Chapter 8

Sweat dripped down the back of her neck as Hermione attempted to execute Minerva's instructions. She focused on the structure of her body—the bones, the muscles, the joints, the nerves. She thought of the interconnections of the different parts of her body and how the brain reacted to sensory input. She thought of the blood rushing through veins and arteries, carrying oxygen and stimulating nerve receptors. She visualized each cell transforming to a new, animal cell. Her left hand began to bubble and elongate, and she issued a shriek as pain engulfed her.

"Hermione!" she heard distantly before the pain abated. She panted, eyes closed tightly as her body began to relax. Opening her eyes, she realized she was supine on the ground. She sat up gingerly as Minerva handed her a goblet of water.

"Thank you," Hermione said meekly before raising it to her mouth. Her parched throat swallowed the water, emptying it quickly.

"Let me see your hand," Minerva requested. Hermione raised it for inspection and noted that it looked unmarked. "You are fortunate. I feared we might have to make a trip to the hospital wing. Poppy would not be pleased."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand what I am doing wrong," Hermione said dejectedly.

"You are thinking too much. Part of being an animagus is tapping into your inner knowing. You need to listen to your body instead of trying to guide it into a particular transformation."

"But I thought I was supposed to visualize the transition, to see my body changing," Hermione said.

"Yes, but it is important not to react to the changes as they occur. Whether you meant it or not, you were telling your body how to transform, and that led to your body beginning to morph into a specific animal. If you had continued, you might have changed part of your body to a specific animal, perhaps your entire body, but you would have changed yourself entirely as you had directed your body instead of as it wished to change. In other words, if you had changed into a cat, you would have had the mind of a cat instead of your own mind because it is not your animagus form. That is extremely dangerous since you would have been unable to change back. And if no one were with you when the change occurred, no one would know the cat was you, and you would not be changed back to your human state. You would live the rest of your life as a cat, but you wouldn't know it since you would have a cat's mind."

Hermione gasped at the implications. She had been forcing the transformation. She had visualized a cat, believing that since she and Minerva were so in tune with each other, it was likely her animagus, just as it was Minerva's. Now she wasn't so sure.

"How am I supposed to guide the transformation if I don't know what my animagus form is?" Hermione asked.

"You must listen to your body while sifting out extraneous thoughts—your inner commentary—to complete the transformation. And once you have transformed into your animagus, you will find that the transitions will become easier and quicker."

"I can't help thinking! How do you do it?" Hermione asked.

"It is automatic for me now. After all, I have been changing for decades," she said, humor lacing her words.

Groaning, Hermione dropped her face into her hands.

"Think of it this way, Hermione," Minerva said as she placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Listen to your body as you do when you are tired or hungry or in pain. Your body sends out signals. You have been trained to receive those signals since you were a baby. Now you need to train yourself to listen to your very cells as they vibrate within you. It takes time and practice. Don't give up."

"I won't." And she wouldn't. She refused to fail. Minerva had warned her that it would take time and dedication. The books had pretty much said the same thing. They had only been training for about three months. The holidays would soon be upon them, and the cooler weather reminded Hermione that she would have to decide where she would be staying—here or elsewhere—while the students were away.

Rising, Hermione removed her sweat-soaked teaching robes, revealing casual workout attire. Turning toward a row of desks, she set the clothing down and stretched. Her dark green, fitted t-shirt and black yoga pants were light and comfortable. As she lowered her arms from above her head she felt a pair of strong arms slide around her abdomen and pull her back into a solid, warm body. "Mmm," Hermione moaned as she closed her eyes and leaned her head on Minerva's shoulder. She had missed Minerva so much.

Once the school term had begun, Hermione had become immersed in her teaching obligations. Between that and the endless demands Minerva faced as the Headmistress, they had spent little time together. Sure they saw each other each day in passing, and they kept to the Friday night training schedule, but they had found it hard to relax together, to just be together. To deal with such time constraints they had earmarked certain dates to see each other: at least for a few hours during the weekend and on special occasions. They had celebrated Hermione's nineteenth birthday in September and Minerva's sixty-third birthday in October together.

