A/N: Hello All! Here with another update, I hope you enjoy it! The next few chapters are my favorite so far, so expect them to be coming quite soon!

You are Minerva McGonagall.
You are eighteen years old.
You do not have panic attacks.
You can do this.

Those words had echoed through Minerva's mind like a constant mantra, desperately holding her above water, forcing her to continue forward through each day.

It had been over a week since she had spoken with Severus, but at times, the words grew so loud that Hermione or Harry would have to shout for her to hear them, shaking her from the repetitious chanting.

"Mary," Hermione asked carefully, "Are you sure you're alright?"

You are Minerva McGonagall.
You are eighteen years old.
You do not have panic attacks.
You can do this.

Minerva smiled kindly at Hermione, "I'm alright, really. Just thinking." Hermione nodded worriedly, and Minerva found herself inwardly sighing. She wanted to tell Hermione, she wanted to tell her everything. She needed a friend, a real friend, especially if she really was going to stay this age.

Logically, she knew that Albus wouldn't blame her for telling Hermione. Of all the students, she was the one that they both could trust to keep her secret. And he would understand Minerva's need for a comrade, for someone to be completely forthright with. But the truth of the matter was, Minerva was afraid. She was afraid of admitting the truth to herself, and she was afraid to tell Hermione.

Over the past week, they had grown increasingly close. Hermione seemed to understand Minerva's need for quiet, but also her need for company. They studied together for hours, pouring over books, and on more than one occasion had lost track of time discussing one issue or another. Just last night they had been nearly caught by Argus as they snuck back into the common room after spending several hours discussing the dangers and benefits of Avian Animagus transformation. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning before they actually went to sleep.

This seemed to be becoming more and more common, and Minerva was not entirely comfortable with the way she responded to their friendship. She was continually forced to remind herself that no matter what her eighteen year old hormone poisoned body thought, she was a 65 year old woman, and Hermione was her student. That was all there was too it.

That was why she was so quiet during the days, and why Hermione was so completely confused. By the end of the night, Minerva always seemed to lose all control over her inhibitions and would laugh and talk with the younger witch, but come morning, her guilt and shame overwhelmed her—keeping her entirely quiet throughout the day. Minerva felt bad; she could tell that her silence perplexed Hermione. She was worried for her new friend, but Minerva couldn't move past the overpowering discomfort she was feeling.

You are Minerva McGonagall.
You are eighteen years old.
You do not have panic attacks.
You can do this.

"Mary, are you listening at all?" Ron pouted, causing Mary to jump slightly.

"Sorry, Ron," she said, her eyes apologetic. "My thoughts just carried me away again. What were you saying?" Glancing across the table at Hermione, she found her staring at her book awkwardly. Ron obviously thought she was reading, but judging from her unmoving eyes, and the fact that she wasn't chewing her lip (a habit Minerva had noticed several nights ago), Minerva guessed that she was just pretending. A light blush covered her cheeks. What had Minerva missed?

Her attention back on Ron, she noticed his ears glowing slightly and groaned inwardly. While she wasn't sure what was happening, over the years she had grown rather talented at reading Weasely's by the shade of their ears. And if the glowing scarlet had anything to say, Minerva was about to be put to the test.

"I was just asking if you had plans on Sunday," Ron said quietly, obviously holding back the nervous stutter which was threatening to escape.

"Erm," Minerva replied awkwardly, she didn't know exactly where this was going—but it couldn't possibly be good. Glancing towards Hermione for help, she found the brunette still focused on her "reading" and apparently entirely unwilling to assist.

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend, you see," Ron continued, and Minerva's mind started screaming. She should have seen this coming when she went flying with the boys last weekend. She should have noticed this possibility… a pretty girl who can fly; she knew exactly what was happening now. "And I was wondering if you wanted to go with me—I could show you around, and er, we could get lunch or something. Erm. Yea. What do you say?"

He looked at her expectantly, his entire face having adopted the scarlet shade of his ears and his blue eyes shining with obvious hope. Yet all she could see was the youngest son of some of her closest friends, and the second year version of himself, begging her not to expel him for crashing an enchanted car. No, certainly not. She could never date a student, and of all of them she certainly couldn't date Ron Weasely.

