Chapter 38

Hours bled into days, bled into weeks, and the women became nearly inseparable on weekends. They gave Saturday days and Saturday nights to one another and, although it hardly felt like enough time, they were content.

It was easy for Hermione to explain away her absences with all that had transpired the year before, all she had to do was say she was working with the Headmistress and the boys and Ginny, her friends, accepted that. She had always loved having a lot on her plate, she greedily took classes, stacked homework on top of more homework, she always asked for more. Extra credit work was like a drug. And for a Muggleborn, even though she had proven herself to be a force to be reckoned with, there was always that need to prove herself. She was a proud person, always had been, always would be.

Rising early to finish a few last assignments for her Ancient Runes class, she sat in the common room on the floor, pouring over her text book and feverishly writing the last few paragraphs of her interpretation of advanced Egyptian hieroglyphics. A rather interesting part of the year in study, in her opinion. Surely, she would obtain high marks. She always did, even more so when the content was particularly interesting to her.

Footsteps and the sound of a yawn drew her attention briefly to the figure descending the stairs from the Girls' Dormitory, however, she didn't lift her head. Instead, focused on the quill in her ink stained hand, she quickened her scratching of words until it felt her fingers were beginning to cramp.

"Bloody hell, woman," Ginevra's voice crept to her, sleepily and airily, and sounding very much like her Weasley brother. "Do you ever like.. Sleep in? Like a normal person? It's week end." Hermione didn't have to look up to see what she heard, which was a body flopping down to lay on the couch a few feet away.

"No rest for the wicked, you know, besides… I gotta get this done then head over to help the Professor with putting Hogwarts records back in order." A loud groan filled the space between the two young women, one that did cause Hermione's gaze to lift fractionally and aim a glance at the ginger girl who peered back at her, unimpressed.

"Can't you like… Blow McGonagall off? Just once? You're working yourself into a fucking tizzy all the time, you need to like… Rest." Little did Ginny know 'resting' was exactly what she had on her mind, Hermione didn't say that, of course, she just let an easy smirk spread across her lips.

"I wish I could," She really didn't. "But, at the same time, I like the work… You know me, I can't get enough."

And with those few last lines written down, the brunette began to tidy her things, shifting so that rather than sitting cross legged on the floor, she was on her knees, collecting parchments and closing her text.

"I swear, you're going to end up like… Never leaving Hogwarts. You're going to live here, forever, studying until you're all old and when graduation comes, you're just going to try and fit back into those First Year robes all over again." Ginny chided, although her eyes lit with laughter. She loved her friend, she loved her dedication, she didn't always understand it but, still, it was… commendable. Hermione just shook her head with a chuckle.

She wasn't entirely wrong; Hermione didn't want to leave Hogwarts. She would have been glad to go to school, get her degree, and come back and teach. Potions, maybe? She didn't want to imagine what graduation was going to be like in six months, already it was Christmas and next week was the ball to act as a send off into Christmas break. She was already dreading the fact that she'd probably be leaving her girlfriend behind… Her girlfriend? Her… Lover? Hermione stilled. For how long, she didn't know but the thought of what they were, what they could be, stumped her.

"Earth to Granger… Come in Granger, Roger Charlie Alpha, Granger's MIA…" Snapping fingers caused the brunette's brown eyes to bounce from the inkwell in her hand to the ginger on the couch who eyed her with slight suspicion. "You doing alright there? Hit a wall, or something?"

"I…" Never had she been compelled to say anything about what she was doing until that moment, she almost wanted to tell Ginny that she was going to miss Minerva while they were away, but she promised. It was their secret. "Gotta head to the Headmistress's office." She replied suddenly and began shoving her stuff into her book bag, schooling her features into something that looked relaxed, normal. Ginny finally relented.

"Alright, well, come back later, the boys and I are going to the pitch for practice Quidditch, Luna misses you." Ginny called after the other young woman who practically jogged to the portrait, her bag in hand.

"I'll try my best!" The red head heard her friend call back before the telling sound of the portrait swinging shut ended their brief conversation. Ginny knew something was up. She wasn't about to ask about it or say anything, but Hermione had gone through some sort of transition over the past months… She was happier. Strangely happier. Something about working with the Professor had something to do with it, she had to assume. Still, she wasn't sure what it was and so she kept her mouth shut. Hermione always came to her in time.