When they were together in a non-professional capacity, it was as if no time had passed. Hermione felt comfortable in Minerva's arms while reading, discussing whatever entered their minds, and kissing. At some point they would give in to their desires and kiss. Sometimes the kisses began slowly. Gently. Other times it was as if they were starving and could only find sustenance through the joining of lips as they held each other closely.

Last month had been so hectic that they had not been able to spend time together for the last two weekends. Hermione had felt lost and at loose ends even though she'd had enough work to keep her busy. She had missed Minerva terribly. Even spending time with Harry had done little to soothe her. He had teased her about her restlessness mercilessly, much to her chagrin. She had turned the tables on him, though, by mentioning how often she saw Ginny, as opposed to his limited access.

Hermione was glad Ginny was not her student. She would not want to deal with that type of dichotomy. She had begun to understand the complexities involved with a teacher and student developing a personal relationship, partly due to the changes in her relationship with her former professor. She was so grateful that Minerva had decided to accept their bond instead of deeming it inappropriate and off-limits.

Soft lips slid down her neck as Hermione turned her head to allow better access. "Hermione," Minerva whispered huskily against damp skin. Hermione reached back to gently hold Minerva's hips through the thick green teaching robes. She felt Minerva's hands lightly rising to stroke her sides, her ribs. Hermione's heart rate picked up with anticipation. Minerva had never done more than kiss and hold her in the past. Although Hermione's body wanted more, she never pushed the older woman. It was more important that they take it slowly and build upon their relationship. She knew she could trust Minerva, that she cared deeply for Hermione. They had time.

"Oh, how I've missed you," Hermione whispered.

"And I you," Minerva rumbled next to her ear before sucking behind it. "Hermione, would you like to stay with me at the Manor over the winter holiday?"

Happiness swept through Hermione as she received the invitation. "Yes, Minerva. I would love to," she answered.

"What of your friends? Don't you usually spend the holidays with them?" Minerva questioned as she delicately kissed the nape of Hermione's neck. Hermione shivered at the feelings of those lips moving along her neckline so slowly.

"I do, but I would rather be with you, Minerva," Hermione said breathlessly. She felt a smile against her skin and trembled.

"The Weasleys invited me to their Christmas celebration, too. We could go together," Minerva suggested softly.

Hermione gasped. "Are you sure, Minerva? They might guess the nature of our relationship," she said. Of course, Minerva must have realized that. And, they might not. Since we work together, wouldn't it be natural for us to arrive together? "Although, Harry is already aware of my feelings for you."

"Is he?" Minerva asked in a surprised voice.

Suddenly shy, Hermione expanded. "He guessed my feelings as soon as I told him that I would be remaining here to help repair Hogwarts." Hermione became a bit nervous as they stood together silently. Minerva kissed the side of her neck, and Hermione's anxiousness abated as she melted into the body supporting her.

"I do not mind if others know of our relationship, Hermione," Minerva said softly.

Smiling fully, Hermione said, "They might not guess. But it doesn't matter. We will go to the Weasleys' house together and spend Christmas break at the Manor." She felt Minerva's arms hug her tightly.

"Good." A moment later hands began to stroke her from hips to stomach to just under her breasts again and again while Minerva nipped her ear and neck, driving Hermione crazy. Hermione groaned, digging her fingers into the thick robes and pulling Minerva's hips closer. Her hands slipped back to cup muscular buttocks, massaging them as her eyes slipped closed.

Hot hands covered her breasts, and Hermione's breath left her. She arched as thumbs brushed against her nipples, calling them to attention. Sharp teeth scraped down her neck and rested where neck met shoulder, lips sucking strongly at that juncture. Fingers pinched her nipples, causing Hermione to cry out her arousal. Hermione twisted her neck and caught Minerva's lips in a torrid kiss that went on and on, tongues dueling as those fingers twisted and squeezed Hermione's breasts relentlessly. Finally unable to endure any more without touching more of Minerva's body, Hermione turned in Minerva's arms and pulled her close to continue plundering that enticing mouth. Her hands found their way inside the long teacher robes, and Hermione lightly caressed responsive breasts, hearing a feral growl ripped from Minerva's throat.

