Chapter 37

Ministry offices were far from fancy or elegant, it was a place of hard work, gruelling hours, and housed many secrets both desirable, or undesirable. The Atrium was about the most grand thing about the place, aside from the courtrooms, however, those places were more imposing than beautiful, Hermione thought. Perhaps, she had just grown too accustomed to black marble and the gold accented fixtures, maybe they lost their shine over the years because of what she associated with the Ministry of Magic - whatever it had once stood for, it didn't stand for anymore.

Not to her.

Not anymore.

It was different though, now, and less like an iron anvil pressing on her chest, weighing her down with the many mistakes she had made. Those life altering instances of drawing wand first and asking questions later felt almost like an afterthought, like maybe… It hadn't happened at all. Everything had so drastically changed and taken another shape. There was life now, the air smelled clean, a mixture of ginger and peppermint, where before she had felt surrounded by air stained with whiskey, blood, and the occasional dying breath.

A pale hand held hers firmly and they brushed the soot off of one another's shoulders gently, witches and wizards walking around them to their appointments or to work. Time seemed to simultaneously halt and warp faster. Minerva brought her hand to her lips, kissed her knuckles, and smiled.

Silently, the women began to join the throngs and venture onward following toward the Atrium's statue where a woman, unmistakable in her presentation, was waiting.

Tall, thin framed, raven hair, violet robes… Her long, pointed hat towered high. Hermione found it certainly quite easy to spot, as she, herself, must have been. Calling in a favour, they had managed to procure an appointment with the woman in record time, all thanks to Gwen, as this woman, Georgette, was her younger sister, and, also, a woman who worked in the vital statistics department of the Ministry… A marriage officer. When they were greeted it was with a familiar smile, a swift shake of hands by the statue, and then the women were whisked away. They followed through a labyrinthian maze of corridors until led into a small office. A very small office. One large enough only to house a desk and three chairs, no shelves, hardly an ornament, although a small chest of drawers in the corner where a large stack of parchments and documents teetered on top of it.

"Please, take a seat… We'll have to make this rather brisk." The thin faced woman stated as she closed the door behind them, her voice was deep, rich, although didn't carry with it the same harshness that Hermione had grown accustomed to from her elder sibling. She and Minerva sat, closely, and watched the woman seat herself down opposite them behind her, surprisingly, messy desk. "So, how long have you been engaged?"

The witches looked at one another as the commissioner began to leaf through pages, clearly making small talk while documents were put in order to be signed.

"Friday." Hermione replied, the pale hand on her denim clad knee squeezing with affection. Grey eyes peered over spectacles, slender fingers stilling their flipping of pages.

"Friday… Hmm, well, you two waste little time." There was amusement in that tone, good natured, and somewhat cheeky. Minerva remained silent, although there was a slight curl at the corner of her lips.

It came as somewhat of a surprise when Hermione had slipped from her hold Saturday morning to pen a letter, a request, and sent it off. She received word back Sunday morning, and by Monday, here they were. Minerva had no idea what they were up to until she was asked to get dressed and join her lover at the Ministry. They talked over breakfast, discussed it briefly, and ultimately it was decided that this was the course they wanted to take. It was quiet, peaceful, and without much planning. While other couples spent their galleons on a day, one singular day, and paid through the nose for an obnoxious celebration, they wanted privacy. Hermione's family, still under the thrall of a strong obliviation charm, and her own family dead and gone, with their friends in the throes of Christmas, they felt little need to make it a spectacle. As much as they may have appreciated such displays when invited to the weddings of friends, it wasn't who they were. It certainly wasn't who Hermione was.

"Believe me, it's been years in the making, Commissioner." The brunette murmured softly as she was handed their Declaration of Marriage documents on a clipboard, and a quill. Green eyes watched as Hermione gazed down the page, skimming it, before putting quill to paper without a second's hesitation. She scrawled her name, flipped the page over, skimmed, and signed. It was just that easy. When she was finished, and the young woman was certain her dotted lines were filled, she passed the clipboard to her soon to be wife, and laid her arm across the back of Minerva's chair. Satisfaction crossed her features, Minerva witnessed it, and that small, crooked smile… Who would have thought?

