Chapter 27

On her back, Hermione felt a hand on her thigh and her knee being pushed toward her chest.

"Tell me about her again." She breathed as the weight and the pain merged and she had to train every muscle to relax under the pressure.

"She's from Berlin… She has horrible taste in fashion… And not a single one of us can stand her..." A voice penetrated her ear and through the discomfort she felt herself begin to relax.

If it hadn't been for Rolanda and her vigilance, Hermione was sure she would have cracked.

"Still, she's not a ghost." Her whispered tones were quiet but still quite audible. The woman above her stilled. A shift in the air alerted the young woman that the Flying Instructor had lost her concentration and Hermione opened her eyes. Yellow orbs burned into chocolate brown.

"You're still alive, you know…"

"Tell that to her, she won't even touch me."

Refusing to let the words control her emotions, Hermione closed her eyes. She let the Flying Instructor hold her leg in position and then straighten it, gently laying it down before two skilled hands began to rub her calf. Sighing deeply, all the discomfort of stretching and twisting, bending, of her leg was immediately forgiven the minute Rolanda's fingers administered gentle rubbing pressure to her affected limb.

"She doesn't want to hurt you, I imagine." Rolanda stated, watching the woman beneath her lay flat and still, her eyes opened to return her gaze after a few seconds. Tears.

"She is too delicate, I've tried to make some advances but if you could see how she responds… I'm not a small bird who's easily crushed but my fucking god, when we said we were going to ease into things and take it slow, I didn't imagine we'd become a couple of nuns," A hum rose in Rolanda's throat as her hands moved up to continue their deep, although gentle, massage of Hermione's thigh, eliciting a small, short laugh. "This is the most action I've had in weeks."

"Sorry to disappoint, but it ends at thigh, m'lady." Yellow gaze glinted with humor and Hermione finally lifted a hand to brush the moisture from her eyes away, a small smirk curling the corner of her mouth. Talking to Rolanda was easy, they were, well.. The silver haired woman had become her closest friend. The brunette went on to explain that she and Minerva skirted around one another.

They took walks, they ate dinner together, and Hermione began to slowly, a piece at a time, bring some of her things from her own private quarters back with her into Minerva's rooms. Little bits at a time. The ebony haired woman took notice, but said nothing. They spent their evenings reading most nights, discussing various things from travel to modern magics, it was amazing how transfiguration and defensive magic had progressed along the span of ten years. They found topics bled into one another and slowly, still, they took on a rhythm. It was, eventually, an easy rhythm to fall into - converse, debate, ease tension from heightened debate (if need be), laughter, converse, repeat.

Now that age and maturity had taken their hold, now that Hermione had set forth and gone and lived, that urge to back down from heated debate with her Head of House had utterly diminished. If they weren't careful, which had been a couple of times, their debates could spark a full blown argument. Neither of which willing to relent could easily carry on that argument for hours, mostly about technique and what form of magic was best utilized and when, it was invigorating, yet terror-inducing on both of them. Neither really wanted to admit defeat, yet, neither of them wanted to rock the boat so greatly that it caused actual harm to their current relationship, in whatever vague form it was beginning to take.

The only thing that sometimes caused Hermione to egg Minerva on was seeing her passion. Whether Minerva was aware of it or not, sometimes, only once in a blue moon, Hermione needed to see the fire in Minerva's eyes and cause her to be set aflame. The beauty when that look took hold of the woman, when she was gesturing fervently, her cheeks pink with a flush of frustration, Minerva could never know how absolutely attractive it was when the veil was blown back and her passion, in its truest form, was exposed. It was in those moments that Hermione felt that spark of a firework making her stomach do flips. In those moments, she could feel it in her soul that she did love, truly and madly, love this woman. Before then that firework moment hadn't occurred. She knew of her affection, she was aware of her guarded heart aching to be touched… But one night, it happened. In the middle of explosive debate when the ebony haired woman was pacing in front of the fire, demanding she explain herself, crying out that Hermione's logic was flawed, that Hermione felt her heart quicken. The challenge was one she quickly rose to, she loved to. She wanted to confront Minerva, take her by the neck and claim her mouth to shut her up but she didn't. Couldn't.