Oblivious to the fact that her friend might have been questioning anything at all, Hermione weaved her way down castle corridors swiftly. She wasted little time in reaching the Headmistress's hall and, when met with the statue, gave the password with a small, crooked smile. It grumbled, as it always did, for some reason always just slightly annoyed with anyone interrupting its stagnant existence, and began to turn, revealing stairs that Hermione stepped onto with ease as it carried her upward toward Minerva's private quarters.

Without a second of hesitation, tanned hand reached out and twisted the doorknob and she let herself in, closing the door softly behind her. Scanning the room, she found the object of her affection seated at her desk on the far end, her entry sparking emerald eyes into seeking out the wanted intruder. Minerva's own quill stilled.

"Good morning." The Scottish woman greeted, somewhat captivated by the purposeful steps the young woman was taking in her direction. Instinctively, the ebony haired witch pushed herself out slightly from the desk where she was working and dropped her quill into its respective inkwell, her lips twitching to display a small smile.

Hermione dropped her bag on the floor and took Minerva's small action as invitation. Regardless if the Headmistress had work to do, time was ticking, and the older witch was wanted, so boldness spoke louder than all else. Brazen in her desperate desire, Hermione reached her lover and straddled the woman's lap, thanking Merlin for the armless wooden chair Minerva chose to sit in the majority of the time which gave her the advantage of doing just that. Stunned by the forwardness, and the weight on her thighs, thin lips fell open, granting Hermione further opportunity to capture the woman's mouth, her hands rising to curl at the sides of the Headmistress's swan-like neck.

Everything she had she poured into a kiss of greeting, gasps of surprise Hermione took full advantage of as well, threading her tongue between Minerva's teeth and seeking out tender, sensitive spots, she knew, would drive the woman particularly insane. She wasn't disappointed.

Pale fingers trailed soft touch beneath the hem of her skirt, hands guiding themselves to cup her from behind and tug the young woman desperately closer. Shifting her own, Hermione loosened Minerva's bun, eliciting a deep moan from the older witch, the sound vibrating passed her lips and settling in the pit of Hermione's stomach. Running her fingers through freed ebony locks, the need for oxygen and breath became, sadly, quite necessary, the women parted, although Hermione continued to trail her lips over her lover's chin and the gentle curve of her jaw.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Groaned the Headmistress who couldn't deny that, although she wasn't entirely sure where this surge of confidence was coming from by her typically more demure lover, she wasn't about to spark a complaint. Fingernails grazed her scalp and she could nearly purr in delight, but the ragged voice of the woman on her lap gave her pause.

"Tell me what I am to you…" The words weren't delicately spoken, rather the young woman's voice was rough with need, and syllables held some hidden meaning that both confused and haunted. Minerva's mouth suddenly felt much dryer. Breathing deeply, roused from pleasure by a jolt of reality, she felt Hermione's digits stroke through strands of her thick hair, and her heart began thumping wildly.

If she searched herself, honestly searched, what Hermione was, what she stood for and meant, was everything. Everything she could have wanted wrapped in the skin of one beautiful woman, and a soul that danced with her own like the steps were innately understood. This was a lot. Much more to admit than she was presently prepared for and so she answered a question with a question.

"Well, what am I to you?" A jet of hot breath hit the pulse point of her neck, Hermione buried her face there and sighed. Somehow she knew that the older witch wouldn't just give in to the truth, whatever that truth may have been, and tell her outright. It was frustrating, but it was what she'd asked for - no labels. No title. Instead they were intimate, they spent their time passing back and forth between working, cooking together, lounging around in bed or on the couch with books in front of the fire, touching… Minerva had been respectful. Unless asked not to be.

"You feel like my future," She stated softly, lifting her head to gaze into Minerva's eyes, questioning the emotion she found swirling there. "I feel like you're mine. I want us together for a very… Long time."