As Minerva gazed down at the documents in her hand, actually reading it, conversation ensued.

"So, gold or silver bands?" The Commissioner asked, opening a drawer of her desk and beginning to rifle through it. Minerva felt Hermione's eyes on the side of her face.

"Gold." The Headmistress replied quietly, her mind split between reading and signing, and the woman addressing them.

"Wonderful choice, traditional… Sizes?"

"She's an O and a half, I'm an O." Hermione replied with a warm smoothness. The quill in Minerva's hand finished her last signature before she aimed a questioning look at the woman at her side, the woman who was peering at the produced bands being held out for her to take. Reaching out, two plain gold bands were placed upon her tanned palm and the emerald eyed witch reached to offer their now completed documents to the woman seated behind the desk.

"Wonderful." The Commissioner said airily, her eyes scanning the signed pages to ensure they had been properly filled, meanwhile Hermione's small smile grew into a rather intriguing smirk, as her brown eyes traced the curious features of her partner.

"Your hand?" The brunette asked softly. The women looked at one another for a brief moment, realization dawning that this was, indeed, it. The moment. Raising her hand, delicate tan fingers reached for those paler, drew left hand digits closer, took up one of their rings, the one a little larger, and slipped it on, guiding it gently over the knuckles of her finger, where it settled. A comfortable fit. Hermione offered its blemishless partner to her lover, her lover who looked like she was about to spill a tear at any given moment, who might have been holding her breath, the brunette wasn't sure. One thing she was sure of though, something she could never doubt, was when Minerva took her own left hand and slipped that ring onto her vacant finger, a spark shot through her arm so violently, so surely, and made the pounding muscle in her chest speed so much that she was sure it was going to jump into her throat… It felt right. It felt perfect. And perfection was an unobtainable thing, yet, there they were. Georgette's voice broke the silence, and called their attention harshly back to the fact that they weren't alone.

"Well, ladies… Everything is settled on my end here, you are considered, in the eyes of the government,… Quite married," Two pairs of eyes turned upon the smiling face of the Marriage Officer sitting there behind her desk, folding their documents to send up. "Where would you like the Ministry to send your Marriage Certificate?"

"Hogwarts School, to the Headmistress." Managed the brunette woman, her voice thick with a multitude of feelings she hadn't been anticipating. Georgette bowed her head.

"Of course, now… You two may leave, and I do hope you enjoy your day. I'll let my sister know you stopped by." Rising from their respective seats, Hermione reached out and offered her hand to the woman who shook it, she said her thanks, then turned to her furiously flushing wife and wrapped an arm around her waist, leading them out of the small, beige office and into the hallway where they began to make their way back to the Atrium to take their leave.

There was this thing Minerva did when she didn't want to lose her composure, something that Hermione found quite endearing most of the time, times like this one, when Minerva couldn't make eye contact. She couldn't look Hermione in the eye because then she would start crying. It happened when they laughed, if they caught a bad case of giggles over something ridiculous, the ebony haired witch would have to turn herself entirely away because one look at Hermione and she'd begin to laugh until she could hardly breathe. But, when she was distraught beyond measure, so bloody stricken that she was going to begin to weep, a similar response. Hermione had only seen it once before, recently, a few nights previous when Hermione had finally said yes. She had never seen Minerva lose complete composure, not quite like that.

Legs wrapped tight around her own, arms clung, nails digging into whatever flesh they could find along the flat of her back, Hermione couldn't move, nor did she want to, not when the woman she was still buried inside was sobbing so hard that she thought, perhaps, she might have hurt her.. or worse.

Minerva's face was tucked against the side of her neck, and the sound being ripped from her throat could have easily brought Hermione to her knees, begging, for forgiveness or for an occupation that would make the pain go away.

