Hermione was dreaming. She loped, as her large, shaggy wolf form, through a dimly lit, unfamiliar forest. Only the path before her was illuminated, but her wolf-eyes could pick out strange, ominous shapes lurking in the shadows. Hermione's only comfort in the strange, oddly soundless darkness was the broad, buff cat keeping pace next to her. It made a small noise in its throat, a soft yowl, and narrowed its green eyes at her; Hermione responded with a throaty whine. They ran on, and on, and on in the seemingly endless woodlands.
Hermione woke to a stray beam of sunlight in her eyes. She yawned. She felt barely rested. And her left side was numb. Lavender and vanilla scented hair tickled her nose. Minerva lay along her left side, one leg thrown over her's, head tucked into Hermione's shoulder. Hermione tensed.
"If ye move, lass, I'll have to stupefy ye," Minerva grumbled into Hermione's neck. Her burr lessened somewhat. "You have only been out four hours, my dear. Go back to sleep."
Hermione took a deep shuddering breath and forced it out slowly. She did as Minerva had told her yesterday - let her instincts and senses measure the situation for her. She was pleasantly warm, still drowsy, and pinned to the bed by the one person in the world who made her feel safe and wanted, and who happened to smell better than any person she had ever met. Of its own accord, her hand wormed out from under Minerva's side and started trailing through the older witch's long, dark hair. Minerva sighed contentedly, pressed closer into Hermione, and started purring. Hermione's arm wrapped tighter around her to keep her there, and they fell asleep again.
When Hermione opened her eyes once more, it was fully light, and she was alone in Minerva's bed. She stretched, feeling much better than she had when she last woke up. She heard the clink of silver on china from the living room, and the smell of breakfast hit her nostrils. Her stomach growled.
When Hermione entered the tower room, Minerva was just standing from the sofa, two plates in her hands. She smiled that blinding, brilliant smile that had been causing Hermione's heart to flutter merrily for the past two days.
"Hermione, I was just coming to wake you." She handed Hermione one of the plates. "Cheese, spinach and mushroom omelet. And there is coffee, tea and juice."
Hermione rounded the sofa and took what she thought of as her 'spot' in the armchair, forking off a piece of the omelet before she even sat down. She was famished. Minerva was already dressed for the day in light-weight summer robes, though her hair was still loose, and her feet were still bare. After learning what she had of the woman behind the stern Headmistress, Hermione thought the look rather suited the private Minerva she was getting to know.
"Mmmmmf," Hermione moaned around a bite of egg. "This is so good. An unusual combination." She finished chewing and downed half a glass of cranberry juice sweetened with something. Grape maybe.
"What happened last night, Minerva? Last I remember the Heart was talking to me, and then it's all a blank." She blushed. Not totally a blank. She remembered waking up with Minerva, again, quite well. And that odd dream, she remembered that, too.
Minerva's eyes on her were the deepest green she had ever seen them, like the forest shade on a summer day. "You are taking this magical looniness so well, little fox. I think I ranted at Albus for a week before I calmed down enough to ask questions rationally, and that was without a talking magical sentience inserting itself into the mix."
"I'm afraid that a legendary temper is just one of the qualities I don't possess in abundance, Minerva. Much to your benefit, I might add."
"Such a cheeky witch." Minerva smiled fondly at Hermione, and once again Hermione's heart leapt. "But to answer your question, that was the Heart attuning you its magic, bestowing its gifts, and all that other ancient powerful magic stuff I am sure it detailed to you before it did so." The irreverence with which Minerva referred to the Heart confused Hermione a little. Last night, she had thought the older woman was going to outright laugh at it. "You will be a little weak magically for a day or so as it used a good portion of your personal energies to work its hoodoo."
"Minerva, why do you... I mean, you seem a little..." Hermione didn't know how to phrase the question she wanted to ask regarding Minerva's attitude.
"Why do I treat the Heart as if it were a particularly ridiculous third year?" Hermione nodded, curious.
Minerva smiled at Hermione. This was a question she had no problem answering, and wanted the girl to know that. "Hermione, the Heart does not want our reverence or awe. It wants us, in general, to help it protect the castle and forest. And in particular, it wants our help understanding sentient beings. Human sentient beings, to be precise. Now that you're attuned to it, it will ask you questions about human interactions, motivations, speech patterns and magic." Minerva settled on the end of the couch closest to Hermione's chair.
"It will not occupy all your time - its attention is rather sporadic. But it will be an inconvenience, not least because it asks embarrassing questions, inquires about your personal motives, and has absolutely no sense of the human sleep schedule." She rubbed a little at her temple, as if chasing away past annoyances. "It has gotten better, but truth be told, I am very glad you are here, Hermione, and probably the very least of the reasons I am glad is because I can think of no one better, no one kinder or more suited to teaching the Heart about human nature, something I think it truly needs to know."
Hermione flushed deeply at the praise, feeling unworthy in comparison to Minerva's brilliance, bravery, loyalty and kindness.
"I'll do my best, Minerva." Her eyes lower as she contemplates her words. "I know this is a lot to process, but I'm doing ok with it, I think because I lost something when Harry and Ron and I left to look for horcruxes, Minerva, and now that I've returned, I've found it again, and I finally feel right." Hermione is unsure if she means returning to Hogwarts, or returning to Minerva, though right at that moment, caught up in the older woman's arms in a firm hug, she had never felt more complete.
