A/N: Happy Saturday! I'm pretty sure this chapter is what quite a few of you have been waiting for, so I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think!
Albus Dumbledore couldn't mask the chuckle which escaped him as he greeted his student. At only ten o'clock in the morning, Hermione Granger, in all her 5"4' glory, stood at his door, arms crossed, eyebrow quirked, and reminding him strongly of a certain Transfiguration professor when she has been tricked.
Her frown deepened as he chuckled, and he quickly stifled the offensive noise, "Good Morning, Miss. Granger, please come in."
"Professor," she greeted with a nod, "I hope it's alright, my stopping by without making an appointment. I found myself rather pressed to see you as soon as possible."
The headmaster smiled pleasantly and directed her to a chair, "Of course Miss. Granger, it's always a pleasure to visit with you. Could I offer you a cup of tea?"
Hermione gave a sigh of relief, and politely declined. She had been worried, coming to the Headmaster's office at this time of day, and without an appointment. But it had been several days since Mary's flying episode, and she had scarcely slept since. She was incredibly displeased with Professor Dumbledore, and required certain answers. Questions aside, she didn't want to anger the wizard, simply to interrogate him, and she was pleased that he seemed to welcome her.
"How may I help you this morning, Miss. Granger?" He asked politely.
She crossed her legs and tapped her foot nervously, taking a deep breath she asked, "Professor Dumbledore, may I speak quite plainly?" He nodded, his face expressing simple curiosity. "Over the last seven years, I don't believe I've done anything to imply that I'm unobservant or unintelligent. Lacking judgement—occasionally. But never unobservant or unintelligent."
Professor Dumbledore nodded, "Certainly not, Miss. Granger," he replied, causing her to blush.
"So why is it that you and Professor McGonagall seemed to be convinced that I wouldn't notice her eighteen year old self living in my dormitory?" She asked stiffly, surprised when he only chuckled with amusement.
"I was never under the illusion that you would be fooled, Miss. Granger. I had thought it would take you slightly longer to confirm your suspicions, you being more cautious in nature, but I suspected you would figure it out eventually."
"The nice new Scottish Gryffindor with long dark hair, piercing green eyes, and an awkward habit of referring to her peers as Mr. and Miss. Nothing suspicious there," Hermione said sarcastically, immediately regretting her tone. "I apologize, Sir. I didn't mean to use that tone."
The headmaster waived a hand, dismissing her concerns, "If I may, when did you begin to suspect, Miss Granger? Just out of my own idle curiosity?"
She smiled slightly, "Immediately, Sir—though I chalked that up to my being insane for the first several days. Then I thought that she was perhaps Professor McGonagall's niece, knowing she has two brothers. But her back story didn't fit into that possibility. Over the last several days, I've been almost entirely certain—she has known things that she shouldn't know, on several occasions. My failing my flying lessons, her knowledge of Professor Portense—not to mention her knowledge of herself. And she knew where your office was without having been told. All of it added up."
The professor's eyes twinkled behind his glasses, "Very impressive, Miss. Granger," he said with an approving nod. "Do any of your other classmates suspect?"
"No, sir. And I haven't mentioned it to anyone."
"That, I am glad of, Miss. Granger. Now tell me, why didn't you approach Minerva directly?" he asked curiously.
"Well sir," she began nervously, "For one, I wasn't entirely sure until several days ago—and I was rather worried about being laughed at. Mary and I have formed quite the friendship, at least I think we have, and I wouldn't have wanted her to suddenly declare me barmy and run off. Besides my own embarrassment, I have several theories as to what may be happening—but in the case of my assumptions being incorrect; I thought I should ask you rather than Professor McGonagall herself. I wouldn't want to cause any lasting damage."
"A very wise decision, Miss. Granger. If I may be so bold, what is your theory regarding our well-missed Transfiguration Professor?"