The physical interactions were short and varied. A brief, routine kiss. A gentle touch of hands or a graze of lower back, hip, or shoulder. It was nothing like the frenzied, boundless fucking they had endured quite a few months previous. It was soft. Too soft. At least, for Hermione's liking. But where touch lacked, their communication strengthened. Even if only in the confines of their shared accommodations. It was gradual.

They expressed freely their considerations, sometimes even agreed, but what plagued Hermione was that when the conversation drew too close to the topic of exposing their attempt at a commitment, even if the topic seemed to only just perch on the edge of conversation, Hermione clammed up. Unbeknownst, Hermione's battle was with her own mounting diffidence which caused her to lose faith in her words, her desires, she didn't dare push Minerva to openly display a single affection. The longer the woman maintained her own distance, the more apprehensive and self-reflective Hermione became.

Rolanda listened intently and raised a brow through the explanation.

When they walked through the courtyard, down the corridors, or even out on the grounds where not a single prying eye could witness it, the brunette maintained at the very least two feet of distance. She couldn't bear the nearness if it meant refusal, which was her current state of mind. Preparations for rejection, self preservation, in the event that Minerva had discovered their circumstance had changed.

"It's partly my own doing, I know, but I did promise her I wouldn't push for anything," Sitting up on the mat her friend had rolled out for her, the massage now over, Hermione found herself capable of tucking up her knees and wrapping her arms around them; a feat in itself. "And in doing so, whenever we get too close in public, after hearing about that damned woman, it's almost like now I'm petrified of what people with think of her, how they will judge her, if they compare me to that fucking German broad."

"No one could compare you two, it would be like comparing, say… A Niffler to a Griffon," Offered the older woman who shifted into a proper seated position on her floor. "Despite what she might say or do, things didn't work out between them for a few very good reasons… She was arrogant in all the wrong ways, spreading business she shouldn't have spread, and that level of disrespect, in the eyes of our Headmistress, is enough to make someone untouchable with a fifty foot wand."

Hermione found herself taking some comfort in that. Sighing deeply, she cast her gaze over Rolanda's crossed legs and into the fireplace, where crackling logs called upon her attention.

"What do you think I should do, Bird?" Hermione finally asked, her eyes eventually returning to view those of her company. Rolanda's hand reached out and laid itself atop her folded arms, her lips curling into a small smile.

"I think you should talk to her, Bird." The silver haired witch was afforded a loud groan and watched Hermione's head fall back.

"What does Augustine call me again?"

"Alter Kriegshund… Old War Dog… I think, to really prove your point on that one, you're going to have to battle it out for yourself, if you love Minerva, give her something to test her will… Minerva loves a challenge." Dropping her head forehead, Hermione gave it a small shake. She should have been terribly offended by the little nickname she had been given by the woman who she had yet to formally meet. Hermione had avoided her at all costs. But, in truth, she sort of enjoyed the drama the name induced, considering it couldn't be further from the truth. Pleasure was found in irony.

"Alright, Bird, help me up. " Unfurling her arms, she reached and Rolanda took her hands. The woman rose from the floor and the brunette balanced herself. She put weight on her leg and it stung, minutely, but she could bear it.

"Little bits at a time, do you need the cane?" Hermione immediately shook her head.

"I can manage without it a lot better than last month, of course… I think I'll have a limp for some time still, do you think I'll be able to run again, in general?" Inspecting Hermione's form, which was easily done in her tight workout combo of sports bra and running leggings, it appeared as though she was still in peak physical fitness.

"Honestly, I think maybe next month we can try a slow jog… Baby steps. But we're doing good, Bird."

The women shared a short embrace and Rolanda sent Hermione on her way. Her leg was slowly, ever so slowly, on the mend but what a delight it was not to have to use a fucking cane anymore. She had grown to abhor the thing. With routine check ups and Rolanda's guidance, she never overworked her leg like she had that first day. She never wanted to experience that sort of pain again, nor did she want to have Minerva be the one to contend with it. Her pride had been bruised enough.

