Ripping Off The Plaster
May 7, 1998
Almost nighttime
Hermione dropped just outside of Hogwarts on shaky legs from her less than faultless apparition. Considering her state of distraction, it was almost a miracle how she did not splinch. She proceeded to the imposing gates with unsteady gait and heavy breathing.
As she drew closer, she noted that the daunting gates had been restored to more of a resemblance to their old fixture, which she probably failed to notice when she exited them several hours ago. Unsurprisingly, charms were already in place, which required Hermione to cast more than a simple alohomora to gain entry; they were also laced with a guarding spell that she needed to break down. By the time the heavy steel unfastened to let her in, sweat trickled down her back, and quite suddenly a sense of utter exhaustion was descending on her. But she trudged ahead.
Instinctively, her feet carried her further into the ruined castle towards the training ground. Her movements had become slower, partly from an almost empty tank of energy, and partly due to many fallen obstructions. Fallen stone works and other wreckage she had to clear with magic; something she should not be spending in her fatigue. Despite the irrationality of it, she pushed forward with determined steps, as if unseen force was nagging behind her.
When at last she reached the grounds, she settled approximately in the same area in which she always sat whenever she would relent in watching Harry and the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice by Ron's dragging. During the early years, she would go in the spirit of friendship, but always with a book on hand to pass the time. Later on, she would still go in the spirit of friendship, especially when Ron had made the team, but without a book anymore, as she found another way to pass the time – looking up at Minerva McGonagall's office.
From the ground one could not really see much, particularly during daytime when the sky is devoid of clouds and the sun is blinding any onlooker. Nonetheless, Hermione would routinely send her scrutiny upwards, trying to catch a swish of emerald robes. She liked best watching the practice at nighttime for that had yielded to more occasions wherein Minerva spared a few moments to observe the Gryffindor team from her window.
Once while watching the practice, she beckoned Angelina Johnson to fly up to her window. Later when she asked Harry about it at dinner, he said that Professor McGonagall had instructed Angelina to check Katie about her arm, if it needed bringing to Madam Pomfrey, as she noticed an unnatural litheness in her left shoulder. It turned out that Katie had over-soothed a strained muscle due to an excessive application of soothing balm. That prompted Ron to remark, 'blimey if she could spot that more than 50 feet in distance, no wonder she catches every copied homework even if one had done re-phrasing'. Both her best friends including other Gryffindors seated beside them had a hearty laugh at it. She, on the other hand, shuddered at the realization that her occasional gawking may have been fully noted by the older witch.
That night she had a hard time sleeping, worrying about the implication, and only fell asleep around two in the morning when she convinced herself that the 'occasional' was just a handful of times. When she next watched the team's practice, she brought a book and was completely mindful to not look up. Moreover, she started to consciously limiting her staring at the woman especially during Transfiguration class, and forced herself to stop looking at the head table in the great hall during mealtimes.
For every one-on-one scheduled lesson with the professor at her office, she would mentally prep herself to strictly focus on the teachings of advanced transfiguration, and not on the teacher's superior mind and elegant movements (and captivating emerald eyes). The single-mindedness she would employ on these sessions actually resulted in her much superior learning; a truly impressive accomplishment at her young age. Whenever the professor would tell her so, the mixed feelings of gratification and inexplicable aching to be of the same caliber as the teacher would only heighten inside her heart.
'It doesn't matter now that this is all…'
Unable to finish her thought at the sound coming from her right, she immediately cast a shield charm on herself to repel debris. About twenty feet away from her, a segment from a pole from one of the hoops had finally collapsed, producing a sort of avalanche of rubbles and clouds of dust around her. But as quickly as it arrived, the commotion was gone, leaving the last of the dust faintly falling here and there as Hermione withdrew her charm. As she slowly took in the ugliness that transpired less than a week ago, her mind plummeted into a grave memory expedition.
Similar to riding a bullet train and looking at the windows, Hermione started seeing a myriad of images of her life at Hogwarts in a repeated loop. From the first time she arrived at the school train's platform with Hagrid calling the first years to him… through most of her classes… great hall dining experiences… their discovery of fluffy… her trips to the school hospital wing to visit Harry or Ron or both, or have herself be healed… to their points earned and points lost… to their detentions… to her endless library trips… to their basking mindlessly around the school grounds… to their many adventures… and the last time she boarded the train in her sixth year looking at the castle she had come to call home.
Her mind knew it would not be the same but she hoped against hope that somehow it would be okay. But the next time she set foot at Hogwarts, it was the night of the battle. In truth, it seemed that for the first time, she was coming to terms with the events with thundering clarity.
. . . . .
That night when they sneaked into Hogwarts, her chest was pounding, not only from the atmosphere that spelled an imminent finality, but also for being in the same place as the witch that plagued her mind and heart during their long absence.
One could say that the all-out-war that evening literally started with Minerva's first firing at Severus Snape. Hermione had to struggle with her ardent desire to attach herself to Minerva and protect the witch with all her might, but it was her ever-logical mind that kept her focused with her own role in this war, helping Harry destroy the rest of the horcruxes.
Throughout the entire time they were battling for their lives, Hermione had mantras affixed in her heart that kept fear contained when she lost sight of Minerva. The adrenaline coursing through her was riding with repetitive phrases of, 'Minerva is one of the most powerful witches' and 'Minerva is a very proficient witch'. Hermione did all that she could to survive the battle by grasping on hope, hope associated with the endurance of one esteemed fighting witch… The witch who had taken the mantle to protect Harry, to defend Hogwarts, and to fight for them; fight for goodness.