Hermione took a moment, carefully constructing her thoughts. She didn't want to seem like a fool—though she was quite sure of what must be going on. "Sir, I believe that Mary McSweeney is our Professor McGonagall. She has too many necessary memories, and is far too in control to be the actual eighteen year old Minerva due to some time travel mishap, and if that was the case our Minerva would undoubtedly know how to send her back to the proper time—having lived through it all once before.
" Therefore," she continued, "It is my belief that she has suffered the ill-effects of a dangerous experimental potion or curse. A potion seems most likely though, as a hex or curse of that degree would likely leave permanent physical damage, and in living with her I have yet to notice any such physical scarring.
She paused for another moment, clearing her thoughts slightly, "My assumption is that if such a potion exists, it would need to be kept very quiet, especially considering there is not currently an antidote. Therefore Professor McGonagall was left with no other option but to join the student body, as a way of staying close by while a cure is discovered." As Hermione finished she let out a quick breath and tapped her foot nervously against the floor.
"Twenty points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for outstanding deduction. I believe that the Muggles' Mister Holmes would have seemed much less impressive had he been faced with your wit," Hermione blushed deeply, "You are entirely correct in your assumptions, Miss. Granger, and it seems as if you actually have very few questions to ask."
Hermione smiled slightly, "Primarily I wanted to confirm my theory. Though I also wanted to know, would it be alright for me to tell Professor McGonagall that I'm aware of her circumstances? I don't want to cause her any undue stress by uncovering her secret, but I feel as though she would probably have an easier time if she was aware that someone else knew of her predicament."
Dumbledore smiled at her, "Miss. Granger, I think she would welcome the camaraderie. Be cautious though, she is still very unsure of the world which she has suddenly found herself in. And sharing friendships with and emotions towards her prior students is not an easy situation for her to handle. I trust that you will choose the right time and environment to speak with her."
Hermione nodded quickly, "I only have one other question, sir," she said quietly, "Professor McGonagall—how likely is she to find a cure?"
"Unfortunately, Miss. Granger, that is a question which I believe Minerva should answer for you," he sighed, and Hermione could tell that she wouldn't be receiving any more answers at this point. He would leave any other explanations to Professor McGonagall herself.
Hermione stood, carefully straightening her robes, "Thank you for meeting with me, Professor. And I'm sorry that I approached you in such a confrontational manner—I wasn't sure that you would be willing to give me the answers I needed. Thank you for speaking with me," she said, smiling gratefully. "I am actually supposed to go with Mary to Hogsmeade today, and should probably hurry if I want to be on time."
"Always a pleasure, Miss. Granger," he smiled, walking her to the door. "I hope you have a lovely day."
The door clicked shut behind her and she felt her legs shake as the stairs carried her downwards. Mary was Professor McGonagall. Professor McGonagall was Mary. Hermione had become close friends with Professor McGonagall. She had told her everything. She had flirted with her! Hermione stepped out of the stair case unsteadily, and leaned against the wall—thankful for the deserted hallway.
Hermione's face turned scarlet as she replayed all of their interactions, Minerva McGonagall had seen her naked! "Oh god," she whispered. "Oh holy fuck!"
Sure, she had figured out the big mystery. She was confident enough to approach Dumbledore about it, wasn't she? And she had held her suspicions for nearly two weeks—but most of that time she had spent convincing herself that she was crazy and to stop thinking that way. She hadn't actually considered that she could be correct! She walked quickly down the hall and found the nearest bathroom. Sinking to the floor she rested her head against her knees.
Hermione had never been the type to develop feeling for a professor. Sure, there was the unfortunate crush on Lockhart in her second year—but she had long ago dismissed that as her peers influence. They had told her she should have a crush on him, so she had convinced herself she did have a crush on him. He was a brainless boob; of course she never expected anything to happen between them. But aside from that—Hermione didn't do this sort of thing. She was logical and clever and ridiculously mature!
Minerva was sixty-five years old. And she was her professor—her mentor. She wasn't supposed to have developed feelings for the woman! Groaning loudly, Hermione lifted her head and stared across the room for a moment.