Hermione spent her morning in consultation with the Transfiguration professor that took over Minerva's post when Minerva became Headmistress. Poached from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes by promises of better pay and more regular hours, Kat MacInnes struck Hermione as fair, patient and kind. (Her competence was unassailable. Minerva had chosen her, after all.) Nearly twenty years on-call for reversals of magical 'oopses' made even unpredictable and unruly students seem like a vacation for Professor MacInnes. Hermione demonstrated proficiency in the lessons on the timetable for the first month of the term, and then helped the Professor begin gathering the materials they would need for the students. After a productive morning, they both agreed they were excited to work with one another, and parted for lunch.
When Hermione returned to the rooms, Minerva was still absent. Apparently, putting the fear of McGonagall into the farmer who provided the school's produce was taking longer than expected. Hermione had a hard time imagining anyone resisting the Headmistress for long, never mind the immaculately robed, fierce looking witch that had left the tower a few hours ago.
It had intrigued Hermione to watch the kind, tactile, emotionally available Minerva that had held and comforted her the past few days turn back into the stern Professor and disciplinarian that Hermione remembered from her school days. From the pointed hat pinned to the glistening ebony chignon, to the high necked black silk robes slashed to show hints of deep green under robe, to the nearly knee high lace up black dragon skin boots that added three inches to Minerva's not inconsiderable height - Hermione could see she wore it all like armor, and she was struck by how profoundly grateful she was that Minerva trusted her enough to see beneath it.
Stretched out on the couch beneath a light-weight tartan throw, Hermione reflected on the fact that even before any of the business with the Heart, and even before Hermione had revealed her new proficiency as an animagus, Minerva had let her in: into her school, into her rooms, and apparently, into her trust.
Eyes skimming over the pages of a book on predators of the last ice age, Hermione could not help but think she should be a little more shaken by the events of yesterday, but she meant what she told Minerva. Even with the Heart's warning of a coming storm, she wants nothing more than to weather the storm here, with Minerva, even if she didn't yet understand this desire, she had begun to trust her instincts.
Lunch appeared on the coffee table under a stasis spell; two massive salads in bowls the size of soup tureens, each topped by a grilled breast of chicken. A loaf of fresh bread, a small carafe of dressing and a pitcher of cold tea infused with fruit were included on the tray. Hermione's stomach rumbled, but she forced her eyes back to the chapter on the scimitar toothed cat, determined to wait for Minerva's return. The cat and wolf astounded her; now that she was aware of its origins, her wolf form was much less frightening, though she imagined it will take practice for the transformation to become as painless as Minerva's appeared to be. Another look at Minerva's powerfully shouldered cat form would also be of interest.
Minerva entered the tower already unpinning her hat. It was hard to wear the face of Headmistress around the girl, and she had promised herself she would leave her strict persona out of her personal chambers as much as she could. While she had been preparing to leave that morning, she had found Hermione watching her curiously as she got dressed. No doubt the sharp witch was trying to reconcile Minerva's behavior over the past few days with the woman she knew as a student.
It was easy for her to leave behind the trappings of power and authority with Hermione, and as the girl had matured and grown into her magic, it had been nearly impossible for Minerva to resist drawing the girl into her life and insulate her from the troubles wracking their world. But she had resisted. Her weakness had been those two summers at Grimmauld Place, padding into Hermione's room and accepting whatever affection the girl would offer her animagus form, listening to the young woman's hopes and dreams. It had been a revelation for Minerva, though Hermione had never asked her about it, and Minerva never volunteered any information, and as far as she could figure not a soul knew about the indulgence she had allowed herself. It was Hermione's unquestioning acceptance of Minerva's need for affection that had set in motion the events that led to Minerva entering her chambers to a hearty lunch and a dear friend who was tugging more firmly on her heartstrings each passing day. Minerva could not find it in herself to worry, and anticipated her meal with a light heart.
Lunch had been extremely pleasant. Hermione had inquired about Minerva's morning. What did putting the fear of McGonagall into a farmer entail, exactly? Minerva's observations about the self-important wizarding farmer had set the young woman to giggling. They discussed what Hermione's fourth level transfiguration mastery would require, and how Neville and Pomona were getting along in the greenhouses, and wouldn't it be funny to set Pomona loose on that ridiculous farmer? A more pleasant meal neither could recollect.
Salads finished, Hermione was wiping the last bit of dressing from her bowl with a crust of bread. She popped it into her mouth, chewed and sighed in satisfaction.
"Now I'm stuffed. And feel quite like a nap." She stretched and listed toward the couch cushions, looking as though she might nod off right then.
"Feel free, my dear. Your recent expenditure of energy might affect you thus for a day or two more." With a wave of her hand, Minerva banished the dishes to the kitchen, and with another wave, transfigured one of her small throw pillows into a larger squashy one.
"What are you going to..." Hermione yawned so large that Minerva heard her jaw crack. "...do," she finished.
"Oh this and that. There is an oven and set of burners in the kitchen that could use my attention. And there is always more correspondence to deal with."
"Ok. Don't let me sleep too long; there is too much to do." She yawned again.
Minerva chuckled and rose, turning to tuck a strand of hair behind the girl's ear. "Just get some rest Hermione. You will have every opportunity to work yourself into insensibility in a fortnight." She pointed at the pillow. "Now, put your head there." Instead of obeying, Hermione changed, the fox curling itself on top of the pillow Minerva had transfigured. Minerva draped the tartan throw over the sleeping animal, and left for the kitchens, sparing one last glance for the sleeping witch on the couch.