Dearest Readers,

Thank you for sticking it out with me and reading my story, it means the world to me. It's been a few years in the making but I always like to leave with the place where I started, refer to chapter one and you'll get it. :)

Much love,

Your Scissors

Chapter 41

The day was hot and the sun was high. A clear, cloudless, blue sky hung overhead and, indeed, it was beautiful. A beautiful day. Hermione, still kneeling in the dirt, cast her gaze down the flower bed she'd been tending to, for what felt like it could have been, the better part of the day. Tulips galore. Stems, like thin green soldiers, lined row after row, five columns in all, planted with care and patience by the witch. It was a pleasant hobby, a great distraction, from everything else that played behind chocolate brown eyes. The majority of the time it still had been these little tedious tasks that gave her the greatest pleasure beyond her children; tending to flowers, pouring over heaps of assignments written by young hands, home repairs... It was a nice little bubble, far from Hogwarts, with her wife and their family.

Lifting herself from the fresh mud, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her gloved hand. She was pleased with herself and her work, so much so, in fact, she thought it high time for a cup of tea. Hermione could afford such a luxury as to relax now that it was mid summer and the start fall semester was still weeks away..

It had been twenty years since the Christmas spent with the Weasley brood, eighteen since the birth of her eldest daughter, and not once since she'd taken her leave of the woman she had been prior did she ever look back. Her life had been a mixture of adventures and losses, work and wrangling children, and she managed to avoid ever feeling like she was battling uphill alone.

Minerva was there, ever present. The greatest love a life could ever have known.

Just as she was about to turn from her garden and seek that hot mug of tea her lips craved a scream cut through the air. Well… More like a loud squealing. Immediately, she turned her head up toward the sound and the open window on the second floor, her gloved hand lifting to shield her eyes from the high sun as she felt her thoughts cut short.

Confusion rooted Hermione's boots to the grass until a young woman, raven haired and brown eyed, athletic and pale skinned, dressed in Muggle t-shirt and jeans shot out the back door of the cottage waving a parchment in her hand and adorned with one of the brightest smiles she had ever bore witness to. Hermione's own lips curled into a smile as a pair of strong arms flung themselves around her neck, instinctively she wrapped her own around the tall girl.

"I got it…. Mum… I got in!" Furious whispering and choked words filtered in through her ear and Hermione, in that moment, felt her heart sink and sore all the same.

"You got in?! You got your letter?!" Under the cloudless blue, the heat beating down, her daughter quickly unlatched herself and thrust her acceptance letter forward for Hermione to take carefully and to read.

"Mom… I got in, they want me." Hermione glanced down over the paper in her gloved hand, staring at the glowing words depicting her daughter's achievements… Which meant only one thing - She was going to be leaving home.

"Amelia… I don't know what to say." Although her smile strengthened and she reached out to pull her child back into a one arm embrace, her heart was breaking. Amelia didn't know what to do with herself, she hugged her mother once more then broke away, pacing atop the grass in bare feet.

"I gotta tell Albus, he'll be so fucking excited… And I have to get my luggage, and I need to get a new broom, I can afford it with the over time I've worked at Uncle Ron's shop," The brunette witch felt the tears come, finally, she looked up from the letter and watched her daughter, animatedly waving her arms around. "And I gotta tell Violet whenever she gets back, and Mommy…" She paused when she finally turned back toward her mother and saw that Hermione's face was reddened, her shoulders shaking, as a glove hand held back the sound of crying from spilling over.

"Oh mom... " Amelia sighed as strolled back and placed her hands on her upper arms, rubbing to sooth. Hermione reached once more, and pulled her daughter close. And she cried. Hard. She was proud, she was terrified, she was a mother. She had worked hard to be a good mother, a supportive mother, the type of mother who lets their child chase their dream. It was a promise she had made to her children, and to herself, when they were hardly a twinkle in her eye. When she could calm herself, she did, but she didn't let go. She couldn't bring herself to let go yet. Amelia didn't budge, she never did.

"I told myself I wasn't going to get carried away when it came," Hermione murmured against black locks. "But, by Merlin, I'm shocked."

