Chapter 35

Mildly uncomfortable.

White knuckles gripped sofa cushions with enough force that she was sure her nails were piercing the fabric. An eternity passed - what had been, in truth, about an hour and a half - and now the onslaught on her senses was becoming unbearable. Cursing the Medi-witch behind closed eyelids, all she could manage was strangled hums of affirmation or denial to the woman's queries, meanwhile on her face and chest it felt like embers were catching flames. It burned, it itched, it stung, it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was happening. Was it bees? Fire? Ice? A cat using her head as a scratching post? Her woman had better be fucking overjoyed that she had suffered so for the sake of beauty…

"Your pain threshold is spectacular… I'm truly impressed." Hermione gritted her teeth, a growl escaping the corner of her mouth at the apt assessment.

"I'm imagining the many ways I could fucking kill you right now." Returned the brunette, peering into the darkness of closed eyes. Hermione quaked, trembling, the adrenaline and the anger at the healer fueling her to remain as still as she could possibly be while wanting nothing more than to torture this woman. A chuckle filled the air along with the sound of a page flipping… A sound she had begun to seriously grow more annoyed by.

"That's the spirit, a few more minutes." Groaning loudly like a child that had just been told they weren't allowed to go to the princess party, Hermione gave the cushion beneath her hands a break and simply balled her hands into fists.

It had started with a tingle, a bit of a tickle, and morphed into a feeling of the devil himself sitting on her head. She had remained prone, laying there on the leather sofa, listening to Pomfrey prattle on about nonsense until the urge to scream Please, shut up! was playing across her thoughts. She felt like a gremlin, her temper cut quite short upon the realization that her friend had led her slightly astray with the idea that it wouldn't be difficult at all. A walk in the park. A falsehood that she wanted to give the woman a firm slap for.

"How on earth will I be remotely close to presentable after this… It feels like my face has been a speed bag for a troll…"

"You don't trust me, Miss. Granger?" She could almost see the arched brow aimed down upon her. Irregular breaths came in short spurts, some impending feeling causing Hermione concern.

"You said mildly uncomfortable… A bold faced fucking lie, you… BITCH!" An unexpected wave of sheer pain raked itself over the sensitive skin and she cried out despite herself. Rising from her chair, Poppy immediately reached for an iced cloth and leaned over her patient. Quickly she began to wipe away the ointment and gels on the tanned skin. Wand worked in one hand, cloth in the other, and Hermione heard muttering above the pulse thumping in her ears. Cooling spells, anti-inflammatory charms, she may as well had thrown in the kitchen sink… Tears spilled out the corners of her tightly closed eyes.

"There we go, that's what we're looking for… Don't open your eyes yet, let me get this off you, girl." Hermione had to bite her tongue. Her palms had to have been bloodied, but she let the woman do as she wished, hoping for the best. All the while, in the back of her mind, she was praying to some unknown god that she would never have to deal with anything like this again. "There we are now, look at that…"

When the torture was finally over, when Poppy was satisfied, she told Hermione to open her eyes. Adjusting to the light that was dimmed along with the sensations of coolness spreading over affected flesh, thankfully, it took a moment for the ceiling to come into focus. As shape and details became more crisp, her eyes darted to the woman kneeling beside her, her brows lifting. The blue eyed witch looked like she could have cried.

"Is it fine then? It worked?" Croaked the brunette, her fingers loosening from their prior balled tightness, relaxing. Wordlessly, Poppy rose from the floor beside the sofa and discarded the cloth and her wand on the seat of the chair where she had been sitting, drawing her hands back to offer Hermione, aiding her up into a seated position. With the strain her body had just been subject to, her muscles were tense, still, the adrenaline was returning at the thought that maybe, just possibly, it had actually not gone as horribly as her mind was conjuring for the past hours. Rising from the sofa, Poppy took her by the hand and walked her straight into the bathroom and positioned her in front of the wide mirror.