Throughout the castle, she had glimpses of Minerva's potent magic that held darkness from winning. Spells so fast coming from the witch eliminated the advancement of the death eaters, vanishing several into charmed dungeons if she could afford the option to not end their lives. She had seen moving statues and animated objects clashing with the enemy and she was sure that the incantation that brought them to life came from the thin lips of one transfiguration master, no other than Minerva.
At one point she bore witness at the witch's fearlessness in facing Voldemort by herself when they all thought that Harry had fallen. In that moment, fear for Minerva engulfed her entire being into an almost paralyzed state. But it was the determined blazing emerald eyes that snapped her into action and to strike back at the death eaters for an all out finality. They knew about the prophecy, they knew that Voldemort's dark magic was almost unstoppable with Harry's death. And it meant that the rest of them were racing to their own inevitable end.
Nonetheless, there was Minerva McGonagall… steady hand with her wand… taking on the ultimate enemy without a pinch of reservation — becoming an apparition of what Godric Gryffindor had meant about courage in facing evil. For Hermione, It was the most terrifying moment; it was the most majestic moment.
Then the tide turned, Harry was still alive and he killed Voldemort for good. And as the sun started to rise on them, ultimately pronouncing triumph for the good side, there was only one thing in Hermione's mind: Find Minerva.
Quickly checking Harry and Ron and satisfied with their general state, she set on to track Minerva's whereabouts amidst the rubble and destruction. When she found the older witch, numerous people were already in queue, all needing something from the woman. Hermione, not wanting to add to the pile, had kept her distance, but kept Minerva in her sight from then on.
During these crucial hours of the aftermath when most were still confounded on how and where to go next, Hermione closely watched Minerva go about the business of carrying on the British wizarding world on her shoulders. She watched as Minerva briefly counseled Kingsley on immediate actions for the Ministry to prevent further chaos and rein in control, particularly with the captured death eaters. She watched as she organized treatment of injuries and needed transfers with St. Mungos Officials. She watched as she instructed the Hogwarts Staff to arrange food distribution and prepare temporary resting quarters for the survivors. She watched as she provided comfort to those with dead loved ones. She watched Minerva deal with one concern after the other with the competence of a war veteran.
Here and there, Hermione would help out, but she would immediately go back within the vicinity of the older witch, irrationally feeling insecure if she could not see the woman.
At one point, Hermione had seen Minerva discard her robes, as they were already in an unsalvageable condition. This left her in a simple long sleeved blouse with a vest, paired with slacks, clothing she had underneath the aforementioned robes. The clothes were in a less sorry state but still riddled with several slashes, and sullied with dust, debris, dried sweat, and even droplets of blood. The woman's eyeglasses were also absent, keeping her face unobstructed but also grimy with an angry gash on her temple that thankfully had stopped bleeding. And lastly, her customary tight bun was in disarray, with most sections of her hair on the loose. Undeniably, the woman had the appearance of someone who just came out of a hard fought battle – and won. Hermione could not help but soak in the sight of Minerva— looking no less than a victorious warrior.
It was close to 7 hours later and almost midday when suddenly there opened a gap in the endless concerns, leaving Minerva alone for the first time, in a semi-secluded corner. Apparently the woman had realized the surprised interval, which for a moment made her quite uncertain. But an observer like Hermione could not miss the witch's immediate shift in mentally running through a list of matters of import, seemingly deciding which she would attend to next.
Hermione continued to watch her longer, weighing if it would be too intrusive to go near the woman at this time. But when the woman licked her dry lips in concentration, Hermione had decided to finally go to her.
"Here." Hermione handed her a tumbler that she had earlier gotten hold of from the kitchen. She had placed a cooling charm on it, waiting and saving to give it to Minerva. "Its just water." she added at the puzzled and surprised look of the older witch.
"Thank you." The older witch expressed her appreciation and accepted the proffered drink before she took a swig.
When the woman finished it in one go, Hermione only then grasped that the woman had been in dire need of hydration. She was irritated at herself for not having the forethought. "I'll get you another. Would you like a sandwich or maybe some fruit?" she offered to Minerva.
"No. No need. And I'm not hungry. And again, thank you," Minerva replied as she magically vanished the now empty tumbler. "And you, have you eaten?"
"No, I'm… choosing not to eat. Probably same as you, afraid I wouldn't keep it down." Obvious understanding passed between them of the horror that just ended, and how eating was the last thing their plagued stomachs would accommodate.
Before either of them could say something else, Hermione had ripped a small part of her sweater, which was ruined anyway, and transfigured it into a clean moist cloth. She stepped closer to Minerva and pressed the article into the older woman's left hand, and guided it to tenderly wipe the grim at Minerva's temple, while carefully avoiding the gash.
Truthfully, the younger witch's intimate actions stunned both of them. Remarkably, neither bolted away upon realization. Hermione, though, had kept her eyes on the older woman's temple and avoided the emeralds; quite uncertain on how to handle it if her brown ones made contact during such close proximity. They also had remained silent, perhaps not wanting or not knowing how to give voice to the unexpected closeness they were currently sharing. It was only when most of the griminess was removed from Minerva's face that she took a half step back and broke the physical contact…and the silence.
"Are your burns superficial?" asked Minerva, being the first to recover, as she shot a glance at Hermione's singed left shoulder. "Have you seen Poppy?"
