A/N: Warning for Angry!Ron.
Hermione's bed was full of bags colored Madame Malkin's signature magenta. Minerva had started separating things for the wash when Tilley had popped into the room with supper and shooed Minerva away from the bags.
"Eat, you silly witches. I'll have Hermione's clothes ready by morning."
Hermione started to protest, but the house elf silenced her with a narrowing of her enormous golden eyes.
"Yes, Tilley. Thank you." She said. Minerva faintly echoed the sentiment, and they retired to their meal.
Minerva looked at Hermione; a little bemused and a little sly. "I'm glad that I am no longer the only one Tilley bosses around."
"She's more of a tyrant than you are, Minerva."
"Where do you think I learned it from, my dear."
Hermione fought very hard to keep a straight face and focused her concentration on the lovely curry over rice that Tilley had served for supper.
It was nearing nine o'clock and Hermione and Minerva were both lounging in front of the fire: Minerva writing letters, Hermione devouring Minerva's old lesson plans for first and second year transfiguration students. Minerva slid her lap desk onto the coffee table and stretched.
"This has been a remarkably pleasant evening, little fox." Minerva had stripped off her over robe and boots and her bare feet were propped on the coffee table. Hermione closed the folder she was reading from and tossed it onto the table where it landed with a plop. Then she scooted down the couch and dropped her head on Minerva's shoulder.
"I agree." She tangled her fingers with Minerva's and made a happy little noise in the back of her throat. "I'm so glad to be here with you, Minnie."
"I am so very happy to have you here, mo cridhe." Minerva said softly.
They sat quietly together, both lost in their thoughts, lost in the flickering of the heatless flame in the fireplace.
A loud pop sounded, rattling the windows in the tower, heralding Tilley's appearance in the room, her eyes a little wild.
"Mistress, young Master Weasley is waiting in the entrance hall. He is quite incensed."
Minerva grimaced. "Well, I suppose this was inevitable." She smoothed Hermione's hair. "Are you up for this, 'Mione? Do you want me to get rid of him?"
Hermione sighed. "No, Minnie. He's my problem. Will you come with me while I talk to him?"
"I would be happy to, Hermione." She squeezed Hermione's hand. "Please show him to my office, Tilley."
Hermione shrugged her blazer back on and slid her feet back into her flats while Minerva smoothed her hair into shape and pulled her over robe back on. Instead of her impossible lace-up boots, she pulled a pair of clogs out from under the sofa and jammed her feet into them.
Before they left the tower, Hermione grabbed Minerva's hand and pulled her close. Standing on her tiptoes, she brought her face to within millimeters of the older woman's and kissed her softly, so softly that the skin barely brushed, on the lips.
Tucking her face into Minerva's neck she said, "I will never, ever leave you Minerva McGonagall."
Minerva crushed Hermione to her in a hug.
"And I will always stand by your side, mo cridhe."
Arm in arm, they made their way to Minerva's office.
Hermione saw Minerva put on her Headmistress face as they approached the stone gargoyle. Hermione squeezed her hand.
The gargoyle swung open as Minerva approached. Minerva squeezed Hermione's hand, then released it, and moved to precede Hermione into the office. She swept up the stairs and into the office, Hermione right on her heels.
Ron was standing stiffly in front of Minerva's desk, his face nearly purple, his jaw clenched. The portraits were oddly silent. Albus in particular had a grim look on his face.
"Mister Weasley, what can I do for you this evening?" Minerva's voice sounded like it had every single day of their school years; crisp, precise and completely no-nonsense.
Hermione entered the office to stand at Minerva's side.
"What I want to know, McGonagall, is what business you have taking a stroll with my girlfriend on Diagon Alley." Ron's voice was terse. He looked furious.
Hermione put a hand on Minerva's arm to forestall her response.
"Ron, you know as well as I do that our romantic association has been over for quite a while. I told you as much when I left Monday. I don't belong to you Ron, I never did."
Ron's jaw clenched tighter and he drew his wand. Hermione imagined that she could hear the enamel of his molars cracking.
He was shouting now, his wand waving dangerously: "You owe me Hermione, after all I did for you. And now you're hanging all over this dried up, wrinkled old dyke, embarrassing me in front of everyone."
Before he had finished his sentence, Hermione was across the room, her wand out, the tip pressed into the soft flesh under Ron's chin.
"Don't you ever, ever speak like that about Minerva again, Ronald Weasley." She growled, breathing heavily through her nose. Ron gulped, his adam's apple bobbing an inch away from where the point of Hermione's wand dug into his chin.