If she hadn't just been through a monster of a time, she wouldn't have believed the reflection peering back. Deep brown eyes scoured the features in the large frame, her lips parting to relieve herself of the breath she had been holding. Leaning in to take a closer look, she lifted her hand and traced over soft, blemishless skin. Poppy wasn't wrong, her eyebrow would not recover as well, with two thin slits parting the growth of hair… But the lids of her eye, her cheek, down to her jaw showed no sign that a singular scratch had ever cut deep ravines. Little nicks that she'd acquired over time from debris or physical damage by nails, punches landed, were gone. Filled with fresh clean skin. Her chest depicted the same, no sign that she had been nearly torn limb from limb. Hermione's gaze shifted to the reflection of the other face reflected by the mirror, the one which had hands clasped in front of a mouth which she could see was grinning.

"You, my dear, are a miracle worker." Murmured the younger witch, much to the pleasure of her company. Hermione almost forgot that she had been plotting her demise in a thousand different ways… Almost.

"Come now, we need to get ready… We have only an hour."

The women vacated the bathroom adjoined to her living room and Poppy guided Hermione into the other en-suite bathroom through her bedroom, they had pre-planned enough to know that they would need to take turns in the shower and to get themselves presentable. While the brunette cleaned and washed her hair, as quickly as she could manage, her friend began sorting through her own wardrobe. Seeing as Poppy had already seen her in her naked glory from having to switch her clothes that short while ago when she arrived with Harry's convoy, she didn't care when the woman entered back into the bathroom to spread out her own make-up while she dried herself off with a warmed towel. All she heard was a mumbling, barely audible, that sounded strangely like Well, the cat's a lucky woman. Amused, Hermione wrapped her towel around herself and vacated the room so that the Medi-witch could also take a fast shower.

With wand and make-up bag in hand, Hermione grabbed her heels, bra, and underwear, then ventured to the other mirror off the living quarters. She couldn't remember the last time she was required to get herself into something that wasn't business or business casual. Nerves kicked in while she pulled the elastic waistband of her lacy crimson thong over her hips. Her eyes couldn't help but to linger on occasion at the woman she saw reflected back whenever they crossed the sight of her own form. Sure, the rest of her body still had clear mappings of trauma, but whose didn't? It was her face… A face that she hadn't seen in years that looked back at her in fractional disbelief. It was that look of disbelief that set fire to the pit of her stomach and made her continue on. Clasping her bra behind her, her hands shifted to shake out her damp locks and she took her wand, beginning to dry and style her hair into something that was voluminous with less frizz. Parting it on the side, she gave herself sweeping bangs and when she was done, she nearly saw youth. Oh, to be youthful, or to feel youthful - at least this gave her the false sense of the stuff which bled into confidence.

Time ticked away and she made haste with the rest. Rouge lips, smokey eyes, a touch of a brow pencil, light blush… That was all she needed. Understated… Classic. Finished, and pleased enough, she packed her things and reached for her ruby pumps, slipping her feet into her heels.

"Dear lord…," An awestruck note filled the small room and she glanced at the woman standing by the doorway. "Heels before the dress? What sort of tart are you?" Hermione laughed and grabbed her crumpled towel, lifting a brow.

"It's my routine, now the dress," She stated, amused, as she strode quickly to toss her towel in the laundry bin Poppy had alerted her to in her bedroom, calling over her shoulder as she went. "You look lovely by the way!"

In truth, the former was a lie. She was concerned that if she got zipped in and it was too tight that she wouldn't have been able to bend over to put on her shoes. Only time would tell, and that time was closing in.

"Well, zip me and then we'll get you sorted."

_~*HGMM*~_

Students and staff began to trickle into the Great Hall. Fingers were pointed and decorations were inspected, upbeat orchestral music played and it was hard to believe that yesterday the place looked nothing like this pristine Winter wonderland. Punctual as always, Minerva greeted those who wandered in and eventually drifted further back into the hall, scanning the filling room. Her lover was nowhere to be seen. Disappointment began to settle in her mind but she tried to ignore it.

"Very nice." Familiar words met her ear and she turned to see a silver haired witch in rich violet robes draw near, a smile tugging the corner of the other woman's lips.

"I try." She replied through a small smile. Her colour palette was no surprise. Emerald green. Her favorite. Her gown was carefully selected and altered to fit her form like a glove, hitting the floor, V necked, and crafted for a woman who knew how to dance. She fully expected to. She hoped, at least. Feeling Rolanda's hand mid-back, she glanced at the woman at her side who looked at her with thinly veiled curiosity.