"They are." Responded Hermione in a placating manner, as she unconsciously yanked her sleeves. "Poppy is too busy attending to the more serious injuries… I'll try to find for a healing balm later."
What Hermione did not want to add was that the hospital ward was full to the brim; in fact, the frenzy was spilling into the outside hallway. It was enough reason for anyone who didn't need immediate medical attention to stay away. But then, she could guess that Minerva knew that already, as she had seen her talk earlier with mediwizards from St. Mungo's Hospital.
"Your back is bothering you," remarked Hermione. She ignored once again the surprised expression on Minerva's face, which was quickly replaced with a look of indifferent dismissal. Needless to say, the woman had been masking the pain from showing, and didn't think it would be noticed by anyone. Hermione would have missed it as well, had she not been observing, and obviously concerned for the older witch. "I know you have not seen Poppy either, for the same reason. Not to mention you really didn't have time; everybody had not stopped needing your attention. But I do hope you have it checked out later."
Hermione extended one hand and gingerly placed it near the older woman's hip, employing the gentlest touch to avoid damaging any other unseen injuries. She heard a quiet but unmistakable deep intake of breath from Minerva as she tried to examine the thin, much too thin body in front of her.
"I don't see any bleeding. But how much pain are you in?" A frown appeared on Hermione's face with her question, as she continued to gently examine the older woman.
"Just a previous injury acting up, in the light of— recent activities..."
Hermione heard Minerva's explanation in a strained voice. The non-answer answer made her drop her hand in alarm. Her frown deepened in a rising worry about Minerva's unattended injury; she started searching her brain for any useful information. Unfortunately, the negative elements of internal bleeding and trauma were the ones intruding into her mind. Her pulse started to rise with her worrisome thoughts about Minerva.
But her mental research abruptly halted when she felt Minerva's hand on hers, tugging for her attention, and intent to take her away from the anxiety. Despite the silly damp cloth they used to clean Minerva's face that the older woman maintained holding, Hermione was hyper-aware that their fingers had automatically interlaced once they connected.
"When Tom's curse threw me, I landed hard on my back. Mercifully, my ribs did not crack, a little swelling, yes. As to the pain, let's say it didn't help that they are the same ones I previously fractured from Umbridge's attack. But it shall be fine."
The unexpected openness with the lengthy description was aimed to ease the younger witch's worry. But the effect proved to be the opposite; the account was shockingly hurling Hermione into a panic attack. Hermione knew exactly what Minerva was talking about. Without warning, her mind replayed the events with fearsome clarity, first the older memory with Umbridge, then with Voldemort.
Umbridge and her goons attacked Minerva more than a year ago with four stunning spells. That time, Hermione, with other students, were taking their Astronomy exam when the commotion began. They drew to the windows and witnessed the horrid episode– Minerva McGonagall was hit on her chest and shoulder, and tossed several feet in the air before landing hard on the ground.
The thunderous pounding in Hermione left her uncaring about anything else but the appeal to jump off the tower in order to get to the unmoving witch on the ground. The arrival of Madame Poppy and other professors who swept Minerva to St. Mungos had stopped her from summoning a broom so she could fly down to the woman; never mind that she feared flying. She could never really remember how she got through the next couple of days until she had learned from the School Medi-witch, after numerous trips of inquiry, that the emerald-eyed witch had gained consciousness. When Harry finally told her that he saw Minerva returned to Hogwarts from St. Mungos, she tried her damndest to not cry in relief.
The other mental cruel reminder only happened hours ago; the one that involved Voldemort and the most frightening scenario of Hermione's entire life. When Minerva engaged Voldemort in a duel, Hermione's heart almost stopped at the deadly spot the emerald-eyed witch had taken. She knew that the evil lord had no second thought in using the killing curse and it made her insides freeze cold.
"I am all right," Hermione heard Minerva say, but the onslaught of a tremor was already coursing through her, pounding her pulse into overdrive. In her mind, the most horrible sequence had continued, with the most horrible ending— of Voldemort disarming Minerva then hitting her with Avada Kedavra.
As if the older woman had read the fragmentation inside her head, she felt herself being drawn closer by their clasped hands. She knew that Minerva's free hand started palming her trembling cheek to calm her down, but she was already crashing with previously unexpressed fear.
"I'm still alive." said Minerva, firmly but gently to assure Hermione.
"I was so afraid that I would never see you again. That I would die. Or you would die." Hermione could not stop herself from plummeting into a breakdown, finally voicing the terror that grappled her heart for those long several months.
"Hush darling, we're both alive," a thick Scottish lilt whispered to her, assuring her.
Terrified that the gathering tears would start to fall, Hermione closed her eyes and kept her head down. She felt Minerva lightly run one hand into her hair, affixing strands behind her ear... The gesture repeated now and then to comfort her, and it did bring her such comfort. She wanted to crush the older woman into her arms but fearful that she might cause aggravation to her injury with an embrace. And more frightened that the far too bold move may be unwelcome; she settled clutching both her hands into one of Minerva's like a life support.
She did not know how long they stood that way; she couldn't tell, not when all her senses were tuned in with the fact that Minerva's hands were tenderly comforting her. She was entirely lost in the moment until she felt Minerva make an adjustment to increase the space between them. When she opened her eyes and looked at the woman, Minerva's eyes were directed over her shoulders. Then she heard her say softly, "Hermione, we'll talk more another time."
Hermione understood quickly— Interruption was coming their way. She released her hold on Minerva, but neither moved further away for a few more seconds, preserving whatever they were sharing for one moment longer. When one of the approaching wizards started addressing Minerva in need of her direction, they smoothly turned in different directions, and effectively dislodged their startling connection as they went about their ways.
