Author's Note:

Dearest friends and readers,

Thirty chapters down, however many more to go. It has been so ridiculously fun for me to flex muscles I forgot I had in order to bring you this story. I wanted to take a moment to write you all a most earnest love letter, to tell you how deeply I have appreciated everyone who has taken the time out of their day to read my little piece.

In this current global climate, I find I take great pleasure in continuing to write. If all I can offer is a few moments of relaxing and bring a smile to a face, in one of the only ways I know how, it means the world to me. I don't foresee the end of the story yet, it will be continuing and I would like to ensure that it continues regularly, especially now that I've been afforded a surplus of time. But like all good things, eventually, it will come to an end, however, I can assure that will be only when I'm positive I've said everything that the characters require, remain true to the heart of the fiction, and when it feels right. I think you all will know that too.

To those who are struggling, I see you. To those who come by seeking a moment to relax, I hope you continue to do exactly that. And to those who love to read this marvelous pairing as fervently as I adore writing them, may you continue to find joy.

Thank you, I adore you all, and, remember, you are valued, beautiful, and always have a place at my table.

Your friend,

Scissors

Chapter 31

A few hours flew by. Minerva had found herself catching a chill and so she had maneuvered, ever so carefully, and cast a warming spell over them. Tucking her wand away into her coat had been a bit of a challenge but, luckily, not impossible. With the castle far behind and nothing but mid afternoon sky ahead, the women flew high over rolling hills and frozen lakes, forest and fields. The seat beneath Minerva did feel sturdier than that of a thin broom but the sound, the vibration, it took some getting used. It was worth it just to see the contentment on her lover's face. Happiness came for the brunette in the form of flying… She began to understand why Hermione and Rolanda called each other Bird. They took to air like a fish to water, something she never would have thought possible from the bookish girl she remembered. They were aimed in one direction and there was little to no variation from their unseen path, Minerva wondered if they were eventually going to turn back, but neither of them were in any rush. She enjoyed the unadulterated bliss on Hermione's face far too much.

Feeling Minerva's arms tightly around her middle and the, now, warmer breeze against her cheeks, the view of the earth hundreds of feet below… It gave her back a lot of memories - some were amazing, life altering, formative… Others were similar in impact but not good. From that point til this moment, her changes were staggering. Growth. She was still experiencing the growing pains, but this time it was easier.

When she realized in what direction she was instinctively heading, she had a minute to decide whether to continue or turn back. If she turned back now, would she regret it? Having made up her mind, Hermione called over her shoulder, angling her head to view her lover. Minerva's eyes were dancing in sunlight, she only gave a short nod, warranting a satisfied grin, before Hermione's hand squeezed, twisting the throttle. Their speed picked up and the roar beneath them hit a crescendo, Minerva laid her cheek against Hermione's leather clad shoulder and watched the earth pass by below. Only a few high flying birds caught her attention, but if she so wished, she easily could have found peace and slept there, once the shock had worn off.

Minerva almost did fall asleep.

It wasn't until she felt the motorcycle begin to descend that her senses returned, there was no telling how many minutes, or hours, had passed, only that the sun was starting to sink lower toward the horizon. She lifted her head and peered over Hermione's shoulder at land stretching ahead of them, tree tops grew closer, their speed slowed, until she was certain that if she let her foot dangle, she could have brushed pine tops with the sole of her boot. Ahead there was a clearing just barely discernible, until they passed through wards and that Hermione evidently knew were there. A snow coated roof came into view, cobbled walls, windows… brick chimney. The closer they drew, the vision that became clearer was something like that out of an old Muggle fiction she might have read when she was younger, having had quite the intrigue regarding Bronte and Austin. Clean white snow, not a single indication of anyone walking in, or walking out. It was surreal, in a sense. Never having been there, and not know where there was.

Steering carefully upon their descent, Hermione maneuvered the motorcycle into a stationary spot, hovering above the ground by a mere fifty feet or less, and slowly brought it down as she had done many times before. With one hand on the throttle, she withdrew her wand and aimed it below, murmuring softly beneath her breath a spell that would clear a space, uncovering a patch of frozen grass beneath. Ever so gently, tires eventually made contact with the ground and the woman tucked her wand away. With a click and a release of a peddle, the machine silenced itself, its work for the day was done. It took a moment for Minerva to regain her legs, she slowly removed herself from her lover and stepped onto the ground, it felt like her nerves were vibrating. A typical feeling, she considered, having just spent a length of time on top of a living machine. Emerald eyes peered around the property, nothing but the sounds of nature, birds, and rustling of branches to greet her. It took a second, but Hermione managed to lean enough and maneuver down the kickstand, then she, too, rose from the leather seat to stand beside the ebony haired witch.

