A/N – Ok so originally this was supposed to be a oneshot. See how well that worked out with my over active imagination, but I'm not complaining cause I am having fun with this so YAY! A hugely, massive, enormous shout out to my good friend Cenobite829 for putting up with all my random thoughts about this and helping me sort them into a coherent story! You Rock!
Disclaimer – Not mine, I still wish.
Dinner resembled breakfast and lunch, with Hermione sitting away from the rest of the school. This time though she didn't have her skates and she pushed her food around on her plate. She barely touched anything and left after only a few bites of bland mashed potatoes. Not able to force herself to eat anymore she stood and made her way towards her head of house's office. She knocked and there was no answer. So she figured that she was probably still at dinner, she hadn't been paying attention to the head table. The brunette sat next to the door and placed her bag next to her. Now was as good a time as any to change the bandaging on her arms.
She slowly unwrapped her left forearm and winced when she realized that the bandage was stuck to the wounds. She whimpered in pain as she tried to pull it off. She enjoyed pain, most of the time, but she hated when bandages stuck to wounds. Something about pulling them free always made her cringe. She readjusted her grip on the bandage, resigned to her fate, and had just begun to pull at it, when gentle hands stopped her. Hermione's eyes followed long fingers and arms up into the compassionate emerald eyes of Minerva McGonagall.
The older woman drew her wand and ran the tip over the stuck bandages. She didn't speak the spell she used aloud, but they seemed to pop free and fall away without any pain. A tear fell on the young woman's arms and she stared at Minerva. The woman looked horrified at what she had found beneath the gauze wraps. Scars ran in silver, red, and pink rivers up and down her young charge's arms. Deep, infected, cuts crisscrossed over the healed ones. Once again placing her wand on the girl's arm she muttered a healing spell, watching as the infection dried up and the cuts healed.
"Minerva I…"
"Don't Hermione. I don't want excuses. I want an answer. What were you thinking when you started this? Why would you decide to start hurting yourself?" the older witch demanded. She stood and pulled Hermione her office and sat her down in a chair.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Whether you want to or not, you will talk about it. I won't allow you to continue hurting yourself like this. I need to understand Hermione. Tell me what led you to do this? What happened to the three of you while you were on the run?" Minerva's voice echoed through the room, bouncing off the stone walls and reverberating back towards her.
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes. Of course she would see it as something that happened to all three of them. She would never have imagined that the young witch could act on her own or be singled out of the group back then. Tears slowly began to streak down her face. "I don't want to talk about it Minerva, please, stop." Her voice was broken and pleading.
Realizing that she wasn't helping she stopped and looked down at her pupil. Sighing she knelt in front of the girl and took her hands in her own. "Alright, I will stop insisting. On one condition though," when the brunette didn't look at her she reached up and, with a finger under her chin, raised Hermione's eyes to look into her own. "The next time you feel like doing this," she shook her arms, "You must come to me. You don't have to talk about what happened. You don't have to tell me anything about what caused the pain you feel. I'm sorry I tried to make you talk about it today when only yesterday I told you I wouldn't. Just talk about the feelings that you feel when you do this, so that you don't do it anymore. Deal?"
The young woman looked down at Minerva, knelt in front of her. Her eyes were deep pools of liquid emerald that held a stern undertone but were also soft and understanding. The planes of her face spoke of her strict nature but also told a story of gentleness that was every once in a while displayed when a student needed her. Confusion over took her. She knew that she had feelings similar to these when she looked at Ro, similar but not the same. I'll sort that out later, she thought to herself.
Leaning forward she laid her head on Minerva's shoulder and sighed. "Ok, I will come and talk to you the next time I feel like hurting myself." Burying her face in Minerva's neck and inhaled her scent. Ink, parchment, and ginger invaded her senses and she smiled against the older woman's neck.
Minerva pulled away and stood. "Hermione, why don't you try and talk to Harry and Ronald about any of this? Surely they would help you." Turning she walked towards her desk.
"I don't want to talk about it Minerva. Any of it. That included. This is pointless so stop asking."
"You are going to have to give eventually Miss Granger. Either give me something or I can't help you and you will spend the next month writing lines instead of the easy detentions that you have set up where all you do is talk and drink tea." Minerva was livid. Here she was trying and trying to help Hermione in any way she could and the student shot her down at every turn.
"Easy?! You think this is easy for me. You and Snape seemed determined to make me talk about this, when I don't want to. At least he caught the hint and stopped asking though. Everyone I know and loved has turned their backs on me. I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. That's it. Stop asking. I can't say I will ever want to talk, and even if I do, I don't know whether it will be you I come see to talk about it. Goodnight Professor." Hermione stood and grabbed her bag. Tears ran in rivers down her face and she stalked quickly to the door. "And for the record, I'd prefer writing lines." The door slammed behind her, leaving a stunned Minerva standing in the middle of the room staring after her.