Hermione Granger traced light patterns on Edward McGonagall's dashboard. "You see," Edward awkwardly cleared his throat, "we've decided that it's best the Minerva have a break from magic for the time being. You know, to recuperate." Hermione nodded but found herself wondering who "we" was, and why Minerva needed a break from magic entirely. After all, the problem was a broomstick, not a charm. But Hermione couldn't really care less. She was muggleborn and had only taken a year-long course in magic sponsored by the Ministry of Magic before she was forced to return home.
Edward was a humble looking man. Like he was once very good looking, but he had let himself go over the years. He was average, Hermione decided. He weakly attempted to start a conversation, "I'm sorry for the weather. The reports predict things will warm up a little starting in the middle of next week. I hope you brought some warm clothing..."
Hermione herself was slight and quite short. She had wide hazel eyes with long eyelashes. With her cherubic lips, smattering of freckles and sloped nose, she looked like a young doe. Wild light brown hair framed her face like a lion's mane.
She had seen Edward's ad in the Daily Prophet, her only remaining connection to the Wizarding World since returning home to her family. It was for a muggleborn to work as a mother's helper and to do muggle tasks that a witch or wizard would be unfamiliar with. The perfect job for a muggleborn.
Edward was happy that a girl like Hermione had answered his ad. She was young but showed a strong sense of responsibility, and her good humor would make her a suitable companion for his wife. It was also very clear that Hermione needed the money. She had been working at least three jobs when he met her and was barely getting by. She had assured him when he met her at the portkey that things were improving, that her father had found a job again and her sister was well settled at St. Mungo's. He tried to ask her why her father didn't have a job, and why her sister was in the hospital, but she skillfully deflected each query.
A small house came into view and Hermione watched Edward's smile straighten into a tight line. She noticed also that he was gripping the steering wheel more tightly. She then recalled the bags under his eyes and the patches of grey hair on his beard and head of hair. She saw the effect of his wife's affliction written across his face in the form of furrows.
A hollow buzz began in Hermione's abdomen. She was getting nervous. The little cottage nestled in the Scottish highlands loomed ahead. Its rich wood and stone made the house look warm and cozy. The sun shone through the trees, and the sky was a welcoming blue. But to Hermione, the house appeared like a small fortress, and the bright sun flared like a flaming searchlight. Edward noticed Hermione stiffen as they drew closer and tried to reassure her. "I think you will be just fine. You seem capable of dealing with any situation that comes your way. You are in absolutely no danger, and I've told you already what to do if my wife gets out of line." Hermione nodded but could not bring herself to relax.
She had been anxious for weeks. She wore her best outfit, a pair of her friend's boots, some dark jeans, and a sweater and blouse that belonged to her mother. It was difficult to get her father to hand over the separates; Hermione had threatened to use housekeeping money to buy new clothes. Hermione exhaled deeply, trying to expel the trepidation from her body.
Her mind was in another place when the door swung open and she stepped out onto the frigid air. Her limbs moved on their own, hefting her suitcases, moving her closer and closer to the front door.
An austere figure stood at the doorway of the home. Edward approached her gently, and took her hand. He ran his chapped thumb over her bony knuckles, and gently kissed a pale cheek. "Well love, here she is. The girl you've been waiting for." She glanced at him anemically and remained motionless, gazing intently on someplace on the horizon. He stepped to the side, his hand still wrapped around his wife's, revealing Hermione. Hermione's mind was paralyzed. But it was all for the best, since it enabled her to stand straight and nod humbly. "This is Hermione. She will be working for us this summer." The regal, disaffected woman nodded blankly at Hermione, but kept her gaze fixed in the distance.
"Well Hermione," Edward said suddenly in attempt to awaken the dead air, "I bet you would love to see your room." Hermione nodded obediently and followed Edward up the cold stone steps. Her boots thunked against hardwood floor, then padded gently on carpeted stairs. Edward pulled down the entrance to the attic, which was a hatch with a sliding ladder. Hermione glanced helplessly at her rucksack, then up at Edward. "Well, not every task has to be done without magic. Hefting this amount of luggage would be difficult for anyone, even me." Edward winked then levitated Hermione's bags into the attic. "Well, I will escort you back to the front door so you and Ms. McGonagall can get better acquainted while I fetch the boys from their aunt's." He closed the attic hatch with an emphatic slam, then led Hermione into the foyer where Ms. McGonagall where was stretched out languidly on a sofa facing a large window that was open slightly ajar.
Her long black hair was twisted into a loose knot held by a pencil, and she wore a men's shirt, likely one of Edward's, tucked into a long black skirt. A tartan blanket was loosely wrapped around her shoulders like a large shawl. Hermione took a stool from a corner of the living room and placed it near the sofa. Minerva glanced at Hermione and shifted to a sitting position. They sat in silence for a moment. "Well, what do you plan on calling me, Hermione?" Minerva uttered, her tone cold and clipped.