Rounding the corner, Hermione almost ran into Harry. She heard him telling her that he had been looking around for her, as he intended to drag her into a sleeping clot to get some overdue rest. She took his offered hand and the two of them started heading to their makeshift sleeping quarters where they found Luna, Neville, Dean and Seamus already asleep. Without asking, Harry told her that the Weasleys were in the next quarters.
After just four hours of sleep and another half hour trying to get more, Hermione had given up on it and finally opened her eyes. Though dead tired, she was too wired to stay in bed, plus it was approximately five in the afternoon; her body refused to sleep at such an hour.
Upon getting up, she was surprised to see herself in clean ivory pajamas, with her shoulder nicely healed of which she could detect traces of burn-healing balm. She knew she attended neither detail before she succumbed to exhaustion. She was a bit puzzled and wondered if Harry had taken care of both. Perhaps he did, as he was also in a similar clean set of pajamas.
She tried to recall how they simultaneously got into their mats, almost crawling with weary bodies as they set the sheets next to each other. She remembered him talking to her as they had lain down, which she could only recall in bits and pieces: their roommates taking dreamless potions and how some Weasleys, which included Ron and Ginny, had decided to go back to the Burrow tomorrow. Other than those things, she couldn't recall more. Perhaps her mind was full to the brim of what she just shared with Minerva, which she carried into unconsciousness. Maybe she had already fallen asleep when Harry decided to take care of their sleeping clothes and her shoulder. At any rate, the caring gestures warmed her heart.
Seeing that everyone was still asleep, and not wanting to wake anybody else in the converted sleeping quarters, Hermione quietly got up. She searched for an undamaged bathroom for a quick clean-up, and transfigured her pajamas into casual clothes before proceeding to the great hall, or what was left of it. She had hoped to catch Minerva there, but the witch was nowhere to be found.
After not finding Minerva at dinner, she began hunting for the older woman without drawing attention to what she was doing. Around 10 pm, when most had shown up at the great hall for dinner or late dinner, there was still no Minerva. She was about to abandon subtleness and ask for Minerva's whereabouts, but Harry actually beat her to it. Only then they found out that she was at the Ministry, dealing with the captured death eaters.
"Why is Professor McGonagall needed to sort that business?"
Hermione heard Harry's question. After observing the said witch maneuver important things right after the battle, she was not exactly surprised that Minerva would check things outside of Hogwarts. Nonetheless she was curious for details.
"You think your Transfiguration Professor who is the presumed Headmistress of Hogwarts should not be involved?" Professor Horace Slughorn asked back.
"Professor, I don't mean she shouldn't; I'm actually interested in the extent of the role of the Headmistress of Hogwarts on these things."
"Her involvement has nothing to do with her being the Headmistress," Professor Pomona Sprout interjected.
The Head of Hufflepuff House tactfully but accurately explained that with so many victims related to Ministry officials, or employees themselves, it was conceivable that lack of restraint for retaliations might occur, given that wounds and losses would be much too raw if matters were mishandled. She need not say that even good grieving people like Arthur Weasley may have been tempted to use their influence to fast track revenge, instead of letting justice correctly settle things. Considering that there were quite a number of Ministry employees who were in the same boat as the Weasleys, it had the potential for an ugly affair.
"Minerva's involvement will provide equilibrium to a delicate situation. Her reputable name and involvement in the war will not be questioned; her good relations with many families will bridge foreseeable disagreements." This, Professor Filius Flitwick plainly added as a matter of fact.
The concept made Hermione very proud of Minerva's admirable character and then she berated herself for the peculiar feeling. Also, on the same night, Hermione heard, but was unsure of the accuracy of the information, that Minerva was to facilitate an assembly with several magical creatures. The details were hazy but it was said that the meeting would immediately draw reconciliation with those involved. Or at the very least, a reinstatement of territories to each group accustomed to their existence.
Hermione was far from comprehending and burning with curiosity, but no one seemed more informed. Again, Harry beat her in asking Hagrid about it. Their half-giant friend could not really confirm, but told them that he once heard from a giant acquaintance that Minerva McGonagall was one of the few humans who had been welcomed in different kingdoms. He proceeded to tell them more, which wasn't much.
"You know, she can at will be a creature on the outside, but with her communication and magical powers intact, as if still in human form. It is needed in dealings with other creatures, to enter their world. Obviously that is hard. How can she do it without a wand or words? But she has no trouble with it, I reckon. Also the great professor, who is obviously the would-be-Headmistress, took and passed the magical creature entry test a long time ago. And I have no idea how one can even qualify to take the test."
For the first part of what Hagrid had described, Hermione could understand the point. While some may train and successfully transform themselves physically into an animal form, a human mind in complete control wouldn't be straightforwardly carried over. Plus, there was the matter of accessing and controlling one's magical ability while in another form; it was multifaceted in and of itself. Even Harry recognized that it involved the highest intricacies of magic.
However, for the second part, at Hagrid's mention of a test, she could see that Harry was as clueless as her, and as interested to find out more. When they asked Hagrid to explain the test that he mentioned, he could not elaborate further.
The next day, Hermione rose very early in the hope to catch Minerva; once again the woman was nowhere to be seen. She found out that indeed Minerva had returned mid-dawn, but only to change robes and to attend to extremely urgent Hogwarts matters. Then the witch left the castle before breakfast, before most had awakened for the day, hurrying to address more imperative concerns like aiding Griphook with the full restoration of anti-Transfiguration wards of the Wizarding money at Gringotts.
