Preposterous


Even before she had finished ascending the staircase Hermione knew something was wrong. Voices, familiar voices, angry and low were leaking under the office door. One of them was McGonagall's, alternating between defensive and downright outraged. The actual words were fragmented by the thick wood so Hermione couldn't hear exactly what was said. Out of courtesy, she knocked.

"Enter."

The door opened slowly and Hermione found Minerva standing by her desk, arms folded and her face a shade of pink.

"Hermione, you needn't have knocked," she said brusquely before setting about picking up papers from the floor.

"I thought I heard you arguing with someone."

With a bark of laughter, Minerva waved towards a portrait facing the wrong way.

"Severus is a thorn in my side, living or dead."

Hermione stepped carefully, aware of how on-edge the other woman was.

"What were you fighting about?"

She got no answer. Instead, the headmistress changed the subject. "I must look a fright, Miss Granger. Why don't you come in." She flattened down imaginary stray hairs and coughed, willing the redness in her face to dissipate immediately.

The sudden formality of her friend's reaction made Hermione wary, her eyes drawn to portrait secured so she couldn't see the greasy haired man portrayed on the other side. Whatever they had been arguing about clearly had Minerva on edge because she had set about neatening an already immaculate desk, her hands shaking with rage and her eyes avoiding Hermione's.

Putting her bag on the nearest chair, the younger witch put all her thoughts of Ron aside and furrowed her brow when McGonagall began to shift her papers around for the third time. She moved around to stand beside her and when the older witch began to move away, she placed a hand on hers.

"Min, what were you fighting about?" Her voice held no trace of its usual hesitancy despite their nearness and the conviction finally stilled the agitated woman.

Green eyes met hers, Minerva's jaw working back and forward with indecision about whether to tell her young friend. Hermione didn't look away and when it felt like the other was going to pull back, she held her still until a sigh shuddered from McGonagall's chest. She patted Hermione's hand and shook her head to clear it of Severus' grating voice and those of the other portraits who had opined loudly in agreement with one or the other.

"It's nothing of consequence, dear," she said, casting a momentary glance towards some of the more vocal of the paintings who had all become silent in Hermione's presence. They were watching them carefully. "Severus and I were always at odds with each other and now that he has passed on he seems to think that he has some authority over me."

"What did he say?" Hermione had released the other and went to sit on the other side of the desk, but changed her mind and took the sofa so that the conversation wouldn't seem so formal.

With a wave of her hand, Minerva tried to show her usual calm. "He was very… opinionated on my capabilities as Headmistress."

"But you're perfect for the job," Hermione pointed out and ignored the nods from the walls, "there must've been something else. I haven't seen you this upset in ages." Habitually, she curled her arms around her stomach.

Opening and closing her hands, McGonagall finally joined Hermione on the seat, regally sitting on the other end. The only hint that she was still frustrated was how rigid she was with both hands folded in her lap. "You have always been a remarkably observant student." Calling her a student made Hermione frown and she held their gaze until the teacher relented. "He did… infer that I was allowing my better judgement to be clouded by this familiarity we have."

There was a prudence with which each word was chosen and Hermione couldn't help being reminded of her fight with Ron.

"You mean that he was accusing you of behaving inappropriately," she guessed and took the lack of reply as an answer. "But he knows what's going on, how bad it's been for me." She tried to quell the annoyance tinting her voice. Snape must've seen everything. "He can't judge you for helping me."

"Hear, hear," came a voice from behind them and Hermione jumped, turning in time to see one former headmaster sharply elbow another.

"Hermione, he may have a point, though. Our sharing a room may have been a line I shouldn't have crossed."

This was the first time either of them had openly mentioned the arrangement and Hermione drew in a sharp breath.

"But you've done nothing wrong. It was me-"

"I let it carry on, Hermione." Minerva looked away from the hurt on the younger witch's face.

"Is it me?" The words were out before Hermione knew she was going to say them. She didn't want to sound so weak.

"No," Minerva went to reach out, to touch her, but froze, her hand part-way to Hermione's cheek before it withdrew again. "I know you need to be close to someone, but that someone shouldn't be me."

"Why not? You're my friend."

"And now you have others who know what you're going through."

"I've told them, but they don't understand like you do. Ginny's the only one who will be left at Hogwarts after Luna leaves and when she looks at me all I can see is pity. I don't want to be pitied. I don't want to move into the Gryffindor Dorms where no one knows how to wake me after a nightmare or calm me when I'm scared."

"I'm not asking you to leave, Hermione, just that you return to sleeping out here."

Hermione should have known that she wouldn't be put out, but it still felt like a rejection. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing until she felt a hand, cool and familiar, rest upon her shoulder. When she looked at the other woman a sorrow seemed to pass between them.

This time Hermione looked away. She had to summon a lot of strength to keep her voice from wavering. She hated this. It hurt to be sent away for whatever reason. Even more, it hurt to see Minerva's reaction. Her anger and her sadness both made Hermione hope, something she could let herself feel.

"I'll stop coming into your room if you want me to," she said once she'd found it in herself to make eye contact. "Snape's wrong and I don't think he should be sticking his beak into our business, but I don't want to get you in trouble."

Minerva looked at her friend, her chest filling with pride, and possibly something else. The something that had turned her office into a battlefields of arguments. "Thank you for being so understanding, Hermione."