"I don't know. I had planned on calling you Mrs. McGonagall. I guess...I mean, is there something you would prefer to be called" Hermione caught herself stammering and flushed. She looked at Minerva, her gaze running over intelligent emerald eyes lidded with dark lashes, framed with square eyeglasses. An elegant hand appeared from the folds of the blanket to remove her glasses.
What was it about this woman that was making Hermione squirm? Minerva leaned closer to Hermione, her expression perfectly flat. "Well Hermione, do you mind your ma'ams and sirs?" Hermione was burned by the cold fire in Minerva's eyes.
"Excuse me?" Tentative hazel hesitantly met flaming emerald, then retreated.
Another hand emerged to join the other to fumble with the cold metal frames. "Do you mind your ma'ams and sirs? Do you call your parents mother and father? Do you belch at the table? When you go to the bathroom, do you close the door? When you kiss relatives on the cheek, do you make actual lip contact?" Minerva's gaze narrowed to a glare that harshly interrogated Hermione, yet her voice was light and her tone only slightly impatient.
Hermione's focus shifted to her hands. She wore a silver ring on the middle finger of her left hand. It was a Celtic design; a simple braid. She twisted the ring around her finger with her right hand. It was a nervous habit that she had had for years. Abuse, pain, sorrow, and betrayal - the ring held it all within its tarnished silver band.
Hazel gently met emerald again, but now held their gaze. "Well, yes of course. In fact, I used to call everyone ma'am and sir until I was teased in primary school." Hermione immediately regretted her words when she was assaulted by Minerva's patronizing expression.
"Oh, aren't children cruel." Minerva said corrosively. She paused again for a moment, looking Hermione right in the eyes. "Well, Hermione, whatever you do, don't call me ma'am unless you want to be spending the summer at home." She glanced toward the horizon for a moment. "Of course, you can ma'am and sir Edward all you like, just don't do it with me."
"Okay," Hermione breathed, meeting Minerva's gaze.
Minerva hesitated for a moment, softening ever so slightly, "You may call me Minerva, and Minerva only. Ma'am or Mrs., Ms., whatever McGonagall me, I will hex you into the next dimension." Her gaze hardened again, but this time for only a moment before returning to watch the horizon like she had done on the front porch.
"Alright Ms...Ma-..." Hermione exhaled in an attempt to gather her thoughts. "Minerva." The name felt like vodka on her tongue. It felt cold, yet it simultaneously warmed her. And it was absolutely thrilling. She saw the corners of Minerva's mouth curl up a little, and found herself wanting to make Minerva smile again.
"Hermione, would you mind getting me a cigarette?" Hermione quirked an eyebrow, but complied. She felt like she was falling into a trap.
"No, not at all, where would I find them?"
"In my breast pocket." Minerva's eyes challenged Hermione. Eager to please, she daintily reached into the breast pocket of the baggy shirt and took out the opened pack of cigarettes
"Atta girl." Minerva smirked and lit the cigarette. She breathed a cloud of fragrant smoke before looking seductively at Hermione, "oh, you can put that back where you found it." She took another puff. "Don't tell me, let me guess, you've just graduated from Hogwarts with a focus in divination"
Hermione flushed, "No, I never went to Hogwarts, and I would certainly never study Divination."
Minerva leaned back and distractedly blew a series of rings. "Well aren't you just the little smarty pants, eh?" In the same breath, Minerva turned again to face Hermione. "What make is that blouse?"
Hermione flushed. She hadn't expected a question like that. "I have no idea. It's my mother's. She likes Anne Klein, so it might be one of hers."
"Ah," Minerva nodded. Her ebony eyebrows furrowed, scrutinizing Hermione, who was beginning to turn into jello, "Is it expensive?"
"I am sure you could easily afford one," Hermione stammered then cursed herself, however it was clear that Minerva was not truly interested in the price of the blouse.
Minerva narrowed her eyes and it was clear she was playing games. She slyly grinned, the way a tiger grins before it devours its kill. "What I wonder, Hermione, is how you can afford to pay for it. Does your mummy give you money? Or do you have a nice fat trust fund to dip your sticky fingers into every now and again?"
"My mother is dead." It was now obvious to Hermione that Minerva did not want any help and she was determined to break Hermione. Misery loves company, Hermione observed.
"Well, Hermione, you'll be able to buy a whole new wardrobe by the end of the summer when you're through with me, with all the money you've earned."
"I'm not interested in fashion or a new wardrobe."
"Then buy yourself a few ounces of cocaine and go under the radar for a spell."
"I don't do drugs."
"Well what are you going to do with all that cash then?"