"You alright, dear?" The witch asked, garnering a sigh and an aversion of gaze to the enchanted ceiling, focusing on the color dance as northern light grew illuminate, then faded.

"Have you seen Hermione on your way?" Minerva returned the question with a question, to which answer came in the form of a shaking of the head.

"'Fraid not but…" Cut short, the harsh slap of the back of a hand hit Minerva's upper arm, causing her head to turn uncharacteristically quick to view the side of Rolanda's face.

"Merlin woman! What in the world was that for…" Emerald eyes scanned features in frustration, noting the woman staring off to the corner of the room on the opposite side. Rolanda didn't answer, rather stared, yellow eyes wide and dumbstruck, in the direction that Minerva's own gaze began to follow.

Breath caught.

Between Poppy and Pomona, off by a tree in the hall, stood a tall, dark haired woman with ruby lips, throwing her head back in laughter that she couldn't hear while listening to animated conversation, which clearly, she was involved in. Gryffindor red fabric clung to figure, leaving little to the imagination, at least, from where she could and what she could see while students mulled passed in front of them. Bare chest, bare shoulders, a delicious neck obstructed by the view of thick, brunette locks that were styled so similarly to a young woman that she remembered who ran these halls with intrigue and a passion for learning. She looked… So beautiful. So different to anything Minerva had pictured in her mind.

"Good fucking lord… Who knew she had it in her to look that delicious." A slight growl rose in Minerva's throat as she tossed gaze back to the silver haired witch whose voice entered into thoughts, the one who stood there absolutely and obviously ogling her lover without care of present company, at least that's what it appeared until she spoke once again. "Let me live a little, it's not like I'm taking her home."

"Be careful with yourself, Hooch." Warned the ebony haired woman, lifting her hands to further secure her bun before turning from the silver haired cackling woman and meandering casually down the side of the room.

Although she had approached her lover hundreds of moments before, it felt unlike the prior. Minerva found herself astonished, mesmerized, and heated. Something about that face, the gown, and the occasion blossomed a feeling of absolute adoration. Butterflies soared in her stomach. Emerald eyes were trained, pulse quickening, whilst gracefully weaving between students who talked, laughed, and threw themselves into the festivities with fervor. The world around them spun, though that singular moment felt like time stood still. Closer… Meanwhile Hermione remain oblivious.

"Looks like someone's vying for your attention, m'dear." Poppy leaned close as she whispered, causing Hermione to angle her head down to meet her. Brown eyes met blue and one of the Medi-Witch's hands raised to angle a short point, hidden from the Headmistress by turned back, causing the young woman to aim a glance over her friends shoulder in the direction. A flash of emerald green silken fabric and the figure was gone, vanishing behind decorations but clearly turning 'bout the corner of the room across from where they stood. Hermione reached and tenderly squeezed the woman's elbow, warranting a look of support from her friend that gave her the strength to quietly excuse herself and seek out the woman aiming to close the distance. Over the tops of heads, their eyes connected. A rapidly beating heart leaped into Hermione throat as the crooked, half smile she wore further upturned.

Those eyes… Those soulful green eyes looked like they were taking her in, wrapping her up, and storing her within them. When the women managed to finally close the distance, Hermione lingered for a moment then reached for Minerva's arm and linked it with her own, guiding the woman to the side of the room and back out into the hall, through the current of the remainder of students who were far to preoccupied with themselves and their friends to notice the witches wandering against the flow of foot traffic. Minerva could have cared less, she would have followed this creature anywhere. Not far, Hermione took her down a short corridor and led her, now by hand, into a vacant classroom where Minerva closed the door behind them to feel arms looping about her middle and lips pressing to her own bare shoulder, the woman behind pressing into her back.

There she paused, her own hands falling to those that had slipped over her stomach.

"You were late." She said simply, receiving a hummed response against her skin, punctuated by a kiss against the back of her neck.

"I had some things to attend to, you know how I abhor to leave things unfinished." Murmured Hermione softly, trepidation flooding veins and infectiously spreading. Evidently, Minerva had not yet truly had the opportunity to witness her. For a moment, the ebony haired witch let herself be held, having not had this touch in many hours. Eventually, however, the want to see her partner and actually rake her gaze over that face she had been missing grew undeniable. WIthdrawing minimally to turn in those arms, the Headmistress smiled as her eyes met unmistakable features and her hands settled against slender hips opposite her own. Hermione's crooked, little half smile remained ever present as she, too, traced Minerva's distinct visage.

