Hermione's life was in shambles; her days as a member of the 'golden trio' had sunk into the deepest recesses of her memory. Though those days were filled with the terror of war, the fear of a rising tyrant, and the desperation of fighting for the lives of loved ones, there was also the camaraderie of shared purpose and the strengthening of bonds between the extended family that was The Order of the Phoenix. But all that was over now; in the two intervening years, Hermione had cut off almost all contact with her friends and family in order to hide not only the ugly downturn of her relationship with Ron, but Ron's descent into paranoia and anger.

After the final battle of the second war with Voldemort; the goofy, good-natured, affable young man had changed - he was anxious and full of rage; he didn't sleep, rarely socialized and generally spent his anger on Hermione. She had turned down apprenticeships and University positions in order to keep Ron from flying off the handle at her, and to keep his condition a secret. After spending seven years fixing things for Ron and Harry; getting them out of scrapes and solving their problems, she had to admit that this problem had escaped her control - and had done so long ago. She had tried to push Ron to get treatment for what was probably severe PTSD, but he resisted, strenuously. Past a certain point, Hermione just kept her head down, pushing too hard would result in media attention and scrutiny from well-meaning friends. Hermione just wanted to get by - until now. Ron was putting increasing amounts of pressure on her to marry him. Although she wanted to support her friend, the man that had been through so much, she was not going to more permanently chain herself to this catastrophe of a relationship.

But it was over. An out had appeared by owl a few weeks past, like some sort of divine summons. A means of escape that thrilled her and gave her hope for the future, and hope that the relationships that had been tempered in the stresses of war had not been broken. She was going back to Hogwarts as an apprentice in Transfiguration and teaching. The teaching apprenticeship came from the Board of Directors of the school, but the Transfiguration apprenticeship, that had come personally from Minerva McGonagall herself.

Minerva had reached out to her former student, tentatively, about six weeks ago when she could no longer abide the lack of communication. The headmistress had reminded Hermione of the closeness they had shared in the strange cloistered environment of the Order headquarters, and in a flurry of owls, Hermione disclosed everything about the past two years to the older witch, whose first reaction was to drop everything and bring Hermione to stay with her forthwith. Hermione had managed to allay Minerva's concerns enough to make her understand that immediate action was not necessary.

But now it was time. Everything she owned had been shrunk down to fit in her small wheeled suitcase and she had her escape route, all that was left was to tell Ron, and he was due home from his Auror apprenticeship any minute.

She heard a 'pop' from the outside terrace, and the garden door slide open. Ron's robes were neat and he carried a bunch of night-blooming star daisies. This was a good sign; his work hadn't triggered his symptoms today, so there was a chance she could get out without facing his rage.

"Hermione, I picked these up on Diagon Alley, some new hybrid Sprout and Neville are working on." He had turned into the kitchen and busied himself finding a vase for the flowers. He looked up to see Hermione sitting rigid on the couch, her suitcase at her feet. "Oi, what the bloody hell is this now?" His face darkened, and Hermione could see his jaw clench, she fought down a flinch.

"Ron, I'm leaving. Our relationship is a wreck and is going nowhere, and you won't take my support or deal with any of your issues. I have to find somewhere to go and something to do that isn't so damn painful every day." She stood, palming the wand that had been tucked into the right sleeve of her blouse - just as a precaution.

Ron moved around the counter, fists balled, jaw working, taking a few steps towards her. Hermione thought she heard him growl. She took one last, anguished look at him, clutched the handle of her suitcase, and disapparated.

Minerva felt the wards around Hogwarts Castle ping as someone apparated just outside the gates. She pulled her curtain back and peered out her window across the broad swath of lawn - a slender silhouette stood alone with a suitcase. Her guest had arrived.

Minerva focused her will, and with a little twist of the energies that swirled through the school, found herself standing on the gravel path next to Hermione.

"Oh! Minerva, I didn't realize you could apparate from within the school." Hermione had a hand over her heart, looking pale and startled in the titian light of the setting late summer sun.

"Headmistress's prerogative, my dear. I'm glad to see you made it in one piece. Let's get inside and get you settled before the evening meal."

Minerva flipped out her wand and shot a levitating charm at Hermione's suitcase. They progressed quietly through the grounds and up to the castle, the suitcase floating along behind like some strange, wheeled puppy.

"Hermione, I took the liberty of preparing you a room in my quarters. I want you to feel safe, but if you are uncomfortable, then we can find something more to your liking, but I find I wanted to keep you close." Minerva looked almost bashful at her admission.

Hermione nodded, also shy. She looked sideways at Minerva, her eyes lidded, lashes veiling her gaze. "Thanks for this opportunity, Minerva. I hope you didn't go out of your way to do this for me."

"Hermione, you are eminently qualified for a position as my apprentice, and equally as qualified for a position as assistant in the transfiguration classroom. It was simply happy circumstance that I could give a friend a chance to distance herself from a difficult situation."

Minerva could see Hermione fighting back tears. Minerva gripped the young witch's hand, and squeezed.

"My dear, you'll get through this, and I'll be here every step of the way. Now lets get this bag up to your new room, and we can relax a while before we sleep."

Minerva's quarters were as elegant as the woman herself, dark woods and rich colors with little ornamentation, but cozy, much as Hermione remembered from her school days discussing advanced transfiguration and magical theory till the wee hours. The head's quarters were, naturally, larger than the suite Minerva occupied as deputy: a large tower sitting room with picture windows at each end, two sizable bedrooms, and a bathroom with two vanities, and the latest in muggle/wizarding hybrid technology - a large bubble jet tub.