Minerva was struck by the simple, beautiful, architecture. A far cry from her own stately home in Scotland, this was pure Brittain. Understated class. Notions of creeping vines still clung to the stone exterior, giving the impression that come spring and summer, the view would be lush and handsome. She aimed a glance at the woman beside her and saw pride etched upon tanned features, it was made quite clear that Hermione was proud of this place. Which, then, it dawned… This was her home, the place where she lived. And there they were, standing in her yard. It was no wonder the ride took from early afternoon until evening. Even more wondrous was the fact that it was actually much faster on the motorcycle than she could have imagined. Hermione passed her a look and gave a nod, a vague gesture to follow, which Minerva complied with.

A gloved hand reached back. Minerva took it.

There was always a key resting above the door on its thin ledge of frame, when they reached it, Hermione took it down and rubbed it in her free hand, clearing it from the snow beneath which it had settled. She unlocked her back door, and opened it drawing her lover in and their hands unclasped. Minerva took a few steps inside ahead of the witch who closed and locked the door behind them, her foot steps drew her into a kitchen… It was modest. A small circular oak table that looked like it would be difficult to seat four people around when sitting down to a full English dinner. Oak counters, pine cupboards, worn floorboards, aged… It was adorned with very little, but it did give off a sense that it had, at one point, been lived in. From the short hall, Hermione passed the mirror affixed to the wall and didn't gaze into it as she was so used to doing when coming home, instead, she followed a few feet behind the woman who inspected her kitchen. Both their eyes drew to the table at long last, where an unfinished bottle of whiskey sat, an empty cup, a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray… And her letter.

"I can't tell you how long I sat there staring at that damned letter," A soft voice rang, stirring Minerva from her thoughts as she turned on the spot to look at the woman, brown eyes still gazing at the place where she had been those many months ago. "I considered not responding, I thought to myself… I never want to see that fucking woman again, but… If I don't go, then she wins… And I'm a coward." Venturing toward the table, Hermione took up the letter in hand and looked it over, Minerva's penmanship as unmistakable as ever. "As it would turn out… Regardless, still a bit of a coward, hmm?"

Folding the small piece of parchment in her hands, she tucked it away inside her coat and began the short lived act of tidying, putting the bottle away atop the fridge, the glass in the sink, but she left the cigarettes and the ashtray. Emerald eyes clung to her every move.

"When I didn't receive any correspondence, I thought that you had once again managed to evade me… As you had evaded me for years, everywhere I looked led to a dead end, and Harry was very protective," Minerva found her voice and replied, garnering a glance from the woman who leaned against the counter, removing her gloves. "Mind you, now I believe that if he had told me, you might have slaughtered him."

This drew a smirk to settle on Hermione's lips.

"Harry hardly knew where I was, no one really knew, I could be very slippery… It wasn't hard to learn to be when you get used to being concerned about whether you'd wake up with a wand in your face, which had happened once or twice… But that's the thing with villains, they have a habit of monologuing, gets them every time." Pushing off from her place, the brunette neared her ebony haired Headmistress and took her gloved hand once more, leading her further into her parlor and living room, a place where she had spent a lot of time. Book lined shelves adorned walls but showed gaps where books had been, texts which had travelled with her to Hogwarts. Pictures in frames, not many but enough, hung on walls and sat on surfaces, a large ornate rug on the floor, a simple Victorian sofa, antique furniture, and in the corner a cauldron and a space where hanging herbs and a cabinet of ingredients was stored. It was hard to believe that here, this woman had made a home. Not alone, but still…

Logs in the fireplace to fuel the next fire were lit, conveniently. Minerva found herself standing there and drinking it in, a vision of a past life Hermione had lived. She removed her gloves and watched as the woman walked over to her mantle, taking up a small bell and rang it a few times.

A loud pop resounded through the room.

Minerva had to glance around for a moment, however, a small squeak alerted her to the presence of a tiny creature who flew in Hermione's direction.

A house elf, much to her surprise, wrapped its spindly arms around the brunette's legs. Large, teal eyes filled with unshed tears and Hermione stroked the surprise visitor's head with affection.