"Is that really what you want?" The temperature was rising, the ebony witch felt it creep from beneath the collar of her pale blue blouse as a flush inched its way up her neck. Her skin was on fire. To consider what they were, to think of it as concrete, was dangerous. Hermione was going to be a mere 20, while she… Well. At least she looked no older than a spry 45. But still… Their lives were drastically different, this woman had yet to really start discovering what life truly was… Her thought was cut short by a display of determination, Minerva hadn't realized she'd averted her gaze and angled her head until two hands drew her features back, emerald orbs meeting those darker.

"Minerva, I want a label… I want a relationship, a definitive 'us', but I can't force you into wanting that too, if you don't." Appraising the features held in her hands, Hermione couldn't tell if Minerva wanted to laugh, cry, grow hysterical, yell… Her expression was so utterly unreadable. They peered back and forth at one another for minutes, neither witch moved, Hermione wouldn't, unless she was told to.

"I'm not at liberty to want... Or not to want... Not while I'm Headmistress." Every fiber of being was screaming against the words pouring over her lips. Minerva did not want to deter the woman on her lap, feeling their heat, the mutual unmistakable attraction, she wanted to say yes… That was what she wanted. Exactly that. But the circumstances were impossible, it was so much easier not to put a name on it, Hermione had been wise beyond her years when she had chosen not to further complicate their situation with promises that may not have been able to be kept.

To give a closeness a label was a sincere promise, at least… That's what it meant to the older woman. Right now, in the moment, Hermione may have wished to make many promises, but in a year's time, two year's time, three… Where could that leave her?

Brown eyes glowed with determination, pride, and adoration, Hermione's own heart picking up pace as the ebony haired witch beneath her seemed to stiffen, the almost stern look about face a telling sign of fear that she had come to recognize.

"If we took Hogwarts out of the equation, if we were just two women in the world beyond this school, and we were somewhere else, I wasn't a student, you weren't a teacher, and you had me on your lap asking you for this relationship to be a true, and honest, relationship… Would you have me as your… uhhmm…" Hermione paused, her voice trailing off as the knowing that the word sitting on the tip of her tongue was almost… Reductive, but, there was no other word she could think of to use, nothing else that seemed to really fit, so she took a breath and continued. "Your girlfriend."

A few moments passed.

The question, and the feel of this woman's thumbs lightly tracing the apples of her cheeks, nearly lowered the Headmistress's resolve to the point where she plainly didn't have any left to draw upon, she was, once again, stunned by the act and actions that were being inflicted, the request that her young lover was making, and seeing how earnest those eyes, hearing how sincere that tone, was caused a deep crack in her will to just let it be a passing instance. One that was surely to end by graduation. She felt herself give in and it was one of the most terrifying moments that she could recall entering into, willingly, in quite some time.

"I do adore you beyond measure, I know that this… Connection lives somewhere far beyond sex, but…"

"But nothing, tell me I'm yours and you are mine, and that we are together," Hermione pressed on, feeling the hands at her hips grip her more possessively than she had felt in moments prior, she could see it in the Headmistress's eyes that she so badly wanted to say it, she just needed a bit of coaxing, some assurance. "It's going to be Christmas soon, two weeks where I won't be able to see you and touch you, be close to you, and I'm dreading it… I need to know something concrete… Please, Minerva, give me the chance here to know that you feel the same."

A shuddering breath parted Minerva's lips, how could she possibly deny this girl anything? Hermione was nearly as impossible as the situation itself and, despite her better judgement, she found herself winding her arms around the woman's back, and sinking into the embrace. Two strong arms looped around her shoulders, holding tightly onto the ebony haired witch, and Hermione felt the woman's lips on the side of her neck. The kiss felt different. It wasn't needy with desire, it almost felt… Well, it almost felt like an acknowledgement seared upon skin. And then she heard it, the deep, throaty voice of the woman she was falling so incredibly for finally saying it.

"I'm yours, you're mine, and we are together."

A sigh of relief tilted Hermione's head back and she smiled, those arms around her back tightening.

"Finally."

Ottery St. Catchpole was a brief stop along their journey. They rode in by early afternoon and did a little shopping for themselves - a few groceries, some supplies, they both grew a little lost in a bookstore for an hour -, no longer did it feel awkward or strange to wander out into public and show zero interest or affection. Of course, considering that they meandered through shops owned by Muggles mostly, they felt that sense of anonymity that was freeing. Gloved hands linked, in the eyes of the world, they were just two women doing their daily shopping, talking among themselves, laughing, enjoying life. As any newly married couple would. Just being.

