she didn't really care. Hermione didn't care for rules or regulations, not pertaining to herself. And she missed the feeling of normalcy walking the castle provided. So, with walking stick in hand and potion in pocket, her hair tied up and off her neck in a messy bun, she slowly crept on, minding her leg to the best of her ability.

Rounding down corridors, the effect of potion in full swing, she was met by students on her way. They did one of two things - they either stared, as she did look quite a fright, or they welcomed her back and said they hoped she felt better soon, her class had been boring in her absence. It was sweet really. A few asked if she needed some assistance, older students, but she declined and kept on, telling them to get their homework done with a wink. Already her spirits were lifting. If anything, she truly found a home here. She loved these walls, where as she used to hate them. The memories they housed all made up a bit here, a piece there, of who she was. The job of the Ministry, those memories, although some were sweet, mostly left her with a feeling of loss. Lost friends, a lost love, a loss of mind… Never did she imagine that the affection for Hogwarts would ever return until she thought she might never have the opportunity to see it again.

It took far longer than she had anticipated to get where she wanted to go.

"And where do you think you're going!" A voice rang out behind her. Hermione had just been about to round one of the last corners when it happened, so she staggered a little and readjusted herself, turning, to view the Flying Instructor.

"Where do you think I'm going?" She called back, watching as Rolanda strode quickly to meet her from the other end of the hall. Of course, she would need to run into someone. The silver haired witch looked Hermione up and down, noting the use of her transfigured match with a little bit of acceptance.

"Ah, so you're testing out the leg too, hmm? How does it feel?" She asked when she got a bit closer. Hermione shot her a look.

"Tight, not terribly painful thanks to Poppy's potions, but I know it's going to feel a world of hurt tomorrow." Hermione replied, steadying herself against the stone corner of the corridor. Rolanda nodded and gazed down at it for a moment.

"When Minerva brought me to see it, just about shat, I tell you that… Here, let me walk with you." There was no stopping Hermione when she had it in her head she was going to do something, so Rolanda decided it best just to go along for the ride. Hermione allowed it.

"You came to see me?" She asked the woman walking alongside her, keeping with her slowed pace.

"Of course, well… At least when Minerva told me you might be needing some rehabilitation on that stump of yours so you can return to kicking me up and down the pitch." The yellow eyed woman threw her a look of mischief, one that caused a crack of a smile to take place upon her lips. So, Minerva had been with her. That put her mind at ease a little.

"Is she doing well?" Hermione asked, averting her gaze to the corridor ahead as they drew nearer to the Headmistress's office. Rolanda chuckled.

"No one knew where she was a quite a while, I'm assuming now that's because she was with you, so it's hard to say… But by the look of her the other day, no… She's probably a wreck." Hermione shouldn't have been satisfied to hear that. No one wishes that their… Employer? She'd go with employer - no one wished that their employer was a wreck thinking the worst for too long if you loved them. But, still, she was somewhat satisfied. Just knowing that Minerva cared.

"We'll have to figure out a schedule, I want to get back in the classroom and back to my routine as quickly as possible." Hermione stated as they came to a stop in front of the Headmistress's office, the statue at least. Rolanda reached out and touched her arm, causing her head to turn. The look on the face before her own showed caution, but pleasantness.

"Hermione, I know that you probably think it'll be easy as tart to get back to where you were before, especially considering that you've managed day one to get from point A to point B without much issue, but getting back to standing for eight or more hours a day, running, is going to take time and effort… And patience. If you don't give yourself the time that you need, you may as well have it cut off. It won't be of use to you." Explaining this, Rolanda met Hermione's gaze and an expression not often seen, imploring, was what the brunette was met with. She trusted the silver haired woman, still, it was irritating to accept. Hermione eventually sighed and turned to the statue, muttering Ginger Newt. The hand on her arm fell.

"I will do my best as much as I hate the thought, but thank you for your willingness to help me." She said as Rolanda turned to retreat, her words affording her a wiggling of fingers over the shoulder by way of saying farewell. Stepping onto the spiral starecase, all she had to do was keep her balance and stand. It drew her up to the door of Minerva's office, where she stood for a moment. Contemplation entered into mind.

The amount of time which she lay buried under wood, stone, and brick granted some illumination to what she wanted in her life, and what she could do without.

She entered into a relationship of sorts, hidden from the world, when she was a student. Now, the woman was no longer her professor. Minerva was her employer. Hermione was posed with another set of problems. What she had ringing in her mind was what she had heard before - I can't, I won't, my job… If that was to be the case, then she would gladly begin to rebuild her life again within those walls as a teacher, herself. Maintain professionalism. But she did not wish to be overshadowed again, or placed in a box and hidden only to be brought out at night or when no one was looking. She had done that once before and waited for the day when Minerva would proudly bring her out into daylight, without care of consequence. But there had always been consequence.

