Chapter 34

Waking up before the woman laying next to her in bed, Hermione roused slowly. Darkness blanketed the room and she found her hand lightly beginning to play with the limp one that she found against her breast, tracing longer, slender fingers with the tips of her own. Minerva was a sound sleeper, small touches hardly woke her, and so, with this in mind, Hermione continued to trace over the back of the hand she knew so well. Every callous, knuckle, the ridges of thin bone, soft skin - memorized. The only movement the ebony haired witch made was to curl ever closer, her nose nuzzling against the nape of Hermione's neck in slumber, as soft, deep breathing resumed against skin. Hermione was lucky. She felt lucky, at least. Things were so up in the air all the time, the newness of them, however, was beginning to fade, as it had faded over the course of weeks. The Honeymoon phase wasn't something they really shared, nor did they really need to share that. The intense and incredible depth of feeling more encompassing than that of playful puppy love, it was too real to sully with those types of common definitions. It felt homey, it felt safer, and long lasting. Laying there in the bed she knew well, had known for a long time, in rooms that were beginning to feel like a space that they were both creating together, changing the way furniture was mapped, her things mingling with her lover's on shelves or nestled in book cases, was starting to actually settle concerns that bubbled on occasion. It didn't feel at times like starting over, but more of a continuation of what might have been. And she realized that feeling that way was alright. She felt herself beginning to accept that it was okay for it to feel like no time had passed and the years prior were merely memories of a past she would have much rather forgotten. It was alright to move on. Amelia would have wanted that, she had wanted that, and they said as much one night while lying in bed much like this. Letting go was hard, but worth it.

Turning in her lover's arms for a brief moment, Hermione began to press and trail kisses over Minerva's brow, her temple, and cheek. Quietly, she whispered Good morning, I love you. Minerva remained silent, still, asleep. Carefully, not wishing to disturb the sleeping woman, she gently shifted from beneath the arm around her and rose out of bed, turning at the edge to lean over her lover and tuck the woman back in, fixing the thick blanket and drawing it up over the bare shoulders of the woman laying there. Padding lightly away, she wandered to the kitchen to start making some coffee and to have a cigarette before brushing her teeth and getting ready for the day.

Classes were done for the semester, she had no reason to really rise, but an uneasy sleep and strange dreams often did that. She couldn't even remember what they were but knew that she wasn't having the time of her life behind closed eyelids. She imagined she'd spend the majority of the day in the Great Hall with the rest of the faculty, while the students took their meals in their dorms, in order to finish preparations for the wild party they were sure to have until the early hours of morning. If anything, Hogwarts knew how to have a ball. Just as the kettle was beginning to really steam, before the squeal of boiled water made its presence known, the woman lifted it off the burner and turned to pulverize some beans and drop them into a french press. Thoughts wandered precariously close to determining whether she was actually prepared to go through with her plans with Poppy in the afternoon, to finally rid her visage of the map to self destruction she'd so painted there. If Minerva would like it… If she had grown used to them… If without them, she would still command the same respect. Ridiculous as it may have appeared to someone else, she thought she would always have remained the same. Reimagining a life where she was standing in the kitchen of the Headmistress's private quarters, nearing thirty years of age, making coffee for herself in the morning while her partner lay sleeping in bed after a night of close cuddling, softly spoken words of admiration and kisses, a rather common routine the end of day had become, jarred her on some level. Oscillating between foreign and complete normality, it was comfortable, yet, unbelievable.

It was too late to back out now. She didn't want to anyway. Deciding once again, she told herself that she would do it. Start regaining some of her momentum and feel compliant to her will to become more than what she had been before, more herself, and the step in doing so was removing the mask. Recalling on what Minerva had said the weekend before, that in moments the woman could see between the cracks to notice the woman who she really was, flickers of the sweet, gentle, kind, intellectually driven witch she had been, granted her opportunity to recognize that that young woman perhaps wasn't entirely dead after all. She just needed to get some more of her back. And she found herself wanting to. To be angry, guilty, hateful all the time, it was exhausting. Emotionally, mentally, physically exhausting.

Hermione wanted to wake up.

She was ready to wake up.