"Hello, again… Dear friend." Sniffing and wiping its small, angular face, the house elf backed herself away when she noticed the presence of another witch, instantly her small hands began signing to Hermione in a language Minerva was none too familiar with. With interest, Minerva watched Hermione place down her gloves and begin signing back, her fingers and hands, gesturing, in a manner quite peculiar. The elf seemed to understand but their conversation drew on for a few minutes, until the house elf was satisfied and a small smile adorned Hermione's lips. With another pop, the elf was gone… Turning to her company, Hermione was met with a confused look. The brunette cleared her throat softly. "That was Gracie… She's deaf, so when we realized we had a barrier, we took to learning some Muggle sign language to teach her, house elves are surprisingly quite eager to learn… It was hard to keep up."

"Ahh," Minerva replied, never having witnessed such a thing. "That's… Incredible."

"Are you in a hurry to return to Hogwarts, Minerva?" Hermione's asked suddenly, her hands making work of unzipping her jacket. The emerald eyed woman looked at her lover thoughtfully but ultimately shook her head no. She wasn't in a rush, not when it was the weekend and her work could easily be set aside until Monday. The look she received in return was enough to ensure she was pleased with her choice. "Gracie will be back soon, she'll bring along dinner."

As the temperature began to rise and make the cottage more hospitable, the women began to, at long last, take off boots and remove their jacket and coat. Hermione put the kettle on and, although she was feeling somewhat less than stellar for having drunk wine - not a beverage she was accustomed to or even liked terribly much -, she was certain that food would alleviate the feeling creeping upon her. As Hermione softly padded about her kitchen in socked feet, Minerva found herself drawn to inspecting her living room, mostly the pictures adorning the walls and shelves. In one particular, she saw Hermione and Harry standing together with a small party of people, it must have been so shortly after graduation and before Hermione's body transformed into that of a hard working, well exercised woman. Although her lips wore a thin smile, her eyes were devoid of much emotion. She stood there in a pair of trousers and a vest, her hands in her pockets, occasionally looking past the camera and out in the distance, while everyone else chatted and laughed, she was set apart. She looked so… Sad. It made Minerva's heart twinge.

"You'll find I don't look very present in most of the older pictures." A voice drifted, filtering in through Minerva's ear. Two steaming mugs, one in each hand, the younger woman carried and placed carefully down on the coffee table. Minerva cast her a glance before slipping from the shelves behind the couch to draw nearer, seating herself next to the woman who sat down those moments ago.

"Do you ever wonder sometimes what would have happened if I hadn't… Tried to deter you?" Minerva asked, taking up her mug and lifting her feet, as Hermione had done, to cross at the ankles, heel resting on the flat wooden surface of the table in front of them.

It wasn't much of a question - Of course, she'd thought of it. Hermione had considered it often, what would have happened if she didn't tell Minerva to stay away, if she had fought harder, proven herself… Maybe it wasn't at all that she had to prove herself, maybe she just needed to be open…

"I thought you didn't want to talk about that anymore." Hermione countered softly, raising her mug to her lips. The woman beside her looked beyond her feet and into the flames of the fireplace, swallowing a lump that had developed in her throat.

"Are you still very upset with me for this early noon?" She pondered aloud, her nails gently tapping the ceramic mug in her hand, while her other gripped the handle with unnecessary force. She began to feel Hermione's gaze on the side of her face.

Hermione paused for a few seconds, then found herself heaving a long sigh, her eyes returning to the depths of her own mug.

"No, darling… I'm not still very upset with you… I'm more upset with myself," She mused, her tone laced with a bit of disappointment. "I wish I was ready... "

"What's really stopping you from being ready?" Venturing to ask, although knowing some of the answer already, there seemed to always be something left unsaid. She knew they weren't excuses, but the list seemed to go on and on, and now they were on Hermione's land, in her home, a place that could be considered a haven. At least, that's the feeling Minerva got when she witnessed how the brunette seemed to settle into a more relaxed state of mind within those walls. It gave her something that Hogwarts, evidently, did not.

Hermione lifted her own tea to her lips and took a sip, delaying her response. There was something. It was more frightening than judgement or confusion, more harmful than being compared to someone else or having someone tell her that the only reason she was afforded her post was because Minerva was placed under a delusion induced by romantic inclination… It was an insidious thought, malignant like a tumor, and it had grown from the moment she realized that she was going to depart on a journey again with a partner, a lover, whom she adored beyond earthly definition. She had been there before…

"The minute people know about us, the very second… If I lose you again…," The young woman's lips twitched, she could feel the heat of emotion rising in her cheeks, flooding her eyes, and constricting her throat. "If something should happen, then it'll be so hard… And people will know… But if no one knows, and things don't work out the way we've planned, then we'll never have need to contend with that."