They remained like that, eyes locked on the other until one of the portraits coughed.

Hermione cringed, now too aware that while usually dormant, the paintings had their own personalities and even views on where she should stand.

To break the spell of Minerva's sparkling eyes, she grabbed her bag, suddenly eager to share the events of her day and hide the adoration she felt.


Professor McGonagall retired early, quoting tired eyes from working so long, but Hermione knew it had something to do with her, with Snape, with whatever had happened earlier. Nothing held her focus for long. She was already up to date with all her schoolwork but checked it anyway. She revised the prefect duties and managed to write a short reply to Ron, but nothing she did was enough to keep her from peeking at Minerva's bedroom door every few seconds. She wanted to make sure her friend was alright, but she also wanted to lie beside her, feel her form against her own, the caring arm that seemed to find its way around Hermione's waist in the middle of the night.

"Ugh," Hermione tore her eyes away from the door. She refocused on the book in front of her, but her attention was quickly drawn back to thoughts of Minerva, her gentle caresses and kisses on her cheek. "Wrackspurts," she blurted and a number of portraits jolted awake. She apologised to them and tried to think of anything but the woman in the other woman. She thought about Ron, tried to guess everything he might say so she could build up defensive arguments for anything. Of course he would bring up McGonagall, demand to know what was going on between them and Hermione would be faced with the decision to either lie, proving she couldn't find it in herself to trust him, or tell him the truth, proving to him that she couldn't be trusted. No. We're moving past that. Look at his letters. He wants the same thing you do, to be friends again.

Just how much could he accept? Would he accept it if she said she was attracted to Minerva? What if she said she loved her? What if she kissed her?

No, she couldn't think about kissing her. She shouldn't think about how silken her hair was to touch or how soft her lips would be pressed to hers. And she definitely shouldn't think about how Minerva might touch her.

Hermione's hands automatically went to two of her scars, the one on her hip and the one on her arm.

She swore in her mind and forced her knees up to her chest so she could bury her face in her arms. A memory of a cruel voice echoed in the darkest recesses of her mind. No one will ever want to touch you now. No one will ever want to look at what your body has become!

"Be quiet," Hermione whispered to herself, forcing the door closed on the voice, locking it away.

"You look upset, Miss Granger."

Her head shot up at the voice, almost expecting Dumbledore himself to be standing there, but it was just his portrait. She sighed, letting her head rest on her folded arms so her head was turned towards him.

"That's an understatement."

"If it's about Minerva, I wouldn't fret. Tonight she was faced with some truths she would have rather kept inside and in quite an abrupt manner." He motioned his head towards Snape's portrait which remained facing the wall. "She'll soon come to terms with it."

Remembering that he had been there during the argument, she swung her feet onto the floor and sat up straight. "Will you tell me why she reacted the way she did?"

He waggled a finger. "As her friend I would never betray her confidence. But I will tell you that the two of you have much more in common than either of you would ever believe."

Hermione listened, keen to understand.

"You're both very stubborn and very strong and no matter how frightening a problem may be you will always meet it head on…" he shrugged, "eventually."

"What does that have to do with anything?" She barely hid her frustration. Sometimes his round-about way of explaining things was downright infuriating.

"Well, Miss Granger, just like you've come to recognise and face your emotions, she will as well. It's just taken a violent push to wake her up to it." He chuckled. "Stubborn, indeed. Now, would you do us both a favour and extinguish that candle so we can all get a good night's rest?"

"Of course, Professor." Hermione was turning his words over in her head, working them one way and the other, but she couldn't make sense of what one thing had to do with the other. She blew out the last of the candles and lay down, taking her prescribed draught.

She was nearly asleep when she rolled onto her side and through her lowered lashes could just make out the door to the bedroom opening. Sleep was grasping at her, but she fought it, barely managing to keep her eyes from closing altogether.


Minerva had stepped out of her room, unable to fall asleep thanks to her row with Severus. In just the light that came from her chambers she saw Hermione sleeping on an un-transfigured sofa with a blanket pulled up to her chin, breaths coming slowly and steadily. She stood, watching, feeling her own lungs grow tighter. Her heart shuddered and she reached out with a hand to lean against her desk. There was nothing she wanted more than to wake Hermione and lead her back to her bedroom where she belonged. The thought was sudden and she tried to shake it away. It was preposterous. As Severus said, it was improper for her to think of Hermione as anything but a student, much less to let her into her quarters. He had been wrong in assuming what they did there and the thought of his accusations made it feel as though a jack hammer was trying to break through her chest. She held her breath for a long minute before letting it shudder out. Improper. Preposterous.

"Albus?" She couldn't look away from the young woman on her couch.

"Minerva."

"It's true, isn't it?" She clutched her robe close to her chest.

He didn't need to ask what she meant and smiled knowingly, a twinkle in his painted eye. "It is. Isn't it wonderful?"

Improper. Preposterous. Wonderful.

With her last moments of clarity, Hermione watched as the woman she loved hurried into her room as if running from something terrifying.


A/N: Alternative titles included Snape's Big Beak And How It Forced Minerva To Finally Deal With Her Feelings And Move The Romantic Plot Forward At Last. I wasn't entirely pleased with this how conversation heavy this chapter is so some of it might get edited around to make it less blahblahblah. Next week I'm visiting my internet-less mum next week so the next chapter might be even later than this one (sorry). At least it'll give me some time to get ahead.