A minute passed. Which is when the smile on Minerva's face began to contrast with knitting brows. Something was off. The expression on paler, angular features signalled that Minerva was starting to realize that between mid afternoon and evening, an event had taken place. A slender hand was lifted and Hermione's gaze remained trained on emerald eyes as fingertips touched the apple of her cheek.

"You… Glamour charm?" Breathlessly inquired the ebony haired witch. Hermione gave her head a small shake. Green eyes fell to the flat of Hermione's chest, her neck… Her chin, where there had been a small crescent scar only to find smooth, untouched skin. "How…"

"Poppy… She and I spent the early evening working to clear me up a bit before the ball, I had been meaning to surprise you." Tenderly answered, she felt Minerva's hand settle against the side of her neck and saw a shine gloss over the eyes opposite her own. Minerva looked confused, concerned, although not disappointed. Hermione had a feeling she would.

"But why… You never mentioned wanting…" Softly spoken words of questioning wavered, laced with wonder. A tanned hand rose to rest against that of her partner, covering it with her own, guiding it upward so that the brunette could turn fractionally and press her lips to a willing palm. Guiding that hand down to their sides, Hermione held it in hers, squeezing it affectionately, in silent preparation for a brief explanation before they returned to the party.

"I love you, I adore you, I want you to have a beautiful woman… A brilliant, loving, stunning woman who doesn't look like they've been in some sort of freak accident, or should be pitied," The hand resting upon the gentle curve of Minerva's side softly moved, running upward and down soothingly as her lips twitched with the wave of emotion that was steadily rising and making her want to tear at the words pouring from between rouge lips. "I want to look like myself, and I don't want you to wake up in the morning and turn over and see me and wonder what I could have looked like… Or feel like, one day, you can't look past it… I want to be the best version of myself for us, in every capacity."

"You… Are so beautiful to me, dearest - in any form, every form." Minerva stated with the strength of conviction that Hermione had come to appreciate over the course of many years. They shared a smile, despite Minerva clearly being affected by the circumstance, which granted Hermione the opportunity to lean in and taste the kiss of the woman who she loved in earnest. It was soft, slow, not heated or frenzied but sincere and filled with devout, irrevocable adoration. Even though Minerva could have stated that she would have never considered Hermione anything less than what she was, if the woman needed change to continue moving forward, to feel comfortable, who was she to argue? Regardless, she had everything she desired in work, in love, and that was more than enough. Sometimes too much.

Parting, foreheads pressed and noses just touching, the quiet of an empty classroom lulled them briefly.

"Collect yourself and then let's go back to the ball, we deserve a good time tonight… And I have to embarrass Poppy on the dancefloor as repayment for the lies she fed me earlier." Added the brunette witch with solemn remembrance, although her tone was light and jovial.

"Do I want to know?" Chuckled the woman in her arms.

"I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Alright."

_~*HGMM*~_

By the time the witches returned to the Great Hall, the ball was in full swing. Food, drink, dancing, talking, laughter, and a mood that was embedding Hermione with comfort, filled the large space, alluring and entertaining, to say the least. Taking it in was overwhelming, however, Hogwarts was home, and this was just part of the adventure that was considered yearly tradition.

Making rounds and ensuring that students - especially the more handsy Seventh Years - behaved, the women lingered around one another closely, not unnoticed by fellow staff although no one made mention. The chemistry between the brunette and the Headmistress was palpable, they appeared to be tethered by unseen threads and it made the simple fact that this union wasn't going to be coming to an abrupt end any time soon ever more apparent the more passing glance, shared smile, and fleeting touch was witnessed.

Now that Rolanda had decided to join in, after a strong chastising shit talk about how she should have been there earlier to help, and save Hermione the monotony, the brunette's spirits rose to greater heights. She had her lover, her best friend, and began to feel less the outsider as she was drawn into several conversations and invitations to save a dance for at one point during the night - the night which was still very young indeed. Meanwhile, Filius already was quite taken up by Pomona who picked him up off the floor and put him on a table with some adequate space, decreasing the disparity of height, to shimmy about to some music, while she kept her own shuffling feet firmly planted on stone. It was a sight that caused a giggle to pass Hermione's lips as she slipped Rolanda her glass of punch to spike with the flask she'd hidden in her robes, something that had become the fashion of the evening, while Minerva just shook her head and smirked.

