Chapter 20 ~ A Story

Ron kissed her cheek, "Till Thursday."

"Be safe." She whispered against his hand, and with a nod; he strode away from her. She waited for him to go, before she envisioned the glorious Manor and with a faint pop; was gone.

She and Minerva hadn't spoken since their conversation earlier in the day; and it had been exceptionally brief, merely to relay that Molly and Arthur were not the guilty party. Rather Ginerva. She had been aghast, disbelieving; and in a burning rage, ended the fire call before rousing Ron and heading over to the Potter residence.

With shaking hands, she lifted the brass knocker; a lot had occurred since last evening. Her world; marriage; whole life had been tipped on its axis – and she had not had an opportunity to impart what was happening with her marriage to Minerva, nor did she know if the elder witch would be keen on the notion.

Probably not. Hermione sighed, fighting back the tears; and longing for a warm embrace to engulf her and enable her to take a moment's respite.

Unlike last eve, a tiny elf stood waiting at the entrance. "State your purpose this evening."

"Will you please inform Minerva that Hermione is here to see her?"

"If you will remain here for a moment." Tily went to snap her fingers, but a familiar voice swept over the vaulted ceilings.

"I heard." Minerva strode forward, "Thank you Tily."

Tily gave a solitary nod and then was gone, leaving the two witches alone.

"I…" Hermione swallowed, "Do you mind if I come in?"

Minerva's gaze flickered over Hermione's shoulder and then back to the woman, with a bow of her head and a gesturing arm she bid the younger witch entry. "Hermione, while I enjoy your company, I cannot…"

"Ron has been seeing someone for years and I…confronted him this morning after leaving here." She trudged on, ignoring the way her heart hammered in her chest or the way her hands shook. "We spoke about our future, what we wanted and what was best."

"And, what did you both decide?" Minerva questioned, afraid of what the answer would be; believing she knew what it needed to be.

Brown eyes sparkled in the foyers twilight, "I'm going to tell you a story…" She took a step closer, "Perhaps you can tell me how it all works out."

Oxox

A/N: The little imp was content on leaving the story finished here; thoughts regarding an epilogue or is it better left to one's imagination?