Hermione woke in a warm, dark cocoon that smelled of the sharpness of lavender, muted by good, warm vanilla. It was Minerva's smell, and had drawn her into the other woman's bedroom, enticing to even her weaker human nose. Hermione had sat and stared into the fire for a while after Minerva had left for the Ministry; the book she had pulled off the shelf hadn't held her interest. After a small lunch and a mild fuss provided by Tilley, Hermione had followed her weak human nose to the smell of comfort and understanding, and once in Minerva's bedroom, had given in to the urge to curl up on the bed, intuiting that her animagus form would be less of a faux pas intruding on someone's personal space.
The smell of lavender and vanilla was stronger than when she had first curled up, and she was being held. If foxes could blush, Hermione would have been scarlet. Her head was no longer tucked under her tail, but pressed into Minerva's neck, and the woman's free hand was draped across her furry middle, lax in sleep. Her sensitive fox nose was working overtime trying to tease apart Minerva's scent; Hermione could not fathom how one person could smell like so many things, and so many good things. The heady scent of her magic nearly overpowered the clean, crisp lavender, and there was the scent of sweat, a hint of catnip, a wisp of cinnamon on the breath, all underwritten by subtle vanilla. And Minerva was purring; the soft cadence of her sleeping breath accompanied by an unmistakable thrum.
Hermione was embarrassed at being caught out, but more than that, she wanted to stay in this warm, safe space forever. She wanted to stay with Minerva forever. The thought startled her, and she stiffened, and lost her grip on her transformation.
Minerva's eyes shot open when she suddenly found her arms full of sandalwood scented girl instead of doughnut shaped fox. Hermione backpedaled instantly, trying to scramble off the bed, but Minerva trapped the girl's legs under one of hers and wrapped Hermione in a firm hug.
"Nay, lass. That's no way to be endin' such a fine nap," she husked in a deep burr. Feeling the girl's moist breath against her neck, right where the fox's cold nose had been pressed, Minerva lifted Hermione's chin so their eyes met.
"To be wantin' the comfort of smell, or touch, it is no weakness, Hermione. Not for anyone who has embraced their animal nature, and never between us." Minerva felt the girl's breathing even out and the pounding of her heart ease. And there was a flicker of soul deep joy within her when Hermione's pressed closer into her body and allowed herself to relax.
And then, just as they got comfortable, Minerva's stomach growled. Hermione snorted. It growled again, louder. Minerva could feel the giggles that Hermione was fighting.
"Oh, aye, laugh at the old woman when she was enticed in here for a nap rather than havin' her tea."
Hermione made an effort to steady her voice. "Well, we'd better feed that beast. We wouldn't want it to make a snack of some poor unsuspecting creature."
Minerva disentangled herself from Hermione and stretched. "Such cheek!" She grinned at the younger witch and rolled off the far side of the bed. It took Hermione an unexpected moment to get a grip on herself after that blinding smile. She was nearly positive that weak knees and butterfly stomachs were utterly wrong reactions to the comfort and humor of a friend.
"Come along, Hermione. I'm certain Tilley left us supper. And then a prowl around the castle is necessary, as there is something I must show you."
The sun had set while they had napped, and Minerva was famished. She demolished her bowl of soup, and a thick slab of roast beef layered with greens and cheese between whole grain bread before snatching up another slice of beef to nibble on. She subtly cast an eye upon her friend; Hermione was cupping her soup bowl between her hands contemplating the ghost of her reflection in the darkened window. She caught Minerva's eye upon her and blushed, turning back to her soup, eyes downcast.
Minerva set the beef back on the tray and moved to perch herself on the arm of the chair Hermione occupied. Minerva winced when the girl stiffened.
"Hermione," she began softly, "Hermione, look at me." Hermione flinched, and Minerva moved from the arm of the chair to the coffee table. Knees nearly touching, Minerva removed the soup from Hermione's hands and cast it towards the table, where it landed gently on the tray. The girl started a little, and looked up at her.
Minerva made sure to catch the girl's eye. "Hermione, when you have become an animagus as thoroughly as you have, and as I have, your animal self will exert itself in small ways upon your life at large. Smell and sound become much more important when taking measure of things, or judging character. And you will find yourself much more tactile than you were before you began your training." Minerva could see a blush creeping along Hermione's cheeks.
"Learning to accept these changes and to integrate them into your life is as much part of being an animagus as the physical transformation. Using your animal form as a sort of proxy can make it easier to accept the comfort you crave. Embarrassment is very much muted when you're shape shifted - different emotions take priority in the animal brain."