"I'm sorry Ron," she said quietly, "I had already promised to go with Hermione." She lied blatantly, praying that the woman across the table would go along with it—they had grown a rather close friendship recently, and she was confident that Hermione would have agreed to spend the day exploring the village with her—had they looked up from their books long enough to discuss it.

Ron seemed to deflate entirely as he looked across the table at Hermione, "Oh, she hadn't mentioned that. I mean, I'm sure that Hermes wouldn't mind doing that some other time…" he tried desperately.

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed imperceptibly, and Minerva found herself snapping at Ron, "She finds that name entirely abhorrent, Ronald. And no, I do not make a habit of making plans with my friends and then dropping them at the last minute. That does not seem like a good way to maintain friendships. While I am flattered by your offer, I must decline."

Ron gaped at her slightly, obviously surprised to hear someone other than Hermione telling him off for his poor manners. "Hermione," Minerva called across the table, causing the younger girl to look up, her brown eyes sparkling with laughter, "If we don't leave soon, we're going to be late for Transfiguration. Walk with me?"

Hermione smiled as she packed her books away quickly, "Sure, see you later Ron."

Hermione walked quickly from the hall with Minerva at her side; upon exiting the Great Hall she nearly dropped her books as she doubled over in laughter.

Minerva smiled affectionately at her, "I'm glad to see you're amused."

Hermione gasped desperately for air, "I told him you wouldn't be interested, but he insisted, and made me promise not to tell you. I really am sorry, Mary."

Laughing lightly, Minerva grinned, "Well you were right, I'm not interested in the slightest—I hope you don't mind going with me to Hogsmeade."

"Not at all," Hermione responded, shaking her head. "I meant to ask you, I figured you would enjoy seeing it. But I seem to always get caught up in something when I'm around you."

Minerva nodded, "I meant to as well, thank you for not minding my telling him that. I just didn't know what to say."

"Being his best friend and all, I really should tell you that he's quite a good guy, once you get to know him. Very sweet—when he isn't being an insensitive dolt. Any girl would be lucky to have him—well, any girl other than me," she finished with a light laugh.

"I'm sure you're right," Mary replied with a small smirk. "But unfortunately Ronald is all wrong for me—anatomically speaking."

Hermione tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Minerva grinned, "Well if his gender wasn't enough of a turn off, I could never date a person whose brain is that shrunken." Hermione's eyes glowed with sudden understanding, as she smiled at Minerva's parting jibe. "That's not a problem—is it?"

"Absolutely not, Mary," she said with a pink tinge coloring her complexion.

3 Hours later, Minerva seemed to have lost her silence and her good mood as she stormed through the halls of Hogwarts. Hermione jogged behind her, her shorter stature finding it nearly impossible to keep up with the taller girl's stride. "Mary, please slow down and tell me what's the matter."

Minerva slowed ever so slightly, a look of slight apology gracing her face, "I don't know what is wrong with that miserable old coot, how could he possibly think that that woman was a suitable replacement! Minerva McGonagall was a holder of an Order of Merlin, and widely recognized as a transfiguration prodigy, as well as having won several awards for outstanding instruction. And Dumbledore thinks it's appropriate to hire a 24 year old who just barely managed to pass her NEWTs and never possessed an ounce of passion for the subject as her replacement!?"

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Mary, how do you know all of that? I thought you had never heard of McGonagall?"

Minerva stopped midstride, her face paling, "I—I didn't want to seem like to much of a know-it-all, Hermione. I didn't really know you then, and so I played along a bit, I'm sorry. Of course I had heard of Professor McGonagall, she's one of the most respected witches in the field," Minerva explained desperately. Hoping that Hermione believed her, she quickly continued on, "And, as for our new professor, I did a bit of research after last week's classes. I wasn't overly impressed at that point, but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but after this week—oh that was simply abysmal! For God's sake, even first years know how to remove the buttons from a garment when transfiguring it!"

Hermione chuckled lightly, "I thought I was the only one who noticed that."