There had been instances where the emotion became too insistent to contain, they had shared in grief before, but whatever it was that was making this woman in her arms shake with desperation wasn't the love making they had just shared. It was so much bigger than that. Holding tightly, Hermione pressed kisses to whatever she could reach, finding that the legs trapping her own and the arms around her only seemed to tighten. She shushed the woman softly, told her everything was going to be alright, although her concern was hitting a crescendo and drowning out most thoughts. Until she felt lips moving against her skin, utterances of words becoming more clear as she strained to listen, to understand, what had taken hold of her witch. Like a mantra repeated over and over again, Hermione heard it, those distinct two words; Don't leave.

It was enough to break her spirit.

"Oh, my darling… What on earth." Hermione whispered against the woman's hair, just above her ear. Instinctively, the young woman held ever more tightly to as it dawned upon her why the woman was upset on this level. She was petrified. That, in and of itself, was enough to cause tears to spring to her eyes, but it wasn't Hermione's turn to flood. Only one dam at a time, she thought.

Time passed slowly. Hermione was so aware of every choked sound, every beat of that racing heart against her chest, the straining of Minerva's muscles, and the fact she was positive her lover had broken the skin as she dug herself deep into her back. She hardly felt the pain, still, she was sure of it. Eventually, however, as she kissed away the hurt, shushing softly, silently willing the ebony haired witch to calm enough so they could share a few words that were evidently so needed, the woman began to breathe more evenly, more solidly, and her quivering began to cease.

"You said yes…" Hermione's eyes sprung open and she stared at the closest thing to her face, the pillow Minerva's head was laid upon. Properly, words formulated, and her hand squeezed to the hip it had been holding, comfortingly.

"I will say it again - Yes, I will marry you." Rough with exertion and a tightened throat, the brunette spoke with a thick tone, only to feel the face bury itself closer against the side of her neck. Her fingertips crept closer to the wand she'd placed beneath the pillow and slowly took it up, drawing it downward, maneuvering gently, Hermione took aim at what she hoped to be herself and softly whispered a reversal spell, feeling herself shrink. Meanwhile, beneath, Minerva felt every inch fade, simultaneously feeling so empty and so complete all at the same time. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," A shuddering breath uttered as relief flooded the young witch. At the very least, thank Merlin for that. Once more, Hermione tried to lift her head so that she could look at her lover but to no avail as Minerva wouldn't permit it, she almost felt the woman begin to creep toward that place again, that unconsolable place, and immediately relented. "I can't look at you… I can't stop this if I look at you, Hermione."

"Shhh, alright, love… Okay, you don't have to look at me, just… talk to me, please." Murmured the brown eyed woman, adjusting so that her weight was only minutely on her elbows, and her fingertips could lightly graze over Minerva's shoulders, soothing and light. A deep sigh sent a jet of hot air against Hermione's neck. She was thankful for it, at the very least, the woman was breathing again.

"I've never… Given anyone what I give you, everything, and despite what you might think of this ridiculous old woman, handing myself over to you is terrifying… You said yes." The nails inflicting minor discomfort against her shoulders began to gradually retract, giving way to the fact that, indeed, skin had been slightly torn as cool air soothed what felt like deep marks. Regardless, even though it was distracting, Hermione didn't move. She listened.

Her lover laid herself bare. Finally.

"I did say yes, I had said no… When I wanted to say yes, I want to marry you, I've always wanted to marry you, even when I was going to marry someone else, I still wanted you… I still loved you, I've never stopped loving you, and it killed me," Hermione whispered softly, she took her time, she made it very clear and spoke against the space above her lover's ear, her lips brushing against strands of hair. "You've shown me trust, you've given that to me and I will protect it, I will not leave."