She wanted to return to her work, as quickly as possible, but there was work left to be done. She could take short walks, stand on her own in the shower, ultimately independent, but standing on her feet for eight or more hours was not something her body was ready for. And teaching how she taught, to her best ability, was not something one could easily do sitting. She had to maintain a close eye on all of her students at once, roam around the room, make adjustments, give praise and instruction, it was nearly impossible to do stationary. Minerva was in no way rushing her to return to work, wanting the woman to be in top form before having the conversation at all, still, Hermione wanted her replacement out of the castle as quickly as she could manage it.

Luck would have it that up until that point, Hermione had managed to avoid the woman expertly. Never had she avoided someone, other than Minerva, to that degree. Minerva didn't ask her anymore if she would like to take tea in the staff room or join for dinner in the Great Hall, as Hermione would decline most every time. She took I'm not ready to heart. And stopped asking. But, eventually, Hermione knew she would have to face the blasted woman.

As circumstance would have it, and something she would be unaware of, that time came quickly and without warning when she opened the door to Minerva's personal quarters to see the back of a head of flaming ginger hair on the other side of the living room and the Headmistress partly hidden behind a lithe, powder blue pencil skirt wearing frame. Hermione froze.

"Professor Granger…" The relief in Minerva's voice was evident, it was too bad that Hermione missed it over the professional title she had been greeted by and the shock at the proximity in which the ginger woman had been standing by the ebony haired woman's desk, and the woman herself.

"I vasn't avare you were expecting company, Minerva dear…" Silky, suggestive, confident. The woman turned on her heels and viewed the brunette in the doorway. Hermione closed the door with a hand and leaned against it, her arms folding over her chest.

"Yes… We… Have a meeting about how, erm, classes are progressing, so I thank you for your report, Miss Blanchett." Afforded the opportunity to move away from the place she had been previously trapped, the Headmistress pushed up her thin rimmed glasses and vacated her desk to place a distance between her and the author by moving towards the couch. Hermione's unblinking, piercing gaze remained on the pale, porcelain face aimed in her direction. Oceanic eyes dragged down her form, then up, a well tight smile adorned ruby colored lips.

She was blemishless. They were the same height, but, this woman had curves, an hourglass figure, well put together, hair coiffed… Where as Hermione had just come back from a gruelling session of getting her leg back in working order. Beads of sweat still peppered her chest and her brow shone with the glow of exercise.

Livid didn't describe the feeling welling in Hermione's chest. She was beyond livid, if there was a place or a word much farther than that, it had yet to be penned. To wear that feral feline look about face in her fucking rooms…

"Yes, Alter Kriegshund is requesting an audience with the Headmistress so, if you will please be so kind, you are free to leave." The brunette managed to maintain an even, collected tone, devoid of the quiver that she could feel her muscles combating against. The sickening smile on that gorgeous face twitched. The women peered at one and other and Minerva found herself, again, trapped between two very different, very strong willed and stubborn individuals. Hermione pushed off from the door and stepped aside when Augustine tilted her head at her, her heels sounding over stone and hardwood as she drew near. Gradually, the manicured witch halted when she was shoulder to shoulder with the brunette, and glanced back to the place where the Headmistress was standing, behind her leather sofa, almost as though it would protect her from bombardment

"You should visit me for tea, Minerva… Ve still 'ave so much catching up to do," The Headmistress remained silent, Hermione eyed her replacement with thinly veiled irritation. "And you… You should take a rinse." The words were quiet, like a hiss, before the red headed woman took her leave, the large wooden door snapping shut.

Hermione's body felt like it was vibrating. Immediately, the woman behind the couch rounded its edge and approached the brunette, reaching for to touch her elbows and gauge her. Scanning every detail of the older witch, Hermione's temper drew upon its last reserves, the closer the woman approached, the more detail she could see, the larger the fire in the pit of her stomach grew.

"I do apologize, dearest, I wasn't expecting her to come here to deliver report, we had been meaning to connect in the staff room tomorrow evening…"

"There's lipstick on your collar, darling…" Darkened features and a slight frown produced a low grow. If a voice could cut, Minerva would have quickly been discovered to be shredded. A hand shot up to the place where, Hermione imagined, Minerva was well aware of the stain. Clearly, something had gone on in her absence and it made her question whether this instance was singular, or if when Minerva left her there in their rooms, was she really just going to dinner or going for a night cap in the staff room?