_~*HGMM*~_

An English breakfast had to be one of Minerva's favorite meals. Hearty, rich, and delectable, it warmed her. Although the morning was not her favorite time of day, often grumbling herself miserably out of bed in the early hours only to truly wake and accept the day around 10 AM, she did rather enjoy the peace found in the silence while they shared a meal. Most usually, however, she would wake beside her lover rather than alone. At first, the woman was alarmed to find the bed was cold to the touch in the space where Hermione would usually have laid sleeping, but the strange sounds, melodic and unusual, began to catch her ear. Sounds from further away into their rooms and beyond their ajar bedroom door - and the smell… The aroma of food wafting… She had to know.

Throwing back the duvet, the woman drew her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, a small yawn parting her lips as she reached for her glasses on the bedside table. The small pocket watch further alerted her to the time being around eight. She'd slept in. Slept well, in fact. Which made sense as to why the light was filtering in through the window. Rising, she took her robe from the chair in the corner of the room and pulled it on while her feet drew her out of the bedroom until she was able to sneakily glance around the corner of a bookshelf at the end of the short hall to their bedrooms, a clear shot through to the kitchen, where stood the brunette in her pajama shorts and bra through the open doorway, at the stove, singing softly to the sound of music that Minerva hadn't heard before. Never in all the years she'd known Hermione Granger had she ever heard this woman sing. Minerva didn't even know that she could hold any sort of tune. Yet, there she was. Cooking. And singing. Lingering there for a few moments she listened and only caught a few short words and phrases, Hermione's timber was deeper than she expected it to be, but that could have also been because she wasn't really indulging in the act itself. When it felt like perhaps she was intruding upon a scene, the woman rounded the corner and strolled toward the other, tying her robe tightly.

"Has anyone ever told you that it's dangerous to fry bacon in your undergarments, Miss. Granger." Smoothly greeted the green eyed witch who leaned against the doorframe, her head tilting to view the skillets working away on the stove, and then the woman who continued regardless of warning.

"Has anyone ever told you, Miss. McGonagall, to not distract the one cooking the bacon in their undergarments so that…" She would have finished, except a rather sudden pop of crackling fat halted her entirely and air sucked through teeth sounded shortly thereafter. The brunette quickly grabbed a tea towel and wiped down her stomach, eyeing her lover who stood, brows raised, a slight smirk adorning her lips.

"See? Now look what you've done… Distraction, Minerva." Huffed the young woman as she continued as she had been, her hand reaching for a small wooden box on the counter which she closed with a small snap, the music dying off shortly thereafter. Now that Minerva was awake, she could survive without.

"Pray, forgive me." She replied, but not without an ounce of amusement. Nearing her mumbling partner, Minerva leaned and placed a kiss to the back of her bare shoulder and eyed the small box that she had recently closed. Hermione's eyes glanced between the object and the Headmistress, although she said nothing. Looking down at her pot of beans, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, and fried tomatoes, she was satisfied. Now it was time to plate.

"You haven't pulled this out before… Music box?" Gently, cautiously almost, Minerva picked up the small, neatly etched, block of wood and held it in her hands, turning to lean back against the counter edge. Hermione hummed the affirmative as she began to gather plates from the cupboard and dress them up with two large portions of breakfast, one for each, and left Minerva to stand at the counter while getting their small dining table ready. As green eyes inspected, folding over the sides and their thin wispy carvings, she turned it over to see a few letters, just barely legible.

To H

From T

"From T…" Minerva murmured softly as Hermione passed in front of her to grab cutlery and their mugs of coffee.

"From Theodora." She heard the brunette fill in, answering the unspoken question. "A good friend, musician, we used to go to the pub a lot and listen to her play… Played with her a few times ourselves." Minerva watched Hermione as she gave a small smile and carried the rest of breakfast, and cutlery, out of the kitchen and to the table. Blinking for a moment, peering after the woman, Minerva gently placed the box back down where it had been and followed.

"We?" She asked, however, she was sure she already knew the answer. Glancing at the dining table, set and readied for her to sit, a warmth spread through Minerva's chest. She could never describe the absolute appreciation for a good home cooked breakfast made by the loving hands of Hermione. Although neither of them cooked often, when they did, it was always an occasion to be savoured.

"You know who… Now sit, I'm starving." Minerva didn't have to be told twice to tuck herself into the prepared breakfast. Seating herself down as well, the brunette sipped her coffee.

"I don't have any recollection of you being musical." Fork stabbed a mushroom and brought the morsel to her lips, green eyes appraising the woman opposite who sipped coffee then began to take up a piece of toast with some beans. Hermione's gaze remained upon her food, her features mildly thoughtful.