There was still an element that Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on. It was an unusual giddiness that didn't quite feel like her own, accompanied by a small voice, so faint, so quiet, that it was hard to really pinpoint it. It was almost like she felt… cheered on. In the back of her brain, it lingered. Spirits are funny that way… She thought. From somewhere far away, she knew, having the belief that there had to be something more after we passed on, perhaps, someone was celebrating her and the turn in her life. Someone precious. Someone who felt no pain any longer. Someone who loved her. And the more she enjoyed life, the more she felt it. Maybe some blue eyed blond somewhere beyond the clouds still kept a watch out, and as Minerva slipped into a small cafe and left Hermione out on the curb for a moment, parting with a kiss, her brown eyes cast upwards at the slightly grey clouds as snow collected on her hair and lashes. She couldn't shake the feeling or the thought. A plume of fog rose, the warmth of her breath on the air, as she sighed and smiled.

It felt like her.

And, perhaps, this was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Clearing snow beneath them as they crested the trees to maneuver down toward the property, the roar of the engine between their legs, the women finally made it to their destination. Slowly, cautiously, Hermione guided their vehicle down until tires met the frozen earth, and idled there for a moment, before tapping the handlebars with her wand and effectively shutting down the motor. Minerva used her shoulders as leverage as she managed to climb off the back, and Hermione angled the heel of her boot to locate and lower the kickstand. She tucked her wand away and rose, swinging her leg over to finally stretch them again by taking a few pacing steps, as her wife already began to collect some of their things from the saddlebags. Hermione joined her shortly thereafter and they organized, tucking some of their luggage away in their pockets, but still, it'd take one more trip. The women made their way to the back door, Minerva leading, and Hermione watched her gloved hand reach above the door for the key on the frame, where Hermione had hidden it, and it didn't surprise her that she remembered. The brunette waited out on the step for Minerva to return to her and, when she emerged from the kitchen, handed over the things she was holding, emptying her pockets. The younger witch leaned in to press a chaste kiss to her lips before turning and going back to the bike for the remainder.

It felt like they had done it a thousand times.

After grabbing the rest of their luggage, Hermione withdrew her wand and meandered to their shed, she tapped the padlock on the two wide doors with the tip of her wand and watched it unlock with a click. She had the feeling that more snow was pending, she could sense it, the sky made it easy to determine as the cloud cover grew more dense, more grey, and so she retrieved a tarp from the far reaches of her tool shed to cover the motorcycle with as green eyes watched curiously from the kitchen window. Only for a moment, unbeknownst to the brunette.

Minerva stood there momentarily and appraised her wife, running her chilled fingers under warm water at the sink. Shutting off the tap upon seeing what Hermione was doing, she understood, and then returned to their bags, packages, and suitcases, returning them to their natural shape and size with a few soundless flicks of her own wand.

Domesticity was a comfort. She was somewhat more comfortable there, in those rooms, than she would have been at the manor. Although McGonagall Manor was her childhood home, and the place she had often returned to, as she still held the deed to it, it lacked the sort of comfort that she had always ached for in a home. The rooms here weren't austere, they didn't have the same feel that deep reds, hard edges, and expensive furniture had. Its history was sweeter, less stifled over time, and not a singular portrait on the wall to call down the things which made her want to take aim and blast them down out of their frames. She used the manor out of necessity, not necessarily because it's what she called home. Hogwarts was home. And this small cottage… It felt homey. The brunette was a large part of that; the brunette who was tracking snow into the kitchen on the bottom of her boots and unfurling her scarf from around her neck, bristling from the cold.

"Fire… We need a fire." She heard the younger witch mumble to herself as she continued to unpacked their loaves of baked bread and a few packs of fresh cold cuts to put away in the fridge. Minerva found herself smiling absently, listening to the sounds of Hermione meandering into their living room to start putting on some wood and igniting flames. Their living room. Minerva paused, staring into the fridge, her hand lingering on brown paper lined packages. Presumptuous. Giving her head a small shake, she straightened and pushed closed the door.

"Do you want some tea, dearest?" Minerva called, turning toward the stove without waiting for an answer to put on the kettle. Regardless, she wanted some for herself.