Minerva had ensconced Hermione on her sofa with a cup of tea and was currently unpacking Hermione's suitcase for her, over the younger witch's strenuous objections. Books, robes, muggle clothing and various bric-a-brac were floating from the depth of the suitcase, popping smartly to their normal size, and progressing in an orderly fashion to the wardrobe, shelves, and dresser. MInerva was standing in the midst of chaos, chatting about the upcoming term, returning staff and students, and her ongoing efforts to support her aging staff with apprentices eager to become masters of both magical arts and teaching arts. Hermione smiled into her tea at the picture the Headmistress made, a swirl of t-shirts floating past her head, a cloud of books, like literary gnats, crowding her torso.

Minerva stepped out of the guest room, wand in hand, Hermione's books trickling out behind her in a now orderly procession to shelve themselves next to the window. "I hope you're comfortable here with me Hermione. You must think of these rooms as your own." She sat next to Hermione on the deep green couch. "Now I've cleared some space for a desk beneath the window and shifted some of my collection to leave room on a bookshelf. What sort would you fancy?"

"I've never known you to have an empty space on a bookshelf."

"I simply transferred some of my collection to the library at my home and weeded out things that had no lasting value. It was time; I had not pruned the shelves in some time." Hermione looked faintly scandalized at the notion that every book was not worth keeping.

"My junk reading tastes run to ridiculous muggle thrillers, Hermione. Not exactly worth a reread, as I am sure you are aware." Hermione raised an eyebrow at her. "Fine! I boxed them up and put them in storage at the Manor. You know me too well, just as I know you will try to keep out of the way by working in the library. Now pick a desk, or I will stick you with something hideous and complain about it all term."

"If you insist, Professor." Hermione grinned wryly and the corners of Minerva's mouth lifted in response. "I'm not picky, Minerva. Just make it large enough to hold some clutter and give me a comfortable chair."

"As the lady orders." Minerva's eyes closed, and her nostrils flared briefly. A large mahogany table shimmered into being beneath the window. Shortly after it solidified, a secretary chair complete with squashy looking cushion appeared next to it.

Hermione looked over at her former professor, now mentor and friend. The woman practically glowed. The two years since the end of the war had eased the lines of strain around her eyes; her hair, black as the waters of the Loch, faintly touched with silver at the temples, gleamed dully in in the light of the heatless fire. The green of her eyes was drenched in magic, like sunlight through a flawless emerald. The force of the magic behind Minerva's gaze fairly took her breath away.

"You're looking highly magical and quite relaxed these days, Minerva."

The corners of Minerva's mouth flicked up briefly. "I feel quite rejuvenated after my summer holiday, Hermione. A school year is much easier to recover from if one is not worrying about dark wizards or rebuilding a castle. My equilibrium is finally restored to me."

Hermione cast her eyes down and heaved a sigh, a sad smile misshaping her lips. Grasping Hermione's hand in hers, she turned her body to face the younger witch. "Oh my dear, we will have you on firmer ground in no time at all. And we will do what we can to get help for young Ronald as well."

"I hold very few hope for Ron ever accepting the assistance of anyone, Minerva. He has resisted all the help Ginny, Harry and I have tried to offer, it just makes him angrier and more resistant."

"Hermione, I am a veteran of three wizarding wars, and am intimately familiar with PTSD sufferers and their needs. Young Ronald did far too much for all of us to let him languish forever."

Hermione wasn't cognizant of the tear sliding down her left cheek. "I feel so responsible for letting him hurt this long."

Hermione didn't notice the cloud pass in front of Minerva's eyes. "You'll get your love back, Hermione. You are owed it, and Ron is owed it. If I have to stun him and drag him to therapy myself..."

Hermione cut her off. "Oh, Minerva, no. His love will not allow me to have the life that I want. He wants a Molly. I am most definitely not a Molly." She squeezed Minerva's hand, taking comfort in her warm skin, in the slight moisture on her palm. "It took a long time for me to realize that Ron's well-being cannot be my responsibility, not when I am struggling myself, dealing with the aftermath of the war." Hermione's tears were falling freely now. "I let go of the responsibility, but I cannot seem to let go of the guilt that plagues me due to my inability to help him."

With a hint of tears in her own eyes, Minerva exclaimed, "You have to stop being so hard on yourself, Hermione." In her sorrow, Minerva's Scottish burr was leeching into her normally precise tones. "You are not abdicating all responsibility for Ron's recovery, merely resorting to a different type of leverage. I seem to recall you resorting to authority with Ronald before, when reason did not move him. It does not mean you care any less, does it?"

Hermione managed a tremulous grin at Minerva's appeal to her own reason. "No, I guess not."

You are entitled to move on with your life, Hermione. Once Ronald is feeling more like himself, I am sure he will understand."

"I hope so," the young witch mumbled, her chin head bowed in weariness and resignation. "It's..." Her voice breaks. "Lets just leave this for another time, Minerva. Just knowing I have your support is such a comfort for now, the rest can wait."

There is an apology in Minerva's eyes when she catches Hermione's gaze, and she softened her voice, "Dinner then, my dear?"

Hermione settled back into the large four-poster that was to be her bed for at least the next nine months. Back at Hogwarts, now to assist in educating the future generation of witches and wizards, and also continuing her own education in Transfiguration. She was so grateful for this respite, even if it was only temporary, and was anticipating the start of term in two weeks. Most of all, she was looking forward to renewing her friendship with Minerva. The older witch seemed so different than during the last year or so of the war - the magic practically crackled off her, and she looked younger and more relaxed than she had even during Hermione's first year as a student. Hermione couldn't fathom it.

Minerva's concern and gentle humor were like a balm on Hermione's bruised soul, and certainly not what she had expected. She had anticipated support, sure, but Minerva was incorporating her into her life and home, and for the first time in nearly two years, Hermione felt at peace.