"Minerva, you feel so good," Hermione muttered between kisses. She broke the kiss and stepped away, pulling her shirt over her head in one fluid motion. She looked into eyes darkened with desire. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Hermione stepped forward and reached for Minerva's robes. "Please. I want to feel you against me." Her hands trembling, Hermione began to remove Minerva's outer robe, only to be stopped by shaking hands over hers.

"Hermione, I will not have our first time together be reduced to a half-fast, passion-induced frenzy in your classroom. As much as it pains me to say this, I think it best we stop. I apologize for not controlling myself better." Hermione nearly wept with frustration as she was pulled into a tight hug. She rested her head on Minerva's shoulder while she sought to control her breathing. She felt foolish and rejected.

Her pride well-bruised, Hermione pulled away and retrieved her shirt, quickly donning it. She then strode to the line of desks off to the side and picked up her discarded robe. "Please excuse me," Hermione said quietly and left before hearing a reply. She entered a hidden passageway that brought her close to her private rooms. After entering her sanctuary, she walked into the bathroom and stripped. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry.

Stepping into the shower, she stood under the hot water, allowing it to unravel her knotted muscles. She refused to think about what had just occurred. She would not remember how it had felt in Minerva's arms. She would not revisit the sensation of those lips covering her mouth, her neck, her shoulders. She would not contemplate the sounds Minerva had made or the closeness of her body or the sight of those passion-darkened eyes. And she most certainly would not think about how easily Minerva had been able to turn her away.

For the next day Hermione did not leave her rooms. She ate sparingly of the meals the elves brought to her, no doubt through Minerva's orders, and refused all requests for entry. Minerva sent her messages bound to her owl's leg and delivered more through her cat Patronus, but Hermione did not acknowledge them. How could she? She was embarrassed and angry. Minerva had taken it upon herself to decide when and how they would make love—didn't Hermione have a right to decide, too? She may not be as experienced, but she knew her feelings were pure and true. She wanted to express those feelings in the most elemental way. She wanted to give herself to Minerva completely, but it seemed that Minerva felt differently.

Hermione thought back to their vacation at the Manor. Minerva had told her about her past romances, obviously trying to make some point. And what of their first kiss, shared after Hermione had mistakenly believed that Minerva viewed her as a child? Hermione feared that Minerva was trying to protect her too much, a misguided form of chivalry. It was true that Hermione wasn't worldly or even experienced. She had never felt someone's hands exploring her body, never lain with another person, even the act of kissing was still an awe-inspiring event for her. Yet, even though she was still a virgin, that did not make her less able to make the decision of when she would give herself to another. It wasn't as if she were offering herself to just anyone, driven by raging hormones or impetuousness.

Why couldn't Minerva understand?

With a sigh, Hermione propped herself up with a pillow against her headboard, opened A Step-by-Step Practical Guide to Finding Your Inner Animal, and began to read. She was determined to master her animagus form. This book gave her practical tips on how to "hear" her animagus' voice and connect with the form. Closing her eyes, she mulled over the latest chapter. It told her to take note of her dreams, for they were a bridge to her subconscious mind and powerful indicators of what form her animagus would take. This didn't help her too much, though, since her dreams had consisted of Minerva's cat animagus, Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, Sirius Black's wolf, and Ron's rat. All types of animals filled her dreams, and none of them helped her to ascertain what she so desperately wanted to know.

Tired and distraught, Hermione placed the book next to her and closed her eyes. It was late, and she welcomed the end of this day. She fell into a deep sleep and dreamt of flying around Hogwarts. Soaring to the Quiddish pitch, she opened her beak and sang a heartbreaking lament. She felt so sad, tears streamed down her feathered face as wind buffeted her downy body. Once she finished her song, she lifted off and flew toward the Forbidden Forest. And her heart was left on the field far below.

Still groggy, Hermione opened her eyes slowly. She remembered the feeling of flying, her wings gliding on the wind as she lifted her head to the winter breeze. Feeling an odd prickling on her skin, Hermione pushed her covers back. Her eyes widened as she felt her body twisting, morphing into a new form. Feathers spread across her chest as her hands and feet elongated and strengthened. She felt constricted, and looking down she saw her body covered by her flannel pajamas. She leaned down and painstakingly unbuttoned her top with her mouth.