"Tea and whiskey!" She heard her lover call back as the unmistakable noise of logs being stacked met her ear also. Minerva only smirked and gave her head another small shake, always the whiskey. It had taken months, still, Hermione did manage to keep her alcohol consumption at human levels. The ebony haired woman wasn't about to start telling her wife what was and what wasn't acceptable, she had proven that she could mind herself. Something that Minerva never thought she'd live to see; a stark contrast to what she'd been witness to in the summer months. So, tea and whiskey it was. It didn't sound terrible to her either.

Footsteps and fire crackling, the faint smell of burning wood, while Minerva stood at the stove, lingering there, she listened without truly hearing, until she felt hands on her sides. Instinctively, she leaned back into the touch and felt a chin upon her shoulder, those arms winding around her waist that she covered with her own. A deep hum filled her ear.

"Making yourself comfortable, I see." Hermione stated to receive fingers slipping to lace between her own.

"I rather enjoy being here." Lips pressed to tanned cheek, Minerva punctuating her reply with a kiss. The arms around her middle gave a squeeze as the kettle began to come to life, the water beginning to boil within it. Not quite ready yet, but getting there.

"I know you had planned on going to the manor, and, I assure you, we will… Whenever you want, I just know the Weasley's would appreciate us being around for Christmas." Hermione dropped her own lips to the side of Minerva's neck, trailing a few, more insistent, kisses there as the kettle began to squeal. The brunette parted from the green eyed witch and began to turn toward the kitchen table and their suitcases on the floor. As her wife made their hot drinks, Hermione began to carry their luggage up to their bedroom.

Behind the closed bedroom door, the brunette made haste in making a few minor adjustments, taking clothes that belonged to neither of them out of drawers and stashing them elsewhere, effectively shrinking them down with a few spells and locking them away in a small box beneath her side of the bed. Brown eyes scanned the room for anything that could be considered incriminating. Even though she knew that Minerva was highly aware that this had not only been her home, but the home of someone else, her girlfriend and hers, it wasn't something she wanted to forcibly shove in her face. Minerva had been… Wonderful. She accepted that which she could not change, she took it in stride, she made allowances, she gave her the freedom to talk about the experience honestly, expose her feelings about Amelia without fear of judgement or shame. But things were different now. She was a married woman… A fact that was, despite its newness, a position which she took with utmost seriousness.

She put their clothes away and discarded their suitcases in the closet and with a final look around their bedroom, satisfied, she crept out into the hall and back down the stairs, checking up on their fireplace to feed it another log, before returning to the mug that had been set down on the table for her to take. Minerva was already seated there, drumming her nails against the side of her mug, a serene curl of the lips gracing Hermione as she reappeared to sit opposite. The brunette gave a small bounce of the brows as she bit the inside corner of her own lips, stifling a smirk as she lowered herself onto a chair.

"You know… I believe I would choose here over the manor." Minerva mentioned casually, drawing her mug to her lips and investigating the look displaying across angular tanned features over its rim as she took a sip, gauging the expression seen there. Hermione tilted her head slightly, a brow raising in response.

"For holidays? Or to live." Fractionally intrigued, the younger witch lifted her own mug and took a sip of the hot tea infused drink, the slightly sweet taste of whiskey, the warming burn, coating her tongue and throat. Immediately she felt its flame lick her veins and flood her chest with heat, a welcome warmth, after the journey they'd had. Green eyes watched her and she returned the look, curiousness met with a mixture of contemplation and… Could it have been reluctance?

"I wouldn't impose so much as to say… to live here." Hermione watched Minerva's gaze drop to the confines of her own mug, pausing there. She looked like she was holding back. The brunette's gaze narrowed minutely.

"Impose… Darling, we're married," She couldn't help but to chuckle and once again they met gaze from across the table. "If we chose to live here while we weren't in class, during the summer months, during holidays, if we changed it around and made it our own… I mean, I think it needs it… And I need my garden."

A hand crept forward, fingers lifting off the wood surface as Hermione leaned toward her partner, invitingly. It took a moment, a shared look, before a paler one ventured forward and slipped into the one outstretched, finding it encased, as a tan thumb ran over the back of her own. Minerva's eyes shifted and fell upon their joined hands, a bubbling feeling of consideration settling in her chest.