Minerva snorted uncharacteristically, "I don't know how anyone could have missed it. Buttons aren't exactly normal on a rabbit. Animal transfiguration may be much more complex, but any certified educator should be capable, and of all the mistakes to make, buttons shouldn't have been the problem. She should be arrested for animal cruelty! Transfiguring a poor animal like that, that rabbit will likely never be healthy."

Hermione nodded, "I agree entirely, Mary, but what can we do? She's the professor, and we must respect that. You lost nearly twenty points because you insisted on heckling the poor woman!"

"What can we do?! We can march right up those damned stairs and have a word with our brilliant Headmaster. This is not appropriate, not in the least."

Minerva made to storm away, but Hermione grabbed her hand quickly causing Minerva to stop. "Mary," she said quietly, and Minerva could hear the smile in her voice. Turning towards the girl she was greeted by a soft smirk and twinkling eyes. "You know that you can't really go and demand that the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, fire a professor, don't you?"

Minerva found herself momentarily distracted by the soft hand wrapped around her own, the air pressing in heavily around her. With a sudden blushing realization she jumped back, stuttering slightly, "Of course, Hermione. I'm sorry I was being so silly. I just get very—passionate, about such things."

"I completely understand, Mary. Just try and take a breath," She glanced at her feet, her face glowing an impressive shade of pink, "Feel like a walk around the grounds, we've got a couple of hours until dinner, and none of my homework is pressing."

Minerva glanced down, her heart beating loudly, "I can't," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "I need to meet with someone before dinner."

Hermione just nodded, "Alright, Mary. I'll see you at dinner then."

Minerva turned around and hurried away quickly, careful not to look back at Hermione. She was not at all prepared to handle the looks Hermione was throwing her way, and she didn't even think the younger witch realized the way she was looking at her.

Forcing her hormones under control and focusing on the task at hand, she quickly made her way to the Headmaster's office. She and Albus were long overdue for a conversation.

Glancing around her swiftly, she saw that the corridor was clear, "Acid Pop." The staircase swiftly appeared and she disappeared as it moved around the corner. Exhaling deeply, she realized that for the first time in a week she was allowed to take off the mask of Mary McSweeney, and be herself. Be Minerva McGonagall.

Knocking softly on the door, she couldn't help but smile when she heard her old friend calling her in.

"Minerva!" he exclaimed, "I had been meaning to send you an owl and find out how you've been fairing. How are you coping with your new life?"

She glared at the older wizard, quickly donning the stern mask of Professor McGonagall, "I would be doing far better if you had hired an even mildly competent professor to replace me, Albus. Lizzie Portense? Really? That miserable girl could barely transfigure a pin cushion!"

Albus' eyes twinkled brightly, only annoying Minerva further, "I have missed you, Minerva. And in my defense—I had very little time to find a new professor."

Minerva frowned slightly, sitting in the chair across from his desk and crossing her legs, "I suppose," she huffed, "The terrible excuse for a witch deformed a poor rabbit today. It has buttons on it, and who knows what damage she did to the internal skeletal system. Poor thing."

"I assure you, Minerva, I will continue looking for a more suitable replacement," Minerva nodded lightly, and allowed her face to relax slightly. "Now, if you don't mind me asking, how are you doing—aside from your terrible Transfiguration experience?"

Minerva frowned noticeably, "I don't suppose you've made any progress with my current ailment?"

Albus' eyebrows rose, "I'm sorry, I was told Severus had informed you. Minerva, we don't believe there is a solution to your situation. Unfortunately, I believe you are forced to start again."

Her frowned deepened, "Severus did tell me, I had just hoped—well, I suppose I hoped that he was wrong."

"Is it really such a hardship, Minerva? You are being given an opportunity many people could only dream of."

She sighed, her eyes closing slightly, "Albus, I've worked very hard to earn the life I have—I don't want a new one. Now, I'm no one, I have no identity and I have no one I can be truly honest with," she said quietly. "I enjoyed being a professor, I enjoyed doing research. Now I'm just a silly eighteen year old again."

Albus smiled sympathetically, "Now Minerva, you were never a silly girl—though slightly more rebellious, if I recall correctly."

