Chapter Three
Hermione looked up from her marking as Olivia walked into her quarters. She was the only one here at Hogwarts who had the password and was able to enter without knocking first. "Hey," she greeted.
"How's your first month been?" the Healer inquired, taking a seat across from her assumed daughter. "Settling in alright?"
"Hogwarts is familiar ground," she replied. "The faces are new, mostly, but otherwise there's comfort in being in a place I know."
"Mostly new?"
"Some of the staff I knew in my time. Albus, Horace, Cuthbert, and Irma. Some of the students, I know who they'll grow up to be, for better or worse. Some of them I don't know personally, but know their children. Genia Flitwick, for example, will go on to marry the Goblin she's seeing, to the dismay of her parents. They'll have a son together, Filius. He'll grow up to become Charms Professor and Head of Ravenclaw. I'm pretty sure Keating sticks around until Filius takes over."
"Who else is sticking out to you?" Olivia asked, clearly curious.
"Walburga Black will go on to marry her cousin Orion. They'll have a son called Sirius, who will become the first Black in Merlin knows how long to sort to Gryffindor. He was my best friend's Godfather."
"Was?"
Hermione sighed. "Casualty of war."
"Go on," Olivia encouraged.
"I already mentioned knowing the Prewetts, at least after a sort. Ignatius will go on to have four children. Three sons and a daughter, although only the daughter survives the war. She's who I know. Her son Ron is another close friend of mine. I knew a Lavender Brown in school, and I think Ash Brown must be either her grandfather or great uncle. I never asked about her family. Then there's Roland Wood. His son Oliver was a few years ahead of me in school. Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Minerva always did seem to have a soft spot for him, and I guess I understand why now. She was friends with his father."
"You speak of Minerva McGonagall with some familiarity as well," the older Witch pressed.
Hermione sighed heavily. "My relationship with her was complicated before I traveled back in time. It's not getting any simpler now, especially as she's showing every bloody sign in the book of developing a crush on me."
"Why would that be a problem?" Olivia inquired. "Surely you don't have issue with those inclined that way. You don't seem the sort."
She snorted. "It would be hypocritical if I did, as I'm likewise inclined. More to the point, I'm attracted to her. Have been for years. Growing up, she was Head of Gryffindor, and my Transfiguration Professor. She takes over after Albus, including the Deputy position. Hogwarts will be her life. That said, our relationship didn't stay strictly teacher and pupil. Nothing happened between us, mind you, but we were at war, Olivia. It's hard not to bond with someone in a unique manner when you're fighting a battle side by side, and your life depends on them protecting you and vice versa. There develops a sense of equality, and even though I was there as her student for one more year, it was difficult to see the Professor ahead of seeing the woman."
Olivia nodded, seeming to understand. "Then you come here, where roles are effectively reversed, and she's expressing the type of affection for you that you wish her older counterpart had offered."
"I was willing to wait, you know," Hermione confided. "I knew she likely had hangups about the fact that I was her student, and I respected that. I tried to make my interest plain, but I didn't push her. I thought that after I graduated, it would have given her time to consider me in that manner, and once nothing stood in the way, she'd accept my invitation to go on a date."
"And now?"
"Now Minerva is young, and frankly far more impulsive than I have ever been," Hermione huffed. "If I'm meant to be here long term, then I can't see not exploring what's between us in time, but I absolutely see the merit in waiting until after she graduates. For Merlin's sake, in this day and age a scandal like that would be even more messy than it was in my time! I'm not sure how much I trust her impulse control, but I hope that Genia and Elise can keep her in check. Thank the Gods for Ravenclaw sensibility."
"She spends a great deal of time with Misters Prewett and Wood as well," the Healer pointed out.
"I can only hope that they're not the ones she's confiding in regarding her feelings," Hermione said, looking exasperated, "as they'd likely encourage her to be bloody Gryffindor about it!"
"I'm fairly certain that young woman has plenty of Gryffindor in her with or without their help," Olivia sighed. "Rosses. That Highland zeal of theirs has its advantages, but honestly I think it's more of a bother than not."
"You would say that," Hermione huffed. "Constance, in my time, used to tell me that my more even temperament came from you; that it was a Boleyn trait to be rational in all things with exception to where loyalty was concerned."
The older Witch laughed. "That is a fairly succinct way to put it, and she'd be right. We Boleyn women are known for two things, really. The rationality, and the near absolute candor. Constance struggles with the rationality end of things, but she absolutely got the candor. You, my dear, seem to have both traits, along with the intelligence the family is known for."