"The manor hardly feels like a home, it feels like a monument," She began softly, her tone relaxed, contemplative. "It stopped feeling like a home after my brothers…" Words faltered for a moment, she stole herself. Hermione watched green eyes harden, it was minimal, yet, it was difficult to ignore when she knew every look, every expression, that Minerva could possibly wear; she was displaying that Gryffindor heart on her sleeve. "I'm the last of us, that I know of, and so the manor feels empty… McGonagall's have a rather uncanny ability to thrust themselves into destruction..."

"You're the second last McGonagall," Hermione's voice carried with it a quiet strength as she effectively cut off Minerva from having to bear anymore, seeing that look of anguish that she tried mightily to mask with anything other than that truth, yet still hiding there in emerald eyes which were rising and training themselves on chocolate brown orbs. A firm, but tender, squeeze held Minerva's hand. "I have your name, and when we have our children, they will also carry it, and when they grow up and find their own way… Find people who they love beyond measure, get married, and have children of their own… They will, also, be McGonagall's."

"When we have children…" Minerva repeated softly, the sadness that filled her eyes suddenly replaced by earnest questioning, as though the thought hadn't crossed her mind. Her other hand squeezed to the handle of her mug so tightly she almost had to remind herself that she could potentially break the ceramic.

"Of course, when we have children," Hermione replied matter of factly, adorning herself with a look that spoke the same as her tone; a look that Minerva found all too familiar from days passed. "You can't possibly have thought that was out of the question - I mean, not immediately, and certainly not before I finally have a whole year of teaching under my belt uninterrupted, but… Eventually. Unless… You'd rather not have children…" Clamming up, she realized it was her turn to feel presumptuous and imposing. She had always thought, eventually, it would be a possibility without much consideration for Minerva's wants on the matter, which made her silently berate herself as she looked away from the stunned and glistening eyes across the table, averting her gaze to the cupboards above the countertops.

Those silent seconds felt heavy. It wasn't a frequent occasion where Minerva found herself speechless, but more frequent it had become when in the presence of her lover. Her wife. The woman who seemed to be becoming the woman who she always dreamed she would be. Even sometimes only with the passing of mere hours. And now Hermione wasn't even looking at her.

"I'm yours, you're mine, and we are together, I think we would have beautiful children…" Emerald eyes watched the corner of Hermione's lips twitch slightly, and although Hermione's head remained slightly angled, her eyes bounced back to meet those across. It was Minerva's turn to give that hand a squeeze.

"Are you one hundred percent certain?" Asked the brunette to receive a short nod.

"With anyone else? No… Not at all, however, with you, I am always one hundred percent certain."

"Good."

The women spent the majority of the evening talking about their future, what they wanted to have, what their dreams may have been to what they were then, now that the reality of their life began to take shape. The cottage spoke to the women and said this is where you belong. It was only a matter of time before they began to discuss how they would attempt to renovate it, perhaps create some additional rooms, and make it theirs.

They had a day together in between their arrival and the Weasley dinner to relax and do a bit of upkeep, but they didn't leave or wander from the comfort and warmth of their home. Rather they spent that time relaxing, and truly relaxing, something that felt unusually different now that the dust had settled. A small spark of worry lit a thought at the back of Minerva's mind at the prospect of the dinner they were going to share the following evening, being incredibly aware that no one really knew that they had decided to get married, quietly, and wasn't entirely sure who actually knew that they had entered into any sort of relationship at all, save for Harry and Ginny. Hermione was a frightfully private person. Even more so than she was, at times. If anything, it made certain that it was going to be an interesting evening. Regardless of the ounce of concern the Headmistress carried, Hermione seemed not to have a care in the world. They hadn't laughed, teased, or been as playful in that short period than in the months previous, it was incredibly reminiscent. And with the alteration to appearance Hermione had made those days ago, she looked more like herself, sounded more sure, it was… Everything Minerva had ever wanted.

A future. Hermione felt like her future. She always had. And now those words spoken so many years ago had begun to ring true again, they were living proof of it. All Minerva had to do was survive the Weasley's, she thought. Then the rest of the break was theirs to do as they pleased.

TBC...