Arthur Weasley, despite his grief for the current loss of Fred– actually managed a small smile at Hermione's look of pure astonishment (plus Harry's and that of the other Weasley kids) at finding out that their plain Professor in Transfiguration had always been fundamental in securing the Wizarding Financial Institution. He recalled having the exact reaction many years ago when he first joined the Ministry and discovered McGonagall's complex skill, which had always been essential to the Goblins in order to protect the wizarding currencies.
That morning, 'The Daily prophet' released a single sheet of special publication containing but two announcements.
'Kingsley Shacklebolt is the interim Prime Minister for Magic until proper election.'
'Minerva McGonagall is the Official Headmistress of Hogwarts.'
Unsurprisingly, there was no comment from the new Headmistress. On the other hand, attached was Kingsley's picture, as he was quoted saying in half jest, 'I only have the job because McGonagall has chosen Hogwarts over the Ministry.'
While Minerva's expeditious confirmation as Head of Hogwarts was shocking to no one, Hermione was a little startled at everyone's murmurs of seeming agreement to Kingsley's remarks. Did Minerva have the chance to take the headship of the Ministry? She wondered why that was somewhat a surprise to her, when apparently to others it wasn't.
Halfway through breakfast, Professor Flitwick declared that after the initial cleanup, they could tackle repairing the castle, but would concentrate on specific areas. Hermione suggested to him that perhaps they first make an assessment of the structure's integrity for safety. While he was obviously pleased for her sound prompting, he informed them that Headmistress McGonagall had already inspected and assessed several structures and found them intact, leaving him a parchment containing the list of the specific areas they could begin with, versus those areas that they must leave alone for a while.
The small charms professor unnecessarily reassured Hermione that the Headmistress had even started renewing the foundational re-warding as added precaution. The good professor obviously mistook the disbelief on her face; he assumed that she was still worried about the structure. But Hermione was just too shocked, shocked at when Minerva had managed to do the inspection – and the warding — amongst the many matters she was already occupied with.
At any rate, Hermione found herself reorganizing the chaotic library of Hogwarts. She started rebuilding the blasted walls and collapsed shelves, before taking on the shattered study tables and chairs. When those tasks were done, she turned her attention to the books themselves.
She sorted, cleaned, repaired, and shelved thousands and thousands of the books and piles, at one corner, those beyond mending with a heavy heart. Being the sole person interested in immediately fixing the library, the job consumed long hours that jumped into the next day before she had the place back at its almost original organized state. At midday, she finally emerged from the library with satisfaction and proceeded to find Harry.
On the first floor in the West wing, where reparative activities for the many destroyed classrooms and hallways were obviously in full force, was where she found Harry. Her best friend observantly caught her slightly raised brows, reading her surprise at finding that people whom she had expected to be long gone were still around because when she reached his side, he gave a casual shrug. "Probably like us, staying until they have a clue on how to sort their own lives," he murmured to her.
Hermione quickly processed what Harry had said about people probably not knowing what the next step was for them. That staying at the castle was pretty much a safe answer, and a productive one. Although in her case and Harry's, where else would they be, honestly? And more honestly, she knew Hogwarts was exactly where she wanted to be at the moment. Even if the primary reason for such had been absent from the castle. And timely so, Harry made mention of the person on her mind.
"Or until the Headmistress kicks us all out".
At Harry's mocking words, she raised one brow and before she could ask what he meant by it, he started explaining. "Professor Flitwick said that the Headmistress does not want anyone feeling compelled to stay for the school's reparation. Furthermore, she is concerned that we should be recuperating and not over-exerting ourselves with undertakings that are actually part of the Headmistress' responsibilities."
Hermione snorted and a sardonic retort was on the tip of her tongue when Harry himself launched his playful mockery. "I know… Incredulous. But Professor Flitwick swore that they were the Headmistress' own words. Com-pell-ed and o-ver-exert-ing."
At Harry's exaggerated utterance of the two 'offending' words, they both snickered. Perhaps due to its absolute absurdity, their snickers turned into broken laughs, which they tried unsuccessfully to contain, as they continued to murder the two affronting words exclusively between them.
"Mione, I am now compelling you to start restoring the hallway just outside of this classroom, but as I want you to over-exert yourself, you may proceed by yourself."
"Yes Harry, after over-exerting myself by completely fixing the library that I compelled by myself to fix, I am now going to over-exert myself with the hallway."
The repartee went on for a few more remarks before eventually they realized their forgotten peers had stopped working and now were openly curious as to what had come over the two of them as they doubled over with broken laughter. Straightening herself with superhuman effort, she stopped laughing and Harry followed soon after.
After a moment, she could see her best friend sporting a genuine smile, and she understood the reason for such a smile was not borne of their blabbering, but from the realization that they had in fact just shared a laugh for the first time without the war hanging over their heads. A genuine smile also made its way onto her face.
Several hours later while others continued with their work on the classrooms, including those on the next floor, she and Harry had taken on the hallways. Eventually, they noticed Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout start at the other end of the same long hallway they were working on. In time their work convened on a single section; at that, they relieved their professors of the task as it was nearing dinner.
When Harry's stomach grumbled for the nth time, it had them both chuckling. She shooed him to the great hall, arguing that she'd get it done in half the time without the distraction of his tummy. He agreed but promised to drag her if she didn't show up within an hour.