"I wasn't really… But it was a hobby that she had that I found myself joining in on, it felt like a way to connect, and because I've that incessant need to be perfect at bloody well anything, even a hobby, I became… Proficient enough, I guess." Was the reply Minerva received. It made the older witch's lips twitch into a smile. Of course, she would - Hermione had always the streak of needing to be the very best at whatever she decided to pour energy into, even on a whim, she could remember many a night where frustration bled into determination. It was her nature. As it was Minerva's. Similar. '

"Would you play still?" Imagining witnessing it was such an enticing thought; to see Hermione produce something beyond that of spells and magic - music was an art, it took a different form of conviction and was so intimate in many ways. It was magic all its own. A brow raised and Hermione hummed, a flicker of something passed her tanned, angular features. Lifting her gaze she looked into the eyes of the woman looking back into her own and saw a peculiar interest. Whether it common knowledge or not, she did know that the ebony haired witch had a rather deep appreciation for art in its many forms, being the worldly woman that she was. If Hermione were to take up anything considered a hobby aside from the typical research, Minerva would support wholeheartedly. She had always.

"I've considered it… But my fingers aren't as practiced as they were a good few years ago…"

"I think your fingers are quite fine, dearest." The older witch responded, her lowered tones laced with subtle innuendo that caused Hermione's lips to purse, although the hidden smirk was just detectable.

"Saucy minx." Murmured Hermione with humor whilst filling her fork with egg, garnering a chuckle from her partner who couldn't help but remember vaguely how that particular term of endearment had struck her positively dumb many, many years ago. Although now she was no longer rendered speechless, the appreciation lived on in the memory.

Continuing their meal with light conversation until plates were nearly licked clean, sated and fueled for the day, the women cleaned their kitchen and table together. The menial task of tidying their space made all the more enjoyable with banter and brief touch. They lounged only for a few moments, Minerva's hands working beautiful magic on her thigh and calf to loosen Hermione's affected leg, as she had begun to do more usually to help her lover through the day. No complaint could be made beneath such loving ministration. Afterward, they showered, dried, and dressed for the day, knowing that their presence was needed to help finish the preparations for the ball, and so closely together they wandered down to see what improvements had been made.

_~*HGMM*~_

Entering into the Great Hall was like entering into another world… A world where the Christmas Spirit got wasted and decided to throw up all over the walls and the ceiling. Filius had done… A lot of work. With Minerva's arm draped over her shoulders, the wide doors closed behind them, they gazed at new fixtures and baubles hanging off large pines. The bewitched ceiling displayed aurora borealis and large fluffy snowflakes reflecting bright, magnificent color. A strange sight while the sun still shone through the windows outside, still, it was stunning. She felt her lover sigh. The more they gazed, the more they realize there was still the matter of transfiguring a bit more space, something that Filius had either forgotten or simply didn't care enough to do himself as he wasn't exactly a master, and had decided to just start decorating before all else, his excitement took leads before process.

Heaving a sigh, Hermione gave Minerva's behind a light thwap with an open hand as she saw Minerva register the sheer amount of work left to be done in a matter of hours.

"I'm going to go aid Septima with the tables and chairs, while you tend to…"

"Good Merlin's Pants," A voice drifted from behind and Sprout waddled her beside the women. "It looks like Father Christmas prematurely ejaculated… Filius has gone mad this year." Hermione's shoulders shook with laughter while Minerva's nose scrunched in disgust.

"Yes, well… He seems to have forgotten the dance floor, so, better go reign him in." The Headmistress grumbled while leaning to press a kiss to Hermione's lips, chaste and routine.

"Good luck, darling." The younger witch smirked as the women watched the Headmistress stalk off toward the tiny man gleefully prancing across the far end of the room sending sprays of magic'd snow over branches of tall, glorious trees. A bit of a chill fell across her shoulders, the loss of comforting warmth of that arm felt immediate. Nonetheless, Hermione didn't realize her eyes lingered on the back of her lover with thinly veiled longing. A soft clearing of throat caught her attention and she looked at the stout woman beside her.

"Shall we get to work, Granger? Or would you like to stand here like a daft lovesick schoolgirl… So appropriate." From anyone else… Hermione would have torn a strip. But there was amusement in the eyes, acceptance, and that was new. Welcome. A tease, playful in nature, and Pomona didn't cut corners.

"Cheeky." Hermione replied dryly as she let the professor lead on to the gathered few staff who were working with the furniture.