Beak.

Hermione squawked her surprise.

Once her top was completely undone, Hermione shook her body furiously. The fabric fell off her back as she spread her wings. Aaahh. That felt so good.

She looked down at her pajama bottoms, wondering about the logistics of removing it before leaning down and taking the waistband in her beak. After several minutes of frustrating maneuvering, she got the flannel pants off her body without too many rips.

How did Minerva deal with her clothes when she transformed into a cat? She would have to ask.

Once they were talking again.

She sighed silently.

Hermione cocked her head to see what she looked like. Gold and scarlet plumage covered her body. She hopped off her bed, fluttering her wings to break the fall, and looked toward her vanity. She pushed off the floor and spread her wings while concentrating on pulling herself through the air and across the room. She soared easily to the bureau and landed lightly in front of the mirror.

That hadn't been hard at all. It was just like walking.

Kind of.

She was excited by the possibilities flying presented to her.

She stared at herself in the mirror, captivated. Her eyes were a golden brown, surrounded by gold feathers running down her neck and over her chest. On the top of her head was scarlet plumage, the feathers closely cropped around her head. The shaping of the red feathers closely matched her present hairstyle, and Hermione chirped her approval. Turning to her side, she viewed the rest of her body. Gold down covered her neck, chest, and body, although her back was a mixture of red and gold. Her tail was comprised of long plumes of gold and reds tapering off to a pointed tip. Spreading her wings, she admired the scarlet tint that merged with darker reds and gold highlights. Nodding slightly, she admitted to herself that she looked impressive.

Hermione's beak was hooked. Judging from the damage she had inflicted on her nightclothes, it was also sharp. Why didn't I just banish my clothes? Hermione thought suddenly. She shook her head. She had to do better. Part of the strength of turning into an animagus was to tap into the animal's skills while maintaining her own. There was no reason she could not perform magic while in this form.

She wondered distractedly whether Minerva applied some type of charm on her clothes to disappear when she transformed and to reappear when she reverted back to her human state. Hermione supposed she could transfigure them to an object that remained as part of her animagus form. It might be hard to keep the object on her body, though. She would have to experiment with it at a later time.

Looking into the mirror once more, Hermione extended one of her talons and admired how strong it was. She had no doubt that her human body would incorporate such changes over time, toning her appendages and adding strength to her body. She wondered what other benefits she would experience.

She extended her wings once more and cocked her head at the mirror. The underside of her left wing looked odd. Twisting her head so she could look at the area directly, she felt her heart plummet. The word "Mudblood" stretched across the area. The feathers surrounding the scar seemed to highlight the ugly skin, and Hermione felt tears form. She let loose a pained treble note, piercing the air with her sorrow. Well, that was evidently her identifying marking. How could she even think of registering with the Ministry if that were her only distinguishing characteristic? She squawked her disapproval.

She would have to revisit this topic later. Perhaps Minerva could provide some insight.

Once they were talking again.

Now that she had finished her inspection of her body, she allowed herself to label what type of bird she was: a phoenix. It was unheard of for an animagus to be a magical creature, and yet she was. She wondered what that signified. Minerva had told her that an animagus was an extension of one's inner traits and personality. Delight flooded through her. She threw back her head and made a trilling noise as she laughed with joy. The musical cadences flowed over her as she made the decision to fly.

Spreading her wings, Hermione carefully circled her room and left via the window. She felt the fizzle of magic as she traveled through the invisible barrier used to protect the castle from the outside elements. Wheeling across the sky, Hermione laughed again and then began to sing, bliss bleeding through the notes as she felt power and magic flow through her. This was invigorating, exhilarating, liberating. Time lost its meaning as she explored the area. She flapped her wings and glided over the land, her eyes picking out small animals scampering away far below.

Eventually, she began to tire and reluctantly turned back toward Hogwarts. Once she flew into her room, she landed on the bed and transformed back into human form. Exhaustion flowed over her, and she closed her eyes, not caring that she wore no clothing as her overtaxed body welcomed sleep.