"I'm not doing this for the money, Mrs. McGonagall... I didn't take this job for the money." Hermione took the job because it was a chance to leave the ugliness of her life in the inner city of London for the beauty of the Scottish highlands. To escape her abusive father and damaged sister. To heal.
"You'll have to excuse me then, it seems I've lost all sense of decorum" Minerva didn't skip a beat. "What size is it?"
"What size is what?"
"Your blouse." Hermione restrained the urge to roll her eyes and played along.
"Hmmm, Four...?"
"Do you think it will fit me?"
"What?" Hermione was sure that it would. Her abdomen tightened at the thought of what Minerva's body would look like in her formfitting blouse.
"Do you think your blouse would fit me?"
"Oh, well, um, I really wouldn't know Minerva." Hermione flushed demurely.
"Well, let me try it on then."
"Mrs. Mc-Minerva! I don't think that's appropriate."
"Come now, Hermione. You have been hired to do as I say. I am the master and you are the slave. Is that so difficult to understand?"
Hermione briefly shook her head.
"We don't have all day. What are you so afraid of? We live in fucking eckwelt, no one is going to see you. Off with your blouse, I want to try it on!" Minerva's unexpected swear jolted through Hermione, who swallowed and nervously began to undress. Minerva watched Hermione slowly unbutton the blouse, revealing a graceful neck and milky collarbones. Her shoulders were dusted with freckles.
Further unbuttoning revealed Hermione's toned stomach, which Minerva certainly took notice of, "You play sports I see." Hermione threw the blouse at Minerva, who snatched it gracefully from the air, "Mmm... still warm" she sneered, which was too much for Hermione to bear.
"Just don't play games with me Mrs. McGonagall," she charged, crossing her arms over her black bra-clad breasts.
Minerva's eyes sparkled, "Oh I haven't even begun to play," she said in a low voice.
Suddenly, Edward entered the living room. Hermione was standing in her bra, while Minerva was wearing her blouse. "How are things going out here?" His expression was a clear melange of embarrassment and confusion.
Hermione flushed, and Minerva was clearly amused by her embarrassment. She picked up her old shirt from it's place on the ground, "Oh, Hermione just wanted to try on this shirt" She smiled and threw the shirt to Hermione.
Hermione threw the shirt over her bare upper body and hastily started to button it. "Yes, yes I did."
Edward chuckled, then turned on his heel and left.
Minerva looked at Hermione hungrily and laughed. "It looks good on you, Hermione." The pair sat in silence for a moment. Hermione had to admit that Minerva looked stunning in her mother's blouse. The open front showed Minerva's glowing décolletage . The blouse hugged her curves and Hermione found herself staring for too long. They shared a brief, intense glance, then Hermione went off to unpack.
Minerva gazed out the large window that looked out on the driveway and the property. She stretched out on the sofa, and dozed quietly. The time she had spent on "the funny farm" following her nervous breakdown had only further isolated her from her family and friends. As if it wasn't bad enough before it all happened. And now she had a helper because she had been rendered incapable of normal tasks. Damn Edward. She was a prisoner to herself now. At least Hermione was beautiful.
Peg, a friend of theirs, pulled up with Minerva's sons, John and Ian.
Minerva floated to the door and waved to Peg. John and Ian burst through the front door.
"Little" Johnny was an aggressive ten year old. He loved rock and roll, and he certainly had an attitude to match. He scowled at his mother, "Where's the girl? What's she look like? What's her name? Hey, I'm talking to you!"
"She's upstairs. Her name is Mary and she is six foot tall and very hairy and she's dying to meet you." Minerva's tone was dripping in disapproving sarcasm.
Ian was a sweet, mild-mannered six year old boy. He timidly approached his mother, "I've got something for you mum" she smiled lovingly at her son, the only one who didn't treat her differently. Who still loved her.
how she loved her little boy. She pulled him on her lap. "Oh, what is it?" She asked him while he fumbled with his rucksack.
John came thundering back into the room, and glared daggers at his mother. "You LIED!" he shouted. " Her name is Hermione! You can't even remember her name!"
Ian was scared of John and he didn't want him to hurt his mother. He shouted back, "YOU SHUT UP!" Before whimpering and clinging close to Minerva.
Unfazed by John's behavior, Minerva met John's aggressive glare with tired eyes. L Why don't you go inside and play us a song on the piano little Johnny."
"We don't have a goddamn piano!" Infuriated and humiliated by his mother, John stormed off.
Minerva turned her focus to Ian, "Let me see, my little artist." Ian proudly held out a luridly colored drawing of a smiling figure. " Oh that's beautiful. Who is it?" Minerva asked, taking Ian closer in her arms.
Ian smiled shyly at his mother, "You."
"Oh of course," she took the drawing in her slender fingers, "it looks just like me." But the figure was smiling.