"Professor?"
"Mmm," Minerva whispered, not moving an inch. She was feeling quite comfortable leaning on her former pupil, even as she had by now discontinued rubbing the older woman's pained lumbar region. It wasn't really like her to search so for human comfort or even contact, and especially not with a pupil – not even after their education in Magic. There were only few people whom she allowed to come near like that. Therefore, it had taken quite a lot from the Transfiguration Mistress to work with her former pupils while with the Order of the Phoenix. As equals.
It wasn't that she felt any superior to them in any way. She didn't use to be like that at the beginning of her career as a teacher at Hogwarts either. There were two possible reason why she might have become like that. One reason could be connected to the fact that after so many years she had taught nearly half of the Britain Wizarding community of then. Many had been lost in the wars with Grindelwald, and the first with Voldemort. Had she been close to all her former pupils, she never would have gotten over her grief. Of course she had some favorites, even though teacher generally weren't supposed to have any. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were three of those, regardless the many number of times they had worked themselves in trouble that often got far over their heads.
Maybe she had become like that through her own experience with Albus. Albus had usually been so kind, treating his pupils much like equals, never ever thinking himself more. This had earned him a lot of respect in return from his pupils, and good cooperation during his courses. He never really had to raise his voice. Some had fallen in love. Minerva had been one of these girls… No, she hadn't always been like this… She sighed, mind running. It had occasionally happened that Minerva would end up in Albus' chambers even after curfew. Sometimes they would only talk. He had often seemed the only one with whom she could have a normal, intellectual conversation. Sometimes they would play chess. Often she would lose their little matches.
Slowly but surely she had fallen in love with him, even though she knew that she couldn't, and she quite possibly would only get hurt. In fact, relationships between Professors and their pupils weren't strictly forbidden, but would get frowned upon so much the two involved never actually could pursue anything romantic. Albus wouldn't allow it. Professor Dumbledore being the all aware Professor he was, must have noticed at some point, and had once asked her rather casually in the middle of a game of a game of chess, right when the big bell towers had chimed to indicate the hour of curfew, if she knew that he couldn't pursue anything more with her than that.
She had gotten up, and left his office in tears, leaving the half finished chess game and him behind. She had cried for nights, earning her some concerned, some mocking, looks from her peers in the morning for the next couple of weeks upon arriving in the Great Hall with red, puffy eyes, bruises underneath indicating a lack of sleep. When the war with Grindelwald had happened, even though Albus had never actually told her anything about Gellert, she had known the reason why Albus hadn't been able to pursue anything romantic with her. They never had talked about it anymore. Instead their ways had parted at the end of Minerva's education, only to join again ten years later, when Albus had been in great need of a Transfiguration Professor to replace him, when he succeeded Dippet as a Headmaster. They became very close companions then, and now…
"Professor? Are you feeling any better?"
Minerva only weakly nodded against the younger woman's shoulder. After years of requiring – and receiving – the respect of her pupils like she had, she wasn't really used to being treated like this. Her age didn't cooperate as well with it anymore, even though in Wizarding terms she wasn't particularly old yet either. She sought for that what she hadn't given others now: human comfort. Hermione Granger already had been through so much. She could need the comfort as well. Logical thought told her that since both of them needed someone to lean on now, and no one else was there, it would be reasonable enough to turn to each other.
Hermione carefully raked her lithe fingers through the soft ebony wisps that had escaped the elder woman's usually neat bun. She fleetingly leaned down to place her lips upon her mentor's forehead. However then the older woman just accidentally lifted her head up, and so the younger witch's mouth landed touching the left corner of Minerva's tentatively. As Hermione quietly put some space between them in something near shock, both women fell strangely quiet for a while until suddenly their lips crashed together again full force in a passion neither women had ever felt with anyone.
Both of them impetuously fought for more, wanting to savor the touch, just wanting to feel; wanting to feel close to someone, and not alone. Finger tips began roaming across torn robes, and scarred skin until the need for air broke them apart, panting hard. No words were being spoken as both women slowly settled in each other's arms.
The exhaustion of her captivity overtook Hermione first. The steady rise and fall of Minerva's bosom underneath her head, together with the nearly inaudible sound of the intakes and exhales of air with which the elder woman breathed had something unrealistically soporific to Hermione. Once her own heart rate exhibited an even enough rhythm indicating she had fallen asleep, Minerva finally allowed herself to follow her to the land of Dreams, within which Voldemort had replaced all these Dreams by gruesome nightmares; horrible reliving of what had happened upstairs earlier… Rape, or torture, nor a combination of both had quite covered it…