"Then why call me a Dagworth if I'm so like a Boleyn?" she asked.
"Because you look like a Dagworth, and anyone with sense would see that," Olivia reasoned. "Would you not look at someone with platinum blond hair and assume Malfoy or Lovegood? Or an Italian and figure Zabini or Caruso? Perhaps a redhead and surmise they were likely a Weasley or Prewett? Dear girl, the slender build, the wild curls, and the honey color in your hair are all Dagworth traits. I'm presently trying to decide what a child born of you and Minerva might be like. I'm not certain the Boleyn blood will be strong enough to beat out the Ross proclivity to be thrill seeking idiots."
Hermione offered Olivia a tender look. "The odds of that…"
"Minerva is, or rather will be a Transfiguration expert. You're a young Dagworth. I see no reason why not," the Healer snipped. "Oh, and Hermione, if at some point you do make it back to your time a more expedient way than simply living it forward, do tell Constance to officially change your bloody name. I'll hear no more of this Granger nonsense."
"But what if I marry Minerva and take her name?"
"Posh!" Olivia said dismissively. "McGonagall is just as Muggle as Granger is. She'll take Dagworth. Chester and I were only able to have Constance. She decided to be rebellious and hyphenate with John, effectively ending the line. Granted, Chester was Muggleborn, same as John, so I hardly had room to talk, but we'd hoped for a son, and hoped the Dagworth name would make its mark. If you take the name, Hermione, and have a son of your own, the name has a shot."
"You are very difficult to argue with," Hermione mused.
"Good," the Healer said, smirking. "Then don't."
No matter what Elise and Genia said, Minerva was determined to make her interest in Hermione Dagworth quite plain. What did Ravenclaws know, anyhow? After Roland and Iggy had gotten through laughing at her expense, they'd been on board with her plan to seduce their Professor, like any proper Gryffindor would be! Well, Ignatius had told her to limit her seducing to things that wouldn't get her expelled, and reminded her that Hermione wouldn't just pop out of existence in the spring when they graduated. Of course, it was the end of October now, and Minerva was officially nineteen. She'd always been one of the oldest in her class, and on an occasion when that meant she was even closer to age with Professor Dagworth than the rest of her yearmates, she considered it an extra bonus.
Elise had almost convinced her to hold off with the seducing until close to end of term, but then Roland had overheard Professors Slughorn and Kipling talking about Professor Dagworth when they were supervising the Hogsmeade weekend, and they'd been saying how it was impressive how much control she had over her classroom, and how skilled she was, considering she was only twenty-one. Hermione was basically her bloody age! Minerva had known she was young for a Professor, but she'd assumed she was at least twenty five to have finished her schooling and gone on to get a Mastery. Deeply curious how she'd managed to become a Professor at twenty-one years old, Minerva made her way to Dagworth's office following supper on a Tuesday evening, knowing she did rounds on Thursdays, and had office hours in the evening on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Tuesday was open.
She knocked. After a moment, the door opened, and Hermione eyed her critically. "I would remind you that my office hours are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but obviously I'm here and so are you, so do come in, Miss McGonagall."
The older woman stepped aside, and Minerva all but skipped in the door, moving ahead and plopping in the by now very familiar chair at her Professor's desk. It wasn't that she actually needed help, per se, but she was not above using an exaggerated sense of confusion over certain things to make excuses to visit Dagworth. "How are you?" she asked. "Good evening so far?"
"Blessedly quiet until you popped by," came a somewhat weary reply. "What do you need?"
"Nothing, technically," she admitted. "I was just wondering if you would tell me how in Merlin's name you managed to become a Professor at twenty-one years old. It's what I want to do, you know. Teach. So if you have a magic shortcut through a Mastery…"
Hermione groaned. "Do me a kindness and please do not spread my age around to the general student body. Gods know you have doubtlessly already told Flitwick, Ollivander, Prewett, and Wood."
"Actually, Iggy told me," Minerva said pointedly. "That said, you're right, I did tell the others. I don't know why you feel like you have to hide it. It just makes us respect you more than we already did. So, what's the secret?"
Her Professor shook her head in the negative. "No secret. I don't have a Mastery, in the technical sense. I have experience which the Headmaster felt was sufficient to instruct on the subject of Defence. While you were doing your Owls, I was on the front lines of the war. I can't believe it's been over for nearly a year."