"So its true, then." Ron was still angry, and apparently stupid enough to push Hermione. "You're sleeping with that old bitch." He choked out a laugh. "I always thought you were frigid, but I guess you just like shriveled-up old cunt."
Hermione growled, the sound coming from deep in her chest. A trickle of blood dripped down Ron's neck.
Minerva took the few steps forward that would put her at Hermione's side. She put a hand on the young woman's wand arm.
"Now, now, mo cridhe. I'm in no mood to hide a body tonight." Hermione lowered her arm, shaking visibly. Ron gulped again; the look in both woman's eyes was deadly. He wasn't sure what was more frightening: Minerva's icy, controlled anger or Hermione's obvious rage.
"Mister Weasley, I was kind enough to allow you into my home this evening though my first instinct was to deny you access. I guess I was operating under the misconception that you were an adult - a man, and not a spoiled child."
Minerva tilted her head, maintaining eye contact with Ron, her voice completely even, her tone conversational, even light.
"I'm going to give you a few tidbits about myself Ronald, things you would not have known as my student. I am a sixth level master of transfiguration. The only one the world over. As such, if I desire or if I am provoked, I can change you Ronald, change you at the atomic level." She smiled, showing her teeth a little. "I can change you into a rock, Ronald, into a rat or a cockroach, and leave your mind intact."
She leaned a little closer. "The secret, Ronald, about atomic transfiguration, is that it is very, very permanent. It will persist even when I die. It will persist unless another Master of sufficient skill, knowledge, and precision changes your every atom back to its original condition."
Minerva grasped Hermione's hand and sat back on her heels.
"If you ever, ever wave a wand at Hermione in such a way again, or scare her again, or even look at her cross-eyed again, I will transfigure your dick into the shriveled old cunt you seem to so revile, and no one will be able to change it back."
She bared her teeth in that mockery of a smile again. "I know at some point your bravado will once more overcome your good sense, and when it does, I ask you to remember just what I am capable of, Ronald. You saw me fight in a number of battles; saw me kill to protect you and your friends. Do not think for a second I will not deal with you to protect Hermione, because I will, speedily, and with very little remorse."
"Now Ronald, there is a jar of Floo powder on the mantle. Take a handful and leave. You are no longer welcome here and will be barred from the premises if you try to come again."
Ron was shaking - Hermione didn't know if it was anger or fear - when he scooped a handful of powder from the jar on the mantle. Before he tossed it on the fire, he turned to the two witches and said, his voice shaking as hard as the rest of him, "You'll pay for this, you crazy dykes. I'll make you pay."
Hermione lunged forward, her wand raised again, but Ron managed to throw the powder into the fire and step into the hearth before the words of an appropriate hex or curse could reach her lips.
When he had disappeared, Hermione made a sound halfway between a sob and a guffaw and threw herself against Minerva.
"Such a fierce little witch." Minerva petted Hermione's hair as the girl laughed and cried into her robes.
"That man is a rat bastard, Minnie. What happened to sweet, dim, loyal Ron Weasley?"
"Oh, mo cridhe, he experienced a trauma and grew up, rather poorly, I might add. I think that maybe he has more problems than PTSD." She pressed her lips to Hermione's forehead. "He seems to feel rather entitled. To you, especially."
Hermione growled. "I'm not his. I was never his."
"You are very much your own witch, 'Mione. Ronald seems to be the only person confused about that fact." She kissed the top of Hermione's head. "Now, let's go have a cup of tea and go to bed." Hermione nodded into her chest.
Ensconced together on the couch with chamomile tea and oatmeal raisin cookies, Hermione could barely resist the urge to crawl into Minerva's lap and curl up there. If she had had the energy to transform, she would have done it in fox form.
"Can we go to bed, Minnie?"
"Let's."
Hermione changed into her nightshirt and went to hover in Minerva's doorway, nervous about asking to sleep in the older woman's bed. The door was open, nearly all the way, and Minerva was changing. The older witch's back was bare - her broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and hips. The muscles in her back looked like those in the backs of the swimmers Hermione had watched in the muggle Olympics that summer. Hermione nearly groaned in disappointment when Minerva pulled her nightgown over her head.
"Are you going to keep tap-dancing in the doorway, or are you going to come to bed, 'Mione?"
"That sounds nice." Hermione's mouth was dry. Minerva smirked as she pulled the covers back.
Hermione and Minerva met in the middle of the bed, wrapped their arms around one another, and fell asleep.