A/N: Hello all! Before I get away from myself, let me explain my own impressions of Hermione and Minerva for the sake of the story.
While Emma Watson wasn't quite my image of Hermione Granger, for better or worse, I've accepted her as Hermione nonetheless. When we meet her in this story she's just passed her 20th birthday; I imagine her to be on the way to coming into her own as a woman... but a hair shy of having that sleek elegance of the self-assured. That's where Dia will step in to help.
At the risk of offending Maggie Smith fans out there (I promise I worship her on her own merit!), let me just say that I've never imagined Minerva McGonagall to bear any resemblance to the actress... and that I also never imagined her to be as old as she was cast in the films.
I happened upon an ingenious equation that another lovely writer coined to account for age vs. physical appearance in Magical Folk (if you recognize it or know who I can credit, please link or message me! I certainly did not invent it, but my memory is the worst!). I've applied it to my imagination in this story - feel free to dismiss it if you wish to retain your own imaginings, but I'll put it out there for those who are curious.
In May of 1998 when the Battle of Hogwarts occurs, we learn that Minerva McGonagall is 63 years of age (according to Pottermore). In this story we encounter her about a year and a half later in November of 1999 putting her at 64. By subtracting 17 years from that age (the age of adulthood for wizards), dividing that number by two and then re-adding in the seventeen years, we arrive to 40.5.
(x-17)/2 + 17 = physical appearance, [x = actual age]
Save for Minerva's injuries sustained during the War which undoubtedly have taken their toll on her body, I therefore imagine early forties to be a good estimate for her physical appearance.
When we first are introduced to her in the books, Harry and the other first-years are greeted by a "tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes... she had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that she was not someone to cross."
Somehow I always envisioned her as a rather classically beautiful woman with a rather formidable, unapproachable presence which leant to her appearing older than she actually was. It wasn't until Book 5 when she's hit by the stunners that I had to rethink my impression as they do reference her age. However, it's still my imagination and I like to go with what works - I always envisioned her as perhaps an older version of Eva Green (try Google searching her with the tags of "black and white" or "Penny Dreadful")... with spectacles, of course.
As with most things, however - you are left free to create your own conclusions.
Enjoy! And thank you always for the feedback... :)
- R
"Headmistress!"
Sylvie's worried tones sounded immediately as Minerva stepped out of the fireplace, too exhausted to siphon the excess soot off her robes. The Elf took care of the dirt with a snap, trotting at her heels as Minerva made a beeline for her desk, heedless of her hat and robes.
Grimacing, she lowered herself into the chair and sighed in gratitude as Sylvie presented her with a cup of ginger tea and a familiar blue bottle.
"Thank you, Sylvie," she managed, reaching for the tray with a shaky hand.
Removing the stopper from the bottle, she sniffed the contents out of habit before quaffing the potion quickly and following it with a smooth sip of tea. Closing her eyes, Minerva waited - feeling the familiar tingle spread throughout her limbs as the potion began to take effect.
She felt Sylvie bustling about at her side, a rush of air flooding to her temples as her hat was removed, followed by a lightening across her body as the Elf magicked away her outer robes. Minerva sighed her appreciation as Sylvie tsked quietly.
"Mistress must take better care! Ise returning with lunch… Ptolemy will tell Master Flitwick to come after his classes. No news to report in youses absence, ma'am," she clucked.
Opening her eyes, Minerva sent the Elf a thin smile.
"Your dutiful care is appreciated, Sylvie. I shall recover momentarily," she said, already moving to sit forward.
Sylvie responded with a raised eyebrow that indicated her disbelief, before nodding and disapparating with a crack.
For a moment the office was silent, save for the shuffling of the portraits who waited quietly for her acknowledgement and the grandfather clock dutifully counting away the seconds. Time was indeed a precious commodity. One she could not afford to waste in the coming days and weeks.
Minerva sighed, bringing both hands to her temples and deliberately smoothing back her hair which had remained in its immaculate twist throughout the harrowing morning. The gesture was calming and she took a deep inhale before placing both hands on her desk.
Two letters had been tilted against the towering pile of awaiting correspondence, clearly indicating her immediate perusal. Minerva felt a familiar rush of appreciation. Ptolemy was ever conscientious in sorting through and prioritizing her mail.
Sylvie returned with a pop, bearing a tray of small sandwiches and fruit. She shot Minerva a hard look as she snapped her small fingers and another tray appeared bearing tea.
"I shall partake of this immediately. Thank you, Sylvie," Minerva promised, already reaching for a plate.
Sylvie nodded her approval silently before disapparating.