Less than thirty minutes later, she sat down beside Harry in a seat apparently saved for her and received from him a glass of orange juice, as he knew that she had always preferred it over pumpkin. Thanking him and taking a sip of the juice, she forced herself to not inquire about Minerva who she immediately sought but could not find upon entering the great hall.
"I was about to pull you from working, it had taken you too long," Harry told her seriously.
"Oy, it was…" She paused to calculate the time, "it was just 23 minutes; we agreed on one hour." She answered indignantly.
"Well, I thought your concentration and prowess would get it done in 15 minutes." Harry deadpanned and they both chuckled at the teasing.
Looking at the sole long table, Hermione could now see the rest of the people that remained in the castle. Most had long started their dinner, but were still hungrily digging in, and chatting away. Even Harry, beside her, was eating pleasurably. Not wanting him to be concerned about her disinclination to eat, she reached for bread and chunked off a piece. She knew she needed nourishment, with the sparse lunch she'd had and with the volume of work she'd done. She obligingly fed herself. But she was having a hard time swallowing, as she had not gotten back her appetite.
After a while, the chatting around the table seemed to have shifted about the restoration work they were all doing in the castle. Like Harry and the others, weariness was visible in everyone's posture, but a sense of satisfaction with a very productive day was also evident. Professor Flitwick, seated at the far end of the table, requested their attention to express his appreciation of everyone's aid for the last two days. With slight hesitation, he gently reminded everyone to not feel obliged to stay if they needed to be elsewhere, as the castle would eventually be done without anyone pushing themselves too hard. While others nodded or shrugged as Professor Flitwick resumed his appreciation for their help, Hermione and Harry shared a snigger, breathing life back to the jokes they both tossed back and forth earlier.
Hermione was about to start back the ribbing with Harry when Professor Flitwick unknowingly started it for them when he particularly singled out Hermione's incredible work in the library. She humorously responded that she only did it in case there would be a particular task that they had no idea how to complete; they could check the library for the answer. Everyone laughed then returned to their pleasant dining.
Harry, on the other hand, whispered of how civilization would falter if fixing a library had not been regarded as the number one thing to do after a battle. Hermione decided to unfasten their earlier blabbering on 'compelling' and 'over-exerting', so she sniggered a rejoinder of how she was helpless not to do so, as the wretched books compelled her to get them done right away even if she has to over-exert herself.
Harry choked on the roast chicken he was eating and this prompted Hermione to tease him more while rubbing his back, telling him that he was over-exerting himself with the chicken. For a good while until they were having dessert, they would dim-wittedly and exaggeratedly make references with those two inauspicious words.
Then, not knowing why, Hermione raised her head towards the far side entrance of the great hall in time for the entry of Minerva McGonagall, who strode purposely to her Deputy.
Hermione had no idea what she actually expected, but when she saw Minerva, after more than 48 hours when she had her fingers interlaced with the older witch, she was unpreparedfor "The Minerva McGonagall" thatemerged.
Vaguely, she heard people starting to greet the Headmistress but she had commenced getting lost in her own world. Reconciling the different images she had of Minerva McGonagall against the one down the long table beside Professor Flitwick, Hermione was inwardly scrambling at the transformation and yet at the similarity of the 'Minervas' in her head.
She reckoned that the difference was not Minerva's clothes; the woman was just in her usual sensible robes, or her hair, as it was up in her customary bun. Yes, the woman was not wearing her spectacles but Hermione had seen her many times in the past without them. But still— this is not the witch Hermione remembered before she left Hogwarts with Harry and Ron. Absolutely neither was she the witch she watched two days ago, bloodied, dirtied and worn out… There was no way this woman was the same one with whom she had shared a moment of exclusive closeness just after the battle. Could she be the same?
A few heartbeats later, Hermione's heart stopped at a starling discovery– of Minerva's radiating power.
For the first time since she had known the older witch, Hermione had never seen her magic as pronounced. So pronounced that with neither a wand in hand nor a spell on her lips, Minerva's magic was nonetheless whirling around her even though she was merely discussing chores with her new Deputy Head. At the almost tangible magic running around the woman, Hermione's eyes widened in fright and astonishment.
Dear Merlin, such a powerful witch... Then with a short mental leap, Hermione was led to unadulterated truth— Minerva McGonagall was possibly the most powerful witch!
'Of course' Hermione mumbled to herself with details starting to rush forward in her head about the emerald-eyed witch. It consequently knocked her down to an emotional induced attack of wretchedness.
The woman was the Headmistress of Hogwarts, the best magical school there is.
The woman had an Order of Merlin, First Class. Two and would become Three.
The woman was a War Heroine, now THREE times.
The woman would be the leader of the Order of Phoenix, though thankfully now unnecessary.
The woman was a Transfiguration Master level three.
While officially level three was the highest acknowledgment on paper, Hermione had long found out that masters have 'unofficial' rank after level three. Professor Septima Vector (who Hermione learned had level 1 in transfiguration but eventually focused on fostering her better talent in Arithmancy) told her during her fourth year that amongst the Transfiguration masters, Minerva was considered number seven. She remembered dropping her jaw further when Professor Vector added that while a handful had number four in Transfiguration, no one else alive and no one else in that century had passed number five.
And now- the woman was the focal point in the Wizarding world at the inception of their new world.
Oh bloody hell.