What you need is a plan? The voice in her mind told her calmly.
"A plan for handling my eighteen year old dreamgirl/sixty-five year old professor… that's normal," she argued with herself.
No, a plan for how to treat her. This isn't Minerva's fault, she didn't have a choice.
"It's not her fault I developed feelings for Mary."
Well—she could have refrained from flirting back.
"She wasn't flirting with me. She never saw me that way."
She was flirting with you.
"Professor McGonagall would never do that, she's far too honorable."
Mary is eighteen years old and hormone driven, just like you.
"Shut up!" she shouted suddenly unable to handle her own thoughts any more. "I just—I just have to deal with it. I've been petrified, tortured, and have dueled with Bellatrix Lestrange. I can certainly handle a little crush."
She stood up quickly, dusting the grime off of her robes, and checking her appearance in the mirror. She could do this.
Minerva let out a hiss of pleasure as a jet of hot water hit her back, turning her face to the water she relished in the feeling of the steaming liquid running through her hair and over her body. She had forgotten just how satisfying a hot shower could feel after playing Quidditch.
She smiled slightly to herself as she grabbed a bar of soap, Quidditch.
Ever since she had broken down several nights ago, something in Minerva had changed. It wasn't that she had stopped worrying about her new age, or that she didn't want to be herself again—but she had realized that she had no control over the situation, so there was no point in allowing herself to worry about it anymore than absolute necessary. And if she was going to stay this way, then she might as well enjoy it.
So this morning she had surprised Harry and shown up at Quidditch try-outs. She smirked slightly at the look on Ronald's face when she went pealing around the stadium. She didn't have her own broom anymore—yet. But she was still the fastest flier on the field, aside from Harry on his Firebolt. And her dives were as impressive as ever. No one watching could have guessed that it had been over 40 years since she had played. She felt some mild discomfort at having beat out several of her students for positions on the team, but she shoved that aside.
You are Minerva McGonagall.
You are eighteen years old.
You are staying eighteen years old.
You might as well enjoy yourself.
She was the newest Gryffindor chaser, and the team was excited to start training with her. Now of course, try outs were over, and she had a whole different side of her life to consider. Today was her day with Hermione.
Day, Minerva, Day. Not Date. Day.
They were meant to meet up in the Great Hall at eleven, leaving them plenty of time to explore Hogsmeade. Rinsing the shampoo from her hair, Minerva couldn't escape the small tingle of happiness that ran up her spine at the thought. It had been so long since Minerva had gotten a day off to just wander. Spending a day with Hermione, perusing bookshelves and drinking butterbeer, it sounded simply fantastic.
Sure, there was the nagging fear that bit at Minerva. She knew that she would need to tell Hermione the truth sooner rather than later, though she had yet to decide when. But that knowledge did nothing to put a stopper in the fear of Hermione finding out her secret. The fear of her emotions taking hold of her. The fear of their quickly budding friendship. She was afraid of quite a lot these days, but that wouldn't stop her from having a good day. If she was going to live in this body, she needed to learn to enjoy it, and that included friends.
She was still horrified by her behavior on Thursday night—but she couldn't focus on that now. Hermione had made it clear that the matter was closed, and Minerva respected that. If anyone had a right to be upset, it was Hermione, and Minerva wouldn't disrespect that by forcing her to relive it. Was Minerva curious as to why Hermione had forgiven her so easily? And why she jumped out of that tower in the first place? Of course. But for now, she would have to shrug it off as Gryffindor courage—or stupidity—and continue on with her day.
Minerva turned off the shower, and glanced quickly outside of her shower stall. She had purposefully waited until the rest of her female teammates were gone before getting into the shower. She may have been embracing her new age—but she wasn't quite to the point of being nude around her students. She shivered at the thought.