Sighing, Minerva nibbled on the corner of a sandwich as she mentally replayed scenes from the early morning meeting.
Her time with Kingsley had been short, though she had been grateful for the Minister's overture. Despite the wake of success he continued to trail following a massive overhaul of the Ministry's departments and systems, Kingsley Shacklebolt remained a true and loyal friend.
Connections solidified between Order members during the Second War remained intact and it was common knowledge that the Minister could frequently be found at The Burrow on Sunday mornings, partaking in a warm cuppa with friends and digging into second helpings of Molly's cooking with gusto.
Her morning Floo call had found her old friend slightly harried after his meeting with Cornelius Fudge. Attentive to time and efficiency, he had quickly updated her on the unfolding situation and immediately set about plying her with in-depth questions on warding and security measures.
Minerva had to admire the man's intellect and his ability to defer to others' expertise.
It was what made him an excellent Minister.
They worked well together and Minerva had been confident he would handle the press release with aplomb. After an hour they had been interrupted by more dire news upon which several members of the Wizengamot had appeared and the meeting quickly grew in size and scale.
Minerva had been steadfast in her refusal to engage in any high-level plans for retaliation and response.
At the moment the majority of the situation was out of their jurisdiction entirely, beyond providing necessary aid and support where it was needed. It was useless to engage in idle speculation or to overstep their international boundaries.
Kingsley was of similar opinion at the outset, but began to be swayed by the temperaments of more conservative wizards as the meeting progressed.
Everyone had learned their lesson in the Second War.
After much useless speculation and circling, Minerva sought to cut the meeting short having gathered as much relevant information as she could and having honestly relayed the position of the school.
It was no secret that Hogwarts employed several of Great Britain's eminent minds and that she and Filius held seats in the ICW. It gave them an inherent position of power within the current situation however Minerva had been resolute. Her first duty was to the safety and protection of Hogwarts and its students.
Any actions demanded by the ICW would first be vetted against her responsibilities as Headmistress.
The meeting wrapped up shortly thereafter, by which point she had a pounding headache and several shooting pains throughout her body. Minerva had provided a small bit of input regarding appropriate support measures and implementing national security, but her temper quickly grew thin and she difficulty reigning in her contempt for those who were quick to jump at the bit when not two years previous, they had been so reticent to acknowledge ascension of Lord Voldemort.
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Minerva felt the weight of several pairs of eyes from above.
By now the portraits knew better than to disturb her before she was ready. She polished off the sandwich and turned her attention to the letters Ptolemy had left for her.
The first was her summons from the International Confederation of Wizards. As both she and Filius held seats representing Great Britain in the General Assembly, both she and Kingsley had anticipated the emergency conference following the alarming news of the morning.
The second was unexpected. Frowning, Minerva deftly opened the familiar emerald green and gold seal and quickly skimmed through its contents. Her eyes narrowed at the implications.
There hasn't been a Quorum convened on the request of the ICW in what? Over five decades?
Feeling even more unsettled than she had during the morning meeting, Minerva sat back, suddenly breathless.
What does this mean?
Carefully she removed her spectacles before rubbing the bridge of her nose.
A gesture towards the hearth had the fireplace roaring with renewed vigor as she shuddered against a chill that didn't come from within the room.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to replay the last memory of the meeting that had taken up the last several hours of her time.
"Minerva, the implications of these attacks are far-reaching… the anonymity of the perpetrators-"
"Only serves their underlying goal… which to this point remains unknown. We must allow this to take its course for the time being and let them reveal their hand."
"The unknown is what nearly cost us the Battle of Hogwarts."
"I won't lie to you, Kingsley. My initial impression of the matter hints at far more nefarious dealings than simple sport against Muggles or even the ISOS. I am asking you to remain vigilant and attentive without closing the doors to opportunity."
"I fear you hope for too much, Minerva. How can our own recent history remain separate from these current attacks?"
"I never intimated they were separate. I am asking you to refrain from drastic measures until after the convening of the ICW. There is more to this than meets the eye and I have a feeling the picture will paint itself for us upon the international stage."
"Politics?"
"Politics."
"Remind me never to cross you, Minerva. You play a tough hand."
Minerva carefully held the memory in her mind before placing her wand at her temple. She extracted the memory slowly, watching it twirl and wisp lazily on the focus crystal for a moment before banishing it to the Pensieve with a flick.
It would not do to dwell on what was not yet revealed.
Following the excitement of the early morning, Hermione's day had unfolded rather slowly.
