A/N: As my semester has begun, expect updates less frequently. Perhaps every two weeks, but I make no promises because I have a heck of a lot of reading and writing to do. Rest assured I haven't abandoned this story, but expect only sporadic updates.
About an hour later, Minerva felt the wards around her quarters twist, and heard a faint pop and knew Tilley had just delivered supper to her coffee table.
"'Mione. Wake up, little fox, its time for supper." She gently shook the sleeping witch's shoulder.
Hermione's eyes popped open. She groaned. "Bloody hell, Min. I feel like a bus hit me, then backed up over me, then hit me again." She considered the position she was in. She could hear the older witch's heart beneath her head, could see it pulsing in the veins of her neck, and could feel her love beating with the same rhythm in her own chest. "This is nice, though."
Minerva chuckled a little. It sounded strange to Hermione, echoing through the older woman's chest. "It is nice, but I have strict orders to make sure you are well fed. And there is medicine for you."
Holding her body as still as possible, Minerva tried not to tense before she asked the next question. "'Mione, darling, why didn't you tell anyone that Belletrix had tortured you?" Hermione choked out a sob, and Minerva tried to control herself as a wave of rage ripped through her body. She found killing abhorrent, and had tried not to over the course of her participation in three wars, but at this moment, she would gladly exhume Belletrix Lestrange, reanimate her, then kill her again, and repeat the process a few times over for good measure.
Hermione felt Minerva's anger through her bond and tried desperately to pull away, but her weak body and Minerva's strong arms stymied her.
"Hermione! What is it? What did I say?" Minerva sounded close to tears and Hermione could hear her swallowing convulsively.
"You're...you're mad at me," Hermione bit out through her tears.
"Oh, honey no. The furthest thing from." She pressed her lips to Hermione's forehead, hoping to reassure her. "It's just that right now I could happily kill Belletrix Lestrange with my bare hands." She took a deep shuddering breath. "Seeing you in pain shatters me, 'Mione. I could do nothing about it during the war, but from now on, every pain you feel will be my pain, too."
Minerva was crying outright now, and it was Hermione's turn to pet and soothe, and she did, until the ache in her chest smoothed over.
"Don't hate Belletrix, Min. I could never bring myself to hate or even fear her after that. She was insane. And doomed. And I only only remember her with pity."
"When did you get so wise?" Minerva's voice sounded rough.
"I had a good teacher. And too much time to think."
"You have to mean Albus, 'Mione, because patience and understanding have never been my strong suites." Minerva groused. Hermione could only chuckle.
Hermione was glad, as they lay there basking in the calm after the emotional storm, that the sadness that was Minerva's in Hermione's chest brightened once more to love.
Once she felt she had regained her emotional equilibrium, Minerva disentangled herself from Hermione and got out of the bed.
"Do you think you can get up, or shall I bring supper to you?"
Hermione considered, shifting and taking stock of how strong her limbs felt.
"You would have to carry me out to the sofa, Min. My joints feel pretty unsteady." Hermione grimaced, and Minerva could sympathize. She was intensely familiar with the dread that accompanied not being able to do for yourself. She knew Hermione's independent self would chafe if she was bed bound for more than a day.
"Supper in bed. Such decadence, Miss Granger." Minerva playfully admonished. Hermione merely arched an eyebrow at her and began propping herself up with the remainder of the pillows on the bed.
When Minerva returned with the tray, she found Hermione reclining against the pillows, legs covered by the duvet. The nightshirt Minerva had transfigured her was soft cotton broadcloth that felt as though it had been worn and washed a thousand times, and it made it very evident that Hermione was very grown up, and quite well endowed. The picture she made, comfortable in Minerva's bed, eyes soft with heavy lids, smiling in shy contentment, dark chestnut hair spread across the pillows nearly made Minerva gasp with want. Physical want, yes, but Minerva felt the desire to do just this as often as she could: to feed this woman meals and relax in bed - in their bed - in domestic bliss.
She tamped down her physical desire quickly. Years of experience had granted her nearly iron control over this, and it was much too soon to share this with Hermione. Minerva needed Hermione to feel safe here, to feel loved, and to trust her implicitly. The rest would come, or it wouldn't, and Minerva would deal with it either way.
She spoke, and hoped that the roughness of her voice would be attributed to the crying she had done earlier.
"It seems that Tilley is taking Poppy's instructions very seriously. Filet mignon, sautéed greens and summer vegetables, and mashed potatoes with what I would guess is whole milk and real butter." She flipped the legs out from under the tray and set it over Hermione's legs before climbing on to the bed to sit with her knees under her, next to the tray and facing Hermione.
The younger witch had leaned forward while Minerva was settling herself to sniff delicately at the steam rising from the plates. "It smells fantastic. I didn't think I was hungry, but I guess I am." Minerva's sensitive hearing caught a gurgle from her stomach. Hermione blushed. Minerva smiled serenely and poured Hermione a mug of hot chocolate from the small silver pot that had arrived with the food.