Holidays weren't Hermione's favorite with Christmas being the least, despite this, she put her own feelings aside as they worked closely to map out the places where seated areas should be. Interior decorating was even more trying with so many opinions. She found herself throwing her hands up and saying Don't look at me, just tell me what you want me to do. Levitating tables and chairs, she felt like a house mover while Sprout and Vector bickered among themselves about the most optimal seating arrangement, having to see it to really make a decision. With rolled sleeves and her hair tied back, Hermione just stood and waited with her wand held aloft, fighting the urge to hex the both of them into silence and just figure it out herself. She caught herself stealing glances at the Headmistress who was busy wandering and with her wand aimed at the floor, her lips moving as unheard spells sprung from between them, jets of orange and yellow light aimed down at flagstone to create smooth surface for dancing, a shimmer that looked like ice off the lake, although without that slippery quality. Something to fit with the theme. It was clever. As was the woman… Very clever. Hermione wouldn't have thought of doing that. Dancing on an icy lake… It was romantic, she found herself thinking.

"Are you even paying attention?" Septima's voice filled her ears and Hermione's head snapped to look at the flustered woman. Was she? Honestly, no. She had so much more on her mind than this, she almost regretted saying she would help. Rolanda was smart for making up some excuse. Why hadn't she done that?

_~*HGMM*~_

When it felt like she was cutting it close, Hermione wandered over to her lover after the furniture decoration was, finally, finished - much to her pleasure, as she was about to actually kill the witches she was working with. She explained she just had a few things she wanted to wrap up but would meet Minerva at the ball, she told her not to wait, to get ready, and she'd be there. Although the emerald eyes bore confusion and mild concern, a tender smile and a squeeze of the hand gave her some peace of mind. Nodding, agreed, the brunette gave her partner a kiss, a brief I love you, and took her leave of the Great Hall and the sounds of a positively overjoyed and squealing Filius Flitwick.

She had to shake her head at his bizarre antics. It was hard to tell who the ball was for - everyone, or just the charming Charms professor?

Taking little time, she went back to her old quarters and crossed the rooms quickly to what had been her old bedroom. Throwing wide the wardrobe doors, she flipped through hangers with fast fingers until she found her dress. The dress. She prayed she could still fit it without alteration, it had been a little form fitting to begin with. Taking up her gown, make up bag, and the heels stashed away in the bottom of her wardrobe, she made quick work of leaving those cold, unfeeling rooms behind and strode to the Infirmary where Poppy was waiting in her office with excitement. She could sense it. It mixed with her own apprehension and created a discomfort, her heartbeat quickening, still, she trusted Poppy. She was, after all, one of the best… If not the best, at what she did.

Leading Hermione into her own private adjoined rooms, she summoned a small rack for the brunette to hang her things.

"Are we ready?" She asked as she helped the brunette to hang up and set aside her few carried items, her hand skimming down the garment she had brought. "This is… Very nice."

"Yes… And thank you," Hermione replied, watching Poppy's appraisal while unbuttoning her plaid shirt, revealing a thin black tank beneath. "I hope that it'll be appropriate, we'll have to see after, might need your opinion."

"I'm full of them." Poppy mused with humor, turning from the hanging dress to guide her new friend to the couch to lay down. Foreign fingers brushed a few stray wisps of loosened strands from her forehead once she was settled there, Hermione peered at the older woman's blue eyes and settled her racing heart. "Once again… Are you positive, Hermione? We can stop right now if you want to, and nothing about your face will change, or we can continue but once we start… I will have to finish."

"As an afterthought, Poppy… My chest…" A long jagged tear, thick, but only by half an inch but many inches long spanned over from collar bone and crossed to sternum on her left side. The Medi-witch nodded.

"I'll do what I can, now close your eyes and be still, it'll be mildly uncomfortable but… What is it? Beauty is pain? All that. You can probably hand it." Raising a brow, Hermione's lips parted and the woman mightily fought the urge not to run to the door.

"Probably?" She questioned with a mumble, her brows then furrowing.

"Oh, you'll be fine. Now relax." Poppy clucked, grabbing her wand and a few unnamed jars of stuff that Hermione couldn't quite distinguish.

She could manage it. She'd felt pain before. What was a little face mask? Simple. Easy. Or so she told herself.

Of course, she hadn't any clue what she was expecting. That was probably for the best.

TBC...