It had taken her most of an hour to calm herself following her heated interaction with Master Kallas, but eventually she had found a rhythm in her swimming and settled in for a longer stint in the sea than originally anticipated.
November brought overcast skies to Naxos and today was no exception.
The typically cerulean waters of the clear Aegean sea were slate gray and marred by more waves than usual. A brisk wind cut across the rough hewn rocks of the island's scrubby landscape, whistling between the leaves and silencing the usual birdsong.
After an hour and a half in the water, Hermione had thrown on a pair of trainers and shorts and quietly Apparated to the foot of Mt. Zeus. She cast a few disillusionment charms and a Notice-Me-Not for good measure and set her wand to vibrate every ten minutes to keep her pace as she began her hike. The tourist season had ended, though it wasn't unheard of for locals to ascend the paths from time to time.
As much as she occasionally missed simple interactions with others, Hermione took the physical training portion of her apprenticeship very seriously and didn't appreciate interruptions. Exercise was her time for reflection and for working through problems, both theoretical and personal.
During her first few months on Naxos, Master Kallas had accompanied her around the island to ensure she learned the different paths and the ways in which they challenged the body. Hermione had been astounded by her mentor's physical capabilities.
For a woman of small stature Master Kallas knew how to maximize her body's abilities to their fullest extent. She was incredibly fast, agile, and strong - able to lift nearly twice her bodyweight. But it was the understated grace with which she appeared to apply equally to most complex and most mundane of activities that left Hermione the most impressed.
The witch was never out of balance, out of breath, or caught off guard. There was a fluidity and strength about her movement and presence that made her seem effortlessly poised - as though she could float into a ballet studio or step into a duel at a moment's notice.
Distantly, Hermione had wondered how the elder witch had come to train her body with such care and precision… and to what end?
For as much as she knew Master Kallas enjoyed physical exercise and believed in it as a way of life, the elder witch adhered to her own training with a rigidity that seemed almost militaristic at times. It was yet another mysterious facet of the woman's life that Hermione longed to unravel.
In part due to her master's enduring example, Hermione had taken to her own regimen like a duck to water.
While Master Kallas favored a combination of yoga, weightlifting, and the occasional swim, Hermione preferred outdoor activities like swimming, hiking, and bouldering - choosing to incorporate the weight training into her circuits as she roamed about the island.
And as promised, she found the strength of her magic increasing with the strength of her body.
Simple spells flowed like water from her wandtip and Master Kallas had quickly taught her the advantage of non-verbal wandless summoning and banishing which had once seemed like such complicated, exotic methods of articulating magic.
Back at Hogwarts she had only ever seen Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall engage in such spellwork, the latter only ever in the comfort of her own office.
Upon asking, Master Kallas had intimated that the Western world had difficulty accepting both non-verbal spells and wandless magic, saying that they were attributes associated with the secretive and subversive methods of Dark wizards. She had also revealed that a large part of her own training had hinged upon it and that much of Africa and Asia preferred to work without wands.
Over time, Hermione had improved with the simple spells and the clumsy workings of her hands and fingers were no longer. Now, she simply opened her palm and her wand would appear within it. It was an unexpectedly organic and empowering approach to magic that she found intoxicating and she longed for more.
The wind grew stronger as Hermione ascended the rocky path towards the summit.
Sweat poured off of her body and her suit was again as wet as it had been when she left the sea. Her muscles were stinging with effort, but she charged on heedlessly.
Something roared to life within her whenever she trained - challenging her to push herself farther and take more risks.
The third path on Mt. Zeus was one of her favorite climbs.
It was steep and full of boulders that demanded a bit of kinesthetic logic to unravel. There were a few places she chose to break away from the trail and rely on more of her upper body strength to pull herself upward.
The summit came quickly and Hermione felt her muscles protesting the last leg of the hike. She willed herself to sprint the last few meters to the top, wind hissing past her ears until she finally stood at the highest peak, shaking like a leaf from exertion.
The everyday sounds of the earth had faded far below and all she heard was the wind blowing past her ears, lifting her sweaty curls, and filling her with a full feeling of freedom.
Looking down, she saw all of Naxos spread beneath her. The sun was attempting to peek through the grey haze, dotting the silvery blanket of the sea in flecks of gold. Feeling the blood still pounding in her ears, Hermione lifted her arms above her head and took a deep breath.
This is exactly where she belonged.
Above the sea, a part of nature… her own power pulsing through her veins...
The coming days and months held such promise.
There was so much left to absorb... so much to still give.
A brilliant smile broke out across Hermione's face mirroring the sun breaking through the clouds.
Expelling the air from her lungs, the lioness roared.