Minerva was horrified. "You fought in the war? Front lines? I mean, Iggy said you were talking to his father about it, but I sort of thought that you'd maybe seen a couple of battles."
Hermione snorted. "It started that way. A few skirmishes in my early teens, and then I made some friends and loyalty drove me to go looking for a fight by the time I was sixteen and seventeen. By eighteen and nineteen… front lines."
"Bloody hell, Hermione!" Minerva let out.
The other woman looked at her pointedly. "Miss McGonagall, I am your Professor."
"And you're two years older than me!" she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not going to tell anyone else how old you are, or that you're a bleeding war hero, but for Merlin's sake, we're peers. Cut me a little slack here?"
Brown eyes looked at her intently, before letting out a sigh of resignation. "In private only, Minerva. Regardless of our respective ages and that it means we are on a technical level peers, I am still entrusted with your education and in a position of authority over you. Do not abuse my leniency, nor mistake it for weakness."
"I won't," Minerva assured her. "I get that things are a certain way now, but I want to get to know you better, Hermione. I think we might have a lot in common when it comes to it, and I think it's sort of stupid to not take advantage of the fact that we're living in the same castle right now. After I graduate, well…"
Hermione let out a ragged breath. "You don't know how not to push me, do you? Just as some instinct drives me to push you."
The Scottish Witch leaned forward. "So I'm not the only one feeling a connection here, then, am I?"
"I do try to be dishonest as little as possible," Hermione mused, "so I'll admit to that. You'll likely be very smug to know, but my mother has been encouraging me to be open with you, at least to a point."
"To a point?" Minerva asked blandly, not even sure what that meant.
"I have secrets," she said softly. "My mother and my sister know about it all, more or less, but they're it. No friends or confidants beyond them. Mother thinks it would do me good to open up to someone other than her and Constance."
"So why not listen to her?" came the obvious question. Minerva could see full well that Hermione wasn't prepared to share - not now - but the fact that she was willing to share that she had things to share was a step in the right direction, so far as she was concerned. She hoped that with a little bit of pressure, and a little bit of trust building, Hermione might find the courage to, well, be Gryffindor about it.
"Because my secrets are a burden," the Professor replied, looking weary. "It is not something I'd lightly ask anyone to carry, much less someone that I'm fond of."
Feeling like it was not the time to press, Minerva opted to lighten the mood with a little flirting. "Oh? So you are fond of me? Just how fond are we talking about?"
Hermione threw a quill at her, cracking a small smile of amusement. "Incorrigible Gryffindor."
Hermione was in her office, working on some organizing just before Christmas break. The weeks were flying by quickly, and Minerva aside, she often found herself in the company of Genia Flitwick and Elise Ollivander on her free evenings, before their curfew, the four of them meeting in the Room of Requirement in the very study that Minerva had created that first time she'd taken them. Like Minerva, the other two girls had taken to calling her by her given name in a private setting, and she in turn had taken to using theirs in the same environment. There was still some inequality, as she would nag them to do their homework and they knew full well she wasn't just any peer doing so, but she'd given her word not to deduct points or hand out detentions for any so called infractions witnessed - within reason - while she was spending time with them as a friend. It was a balance.
It was Friday evening, and her office hours had just finished, although she hadn't gotten around to closing her door yet, so was unsurprised when she heard footsteps entering the room. "Be with you in a minute, Minerva," she said, not turning around.
"I didn't make a sound!" Minerva whined. "How'd you know it was me?"
Finished with her filing, she turned around, waving her hand to close her office door and lock it, preferring some semblance of privacy when spending time with her friend Minerva, who often came by after office hours for a short visit. "We have six senses. Sight is only one of them. I am familiar enough with you by now to be able to identify you by sight, the sound of your footsteps, your scent, your magical signature, and if you blindfolded me and I was to touch your face, I could identify you by your features. Don't make the mistake of limiting your perception of the world around you to one sense when you have so many different options to choose from."
Minerva sauntered toward her with a gleam in her eye, which by now Hermione took to mean trouble. Mostly, the Scottish Witch had managed to respect boundaries and while she was certain that Minerva had no illusions Hermione was blind to her romantic interest, she'd not pushed that particular line beyond some mild flirting, and only when they were alone. That, she thought, was enough. "So," the younger woman mused, resting her hips against the side of Hermione's desk. "The only way you couldn't identify me is by taste. Seems a shame to leave you without the complete picture."