Hermione could not help the trembling that fell upon her at the clear realization of the tremendous gap between herself and the witch… of the woman that served as her north star, getting her through intact during the dark days and darker nights. A woman of that magnitude was not for anyone's taking… The culmination was knocking the breath out of Hermione. Minerva McGonagall was heartbreakingly above and beyond her reach. Her bloody muggle-born-turning-nineteen-year-old self is bloody fucked.
Fight or flight.
Fight or flight.
Fight or flight.
She chose the latter.
She started to get up from her seat to leave when Harry's gentle hand settled on hers, impeding her departure, almost making her flinch. "Hermione, what's going on?" he quietly asked beside her.
She just shook her head in an answer, and nodded at whatever else Harry might have said, guessing that he must have asked if everything was okay. Then right there and then, she told him that she needed to be somewhere. Told him that she would be sorting personal matters and would contact him after. She dislodged Harry's hand on her as she stood up and hurriedly walked towards the great hall exit and looked nowhere else. Harry caught up to her several steps outside the great hall and tightened his hold on her arms when she refused to stop.
"Please Harry… I have to go." She pleaded with him.
"Will you... Will you let me know when you get wherever you need to go to?" Harry pleaded back.
"I will try to write to you tomorrow."
"We swore to never run away from each other, Mione."
"I know, Harry, I am not… not from you. I… just need to go. Please."
Harry gave her a hug and whispered to her to take care and see him when she could. Not spending one second more, Hermione nodded and dragged herself away from Hogwarts; apprehensive of what idiocy she might unleash if she stayed— like grabbing the Headmistress for a burning kiss or professing her undying love. Such madness... Madness that lit the pounding need to escape and settled like a demanding guest in Hermione's wretched gut. Since then, Hermione found herself thoroughly imprisoned by insane emotions, causing turmoil inside her.
. . . . .
A sound of minor crumbling stonework roused Hermione from the memory expedition she had embarked on. She did not bother casting a shield as it barely sent dust her way and just turned her back on it. The ugly ruins of the training grounds effectively drew her back to the here and now. The war was over. They were supposed to move on. Build on. Learn from the errors. Make due on the promises they made if they were to make it alive… She was alive… And she made one promise…
Give her heart's desire with full reverence no matter what.
That was the promise…
And it was utter madness.
Hermione pulled on her 'Golden Brain' and started examining her predicament. She Lined-up arguments and suppositions to uproot the havoc playing in her heart. She had to be logical, had to be realistic if she wanted to have a chance out of the desolation she buried herself in. So she started her deposition.
They were in a war. She was tagged as one of the undesirables. Hunted by death-eaters and anyone else who wanted to make a fortune out of their captivity and eventual demise.
The overwhelming distress from knowing that with just one misstep, they would not have another day, or another hour, or another moment— it enveloped her day-and-night.
The enormity of Harry's quest, their quest to find and destroy the horcruxes was so burdensome, so straining that many times it brought them to the brink of their own destruction.
While Harry was labeled as the boy who lived and 'chosen' to be the one to end the dark lord, she and Ron loved Harry too much to let him do it on his own. And she, marked as the brain of the trio, had been thrown the job of coming-up with answers after answers... as if she was a charmed bottomless bag carrying every solution.
Those were the fucking circumstances…
Surely anyone would be lured into making impossible, overreaching promises, ones that no one would ever make if the situations were not ominous... She couldn't be too hard on herself, after all she was spinning in ambiguity the moment the three of them decided to take off. Right? Right.
Basically, she gave away her parents. Left home. Quit school. Lived in hunger. Lived in peril.
Who wouldn't be driven to make insane promises?
Then the bloody war stripped her of all her excuses and denials.
It shoved her into admission that she was gay. That she was in love. Had been in love for quite some time with one woman. It was inconsequential that she couldn't even figure out how and when it started. And of all the bloody witches in their world, that person would be Minerva McGonagall. Who at that time was tied at Hogwarts; residing with death-eaters who for certain wanted the woman either dead or to be sent to Azkaban. Again, who would not be insane? With worry? With fear? With longing?
Then the tide turned completely- Horcruxes were destroyed. Harry killed Voldemort. The war ended. They lived. She lived. Minerva lived…
Then unexpected and exclusively tender moments were granted to her with the woman, hours just after the war. For the first time she had a glimpse of Minerva who was far from the stern Professor she left a year ago... The woman bloody let her wipe the grime off the face she had stared at for six years and imagined for the last year while camping out... The woman bloody called her 'Darling' and stroked her hair and was honest with her... Those moments completely opened her hopeful heart.
And reality crushed it.
Three days ago, her brilliant mind finally caught up; facts surfacing one after another of who Minerva was… versus who Hermione was... Obscurities removed, it delivered her into painful comprehension that the promise she made herself— to be brave and go for the desire of her heart— could never be fulfilled.
It hurt. Like she was living in hell. But she knew she couldn't stay in hell. Briefly, she wondered which circle of hell she was in, before compelling her mind to design the strategies she'd have to face herself with in order to get out of her hell. How to go forward.
Find her parents. Find Kingsley and ask if she could take NEWTS at the Ministry right away. Find a job. Find how to get mastery level (nope, not in Transfiguration). Find Harry and Ron and talk to them about living arrangements. Find how to come out to her best friends without losing them. Find an interesting girl who does not have those damnable emerald eyes, or striking intelligence; a passable wit will do...
Maybe, just maybe, one morning she would get up and laugh at this heartbreak. This chapter she was determinedly closing. She was ripping the haphazardly placed plaster and disinfecting it with hard conclusion and resolution...
She had to stop loving Minerva McGonagall. And stop hoping to be loved back.