"If you were to leave me now... You couldn't ever possibly know, you wouldn't believe, what it had done to me when you believed my love for you was less than what it was," Minerva's gravel laden tone struck a chord, it made Hermione shiver by the sheer rawness of her voice. "I was protecting myself, because you… You've always had the power to make my life wondrous, fulfilled… And the power to uproot and destroy it from the inside out. I couldn't allow it, I thought… How could this beautiful young woman ever truly love me? An old, war bitten, holier than thou…"

"Brave… Beautiful… Dutiful… Intelligent… Elegant… Proud… Courageous… Woman, I was yours, I am yours, you old, war bitten, holier than thou woman. Yours." Hermione continued for her, she wouldn't allow for Minerva to finish, she couldn't bear it, not while knowing, and truly accepting the fact, that maybe… Just maybe… Minerva's pain had actually mirrored her own. For years. The only thing that differentiated their paths was the fact that Hermione had thrust herself out of Hogwarts, she had no obligation other than what she had carved for herself, while Minerva's had been predetermined, set in stone school walls, where as Hermione hadn't that anchor to reality. What would Minerva have become if that wasn't a factor? Now knowing this, Hermione didn't entertain the thought for long.

Their heads shifted, the Headmistress beneath brushed the edge of her lover's jaw with the bridge of her nose, her lips trailing across her chin until finding those above. The figure beneath the brunette loosened its hold, only minutely, however, enough for Hermione to slip onto her side, pulling the woman beneath with her, the kiss unending. Given the opportunity to rest her hand against the side of Minerva's neck, her fingertips pressed against the nape of the woman's neck, noses brushed as the women angled one way, then the other, furthering the kisses they shared as need required. Minerva's tongue tasted of longing, it was insistent with need, Hermione couldn't remember her kiss ever eliciting that thought. Perhaps, it hadn't. Maybe she wouldn't have let it, until she was sure. They were both sure.

So sure. So certain. Very ready.

Her lips couldn't quite fight the small smile they wore. Even though Minerva looked like she was oscillating between absolute joy and complete terror, Hermione knew that it was shock and nerves. They had packed their bags the night before their holiday, which Minerva was convinced to spend at the cottage rather than the manor, considering the Weasley's and the kids would most likely be having Christmas dinner, to which, Hermione had been invited since it had been some time since she had been able to see them all in one place. So much had happened in that time in between.

Back at Hogwarts, Hermione sat on the edge of the couch and watched her wife distractedly attempt to store away the last few things that she had wanted to bring, seeing as they had until just after the new year to return to their duties; effectively two weeks off. Absently, the young woman played with the band on her finger, turning it, feeling the precious metal smoothly spin around the base of her finger. Minerva still hadn't managed to quite look at her, not fully, and so… Seeing as they hadn't even yet shared a kiss as wife and wife, Hermione set her patience aside and rose from her chosen seat. She approached the woman bent over their luggage and reached to take hold of denim clad hips, a touch that caused the woman to jump like a cat who'd seen a snake.

"So dramatic, darling… It's just me, you know, the other woman who lives here." Murmured the brunette. Sighing, the woman before her straightened and slightly turned her head, glancing back as two arms wound around her middle. Hermione set her chin down on Minerva's shoulder and hummed softly, feeling her lover's arms fall upon her own. The luggage could be forgotten.

"I'm almost finished, dearest… Then we can go."

"I don't know if we should be going anywhere if you're panicking." Hermione replied softly, pressing a kiss to woolen knit, Minerva's shoulder, who gave her hands a squeeze. Brown eyes gazed at the side of the face she could see as the woman bowed her head, giving it a small shake.

"I don't know why… I'm petrified." Quietly, she heard her wife state the truth of the matter and she let it sink in. At the very least, she was no longer so inconsolable as to not be able to entertain a brief conversation. Sighing herself, Hermione bit the inside corner of her mouth for a second, then parted her lips to address her lover.

"Minerva, look at me please." Guiding her witch, pulling lightly at wrist, Hermione turned the ebony haired woman 'round, but when Minerva, still, wouldn't look directly at her, she raised her tanned hands and also guided her face until their eyes locked. Green eyes gazed into chocolate brown and saw nothing but a calmness. Thumbs brushed cheeks softly, lovingly, and Minerva's hands found themselves lifting to tenderly hold to the wrists those loving hands belonged to.