"What.. You didn't think I would play international quidditch?" There was a bit of humor in her daughters voice, because they both knew… Hermione, aside from Minerva, had always been her biggest fan. Hermione found herself choking on her laughter as she gave her daughter a small swat, and pulled herself away.

"Amelia, I can believe it, I've always believed it… But to go to America… That's a pill to swallow." Handing back her acceptance letter, Hermione took off her gloves and tossed them over to the wheelbarrow by the garden. She wiped her face with fresh hands and turned her attention back to the tall girl standing there, looking at her, with the same eyes, her eyes, filled with the promise of a bright future. Minerva's hair, Minerva's height, her lips, but… Hermione's angular features reflected there too. Amelia was, and had always been, the very best of them both. Brilliant, headstrong, remarkably wicked… And now she was leaving to America to play quidditch.

Stepping toward her daughter, a tanned hand lifted and brushed a few strands of hair out of her chocolate brown eyes, then held her cheek. Sniffling, Hermione chuckled.

"You were always going to be the one to leave first… Merlin knows your sister is going to be here until the day she gets married, she's too attached, she always has been, but you… You need to find an adventure, you always have, and even though I'm so scared to lose you, I know you have to go and do this on your own." Tears reflected in the eyes across from her own, and were quickly wiped away.

"Mom's going to… Uhhh, have a hard time," Hermione's brows rose minutely, waiting for the inevitable ask. "Can you tell her and I'll tell Violet when she's back from her camping trip with Rose? I really want to go and see Alby… He's been waiting for this for as long as I have, and uhh… Can I take the bike?"

"Ooof, jeeze," Hermione shook her head, patting her daughter's cheek. "If you crash my bike again, my dear…"

"I promise! I won't crash the bike again! That was years ago… I haven't had a single accident since!" The young woman was practically vibrating with energy, her hands clasped to beg for the vehicle.

"Fine, but try to come back at a reasonable hour… And if you can't, get your Aunt to owl me. Or else I'll be up all night worried."

"AH! Thank you, thank you, thank you…" The raven haired witch called back as she raced to the back door and into the house to gather her things, leaving her mother to stand by the garden. Slowly, Hermione turned on the spot, lifting her hands to brush back through her brunette hair, now peppered with strands of grey as time had inevitably aged her. She stared at the garden and remembered a time that was simpler; more simple, but empty. The old urge took hold and the thought of tea was cast aside by an urgent hand. No… Maybe she'd not grown as mild as she had thought. A cigarette and a whiskey was still in order.

Somethings… Somethings just didn't change. But the rest did. All for the better.

Every nightmare, every scraped knee, every Christmas, every time that Violet and Amelia fought and made up, every happy tear, every birthday, every achievement, every time she had ever been proud, played in the back of Hermione's mind. Her daughters were her life. Violet was earthy and bookish, she was an optimist, an introvert, gentle… Amelia was a holy terror from the minute she entered into the world kicking and screaming. Like she needed to fight to be there, much like her namesake… Where as Violet was quiet and inquisitive. They were close. Very close. As close as sisters could be because Minerva and Hermione nurtured that bond. Even though Amelia was only a couple of years older, she took the mantle of Big Sister and ran with it. And now she was leaving. Violet would be devastated, but, perhaps, Hermione thought it was time the younger McGonagall started to stand on her own two feet without Amelia shielding her from the world. She could finally step out from beneath the shadow of her sister and cast her own light. Something that Hermione feared would never happen.

She considered these things with a thoughtful look about face as evening drew onward and the wisps of cigarette smoke rose toward the darkening sky. The years had been kind to them, the years gave them peace, and with each passing, they grew ever more thankful that they had managed to work past what had been and create a beautiful future.

But, for that moment, Hermione sat by the garden. Alone. She hardly remembered what it felt like to be alone, in fact, she couldn't. Not properly. Especially not when a loud and resounding pop made her all too aware that Minerva had ventured back home from a bit of work she had been meaning to tend to for weeks, but had put off, at school. Hermione cast her gaze at the spot where her wife appeared and was warranted with a slight turn of face and a raised brow, as though to say 'well what do we have here'.