"I can explain…"

Something about those words drove the younger woman mad. Before she could realize what she was capable of committing, her arms unfurled and her hands reached Minerva's arms, twisting their bodies until a strength that she wasn't aware she had any more forced the ebony haired woman up against the back of their front door. Minerva winced in pain as her back connected with rich cherry mahogany, but it was brief.

"Have you been fucking that woman… Is she the reason why you won't fucking touch me?" Emerald eyes sprung open. "ANSWER ME!" Growled the young witch with such unbridled anger that it caused the veins in her neck to pop. Hermione was shaking visibly, the tightness of her hold growing ever more tight on the upper arms of the woman she held against the flat of the door.

Hermione was never, could never be, an abusive woman. But what she walked in to witness was highly suspect. She began to piece and thread events over the past month in her mind and the conclusion after this… Seeing the smeared evidence just peaking on starched white fabric, she dared to think that maybe… Maybe it was possible that Minerva couldn't find it in herself to end it, to say it wasn't working, realizing Hermione's fear and turning it into a clearly painted reality. After she had so ventured to fall deeply once more with no hand to catch her on impact.

Emerald eyes bore into her own and the adoration held in them made Hermione's stomach churn, it made her even more furious, but Minerva didn't react to her anger in the way of fear or quickly trying to cover up tracks. Rather she lifted her hands to Hermione's arms, placing them there, her thumbs rubbing the locked wrists of the younger woman, soothingly.

"It really isn't what you think, I've been waiting for your permission..." She replied calmly, despite her pounding heart wishing to break free of her chest. The signals she had received, the way Hermione had seemed to keep her distance, left Minerva to wait for a moment such as this, when passion rose and she could witness with crystal clarity beyond her lover's fury and into the absolute need displayed in those depths. The jealousy, the possessive nature, streaked between layers of emotion, all indicating a simple truth that Hermione's want had developed into true need. Not a need to be fucked beyond recognition, not a need to be briefly satisfied, but a need to be loved. By her, specifically. All encompassing and genuine. She had waited for this. How unfortunate the situation was for it to be made evident.

Searching, Hermione scoured Minerva's eyes for any sign of deception, any lie that she could find, and came up dry. Her fingers loosened minutely around the woman's upper arms.

"How did that happen…"

"I turned, she was there, I wasn't expecting it… It was the one and only instance - not reciprocated."

"No?" Trepidation. Disbelief riddled the younger woman but disbelief was clouded by thirst, an insatiable hunger for this emerald eyed woman to be sincere. Hermione questioned it, leaning forward enough with a step to press the length of her form against the woman she had captured. Finally, she allowed her fingers to slacken enough to not leave more of a mark than what she was sure to find there later. She could feel the witch's heart beat rapidly against her chest, Hermione could almost hear it, and with eyes locked she watched Minerva give a small shake of the head. Minerva felt breath on her lips and yet Hermione didn't close the distance. Rather, through the quiet, the witches peered into the depths of one another's gaze, explorative.

The turn of events was drastic and unforeseen. Their days had been spent in the quiet comfort of conversation, seated on two ends of a couch with hardly a hand between them. And now? Evidently, Hermione's only defense was invasive. Minerva had hardly a moment to keep up.

"That woman will never darken this doorway again, she's not welcome here," Ordered in lowered voice, gravel laden and menacing, the aim was to convey how serious the matter was. "We share one bed, if we are in this… There is no halfway, I need all of it, and you, whether I deserve it or…" Provoked, Minerva granted interruption by way of dipping her head to brush a kiss against the lips so close. What she discovered was the woman refused her sweetness and demanded her proper dues. Her mouth was taken and claimed by a kiss that begged for redemption. Unadulterated greed permeated from the brunette whose hands roamed the curve of Minerva's side with a hunger, clawing at fabric and untucking the blouse she wore from her trousers carelessly. A sharp intake was swallowed by Hermione's ravenous mouth when her nails made contact with skin. Truthfully, she hadn't meant to scratch but the sound of a guttural response was filtering in like music. The hands in her hair tightened, balling loose brunette curls into fists, and that caused her teeth to sink into lower lip until Minerva unexpectedly pushed her backward, but not away.

Breathing deeply, vice like grip mirrored both women who clung to one another despite forced distance. Minerva grew uncertain.