"I've been married before." It was spoken so quietly that Hermione nearly couldn't hear it, although the shape of her lover's mouth gave her every indication of what she had admitted to. As though it wasn't common knowledge. Hermione was all too aware that she was not Minerva's first spouse, she probably knew more about Minerva than she had any right to, without the woman realizing that her research was airtight. Knowledge that she'd clung to for longer than she'd cared to admit.

"It didn't end well, I know," Hermione told her, watching emotions shift across, clouding, angular, pale features. Before Minerva could inquire for explanation, she addressed her lover once again. "You were very enigmatic when I was a student, so… I needed to learn more, I read just about anything I could find pertaining to you when I was in years one through three, exhausted resources, because you were my Head of House… And I enjoyed you greatly but didn't think you'd like to sit with a bushy haired Know-It-All and divulge your life story to a… Child."

'Of course, you would.' Minerva thought as she felt the corner of her mouth twitch, if anything… It made her love this woman ever more for her engulfing desire to know bloody well everything which interested her. Which, evidently, had always somewhat been Minerva.

"Then you know that my husband died, although he wasn't as reckless as you can be… It struck me, and I haven't been quite able to deter the thought… That my luck hasn't been pristine." Hermione's lips pursed as she let the words filter in through her ears and settle in the pool of her mind. She took a minute. Response eventually came in the form of leaning in to tenderly kiss the lips she'd been missing, feeling them respond immediately beneath her own, then, once satisfied, she pulled back fractionally.

"Here's the difference," She felt Minerva's forehead meet her own gently, as they continued to inspect one anothers gaze. "Where I go, you go… Where one of us leads, the other follows, I will gladly have you next to me wherever we may find ourselves and, now that immediate threat of danger has been lifted, there's no reason to put myself in harms way… I am safe. We are safe… So… Listen to your wife. Take your time with the fear, but realize you have nothing to be afraid of."

It would take some time to get used to, to call Hermione her wife, to state that they had made it. But hearing it, having her lover explain the desire to not part, to lead and be led, to take on the next… However many years, together, it made her lips curl into a smile as her own thumbs rubbed the back of the hands now holding to the sides of her neck. Hermione began to press light kisses to the corners of her mouth, the bridge of her nose, her brow, a feeling that caused Minerva's arms to work of their own accord and drop to pull the woman close, and hold her. The women remained there, standing between their front door and their living room, held up in a lingering embrace while the fear ebbed and the joy began to take its rightful place as the forefront of one woman's mind.

"How did you know my ring size?" Minerva asked against her wife's shoulder, suddenly hyper aware of the ring on her hand, now that the time felt right. She felt and heard the woman chuckle in her arms.

"The other night, I probably could have folded you into a pretzel and you wouldn't have woken," Hermione replied smoothly, warranting an unseen smirk. She heard Minerva softly hum in acknowledgement. "Now, think you're ready to make the journey?" As the pads of Hermione's fingers massaged the nape of her wife's neck, she felt the woman nod and begin to pull back and, eventually, away, although her hand had lingered against her side for a moment before the older woman collected her wand from the coffee table, turning then to begin resizing their luggage to smaller, more storage efficient shapes.

Collecting their coats and tugging on boots, wrapping scarves and pulling on gloves, the women readied themselves for the ride down to Ottery St. Catchpole, then to Hermione's cottage. The brunette left a note for Rolanda, wishing her well on her break and a happy Christmas, then the pair tucked their shrunken things away in Hermione's leather book bag and began to make their way up the stairs to the Headmistress's office. It had been a while since their last adventure, but, of course, now Minerva was all too privy of what a ride such as this would entail. She didn't fear the motorcycle anymore. What she feared was her ability to stand after the few hours it would take, the vibration she remembered coursing through her legs, although she knew there would be two hands, to arms, ready to keep her steady.

It was a comfort to know that their view of life was still quite similar. To no longer feel that she would be wandering, aimless in the dark, through life alone. That's what it had felt like before Hermione re-emerged, and to think that never again would that be what her destiny had in store, restored her faith. They could take on anything, if they so willed it. And that was a beautiful discovery.

TBC...