Seeing that the locker room was clear, she hurried to her locker. She only had fifteen minutes until she was meant to meet Hermione, so she needed to be quick. Pulling her wand from her boot, she cast a quick drying charm, and pulled her clothes on.
Lacing up her boots, she jogged from the locker room. She smiled at the empty pitch; she would need to get a new broom soon—there had to be a way for her to access her accounts. She had spent most of her life teaching at Hogwarts, and saving every penny. She could certainly afford a good broom. That thought made her smile widen, and it just seemed to grow insurmountably as she approached the doors of Hogwarts. Hermione stood just outside of them, looking ever the Gryffindor Princess in a gold jumper, brown tights, and daring leather boots.
"Well, don't you look smashing!" she complimented, an unprecedented lightness in her step.
Hermione blushed darkly, and a look of fleeting panic flickered across her face before she reclaimed the smile she had previously worn. "Thanks, er, Mary," she fumbled, rubbing the back of her neck anxiously.
Minerva tilted her head slightly, "Are you alright, Hermione? You seem a bit peckish."
"I'm, I'm fine," she stuttered, and then cringed, realizing her obvious lie. "Sorry, I'm just a bit stressed out. Nothing I can't handle though."
Minerva shook her head slightly; the young Gryffindor would never change. "Hermione, it's a beautiful Saturday in October! We get to spend the entire day enjoying it together, and from what I hear, there is an absolutely marvelous bookstore in the village. Please," she begged, taking a hold of her friend's hand, "Stop worrying and enjoy the day."
Hermione's eyes lightened, and her smile reclaimed her entire expression, "I'm sorry. I think I can do that," Minerva let out a cheer, causing Hermione to burst into a fit of giggles. "You are in quite the mood today—should I assume your Quidditch try-out was successful?"
Minerva raised an eyebrow in Hermione's direction, "Always in doubt! You've seen me fly, of course it was successful. You are looking at the newest Gryffindor Chaser!"
Hermione groaned, "Oh no, you're not going to become as unbearable as the boys now, are you?"
"Never, darling. I still much prefer the company of books, and you, over a broom!" she said with a grin, "Though I do like the broom as well." Minerva felt her heart spin as Hermione blushed again. She knew that she should be in better control of herself, but she just felt so happy. Was she really so wrong to try and enjoy the new life she was living?
It wasn't as if she was doing anything wrong, she was just having fun. Besides, from the expression on Hermione's face when they had met up, Minerva guessed that she could use a day of fun.
"What a relief," Hermione smiled, "What convinced you to try out anyways? Last I heard, you were bent on avoiding the team."
"I decided that if I'm going to spend the rest of this year at Hogwarts, I may as well enjoy it," Minerva explained. "I'm tired of worrying what I may miss when I graduate, or how upset I should be about my current predicament. I would rather try and enjoy life." Glancing at Hermione she hoped that her explanation made sense for Mary McSweeney. Hermione just nodded.
"It makes sense to live life as it comes, rather than focusing too strongly on the past or the future," she said quietly. "I'm not a great model for that—I worry about the future nearly constantly, and I have nightmares about the past, but I do believe that. You can't control what has happened to you, or what will happen—only what you are doing in any particular moment."
Minerva found herself glancing at Hermione again, "That was rather profound, Miss. Granger."
"I try," Hermione said with a smirk.
Hermione was trying—really she was. She had convinced herself to view Minerva simply as a new friend, and not worry about the rest—but the woman was making it damned difficult.
For one—she was wearing her hair down. Minerva McGonagall never wore her hair down. Ever. Yet today she was grinning like an idiot as her hair flew about her in the Fall winds, and it was completely distracting to Hermione. Add that to the comforting touches, and flirtatious banter—friendly, not flirtatious. She wasn't flirting, she was just being friendly.
Well, flirtatious banter or not, it was getting to her. She was just barely restraining herself from leaning in every time Minerva touched her—that wasn't alright! She could only pray that Minerva hadn't noticed.