"You'll never have need to contend with it." Minerva corrected her, her eyes turning upon the side of the face she was granted, watching the flickering of fire light dance there upon the woman's features. Hermione didn't return her gaze or look at her, only ahead at the flames licking the wood burning. Hermione cleared her throat, willing it to grant her the opportunity to speak, if need be. The women returned to their quiet. It was a few moments before Hermione broke the silence.

"How is it that you are so certain that you won't deal with a similar fate should something go wrong?" She asked, lifting a hand to brush her locks back from her forehead, her hand stilling on the back of her head as waited, curiously. Minerva didn't reply immediately, rather she reached with a hand and laid it on Hermione's leg, offering a light, affectionate squeeze.

The sound of a pop in the kitchen and the scent of a meal began to waft into the living room shortly thereafter, another small pop made them aware that dinner was there and the house elf took her leave, allowing the women some privacy. Minerva's head briefly turned in its direction and then back, her eyes landing on chocolate brown which peered back.

"If I search myself, every detail, I have to ask myself if someone's ignorance really outweighs what could be if we are happy… I am very content with you, learning who you are has been… challenging, but not because your past dictates your actions, it's because I so boldly want you to believe that who you are, today… And not ten years ago, remains just as valuable, loveable, to me as the day I first realized how madly I loved you," Minerva explained tenderly, caring to choose her words quite wisely to ensure that their gravity could be understood. "You are still everything I could have asked for, wrapped in one spectacularly enigmatic person - a dear friend, a faithful confident, so very attractive to me despite your belief otherwise - and you captivate me on a level not readily easy to describe… I want only you, need you, and if someone, anyone, takes issue with who we are… Then they are simply ignorant, and you know how ignorance perturbs me, Miss. Granger."

Hermione's chest rose and fell, she breathed evenly despite the fact that she wanted so badly to cry in the moment she heard Minerva's heartfelt declarations of absolute adoration. She really had to hold herself together to ensure she didn't become a weeping pile of bones on the woman's welcoming lap, and here… It was easier to do so, this was her place of true safety. She invited the woman into her home in the hopes that, maybe, away from the castle and the distractions it posed, they could find a quiet place to talk without memories of old peeking from behind corners.

She passed her mug of cooling tea from one hand to her other, her warm palm and fingers falling to rest atop the one on her leg, her fingers curling around it, holding it there.

"Will that ever change?" She ventured to ask, receiving a look that spoke of certainty in earnest. It was a look of acceptance and acknowledgement that gave her evidence of an answer before Minerva's voice rose in her throat.

"I may not have been present for your trials or watched you become who you are, but, fundamentally, deep down beneath all of those things that have hardened you, in moments that you do not realize, that same bookish brilliance, the same freely affectionate, wildly loving, wicked witch shines through… I have been only entirely certain of a few things in my own life, you have always been, will always be, one of them… So, I am ready to undertake anything to ensure you feel similarly…"

It was hard to deny a woman who so succinctly expressed her own feeling with fluidity and sincerity, who appeared to be sure despite obstacles, and Hermione could feel it like a comfortable weight, wrapping her up, calling her home. Home was just as easily a person as it was a place, and she knew Minerva wasn't wrong. Beneath it all, when she let down the guard even for a short moment, she was free. But a mind had many a way of closing with fear, and fear… Fear that she didn't realize that she had until she was given the opportunity to experience it, it was a barrier between them. She despised it. But there, as the sun steady set beyond the small cottage and darkness began to lay itself down over the land, with fire crackling, Hermione gave her lover's hand a squeeze and lifted her legs from the coffee table to plant her feet firmly on the floor. Minerva sensed a change and did the same.

Questioning emerald eyes watched as the young woman pushed the table out of the way and cleared a space of carpet, curiously gazing as the figure placed down her mug and strolled the length of the room in front of her for a thick, woolen blanket on the seat of a chair, a blanket which she then laid out on the floor and ventured to stand on top of. Their gaze connected.