Dressed in her Muggle clothes, having had no intention of bumping into faculty while she was sneaking into her office, Minerva began to walk across the lawn toward the table by the garden, eyeing her wife's work as she did. Tulips… Their daughter's favorite. Not a word was passed between them, Minerva didn't mention the bottle on the glass table surface, nor the cigarette between her wife's fingers, she only neared and leaned down to kiss Hermione in greeting, brushing a lock streaked with grey behind her ear.

The occasion that this sight was offered was so incredibly rare, so abnormal, that she knew from the minute she apparated home that something was amiss when she saw Hermione sitting there by lamp light.

"Rolanda and Augustine send their regards, received an owl from them this afternoon, and they appreciated your suggestion of Dijon… They leave for France on Friday." Breaking the silence, Minerva finally spoke, reaching for Hermione's glass to sip from as she pulled a chair closer to her wife to seat herself down in. Hermione smiled.

"I'm glad, they deserve a good vacation… I remember going there with my parents when I was very young, it was… Magical." Emerald eyes caught her own and lingered, all the while Minerva was left wondering, still, why. Why was Hermione sitting by the garden, why was there whiskey, why the cigarette… A vague answer came with Hermione's hand reaching for Minerva's, holding it, atop the table. Brown eyes gazed into her own and the ebony haired witch felt herself becoming acutely aware of every little thing around them, every noise of the forest skirting their land, every smell… Most prominent was that of fresh garden dirt.

"Do you remember when Amy was… Five or six, and all she wanted to be was a Bowtruckle?" Hermione asked softly, tenderly, peering at her wife who eyed her over the rim of the glass she sipped from but not without a growing smirk behind it.

"Indeed, Violet was so little then… She mirrored everything her big sister needed to do." She watched as Hermione bit her bottom lip, biting back a laugh.

"She wanted to live in the trees, she wanted to pick 'special' trees and live there… Made such a mess with trying to bring sticks and twigs, branches, into her room to make a forest that we decided we'd built her a proper tree house just to try and get her to stop making such a mess for months…" The woman found themselves laughing, remembering those years, how small and cute their children were with their vast imaginations - imaginations that they, as parents, cultivated and gave life to.

"Yes… I remember." The glass in her hand was placed carefully down, and her hand slid it toward its original owner.

"Well, we never told her any different… Whatever she wanted to be, whoever she wanted to become, we willed it… Because that is what parents do, we will them to have the choice to decide who they want to be in their lives, and to chase it, and be brave, and smart, because we want what's best for them even if it hurts." She squeezed Minerva's hand and felt the hand beneath her own grow warm. Met with pinched brows, Hermione watched Minerva's features sober from the amusement.

"My dearest, what on Earth is going on with you tonight? Are you alright? Are the girls alright?" The anxious words caused a sigh to part Hermione's lips and she put out her cigarette, took up her glass, and drank its last remnants before replacing it down, her features twisting somewhat. She breathed in deeply, then out, and, finally, met Minerva's gaze.

"Amelia received her acceptance letter from the USQL today, they want to draft her to play… And she's going to go play for them."

"But… She wanted to play for Scotland, it's all she's been talking about for the past four years…" Stumbling over words that left her mouth far more quickly than her mind could conjure, Hermione watched her lover take in the news and had to squeeze the hand beneath her own a bit more tightly so that it would not be pulled away.

"Minerva… You've been talking about her playing for Scotland for the past four years, she wanted to play overseas, in America…" Corrected the brunette woman with a slight and stern glance. Despite her effort for Minerva to remain seated, and calm, the hand beneath her own was pulled, leaving her own empty.

"America… America?!" Minerva rose from her seat. "That's a bloody world away, where will she live? What will she do with herself there? She knows no one in America?!" Pacing in any direction that took her by whim, Hermione was forced to sit and watch her wife grow ever more beside herself with the passing of seconds. Hermione knew all too well why. She grabbed another cigarette, listening to the once regal Headmistress mumble and complain petulantly about their pig-headed daughter, and lit a match, waiting for her turn to arise.