Their day had been glorious so far, after arriving in Hogsmeade the quickly found the bookstore. It was a welcome change to peruse the shelves with someone who wasn't continually rushing her to move on. It would seem like such a small thing to most people, but for a girl who loved books like she did, finding another person who could match your enthusiasm was rare. They spent nearly an hour in the bookstore, and Minerva had treated her to the most recent edition of a book titled, Animagi Imagined, stating, "If you want to get into the really fun Transfiguration, you simply must read this."
Hermione had graciously accepted, and in return had offered to get them lunch. Now, after a quick perusal of Zonko's, and indulging in their desires in Honeydukes, they were sitting down at a table near the back of the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione having just put their orders in a the bar.
Sliding into the booth, Hermione frowned at the expression on Minerva's face, "You alright, Mary?"
Minerva studied her carefully, her hands twitching slightly, itching to fiddle with her hair. "I, I need to tell you something, Hermione. I suppose this isn't the best time, but I was thinking while you were placing our orders, and I really need to do this."
Hermione smiled reassuringly, hoping with every pore that Minerva was about to reveal who she actually was. She didn't know how Minerva had lasted this long without telling, but Hermione was going crazy and it had only been an afternoon. "What's up?" she asked innocently.
Minerva closed her eyes tightly, "Hermione, I need you to know that I never intended to deceive you, or spy on you, or anything of that nature. This was all purely accidental, and I was sworn to secrecy. But it seems that we're reaching a point in our friendship where such a secret could cause a serious rift if discovered later, rather than sooner. So I would like to put all of my cards on the table."
"Minerva," Hermione interrupted gently, "Can I make this all a little simpler for you?"
Minerva's eyes widened comically, and Hermione had to stifle a laugh. This was an incredibly stressful moment for the poor woman, and Hermione laughing at her certainly wouldn't help. "You—you know?" she stuttered.
Hermione nodded softly, "I've suspected since the first day—but I talked myself out of my crazy paranoid delusions. I only knew for certain after our adventure Thursday night. After a sleepless night of thinking, I was positive."
Minerva paled, an began rambling desperately, "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Hermione. Albus had told me to keep it to myself, and I wasn't sure if I would be able to return to my previous life—please understand, I never meant any harm to you."
Hermione interrupted Minerva quickly, taking her hand, "Minerva, take a breath. It's alright. I'm not upset. I completely understand the need for secrecy, and why you felt you couldn't tell me until now."
Minerva quieted, "Hermione, there is no possible way you can be taking this all so calmly. Your professor has been living with you for nearly two weeks now, she has befriended you—you've told me so much about yourself—how can you possibly not feel betrayed? Why don't you have more questions?"
Hermione thought for a moment, "I suppose that I understand, logically, why you couldn't tell me. And emotionally—I don't think I would have hesitated to tell you any of that originally, not if we had become friends as I had hoped. Obviously, with the barrier between professor and student, I wasn't going to joke with you and talk with you in quite that way—let alone living with you. But I had hoped, after I graduate, that we would be able to be more comfortable with each other. So really, I didn't say anything too terrible. And you knew the truth all along, yet you were just as revealing and comfortable with me, so it isn't as if you were just reading my diary or any other such rubbish."
Minerva shook her head disbelievingly, "I'm sorry," Hermione continued with a grin, "Did my lack of a tantrum upset you?"
"No," Minerva sighed, "I should have expected you to react this way—you always were far to understanding for your own good. I just—I guess I'm surprised. You seem so calm; you aren't even asking me any questions."
"Ah," Hermione said, her face heating slightly, "Well Professor Dumbledore may have answered most of those questions earlier today." Minerva's eyebrows shot up, causing Hermione to chuckle. "I had figured out just about everything on my own, and went to him to confirm my suspicions. Just in case I was incorrect in my assumptions, I didn't want to suddenly unhinge you if you had amnesia, or were time traveling, or were your own niece. Those possibilities were highly unlikely, but I'm not fond of risk taking—at least not when it comes to my friend's health."