"You two would have been horrid together if you had been at our college." She mumbled close to Hermione's ear, still loud enough to be heard over the music and be caught by the Flying Instructor. The young witch chuckled as the silver haired witch passed her glass back and looked around to ensure she hadn't been seen breaking one of the cardinal rules of the ball. No liquor. Straightening, the three women peered out at the dance floor and the dancers, some gliding quite gracefully as others appeared to be in possession of four left feet.

"Minerva, we were horrid in college… Especially that third year." Wiggling eyebrows caused Minerva's lips to form a grim line as she shot her old friend a glare as though to say Shut up. It wasn't difficult to not notice the glance and the laughter that bubbled from the witch on her other side whilst standing between them, and so curiosity rose.

"Third year of college… What exactly happened there, darling?" She heard her partner ask as punch drew to her lips, and feeling Hermione's hand press against the small of her back. Minerva's ears were beginning to grow pink as a flush crept up the sides of her neck.

"Let's just say we have a link between us, Bird." Rolanda snickered, winking, much to Hermione's surprise and furthered pondering. Minerva peered out at the dancefloor miserably as Hermione's gaze bounced between the two women, noting that her lover wasn't denying anything, which made the lightbulb go off over her head as the intended meaning became clear. The young professor began to quietly laugh to herself.

"Oh my… Well, now that that image is burned into my brain, I think it's high time I cool off with a dance, shall we?" Offering her hand to the ebony haired woman, who took it while casting a final glare at the snickering witch seated on the edge of the round table they'd been loitering beside, Hermione took one more sip of drink before passing her glass to her friend for safe keeping, and so a student didn't accidentally stumble upon it.

Glad to be rid of the topic, Minerva sighed her relief as she was led to the dancefloor, automatically shifting at its edge to take Hermione's hand and waist. With fluid motion, her hand was displaced and drawn to land on a strong, soft shoulder, a familiar hand finding purchase against her waist, rather than the other way 'round as she'd been expecting. Somewhat bewildered, she met Hermione's gaze and the brow arched there, a slight smirk playing upon supple lips.

"Control freak…" She heard Hermione whisper as the woman took a gliding step to which Minerva responded by taking a matching backward. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine allowing someone to lead her, she was the leader, she controlled the dance, and suddenly tables were turned. Her young lover was as graceful and deliberate as she would have been had their positions been switched. Captivated by the acts of confidence, Minerva let herself to succumb to a willing dictator of movement. Lost in the depths of chocolate brown eyes that reflected the love she felt back, her own ruby lips twitched, corners curling, as beyond Hermione's shoulders students began to take notice of how a waltz was truly done. From the side lines, a woman in a powder blue cocktail dress watched on, a small frown gracing her porcelain face, unnoticed by the pair of women who easily, fluidly, matched in steps that looked as practiced and natural as anything she'd ever seen. Augustine was not amused, in fact, quite the opposite, however, a hand on her lower back caught her immediate attention.

"I was considering a dance myself, you know… If you'd like to join me?" The silver haired flying instructor offered, a hand rising to be taken… If wanted. Rolanda saw the woman hesitate, peering at the offered hand with a vaguely questioning gaze before a delicate, pale hand slipped into her own.

"I don't see vy not…" Responded the ginger airily as she, too, was led to the dance floor, finding herself held comfortably captive by a pair of strong, toned arms.

Across the floor, brown eyes caught sight and a wider smile stretched upon her lips. It could have meant nothing, or something, and so she told Minerva to look and spun her Headmistress around so that a glance over shoulder could be cast, just in time to see their friend leading one Miss. Blanchett in a similar fashion, and only to witness blue eyes widen in surprise by the ease with which Rolanda executed her technique. Minerva's own smirk grew.

"I told you, she has a way with women." She replied smoothly, quietly. If anything could be said, Minerva would never deny that her old friend was nothing but a most adequate dancing partner. She always had been. Despite the rarity that she was ever caught dancing with anyone.

"Well, now I realize you say that from personal experience…" A playful glare.

"Don't start."

TBC...