With a humorous glint in her eye, Minerva continued, "Sirius Black was a shameless attention hound. I used to see him begging in the Three Broomsticks, more for scratches than for scraps. Rosemerta must have chased him out a dozen times before I assured her he did not have fleas and would not be biting anyone."
Hermione smiled. "He did have a bit of the hound about him even as a human, did he not? Loyal, protective, eager to please." The fond memories of Sirius vanished, and a profound grief passed across Hermione's face. "Poor Sirius. Poor Harry."
"I know that Harry lost more than most in the fight against Voldemort, but do not be sad for Sirius, 'Mione. Despite his frustrations, he was so very happy those last two years when he was Harry's godfather. Even when he was at school with James and Remus, Sirius was always a little in the background, but he was the most important person in Harry's life for two years, and it made him a better man. I think when Harry can bring himself to return to Grimmauld Place, it will be good for him; he'll learn quite a bit about his parents, and about his godfather. Along with more evidence of the escapades of Messrs. Moony, Padfoot and Prongs."
Hermione gasped. "Did you know about the map? Did you know the whole time?"
"Of course I knew about the map! I was fairly certain the three of you had gotten your hands on it your fifth year, but who do you think took it from James and Sirius in the first place?" Minerva's green eyes were luminous with good humor and she looked rather pleased with herself. She peered closely at Hermione again, her face returning to seriousness.
"Hermione, you must learn to trust your animal instincts, or you will be ever at conflict with them. Even your wolf instincts. Probably especially your wolf instincts. These are tools that give us a certain advantage, and the parts causing you embarrassment now need not do so, never here." Minerva caressed the girl's chin and gazed into the watery amber eyes, sure that Hermione wasn't telling her everything, but confident it would come in time.
"Now, I feel like a scratch behind the ears while you finish your soup." And abruptly a small silver tabby stepped delicately into Hermione's lap as the soup bowl floated serenely into her hands, warm once again.
By the time Hermione had finished sipping her soup, the Minerva cat was positively languorous. Her eyes were at half-mast, tail flipping lazily, and her purr practically rattling the silver where it sat on the coffee table. When Hermione leaned over to rid herself of the soup bowl, Minerva slithered onto her back, exposing the soft downy fur on her stomach for more attention. Hermione buried her fingers in the fur, and lost herself in thought.
This was a familiar position for her. She had spent more than one evening at Grimmauld Place placating this very tabby's need for attention. As a provisional member of the Order of the Phoenix, she had suspected that her rather buttoned up professor used her animagus self to put others at ease, and she certainly couldn't ask for tummy rubs as a human. As a woman, Minerva was a little intimidating; smart, talented, demanding, beautiful, but also aloof and gaurded. As a cat, well, intimidating certainly wasn't a word that could be applied to a tabby that weight about six pounds, no matter how frightening a person she made. The cat was no less demanding, though. Hermione had woken more than once to well placed kitty head butts demanding the affection she had apparently craved.
When Hermione's fingers stilled, Minerva pushed herself back into a sitting position, bumped her head into the girls sternum as thanks for her delightful attentions, and the launched herself over the back of the chair to land lightly on the floor. With a swish of her tail and a meow tossed over her shoulder she entreated Hermione to get a move on already.
"Bossy," Hermione shot back at her, but then her head disappeared and fox paced out from behind the furniture, and they were off.
Hermione followed Minerva through the school's empty corridors. The quiet before start of term was almost eerie to Hermione; even with her penchant for being out of bed after curfew, during the term the very stones of the castle seemed to respire with life of the students it housed. Minerva trotted close to the walls, peering around corners before committing herself to a new path. Once, Hermione's attention had drifted and she had slammed into the cat, bowling her into the hallway. The cat rounded on her, green eyes snapping, and popped her once in the snout with a dainty paw. Punishment doled out, Minerva twined herself through the fox's delicate ankles, rubbed her head under its chin, and continued on her way.
Their destination was a set of large double doors that Hermione had never encountered before. Ornate locks ran the length of them, much the same as the main double doors to the castle, but much more refined, like those on a Gringott's vault door. Human Minerva ran a finger along one of them and with a series of well oiled clicks, the locks disengaged.
"The magic guarding these doors is much like that guarding the Room of Requirement, although the Head of School can come to this place whenever she desires." On bare feet, she slipped though the crack in the doors, and on soft pads, Hermione followed.