Minerva knew that look glistening in Hermione's eyes; irrevocable desire. Rising to stand, Minerva brushed passed her briefly to place her mug on the fireplace mantle next to the one that already was rested there, immediately feeling hands on her hips as her back was turned, and those hands shifting to take the hem of her sweater. The ebony haired witch felt her lips curl into a smile, feeling the fabric be slowly lifted and discarded, revealing her back and bare shoulders to the woman whose lips began to trail kisses across the base of her neck and spine. Lips parted from her and she turned to the woman, watching as the brunette pulled her own sweater over her head and threw it carelessly back towards the couch, neither noticing, or caring, whether it actually landed appropriately when they were already dropping to their knees and fighting with jean fabric.

Palms and hands manipulated flesh, nails grazed and left streaks of pink lines, and mouths that begged to taste a familiar kiss left the brunette breathless as she felt bare skin against her own. While Minerva lay between her spread and welcoming thighs, she trailed fingertips down the woman's back, eliciting a shiver and a deep sound of pure want. Unexpectedly, she grabbed hold of the woman's ass and pulled her closer, murmuring her need against Minerva's angular jaw - how badly she wanted to feel the woman inside her, how hard she wanted to come… She was wet, she could feel it, and when Minerva reached between them and parted her with the delicate pad of her index, it became ever more evident just how much her body begged to be touched.

Primal urge battled with tenderness as liquid silk coated the tip of her finger. The woman arched beneath her, words pouring over lips that she swallowed with an eager mouth. Hermione's fingers wound into dark hair and tightened, her teeth sinking into the woman's lower lip in a clear demand to have that finger which circled her entrance teasingly. A gasp, a mixture of pleasure and pain, was punctuated by an unexpected growl. Hermione released Minerva's lip, her eyes boring into those of darkened green. The young woman clung to her, spreading her knees wider, maneuvering herself beneath to try and aim herself to feel just the slightest bit more pressure. She could see it on Minerva's face, she enjoyed the way Hermione begged for it.

"Minerva… Don't make me wait…" Hermione could have cried, held utterly captive. But a look in the eyes above her made the young woman all too aware that she was going to have everything she wanted and more.

"Don't close your eyes… Look only at me." Harshly, Minerva's gravel laden gave her immediately reply, as did the fingers she plunged into Hermione's dripping core. Brown eyes sprung wide in surprise, her mouth falling open as a gasp for air infiltrated her aching lungs. With force she didn't realize Minerva had, the woman continued to assault her senses by forcing her digits as deeply as she could manage, the brunette's fingers tightening in her hair and holding her in place. Minerva wanted to watch her react, wanted to see the pleasure in her eyes when she was taken and filled, and Hermione let her bear witness to it. She didn't crave featherlight touch, she craved dominance, she wanted it, and that was exactly what she received. Wrapping her legs around her lover and locking her ankles, a tight, delicious feeling began to swell in the far reaches of her abdomen. With emerald eyes trained upon her own, each welcome stroke driving her further to madness, Hermione had to concentrate on giving her lover what she had asked for… And as Minerva's hand worked like a piston between her legs, a guttural, low note crept up the back of Hermione's throat, her eyes widened until she was forced to claim the womans' mouth, muffling the sound of her orgasm against Minerva's lips.

Her hands released her lover's long hair and clung to the blades of her shoulders, her muscles quivering of their own accord as she began to feel those delightfully agile fingers massage a place she didn't know even existed, causing spasm after spasm to ripple through the length of her thin figure. When Minerva was satisfied, she gently withdrew from her lover's pleasantly aching sex and held her frightfully close, allowing her a quiet moment rest, as required, after a thorough infiltration. She felt lips press against her shoulder, her lover's legs loosening, and the strength of a steadily beating heart against her chest.

Fire crackled on, the sound along with even breath music to her ears. Soft, strained, Minerva heard Hermione's voice drifting to her ear.

"Always be this way." She murmured, brushing her nose against the older woman's cheek, a gentle sign of her deepened affection, and something she remembered having done before, many years ago when everything seemed less complicated.

"I will always want to." The Headmistress replied, her face becoming buried in the crook of Hermione's own neck and shoulder.

And as dinner cooled in the kitchen, neither woman remembered or dared to care when in front of the fire they laid, sharing in a peace beyond castle walls. Their earthly concerns could wait for one more day, then, and with a renewed sense of worth, a spark of belief began to light a previously darkened path in Hermione's mind. If they willed it, they could make it. And she realized, that was exactly what she wanted.

TBC