Hermione stood inches from the younger Witch, and froze at the statement. That wasn't mild flirtation. That was a blatant come on, and there was no way she could just ignore it. She took a deep breath and met Minerva's eye. "Minerva, I am your Professor."
"Yes, well, you're also…" she paused, pivoting so her whole body was facing Hermione, and fire blazing in her eyes even as she seemed to struggle to find the right words to say.
"I'm also what?" Hermione asked, voice soft and catching, knowing this had been building for months and knowing it was probably long past time they put words to what was between them. Her question and tone gave Minerva permission to say what she was feeling.
The younger Witch's hand slowly rose, surprisingly steady as she brushed a stray curl out of Hermione's eyes, and then left her palm resting on her cheek. "The woman I'm falling in love with," she confessed. "At first, I thought it was just the same sort of attraction I've had before with other girls, but the more I'm with you, the more I realize this is more. It's deeper, and I'm sorry if that upsets you, but I'm not going to apologize for how I feel."
Hermione's forehead fell forward, slowly. We can't, she thought, but "We shouldn't," was what fell from her lips a moment later, "no matter what we feel."
She'd look back at this particular moment and realize that her critical mistake was not in allowing Minerva to confess how she felt, but in admitting reciprocity. Up until that moment, Minerva had been holding herself together, more or less, and had seemed content to follow her lead. As soon as she admitted to feeling much the same as Minerva, however, the Scottish woman's other hand drew up quickly to the other side of her face and tilted her head back up, before leaning in and kissing her full force on the mouth.
It didn't occur to Hermione not to kiss Minerva back. It just didn't. Hands wandered, tongues danced, and the pair had something of a duel for dominance as Minerva pushed her against a wall, and after a minute of that, Hermione growled lowly and twisted Minerva around. Somewhere in the mix of things, Hermione's very neatly organized desk got everything shoved off it, and at present she had her on the flat of her desk and Minerva laying on top of her, making quick work of her blouse in a clear effort to find more flesh to explore. "Merlin," she panted, breathing heavily. "Fuck, Minerva, slow down a bit, will you?"
The look Minerva gave her was sultry and sexy and feral, meeting her gaze with a look of absolute conviction. "Slow down I can do. I can even do stop for now if you'd rather move this to a more comfortable location. But you are out of your damned mind if you think I'm going to get here with you and back down. Not now that I know you feel it too, Hermione. Don't ask me to walk away from this."
Hermione leaned up and kissed her again, gently this time, less in an interest of setting them back ablaze but more in interest of reassuring. "The line is crossed, Minerva. For better or worse. I'm not stupid enough to try and backtrack on that. That said, if we do this, darling, we must be careful. We cannot be caught. I don't give a damn about my future at Hogwarts - honestly working here this year was a whim. It's not a dream or a passion. I do not want to be responsible for your dream being destroyed though. You're going to be an amazing teacher. You're going to get your Mastery in Transfiguration under Albus, go right into teaching here, and when he steps up as Headmaster after Dippet retires, you'll take his place as Head of Gryffindor. Years down the road, you'll take his place again and be Head of all of Hogwarts. Hold onto that dream. It's your future."
Minerva's eyes shone. "How can you be so sure?"
Hermione rested her head back against the desk, considering her options. She didn't want to build a relationship of this nature with Minerva based on lies, and it was clear by the fact that the Minerva from her time had known to hint to her what identity she'd take at exactly the right time that she'd known what day she'd disappear to the past. So, logically, if this was a loop, then at some point, she must have told Minerva the truth of who she was. "Come on. Let's go to the Room of Requirement. I need to show you something."
The Scottish woman looked at her with complete trust, getting up and helping Hermione to her feet, and the pair of them left her office and made for the seventh floor corridor. She closed her eyes and thought of her Minerva's quarters at Hogwarts, more than fifty years from now, and the view of the ruined castle directly after the battle. They'd met there the next morning, held each other and cried, one part in grief and one part in sheer relief. If she was going to convince this Minerva that what she was saying was true, she needed to be able to show her something of the future. As the door began to form for the Room, she turned to the nineteen year old. "Before this goes any further between us," she said, "there are some things I need to tell you. I told you some time ago that I had secrets that would be a burden to whoever knew them. Are you still prepared to know them?"
Minerva seemed to understand, innately, that this was serious, and just held her hand tightly and offered a curt nod. "I'm with you, Hermione."
With a heavy sigh, she opened the door and they walked inside.
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