Hermione woke feeling loved. It was a curious feeling. One that did not originate within her breast, but was nonetheless comfortably lodged there, relaxed, contented, and...purring? Oh. Minerva. She remembered what the Heart had told her, about feeling Minerva's heart, and she began to feel jealous. What if someone else was making Minerva feel this way? What if she had to watch and feel from the outside as Minerva made a life with someone else; loved someone else? She growled and began to struggle against the cocoon she was in.
"Hush, little fox. Easy now," Minerva crooned. Hermione was cradled against the older woman's chest, her head resting on a shoulder, nose pressed into her neck. Hermione stilled, and sighed happily. The feeling of love that was not Hermione's redoubled, at once calming and exhilarating. She snuggled in tighter and Minerva dropped a kiss between her pointed ears. Hermione let her present contentment wash away the jealousy and panic she had felt.
Minerva could feel Poppy Pomfrey gaping at her just as surely as she would feel a punch in the arm. She would not allow anyone's expectations to dictate how she interacted with Hermione. She raised her chin defiantly.
"Stop looking at me like that, Poppy."
Poppy laid a placating hand on Minerva's shoulder. "Forgive an old woman her surprise, Minerva." She peered into Minerva's green eyes, her brow furrowed. "Sometimes," she began cautiously, "sometimes I forget that there are depths to you that not a soul has seen." Her voice held no censure, no judgment, just respect, and a little regret.
"Hermione." Breath tickled the fox's nose. It smelled like tea and ginger. "Hermione. Little fox, wake up." Hermione opened her eyes. Minerva's voice was very close to her ear. And Madame Pomfrey was peering over Minerva's shoulder at her. Hermione tucked her head against Minerva's chest, hiding her eyes in embarrassment.
"Hermione do you still feel unable to change back?" Hermione sneezed. Yes. "You should not be this drained, dear one. Were you doing magic when you met with Professor MacInnes?" Minerva wasn't angry or upset, just a little worried. Hermione could feel it just as sure as she could feel Minerva's heart beating beneath her head. Hermione sneezed again. You have to ask?
Minerva sighed. "I told you to take it easy, little fox." Poppy snorted. If she had a sickle for every time she had said those very words to Minerva, she would be a rich woman.
"I think I can brew something that will help restore some energy if I can get a better look at her magical aura, Minerva, but you know how hard that is when someone is in their animagus form."
"Very well, Poppy. My quarters, rather than the hospital wing, I think." She rose, and balanced Hermione with one arm on a hip. With a wave of the other hand, she returned the letters she had been reading to her desk, and slid the chaise lounge back into its rightful shape and place. Both arms holding the fox again, she headed towards the door. She realized her feet were bare and turned back.
"Be a dear, Poppy, and grab my boots, would you?" Poppy shook her head, shrugged away her disbelief, and turned to scoop the leather boots from off the floor next to the desk; she then followed the headmistress out the door.
In her quarters, Minerva carried Hermione into the master bedroom, turned and said, "Give us a moment, please," and firmly shut the door in Poppy's face. Poppy sighed and resisted the urge to bang her head against the solid wooden surface; this situation with Hermione might be causing some changes in the headmistress, but that didn't mean that Minerva McGonagall would let down her walls more than necessary around anyone else.
Minerva set Hermione on the bed and spoke seriously to her. "Hermione, its going to hurt, and its going to feel harder than the first time you ever transformed, but I need you to change back." Hermione whined anxiously and shifted her weight from paw to paw.
"I know, my dear. But I need to make sure you have not destabilized your magic." Minerva removed her outer robe and lay down on her side. "Now come here. Leave your clothes banished, I will cover you with this."
The fox stepped into the witch's arms and felt the silk robe settle over her gently. "Now, take a deep breath, and when you exhale, change back. Do not try to fight it, or control it, it will only be harder if you do."
Hermione took a deep breath of the lavender and vanilla scented air under the robe and paused to feel the love, Minerva's love, that beat in her chest like another heart. Then she exhaled, and yowled, and then screamed, as the pain of a nearly magic-less and strained transformation overcame her body, like the pain of a thousand thousand butter knives scraping the skin from her flesh.
Poppy burst through the door to find Minerva on the bed, curled around Hermione, who was naked and sobbing under Minerva's outer robe. Minerva transfigured the robe into a soft, cotton nightshirt, and pulled the light duvet from the foot of the bed around the both of them.
"Do what you need to do, Poppy," Minerva husked from the bed. Poppy cast a diagnostic spell, and while she waited for the results, murmured a number of small charms that block some of the pain response from reaching Hermione's cerebral cortex. Poppy relaxed a little when the girl stopped trembling and noticed that Minerva relaxed as well. She glanced away when Hermione pulled herself tighter to the Headmistress and pressed her face into the older woman's chest. Minerva merely made soothing nonsense noises and rubbed her back gently.
The results of Hermione's diagnostic test startled Poppy. The magical depletion could only be cured by rest and a bunch of good meals, which happened to be the same things she would prescribe for the young woman's low body weight and iron levels. The results that made her angry enough to growl, angry enough to do serious harm to whomever had caused them, were the small, improperly healed fractures on Hermione's vertebrae and scapulae. The only thing that made fractures like that was repeated application of the Cruciatus curse.
"Minerva, someone tortured this girl," she hissed urgently. Poppy saw Minerva's face harden, and a terrible light appear in her eyes. Poppy suppressed a shudder. She knew that look - it spelled terrible things for whomever had aroused the Headmistress's temper.
And then, Hermione sighed, asleep again, and pressed her lips to the hollow of Minerva's throat. The awful, vengeful look disappeared, and Minerva blushed, bemused and affectionate.
"Was it the Cruciatus?" She asked, so softly Poppy had to strain to hear her.
"Yes. Repeatedly. She's also under nourished and a little anemic, but that's more recent."
"It must have been Belletrix, when she was captured at Malfoy Manor. Can you help her?" The worry in Minerva's eyes was nearly as terrible as the rage.
"Of course, Minerva. A bone growth and strengthening potion once a day for a month or so will strengthen the fractures. They will never be one hundred percent again, but barring serious trauma, they shouldn't bother her. And the rest, well, stuff her as many time a day as you can manage. I'm sure Tilley has been tempting her palette since she stepped onto the grounds. Make sure she gets plenty of leafy greens and protein. And at least eight hours of sleep a night, for as long as you can make her." Minerva nodded, and Poppy knew she'd do what she could for the girl, even if she'd never do the same for herself. The mediwitch checked her watch.
"I'll let Tilley know to bring her first dose of bone potions, along with a mild restorative potion with dinner. Until her magic is back to full strength, you can administer them in a mug of hot chocolate, to help with magic shock. After, tea will work nicely."
Poppy had to stifle a laugh at the look of outrage on Minerva's face. "You have never given me any other option than quaffing potions straight from the bottle," she accused darkly.
"Minerva, dear, if I have to chase you around the castle, or ask you half a dozen times to take a potion that is for your own health and benefit, having it taste bad is your own damn fault." Poppy smirked at the Headmistress, about to burst into laughter that she had, for once, left Minerva McGonagall sputtering and speechless.