"Your leg…" Rasped the older woman, her eyes focused over the rim of her specs. Hands tightened against her bare skin, fingers digging in defiance.

"I don't want to talk, I am so sick and tired of talking… About my leg, about nothing, about everything, for a moment… Can you please just make me feel like this is a real thing, instead of making me feel like your fucking house mate or your subordinate… Please." Imploringly, Hermione gazed at her would-be lover as a fresh wave of tears began to well in chocolate brown eyes. If Minerva hadn't been aware of her desperation she certainly was made aware of it in the moment.

The woman was pleading to be had.

Hermione's hands let go.

Leaving the woman to stand by the door, she crossed their quarters to her lover's bedroom. She had enough opportunity to peel her sports bra over her head along the way that when she neared what had used to be her side of that bed, two arms wound around her waist, holding her in place. Tanned hands covered paler ones, her head falling back upon shoulder, as she dragged them over her abdomen and to her chest. Minerva's breath hitched. With one hand covering Hermione's breast she could feel her other being guided down the flat of toned stomach until their joined finger tips slipped past elastic waistband, rewarding Minerva's ear with the sound of a delicious gasp.

"Take off your clothes." The Headmistress murmured against the womans' cheek.

Shoes were kicked within seconds without care of where they landed. Turning in Minerva's arms, Hermione sought her mouth while tearing through buttons and fabric, dragging torn cotton off the older woman without breaking off from her mouth. Tongues melded and tasted, explored, but not in the way they had before when it was fast, rough, and uncaring. Through the touch of bodies, memories of hands long forgotten seemed to float to the surface of Minerva's mind until she tasted salt mix with the sweetness of Hermione's passionate lips. Those hands undid her trousers and began pushing them down over her hips while her own tred upon a similar path. Through the veil of tears, Minerva pushed Hermione back on the bed when the tightness of her leggings clung too close to skin, making it easier for her to pull them down to her ankles and toss them aside. She took off her bra and through the blur witnessed the brunette, in all her nude glory, waiting.

Seeing Minerva's wetted cheeks shine reflective as she stepped out of the pile of fabric pooled at her feet, Hermione reached out and pulled the woman into her arms. Weight collapsed between her thighs and the dam broke. Loud sobs shook the woman's spine the second bare skin connected. Hermione could only hold the woman to her and kiss any inch she was afforded by craning her neck. The tension in the body above her was releasing with every choked cry she felt rip through her lover and she wondered… Had Minerva been waiting in silent desperation as she had done? Was this the product of not knowing, or of the stress that fearing rejection might have caused? Answer came in the form of the woman whispering please beside her ear. Hand captured Hermione's wrist in a claw like grip and she knew her body wasn't the only needing to feel the love finally realized. The same jealous, possessive, obsessed affection that craved to be fulfilled. So when the ebony haired woman forced Hermione's hand between the spread knees she was kneeling on, the brunette fought to turn her lover onto her back and hungrily attack her breasts with teeth and lips, eliciting a hiss and a deep moan from somewhere in the woman's throat, driving Hermione ever onward until trailed kisses reached Minerva's navel.

Fingertips toyed with her opening as her lover drew languid kisses down the inside of her thigh. Minerva glanced down to bear witness to Hermione's heated gaze. One look. She was wet, readied, and the lubrication against the pads of Hermione's fingers made it all the more satisfying when she felt Minerva encompass her index and middle to the knuckles. Even more so satisfying was gazing along the length of the woman arching off the bed. Her name played upon Minerva's lips and those syllables etched themselves into her memory as each deep stroke had her digits buried.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd tasted sex so sweet until her mouth found Minerva's swollen clit. Strangled sounds of pleasure filled the room and she listened, memorizing those notes as though they were a song to be replayed over and over again in the back of her mind. She wasn't rough with what she offered, her motions and the flicks of her tongue were deliberate and well thought, she wanted nothing more than to offer her lover a rich experience, unlike that which she had given before which had been hasty and thoughtless, as though it were a means to an end. When she felt she was edging the woman too quickly, she slowed down, warranting a hand to twist in her hair, holding her head in place. When Minerva finally pleaded for her to make her come, her hips wildly gyrating to pleasure herself against Hermione's diligent digits, the younger woman listened and increased her rhythm to match the tempo set by her partner's desperate movements. It took them both by surprise when Minerva threw her head back and cried out her name, followed by a string of expletives, while both her hands wound in brunette locks in a vice like grip, holding her lover in place against her as she spasmed and shook, her core contracting to the point that Hermione was unsure if slight movement would be painful. It wasn't, as she soon found out.