"That's why you looked so pale, when I met you in front of the castle? Why you were distracted?" Minerva guessed.
"I had just come from meeting with Professor Dumbledore, and despite having all of my suspicions confirmed, I was still slightly shocked. And concerned for you—concerned that I had made a fool of myself at some point. Just worrying, as I told you."
Minerva studied her hands, attempting to focus on her more calm and logical half. This whole conversation would be far easier if she could find the inner Professor McGonagall, "I'm sorry I've caused you reason for worry, Hermione. I've felt horrible the entire time, but my reclaimed teenage emotions have left me entirely incapable of refusing your friendship. I suppose I very much needed someone to distract me."
Hermione sat back in her seat. "Oh, a distraction, yes," she muttered, closely scrutinizing her fingernails. She should have expected as much—a person in any traumatic situation is likely to seek out comfort wherever they may find it. Hermione had always found books, Harry flying—but she supposed most people sought out other people, friends.
"Hermione," Minerva said firmly, grabbing her hand and interrupting her train of thought. "I didn't mean that I was using your friendship as only a distraction. Only that the necessity of a distraction was what kept my rule-abiding mind at bay, and stopped me from pushing you away. I am very thankful for the friendship you have offered, and very much hope you don't rescind it."
Hermione squeezed Minerva's hand slightly, "Thank you Minerva, I appreciate that, and I would very much like to continue things the way they are."
Pulling apart, they both seemed to fidget for a moment before Minerva spoke again, "So do you have any questions? I mean, you are Hermione Granger. You always have questions."
Hermione shrugged slightly, "I suppose I'm just curious about the whole situation. I can't even imagine. What does it feel like for you?"
Minerva thought for a moment, "I haven't quite figured that out myself. Physically, I feel eighteen again. I can fly, and my whole body feels more alive than it has in ages—none of the regular pain which the two wars had brought me, none of the scars. But emotionally, I feel as if I'm losing my mind. One moment, I'm completely rational—like right now. I can speak the way I've spoken for many years and think very clearly. The next I'm swearing up a storm and my hormones are going wild, I'm jumping out of towers on a whim."
Hermione shivered slightly, "Yes—that. Should I assume that had something to do with this?"
Minerva sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know," she groaned. "I mean—yes, I had just met with Albus regarding my problem, and had received bad news; but that doesn't explain why I panicked like I did. I've never done anything like that."
"What had Albus told you?" Hermione asked carefully, she had a suspicion, but she wanted Minerva to tell her herself.
"That there is not a cure, and my hope for one being found is unlikely," Minerva answered quietly. "Something in me snapped. Severus had already told me, but I think Albus' confirmation really shook me. I started to panic about my life, my future, my relationships—all of it. It just became too much, and all I could think about was how much I needed to release that energy, I needed to fly. It never even occurred to me that you would follow," she closed her eyes tightly at that point, shaking her head. "I have never hated myself more than when I saw you limping towards me that night, Hermione. I'm so sorry I put you through that."
"It's alright," Hermione tried, but the other which just raised a hand to silence her—the old Professor coming out to play.
"Hermione it isn't. I appreciate your forgiveness, more than I can say, but that doesn't make what I did alright. I care about you, and I should have considered your safety when I made that decision. I have to find a way to control my emotions again. I learned as a child, and I can learn again. I can become the woman I was."
"Minerva, it isn't wrong to have emotions. Do I think you should make a habit of plummeting from towers to distract yourself? Of course not! But you're allowed to feel things, and you're allowed to get upset. Minerva, you're entirely world has just been turned upside down—it's entirely logical that you would feel some backlash from that."
"Of course I know that, Hermione," she said with frustration, "But that doesn't mean I can go around letting my emotions control me! I can't have all of these feelings. It's not appropriate, it's not right! I need to find the woman I've been for the last 50 years, and be that woman again."
"Be alone?" Hermione interrupted, her eyes widening at her own gumption.