The consequences of falling for Minerva McGonagall were that you ran the risk of being on the shit end of her fear, insecurity, and undermined by her position. If the witch had learned anything in the years that spanned between when they ended and now, Hermione prayed she had learned the delicate art of throwing caution to the wind and allowing for unreserved affection to grow. If not, they would simply remain friends. Good friends… Potentially best friends, as they had been before in a friendship built on mutual respect, understanding, and love. That was where they had started. And, if she had not learned her own sets of lessons, that would be where they end.

Hermione owed Minerva a conversation, whether it be the time for it or not, the brunette grew tired of waiting. So she reached for the knob of the door, expectant and willing, and twisted.

_~*HGMM*~_

Standing by the fireplace, the Headmistress sipped her tea. She had finished signing her signature on a number of Ministry documents that Harry had sent over, written her testimony, and was ready to send it in to the council. She quietly prepared herself for returning to Hermione's bedside, the sight of the woman laying there plaguing her with exhausted emotion. For weeks now, Hermione had played upon her mind. Her wellness and her return to function was a terrifying thought, for what would the woman be waking up to? Outside her office door she heard the sound of the stairs spring to life. So she turned from her fireplace and walked back to her desk, setting down her cup of tea, and worked on straightening herself by retying her bun tightly. Glancing at the door expectantly for whoever it was to enter, their entry seemed delayed. Ever better for her to wipe the exhaustion from her face and replace her thin framed glasses on her nose. She could hardly sleep a wink those days, not since the night at The Three Broomsticks.

The handle finally turned and Minerva stationed herself there, beside her desk, awaiting for the arrival.

The door opened and walked, or better worded limped, through the last person she had expected that day. All things considered. She watched the woman's gaze find her then turn upon her door, which Hermione closed softly behind. Minerva's hand instinctively rose fell against the flat of her own stomach, sheer shock causing it to flip. Chocolate brown eyes refocused on the Headmistress and Hermione stood there, by the door, leaning on her cane. Minerva didn't move.

It wasn't a frequent occasion that the Scottish witch didn't have a few carefully selected words in her back pocket.

"And here I thought you might be happy to see me." Breaking the silence, Hermione took a few steps further, minding the few short stairs and cautiously walking into the room. The whirlwind of emotions on Minerva's face was a sight to take in, spanning from discomfort, anger, hopefulness. But, ultimately, a mix.

"Tell a woman you love them and nearly get yourself killed…" Minerva replied cooly, finally stepping down from her raised desk to walk up to the young professor. Her eyes were aflame.

"I still love you and I'm going to be alright." Free hand lifted and hooked around the back of the ebony haired woman's neck, Hermione's thumb resting against the woman's jaw. At long last, Minerva trembled. She lifted her own hand and covered the one resting there, nearing Hermione closely. With the sound of whizzing objects and fire crackling, she leaned and rested her forehead against that of the young woman. Furious but happy, her heart flipping between rage and content.

"I was a stupid woman to think that you wouldn't do something as ludicris as you did." Her voice quivered despite her intention to keep it smooth. Hermione couldn't help but to sigh and close her eyes, breath against her lips from the words spoken enough to be a prize for the long trek from her quarters.

"I will never return to the Ministry again, you will never have to worry like you did again, and I promise you… I will never do anything like this ever again." It was all Hermione could offer by way of apology. She wouldn't apologize for taking the path she took to land herself there, nor would she apologize for the concern she'd inflicted. These things were out of her hands. But the simple promise given provided the woman standing in front of her the strength to wrap her arms around the young professor and pull her close. Hermione let her. Her own arms found themselves wrapping around the slender figure, her face burying itself against the woman's shoulder. Those brief moments were glorious. Rekindling the sort of life she could have had had it not been so messy to begin with.

"You should have waited for me." Hermione heard Minerva state, muffled, against her own shoulder. The younger witch pressed her lips briefly to the cotton fabric clinging to the Headmistress's neck, her cane laying forgotten beside their feet on the floor. She didn't even hear it fall.

"I've been waiting for nearly a decade, I'm exhausted by waiting, I would like to talk to you." Replied the woman, readied for whatever there in lie between them to be unhashed and addressed properly, now that all had passed. It was an opportunity to make good on her statement made in Hogsmeade, and a willingness to discern their future… If they were to have one.

If.

TBC...