"Here, now..." A hoarse voice rang out, Hermione felt her hair being tugged. Without hesitation, she drew herself from between the thighs where she had settled and kissed a trail over the stomach and sternum of the Headmistress beneath her. Minerva sought her mouth and claimed it, tears long since having dried. Hermione was trembling beneath her hands, and against her lips Minerva ordered, "Further."

"Further?" She questioned, taking a brief moment to part from the woman to gaze into her eyes. The ebony haired witch gave a short nod, which only meant one thing. Hermione bit her lower lip, her own tension building as she felt herself grow ever more wet at the thought.

It had been years since Minerva had asked that simple one word question. Recollecting those moments made her feel almost eighteen again - giddy, self conscious, and eager to please. Even at her age, the prospect made her heart race. The corners of her mouth curled into a smile and the women maneuvered together, the brunette lifting herself until she was on her knees, her hands gripping the curved top of the headboard. To her absolute astonishment, she could still feel what felt like marks where her nails had dug and the pads of her fingers ran along them, briefly, as Minerva slipped down beneath her. The pondering over whether these small divots belonged to her came to a swift close when hot breath warmed her and hands laid atop her thighs. Minerva's tongue darted against her opening and alarmed her, causing her hands to steady herself and her nails to dig into raw, unlacquered wood. The brunette cried out when she felt the act take place again, and again, until she felt the woman beneath begin a rhythm of tongue fucking which caused her to hold onto the furniture for dear life. A hand managed to slip between her legs and reach up the length of her stomach, rewarding her nipple with a hard pinch before it was rolled. Despite her every cell wanting nothing more than to let Minerva have her way, she couldn't help but to ride the mouth and succumb to the onslaught of sensation that delicious tongue was rewarding her with every grinding movement of hips she made. Teeth grazed her clit, making her all the more aware that she was intruding upon Minerva's desire. The sensation made her quiver but pay attention.

"Don't move…" She heard the witch growl, centimeters away from her aching folds. A whimper parted Hermione's lips. She had to squeeze her eyes shut and pour every ounce of reserved energy into keeping her muscles as still as possible, and only when Minerva appeared to be satisfied, did she give Hermione what she craved so terribly. Without a hint of warning, she felt Minerva latch on to her clit and begin sucking the bundle of nerves into her mouth, flicking it wildly with the hardened tip of her tongue. It drove the brunette beyond reason until the woman was entirely unaware of how loud the volume her cries of delight had swelled.

Relentless, moaning her own pleasure and applying vibration to Hermione's center by the sheer use of voice, as Hermione drew ever closer to bone shattering orgasm, Minerva's fingers furiously worked at her own sex as well. No feeling was there more gratifying than pleasuring the woman above her whilst seeking her own end. And when she heard Hermione's cries hit climax and her voice tore through the room, she too rode out her own wave.

When the woman was surely satisfied, and Hermione could summon the energy to move, she did and joined the woman who lay breathing erratically. On their backs, sweaty, panting, and naked, the women caught their breath and returned to the reality of their situation. Both of them stared at the ceiling for a long while and occasionally glanced at the side of the face beside their own, thoughts beginning to kick into gear. It took a second for Hermione to realize when she finally floated back down to earth that she had tears streaming from the corners of her eyes and dampness rolling over the shell of her ear... then, and most unexpected of all, she felt a strange feeling begin to rise in her chest. Overwhelming and insatiable, it bubbled until the feeling reached her throat.

She began to laugh. Really laugh. She turned her head and looked at the woman beside her finding that seeing the pinched brow look on her lover's face made her laugh harder. And because she laughed, Minerva couldn't help but consider the ridiculousness of the day, the strange events that transpired, and the beautiful moment they had shared, only to find humor. The strangeness overtook the women until they were clinging to one another and howling, absolutely hysterical, emotionally raw, but… Happy.

Truly happy. Even if just for the night.

TBC