Sometimes it was best to just let her go off on her own little tangent for a while, let her air herself out, before interjecting. At least, that's what Hermione had learned over the course of their long marriage.

"And you.. What do you think of all this?! I suppose you think this is all fine and bloody merry, she's hardly even an adult witch… She doesn't know how to take care of herself out there..." Minerva fired at her, gesturing with a sweeping hand as she continued to pace back and forth like a lioness in front of her calm, collected wife. Hermione puffed on her cigarette and glanced upward at the darkening sky.

"Minerva McGonagall, we have been married for twenty years… And in those twenty years you have never once lied to me… So don't start now," Hermione, too, rose from her seat, watching her wife stop her pacing and turn to face her, her features washing with an expression of slight surprise, amidst the concern. "You know very well that she knows how to take care of herself, because from the minute our girls learned how to speak and walk we have guided them and taught them how to be a smart, self sufficient, and thoughtful people… And now she has been offered something that she craves more than anything else in this world, and you would consider telling her no?"

Hermione wasn't angry, but she was pointed. This was about many things, many fears, their daughters bright mind was not one of them. Raising her brows, Hermione challenged her wife, she willed her to be honest, begged for her understanding.

"Let's get to the root of what this is really about, shall we? You're afraid she's not going to come back, that she's going to go over there, build a life, and not come home again… That's why you want her close." Minerva's would have liked nothing more than to argue, to fight about it, because Scottish rage is always a monster with blinders fitted on either side of its face, focused on only one thing. But as Hermione stripped back a layer, and another, she knew… The brunette woman knew everything that passed through her mind. It was infuriating and… Welcome. The older witch's shoulders sagged and tears sprung to her eyes.

"What if she doesn't come home, Hermione… Dearest, I can't imagine a world where she's so far from us…" Cigarette was thrown to be cleaned up later, and two hands came to rest on either side of her lover's face. The women stood upon the grass, night quickly overtaking the sky, and Minerva's bowed head didn't lift, rather, she pulled her wife close and buried her face against an inviting neck.

Minerva always knew that eventually their children would grow, become adults, and begin lives of their own, leaving them to return to new life, a life where it was just the two of them, in a cottage nestled on land. But it was so unlike seventh years moving on to college and university, those young boys and girls were missed, however, they weren't hers. Much like the woman cradling her close, never did Minerva imagine her life would be so full of laughter, of love, and precious moments. All of which filled her with such immeasurable joy. Twenty years of joy… Of raising their own two beautiful children, of fighting for the very best the world could offer to ensure the safety, security, and hope of a future where their daughters could choose their path.

"Darling witch, our daughter will come home when she is good and ready," Murmured Hermione softly, holding to her wife who was beginning to breathe evenly, deeply, in her arms. "We've done good, we've raised good girls, and soon, it'll just be me and you again… Don't you miss being able to make love in every damn room in the house without fear of having them scarred for life?"

Levity. It took a second for the words to register, although, when they did, Hermione wasn't disappointed. A rich laughter filled the air and she felt Minerva's arms tighten around her middle.

"Don't make me laugh right now, damn it." The women parted and Hermione's hands found themselves once again resting against the ebony haired witches cheeks, brushing the last few snakes of moisture away, her own brown eyes misty. "Fine… She can go." Minerva relented, soothed. They peered at one another for a few moments, taking in the silence, breathing in the minute where change was just on the edge, looming but closing in. There was nothing they could do to halt it. It was needed. Their children must grow.

"I am so grateful for you, my darling… Just imagine what sorts of trouble we've still yet to get into." Hermione finally stated as Minerva's head turned and lips caught her palm, lightly. Even though age had taken its turn with their features, their hearts were as young as the day they first admitted that love existed there between.

"You're still a happy witch?" A question that had become the norm in such circumstances, over the years, back and forth question and answer was traded. And as Hermione cast a glance up at their cottage briefly, her gaze eventually returned.

"Always."

The End (For now)