"What?" Minerva asked, her voice dangerously low.
Hermione took a breath, steeling herself. "Be alone?" Hermione repeated, "You have a very small handful of friends, you never leave the castle, you rarely do anything for fun."
"Hermione Granger, you know nothing about my life up until two weeks ago," she snapped, her eyes blazing.
"Am I wrong?" Hermione asked seriously, her eyes never waivering from Minerva's.
Minerva deflated slightly, and she ran a fidgeting hand through her hair. "No, you're not wrong. You never seem to be wrong."
"I didn't realize that was such a bad thing," Hermione frowned.
"It's not—it's just infuriating. Nineteen year olds aren't supposed to be able to teach me anything."
Hermione smirked slightly, "Well, I am older than you."
Rolling her eyes, Minerva looked back at Hermione, "I can't just let myself go, Hermione. Having fun is one thing. Today—today has been wonderful. And playing Quidditch? I've missed that desperately. But being a teenager means having whims, you know that. The sudden urge to have a midnight adventure, or to shout at a professor," she said pointedly. "It means unceremoniously breaking down in tears, and a raging temper, and hormones."
"And other than being mildly embarrassing, what's all that wrong with experiencing those things?"
"Hermione, there are two types of people in my world. One, my colleagues—people who are at least twenty years older than me, most of them closer to forty years older than me. People whom I have far too much respect for to allow my Scottish temper to attack. People whose reputations will be shattered if they are discovered to be close friends with a student.
"And then there are my students, or previous students. Those are people whom it feels entirely improper to befriend, and who would be terrified to befriend me even if it wasn't inappropriate. I'm entirely aware of the icy personae most of my students perceive in me. And goodness knows I can't allow my hormones to run away with me—having a crush on a student? How can I possibly live with myself?"
Hermione paused for a moment, thinking deeply. "I think that you're complicating things, Minerva."
The professor laughed softly, "Am I?"
"I think that while you are in school, it would be complicated. But that's just eight months. At that point, people will find out who you are, and they will move past it. No one will think wrongly of your colleagues for being in contact with someone whom they've been friends with for so many years, and these emotions you loath so much will cause your friends to forget that they were ever scared of you," Hermione said confidently, "You have me, already. And Harry and Ron think you're absolutely brilliant. They'll be teaching you the secret handshake any day now."
Minerva chuckled to herself, "Ron is going to be mortified."
Hermione tilted her head in question, but then burst into a fit of laughter when she realized what Minerva was referring to, "Oh Merlin, he's going to go mad."
Minerva smiled, "I really didn't do anything to encourage him, I have no idea why he would have thought that was a good idea."
"It's Ron," Hermione shrugged, "You have boobs and like Quidditch—you therefore must be his soulmate."
Minerva gagged slightly, "Yes, that is going to be an odd part of reclaiming this age. Most of the interested partners are going to be my previous students.
Hermione willed her complexion to stay its customary pale color, "Minerva, just be patient. I'm sure you'll find the balance you're looking for soon—but you've only been living this life for two weeks. You can't expect yourself to be entirely comfortable quite yet."
Minerva nodded silently, her eyes focused on the grain of the wooden table. "I really do appreciate your being there for me, Hermione. It certainly isn't your responsibility, but I'm appreciative none the less."
A waitress stopped briefly, setting their food in front of them before disappearing just as swiftly. Hermione took Minerva's hand from across the table. "Minerva, you don't need to thank me. Just know that I'm here—and that I care. As long as you want me."
Minerva nodded again, a small smile peeking out from behind her hair.
Thank you so much for reading, and for all of your reviews so far! You're giving me so much to think on! (Honestly, I've made changes here and there as of received your reviews, so keep them coming!)
Also if you like this, check out my other Minerva/Hermione story, "After the War", I've recently done a major overhaul to the beginning and would love to here what you all think!
No matter what, thank you for reading this one, and I'd love to hear from you!