It was near dark by the time she arrived at Minerva's. The days were getting shorter and she knew that the cottage Minerva had bought wasn't the warmest, nor the most air-tight. Not that Minerva would let someone come and seal it for her. If she wasn't feeling so sorry for herself, Hermione was sure Minerva could have done it personally, but as Minerva's self-belief waned, so too did her magical control. It worried Hermione no end.
"I'm here," Hermione called from the door that opened upon her touching the door handle.
"Kitchen," Minerva replied. "How are you?"
"Good," Hermione said, hearing the hollowness in her voice even as she tried to hide it.
"Not Ronald again?" Minerva asked, her back still turned as Hermione entered the kitchen. "What has he done this time?"
"No, surprisingly not Ron. Just a long day."
Minerva hummed in response but said nothing further, meaning that Hermione would surely be grilled about it later when Minerva had lulled her into comfort. Hermione knew that she would have to tell Minerva the truth, simply because Minerva would ask her to. She wondered how much Occlumency Minerva practised, and whether her weird magic malady was weakening the blocks she had no doubt put upon her memories - causing them to falter, hence the flashbacks.
It was worth pondering as long as Minerva didn't hex her for interfering.
They settled into their normal rhythm, arguing good naturedly about Turner's new paper on Transfiguration. Hermione loved these moments where Minerva relaxed and forgot about her worries. It was intense sometimes, trying to come up with legitimate arguments when Minerva had a good lead up. Hermione often found herself scrambling for answers when Minerva merely stood by, grinning slyly.
"When you have argued with as many people as I, you will realise there are only three different arguments: you are right, you are wrong or they are wrong."
Hermione laughed heartily, having to put the bottle of wine down before she dropped it.
"Albus was infuriating. He would often argue me into a corner until I had no other option than to hex him."
"You don't speak about him often," Hermione said as she calmed down. "You must miss him."
"Every day. He was infuriating yes, but long sighted and brilliant and I miss him every day," she sighed. "He was my best friend."
"You weren't -"
Hermione bit her lip but didn't finish her sentence. Their relationship was confined to Transfiguration discussions and Hermione's children, sometimes Harry's too, but it rarely strayed into Minerva's life.
"You can ask me things you know," Minerva said quietly as she served their dinner. "It is only fair that my life," she paused, "some of it at least, be out in the open. You have shared so much of your own life, and yourself with me," Minerva laid a hand on Hermione's arm. "It is okay to ask the same of me."
Hermione looked at Minerva carefully, seeing the genuineness on her face. It made what she had to tell Minerva even harder.
"I shall take that into consideration, but not until after dinner. I'm starved and this smells amazing." Minerva gave her a funny look but dropped it so that they could enjoy their meal.
It was delicious and Hermione enjoyed being in Minerva's presence. There was a moment when Hermione wished that she could have this forever, before filing that away to discuss on another day. There was far too much on Hermione's mind to ponder even more unanswerable questions.
"Let us retire to the living room and you can finally tell me what has been plaguing you all evening."
Hermione piled the plates in the sink and started running the water.
"Don't you dare, get in here and tell me what is going on."
Hermione sighed and dropped her head. A part of her wanted to make up a plausible story to tell Minerva, but it was doubtful she'd be able to stick to it by the time Minerva had finished looking at her.
"Hermione -"
"I'm coming," she sighed. "Please forgive me."
"This story must really be something," Minerva said absently, "if it has you twisted up so tightly in knots."
"It is," Hermione said, sitting beside her. "I almost want to apologise before I begin, but I won't. I will simply start and if you wish me to leave at the end I will. But I never meant for it to hurt you. I only wished to understand you more, will you try to remember that please?"
Minerva didn't reply but there was a look on her face that Hermione could not discern. She took a deep breath, looking at her hands while she launched into the story of her day. The longer she talked, the more concerned she became for Minerva, who did not move or speak during the retelling. When Hermione finished, she finally looked up at Minerva, blushing in embarrassment.
"I realise that I should have waited for you to tell me, whether that was in a week or ten years. But I also, truly, wanted to find out a little more about what had happened. Muggles learn about the war in school, but of course, we didn't learn it in History of Magic, so Harry and I couldn't help ourselves. It was only as I was reading through the files that I figured out what might have happened," she paused as Minerva paled. "I could be wrong," she said, though she knew it sounded ridiculous even to her own ears. "Although I'm sure I'm not. But I stand by what I said: I don't, nor would ever judge you. We all have done terrible things in the face of war, and that war was -"
"You would not understand, even if I told you," Minerva whispered hoarsely. "There were sights that I cannot even begin to describe, and any words that I utter would not convey the desperate air of hopelessness about the whole thing."
Minerva stood, her cane forgotten again, and Hermione made a mental note to test a theory she had later on. She watched as the older woman moved to the window and looked out over the moorlands behind Minerva's house.
"We captured a number of the guards; men responsible for what we had discovered. From the lowest man to a few higher-ups. The majority muggle, but a few wizards among them. We -"
The soul that was usually so present in Minerva's eyes drifted off somewhere else, and Minerva's hands started to shake. Hermione shifted closer and wrapped her arms around Minerva until she started talking again.
"Sorry," Minerva said after a time.
"Don't be. If that is all you can tell me today, then that is okay."
"No," Minerva said vehemently. "I will tell you. I just don't know how long it will take."
"I have as long as you need," Hermione whispered.
Minerva smiled weakly, but Hermione saw the gratitude in it. They sat for a while before Minerva continued.
"They were pathetic, begging for their lives. My Commander gave them all Veritaserum," Minerva grimaced. It was in short supply, but you'll be surprised how little you need to use when you couple it with pain." Minerva took a breath. "We interrogated them for four days. Three out of twelve died in the process. We," her voice wobbled. "We bound the bodies together with a living man, using the fear to our advantage. We didn't falter. Not once did we stop and think about what we were doing. Nobody paused for a moment and asked if this was the right thing to do. Our Commander had never lead us wrong. We had come through everything before with barely a scratch. So," she shook her head. "We followed where we should have questioned."
Hermione tried to take everything in, but her brain was reeling. It was a confronting thought that Minerva could have done all that she said, and Hermione struggled to keep in mind that she hadn't been there, and had no right to judge.
"I was the youngest in our company and therefore spared from doing the worst of it. I saw him transfigure people's organs, charm them to believe they were drowning. Seen people drown while standing beside me." Minerva shuddered again and Hermione struggled to remain neutral. On the one hand, Hermione understood - it was clear that Minerva was young and following orders, but Minerva's forthright nature seemed to contradict her behaviour. It was something that Hermione knew she may never understand, simply because she wasn't there. Hermione listened as Minerva continued to share all of the graphic details of their retribution. Hermione refused to think of it as torture though.
The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon when Minerva faded off, her voice rough after talking for so long. Hermione locked away all of her feelings and thoughts, sliding down on the sofa and opening her arms for Minerva. The older woman smiled gratefully and lay with Hermione, falling asleep as soon as she had settled in Hermione's embrace.
They slept.