"If only things were that simple." Hermione eventually voiced out in exasperation. She took a deep breath. So deep that she felt she just inflated her empty lungs to unhealthy maximum capacity that it produced a temor which visibly ran through her body for a moment.
Then a clearing of throat from somewhere at her right side made her draw her wand towards that direction.
"Easy, Ms. Granger. It would not do well for me to survive three wars only to fall into a… mishap."
Less than ten feet away was Minerva McGonagall— the very one causing mayhem in Hermione's being... The older witch had managed to go over the debris from the pole that had fallen just earlier without her noticing. She quickly deduced that the woman was probably in her animagus form and that was why she had missed her arrival. Or that she was altogether lost in her rumination. Though she had immediately lowered her wand upon seeing that it was Minerva, she realised that she had yet to acknowledge the woman.
"I would never be able to finish a spell without you disarming me." Hermione started her greeting as she turned fully to the other woman. "And at any rate, I would never, ever cast one against you."
At this, her brown eyes met emerald ones; both disappointingly and expectedly— Minerva's walls were all in place. Mental reminders activated inside Hermione of the evaluation and the foregone conclusion she just made concerning the venerated witch in front of her. She decided to take a page from the veteran's book; she physically shifted away from the woman and figuratively pulled up her own walls and barricaded herself.
"You should not be here." Of the tone, Hermione instantly picked up that it was the Headmistress who was speaking to her. "There are still damaged areas that have not been wholly secured, it would be foolish to romp around Ms. Granger." Yep, unmistakably, 'THE Headmistress' was the one speaking to her at the moment.
Hermione wanted to scathingly remark how 'the Great Headmistress was remiss of her responsibilities in not immediately attending to them', but she found that she couldn't. While she was hurting, she would never intentionally cause pain to the woman she was in love with. Instead she found herself saying, "May I offer any assistance?"
"Thank you. Your restoration of the library was remarkable, but work at Hogwarts has ceased."
"You sent everyone home." It was not a question, as upon arrival the locked front gates clued her straightaway that the castle had been emptied. And she ignored the commendation on her work of the library.
"Everyone needs to take some time-off for a proper rest. Following the ceremony, we closed the castle. As much as I do want to get things done here, Professor Flitwick asked me not to do any work until he and the staff come back after a week."
"And yet you are here."
"I had to come, Hogwarts alarm informed me that one of the temporary wards was dismantled."
"I did not mean to take you away from your rest." Hermione is partly surprised at the information. Honestly she wasn't sure if the Headmistress would leave the castle unattended. But hearing the answer to her non-question, it made her both glad that the woman had also taken time to rest and contrite that she had disturbed it. "I apologise," she somewhat mumbled.
"Less than a skillful person could not have it dismantled. You certainly have improved yours, and that is not entirely surprising."
Hermione shifted back to look at the older woman, to better gauge her meaning and she met the impenetrable walls as expected. She could see that a very guarded observation was focused on her. But her gaze detected the slightest twitching at the corner of Minerva's thin lips. 'Who last kissed those lips?' Unbidden thoughts assaulted Hermione.
That threw her back into the emotional upheaval she had began keeping under wraps after her earlier contemplation and chosen resolution. Without warning, her mind jumped at rewinding the poignant moments they shared after the battle. The treasured images flashing in her mind were making her unhinged. In an effort to gather herself, she shifted again away from the woman, trying to raise more walls around her. And she breathed deeply in an effort to stay composed.
"You cannot stay here, Ms. Granger."
Hermione almost jumped at the nearness of the other witch, who had apparently closed the distance that earlier separated them. The emotions from within her were now accelerating due to the physical closeness of the older woman… the woman she was in love with… the woman she was going to stay away from to possibly liberate herself from the insane notion of loving her… from the more insane hope of being loved in return.
"While I know how capable you are in defending yourself, lets not resume to duel so soon in case runaway death-eaters wander from the forbidden forest."
A pale elegant hand touched her shoulder and this pushed her further toward the edge. Hermione scuffled for preservation and the weapon she got hold of was anger. Hot fury she directed to the mentioned death-eaters.
"Why the hell not?" Hermione was fleetingly conscious of the cracking magic she was unleashing, of which she could not, or rather did not care to restrain anymore. "Maybe we should even pursue them right now while they are bleeding, and lessen their chance of surviving, of returning, of ever causing suffering once again... Let's find them and cause them permanent suffering or altogether finish them so they cannot ever return."
"Oh, Hermione, evil would always try to return. But Darling, while they are not around, we must not spend one moment longer in suffering— not one moment as their captive..."
Hermione heard not the Headmistress. She heard not the public war heroine.
The one speaking to her now was the woman who had clasped her hand, and stroked her hair, assured her that she was alive, that they were both alive... The woman who dispelled the tremors after she voiced her greatest terror... The woman with her now was the woman with whom she had shared exclusive tender moments after the battle... The woman was the unknown Minerva she had a glimpse of...
But this close regard granted to her right now by the same woman she had decided not to love anymore was too much for Hermione. The use of her first name and not Ms. Granger was too much. The sound of an affectionate 'darling' was too much… The two hands that now were on her shoulders conveying comfort were too much. The reassuring heat coming from the woman behind her was too much. The soothing scent of olive, ink, and parchment was too much. Her cracking magic and the older woman's radiating power were making Hermione thrust into the final brink. She feels her oxygen cut out, and her vision blurred...
Then everything became black.
.
.
.
End of Chapter 4
Ripping Of The Plaster