"I warn you that Tilley's mashed potatoes are ridiculously good, but make sure you save enough room to finish your chocolate. Poppy will want you to drink the whole pot." Minerva watched as Hermione took her first bite of the mashed potatoes. Her groan was a blatantly sexual noise of appreciation.
"Oh my god, Minerva. I haven't had real mashed potatoes for ages." She took another bite and savored the taste, her eyes fluttering closed softly. Minerva gulped at her goblet of chilled water. "These are wicked. You could use them as a bribe." She smiled at a memory. "Can you believe the boys actually preferred the boxed ones? And they would complain when I used milk instead of water to reconstitute them. Blech." She pulled a face.
As they ate, Hermione told Minerva stories from the nine months she had spent on the run with Harry and Ron. Minerva had heard the parts that pertained to the destruction of Voldemort's horcruxes, but those were not the memories Hermione was recounting. She told Minerva about the time Harry had set sausages and nearly raw pancake batter on fire before he figured out how to heat a pan evenly with his wand. And the time Ron had been in charge of a vegetable portion for a meal and had made a salad of raw cabbage and tomatoes. Funny stories about young adults who could take care of themselves in many ways, but had no idea about cooking. Or laundry
"To this day I have no idea how laundry is done with magic, Minerva." She said, laughing.
"It is a great deal less onerous than those laundromats sound. Folding someone else's underwear sounds like something I could happily avoid for the rest of my days, Hermione." She grimaced at that thought, and Hermione laughed again.
"I had to learn how to keep myself clothed and presentable when I was fighting Grindlewald, but when I am here or at home, Tilley insists on doing my laundry for me. Apparently washing silk with wool is right out, and she tells me my folding spells are downright sloppy." Hermione's giggles at this grousing were nearly maniacal.
"I'm going to have to side with Tilley on this, Minerva. You can't get silk wet, it discolors permanently." Minerva tried to look stern at Hermione siding with Tilley in their long standing dispute about laundry, but failed; she felt much too light hearted.
When the food was gone, and Hermione's chocolate pot was drained to the dregs, Minerva banished it all back to the kitchens. Hermione's eyelids were drooping again, and she looked up at Minerva through her lashes.
"Can I sleep in here again tonight, with you?" She asked shyly.
"Of course you can, my dear." Minerva reached out and smoothed a glossy wave behind a delicate ear. "It is a bit early for me to turn in though. Will you be alright if I finish up with some letters out in the other room." Hermione nodded, still shy.
"Will you stay until I fall asleep?"
"Of course." She pulled back the covers and Hermione lifted herself out of the way, then tucked her legs under the blankets and shimmied down as Minerva redistributed the pillows.
With Hermione curled up on her side, face pressed into Minerva's chest once again, the older witch was struck again with how right it felt to have this woman in her arms.
It took no time at all for Hermione's breathing to deepen and slow. Minerva waited a few more minutes and slid ever so carefully from the bed. She pulled the door half shut behind her as she entered the living room. It took only a thought to have the letters she had been working on that afternoon appear on the coffee table, along with her quill, ink pot and the soft cloth bag containing the Hogwarts seal and a stick of magical wax. Tilley appeared barely a blink later with Minerva's tea service and a significant look at Hermione curled up in Minerva's bed.
"Guess I won't have to give you guff about working late if she's in there waiting on you, Minerva." Tilley's amusement was barely contained. Minerva scowled, but said nothing. Tilley disappeared, a small smirk gracing her wizened face.
Even hurrying, it took Minerva over two hours to finish the letters she had to write. It made her scowl to think that as soon as she set foot in her office the next day there would be a new batch of correspondence to deal with. She put the finishing touches on a letter to a very nice muggle couple whose oldest daughter would begin her first year at Hogwarts next week. They needed some minor reassurances, and Minerva was happy to provide them.
Her last task was a short letter to the witch in charge of registry services at the Ministry. She made apologies for Hermione, (magical depletion, unrelated to animagus training, wanted no trouble), noted her form and features (Vulpes vulpes, twenty five pounds, amber eyes, summer coat: red brown, seal points excepting tail, white point, winter coat: unknown, will update), relayed the date (17th August 2000), and signed Hermione's name and particulars (Hermione Jean Granger, 3rd level Master: Transfiguration, Order of Merlin, First Class, Crossed Wands Medal for Valor in Combat), and her name and particulars (Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, International Confederation of Wizards - Minor Mugwump, 6th level Master: Transfiguration, Order of Merlin, multiple awards, Combat Medals, multiple awards).
She folded the letter, dripped a bit of magical wax on the edge, and with a snap summoned her personal seal. When she pressed the seal to the wax, a sigh of magic whispered across the paper, changing the color of the wax to a deep emerald green and inking a small scrap of Minerva's clan tartan around the edges of the wax. The magic of the seals and wax was such a sweet piece of wizardry. Even Minerva's dislike of dealing with correspondence didn't diminish the relish she had for the little bit of magic. And thus, Minerva McGonagall returned to her bedroom with a smile.