Minerva rubbed her hands nervously, "Albus, there have been—unexpected consequences of the shift in my age," she blushed darkly and Albus raised an eyebrow in question. "It seems that not only have I deaged physically—I have also deaged emotionally."

Albus frowned slightly, "How so?"

"I've found myself having difficulty controlling my temper again, and my raw magic. I'm far more prone to spontaneous irresponsibility, and I'm nearly incapable of controlling what I say. I keep blathering off personal information which I would rather keep from my students. And I'm entirely incapable of controlling my emotions. I've nearly broken down several times this week, Albus—that is something I had mastered quite some time ago. And then there are the hormones…"

Albus laughed, "Ah so now we reach the true problem—you have always had difficulty controlling your temper, and you are in a situation which even you can understand to be emotionally trying. You wouldn't be concerned over those things, Minerva."

"Albus, this is a real problem!" she exclaimed, "I'm a sixty-five year old professor! I can't go around developing silly crushes, or forming friendships with my students, it's completely unethical."

Albus looked at her closely, and she couldn't help but grimace. He was giving her the look which could only mean one thing, he knew everything. The damnable old man knew exactly what she wasn't saying, and he was considering exactly how to respond to her. He was looking at her like he looked at his students.

"Damnit, Albus. I'm not your student. Stop staring at me over your glasses like that—it isn't going to work on me!" she snapped, causing Albus to smile.

"Minerva, may I be entirely straight forward with you?" Minerva nodded cautiously. "The fact of the matter is, you are not a sixty-five year old professor anymore, and you won't be one for another forty-seven years. You are eighteen years old, and there is absolutely no reason to think that you won't stay that way. Now, I wouldn't suggest you tell anyone exactly what has happened until after you have graduated—that is likely to make things very awkward around your classmates, and we still need to consider the safety of such an invention being revealed to the public. But once this year is up and the potion's formula is safe, you are free to do as you please. Should that be teaching here, I will welcome you back gratefully. If you would prefer to try something else instead, I will support you entirely. You are my friend, and I simply want your happiness.

"That being said—you are no longer these students' professor, you have befriended several of them, and unless you lock yourself up for the rest of your life, you are likely to befriend many of your past students. You've taught the large majority of witches and wizards in Britain. Don't spend the rest of your life alone simply because you've had this accident. Make friends, find romance, and live your life—Minerva, you have a second chance. Don't waste it being miserable."

Minerva groaned audibly, she knew that he was right, but that didn't mean she had to like it. "Albus," she said desperately trying to keep the pain out of her voice, "I just want to be me again."

"Then be you again, Minerva," he responded gently, "You were never defined by your age before—don't be defined by it now."

Minerva knew all of this. Before Hermione Granger had come along, she was known as the smartest witch of the age. Logically it all made sense. But even without her eighteen year old emotions going wild—this was a lot to take in.

Both the good and the bad, it was just too much. She was starting an entirely new life. She would never be the same again. Everything was different now.

You are Minerva McGonagall.
You are eighteen years old.
You do not have panic attacks.
You can do this.

And clinging to those thoughts as they raced desperately through her mind—Minerva began to panic.

She could not do this.

I realize this chapter ended much like the former, but trust me, it's important. :-)

In response to some of your reviews, don't worry, I believe that honesty is the best policy as well. Keep in mind, Mary/Minerva may be having many of the emotions of her eighteen year old self-but Professor McGonagall is far from gone. It would take her time to form that kind of trust. And even though Hermione is brilliant, she is also exceptionally cautious. In my mind, even if she did have suspicions, she wouldn't voice those until she was sure. Remember how cautious she was in accusing Draco Malfoy of anything in HBP?

Things will move quickly, as they tend to when you're 18/19 and in love...or in crisis, but be patient with the poor girls! :-)

As for how often I update, I tend to update after I finish writing a chapter. For instance, I just finished writing Chapter 9, so I did final edits on Chapter 4 and am now sharing it with all of you fine folks! I find it's a good way to make sure I don't update like crazy, and then suddenly go on a month long hiatus while I try and find out what will happen next! Still-I write a lot, so your wait shouldn't ever be too long!

I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope you keep reading and reviewing! Your reviews really do inspire me to write more quickly!