Chapter Eight


Before they knew it, it was exam time. Minerva, Genia, Elise, Roland, and Ignatius were all sitting for their NEWTs and Hermione was breathing a sigh of relief that her year of teaching was nearing an end. She'd already informed Armando that he'd need to find a new Defense Professor for the following term, and while disappointed, he claimed to understand her reasons. Granted, her reasons given were far from the truth. She'd told him that this year had been a distraction from the healing she needed to be doing in the aftermath of her time on the front lines, and that while she was not one to fail to see through a commitment, now that her year of teaching was coming to a close, she felt it wise to step away and focus on coming to terms with what she'd been through.

Hermione supposed that it wasn't exactly a lie, either. Coming back to Hogwarts to complete her education after the war's conclusion in nineteen ninety eight at been its own sort of distraction, and while when she returned she knew she'd sit her NEWTs with her own classmates - there were only a few weeks left of term, after all - afterward she did need to spend some time focusing on healing. It was certainly overdue, although Hermione couldn't help but be hopeful that the friends she'd made here - Minerva, Genia, and Elise - would be part of her healing process when she got home. Aside from Ginny Weasley, Hermione had never had many girls she'd been close to, but she found it difficult, now, to imagine life without Genia and Elise being part of it going forward. She knew that, romance completely aside, she would have Minerva in her life no matter what. She didn't imagine the Headmistress would have allowed her to begin building the friendship with her that she had, knowing what she knew, if she felt otherwise. They were lovers here and now, and while Hermione had no way of knowing if that love would last the lifetime between now and then, she did hope it would.

Hermione's fingertips pinched the Claddagh ring she'd purchased for Minerva. She hadn't given it to her lover just yet, wanting to wait until after she completed her NEWTs, feeling it inappropriate to all but propose before that time. Upon giving it to her, it was her intention to promise Minerva that no matter what, she'd love the other woman, but to assure her that she'd hold no relationship she had in the next fifty odd years against the other woman, and that if five decades from now all she wanted from Hermione was friendship, that was alright. The ring was a promise of loyalty and remembrance more than anything, and a promise of love which had the ability to be flexible and mutable.

She was all but certain that Minerva did have the ring in her time. Hermione recalled, over the years, noting a clicking sound as Minerva fiddled with her wand, as if the wand was tapping against a glamoured ring. The question in her mind was, given it was Minerva's right hand, if the Claddagh ring was worn facing inward or outward. If inward, it suggested that Minerva considered herself to be in a relationship. If outward, it suggested Minerva considered herself single, in which case she only wore the ring in remembrance of their friendship and perhaps as a reminder of her promise to be there for her younger self when the time came to send her back in time, and then to save her when she returned.

A knock on her office door had her shoving the ring back in its box and in her pocket. "Enter!" she called.

Hermione stood as Wilhelmina Tuft, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who'd been here today conducting the Practical portion of the NEWTs, walked in. "Have you a few minutes to spare, Professor Dagworth?" the older Witch asked.

She nodded, waving Tuft in, lips curling into a smile as she remembered that this woman, a few years from now, would become the first Muggleborn Minister for Magic in Wizarding history. It was an honor to have the chance to meet her. "How can I help you, Auror Tuft?" she inquired.

Tuft took a seat. "I have been conducting these exams for more than a decade now, and until this year, it's been fairly routine. The Professors have stuck with the standard syllabus and that's more than fine. You, however, went above and beyond. I expect that this class will, for the most part, receive Outstandings across the board, if for no other reason than the sheer amount of extra credit points they'll be getting for spells they shouldn't have been taught unless they were undergoing a Mastery in Defense. What is even more curious to me is that, upon a brief conversation with Armando, you don't even have a Mastery in the subject, so I find myself deeply curious why you know these spells well enough to teach them, and why you felt it so prudent to do so."

Hermione sighed. "As I told my students, Dark Lords come and go. Just because Grindelwald has fallen from power does not mean that another Dark Lord won't rise to take his place. I have seen open war, Auror Tuft. I have seen what happens when you go into it unprepared, and I could not in good conscience not give my students the tools they'd need to survive if it came to it. What the Ministry may have deemed Mastery level spellwork is less an issue of difficulty in mastery and more one of many teachers being disinterested in opening a door to explore new branches of magic with their students with such a short timetable in which to instruct them. I merely prefer to be honest with my students about that. Instead of telling them nothing about wards at all to avoid opening a can of flobberworms, I explain what wards are and teach them a few which could save their lives in a pinch, and be honest with them about how, given time restraints, I cannot teach them as many as I wish. This frees them to explore the field more deeply on their own time, whereas if they don't have a base understanding of wards, they'll never look into it later."

"What about the Patronus Charm?" Tuft asked. "I was astounded to find a full class of students who could produce a Corporeal Patronus."

"Then you will be stunned for the next six years as well," came an amused response, "as I began teaching that to my First Years. Honestly, I'm of the belief that it is more difficult to master the older you get. If you learn it young, it's easier. I found my First and Second Years getting the hang of it faster and with greater ease than those in my NEWT class."

Tuft blinked at her in shock. "Any theories as to why that might be the case?" she asked after a moment.

Hermione had already given this some thought. "A Patronus requires a happy memory - a pure and genuine happy memory - to fuel it. As we grow older, our thoughts and memories become more complex and complicated. Things we see as good memories often have a component to them which make it seem a little bitter. Young children are less likely to have that issue."

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement seemed to understand. "Like how someone my age might have a lovely holiday and remember it as such, but look back and have an edge of sadness, as they wish their deceased parent had still been alive to share it with them, whereas a child who has not experienced a loss like that wouldn't be tainted by such things, and would be able to look back on that holiday with nothing but pure, unadulterated joy."

"Exactly," Hermione remarked. "As we grow and mature, the memories which fuel our Patroni do change and evolve, but learning how to cast it for the first time is the greatest hurdle. It's about will and intent. Once you know you're capable, doing it again is just an issue of finding the right memory. Teaching the spell to eleven year olds, when they're not hindered by bittersweet memories except in the rare case, means that your odds of getting them to master the spell in the general sense is a great deal higher. I mean to leave a note in my records to strongly recommend that whoever replaces me to continue teaching the Patronus charm to every year."

Tuft frowned. "You're not returning next year?"

She shook her head in the negative. "Teaching this year was a sabbatical from dealing with real life, for me. It's time for me to return to my own responsibilities."

"Damn," the older woman cursed. "You're the best Defense Professor Hogwarts has had in years. I wish you were staying."

"Thanks," Hermione shrugged.

Tuft stood, and offered her hand, which the younger Witch shook. "I've got to get going," the future Minister sighed. "Just got word from the Averys of a death. Not murder, thankfully, although this is hardly better. Their boy married last year, got the poor girl pregnant fairly quickly, and she died in childbirth this afternoon. The baby too. She was only eighteen years old, Professor. Girl should have still been in school. It's a shame."

Hermione swallowed hard, having heard many tales of Anne Thomas, who'd married Tiberius Avery. Minerva, Genia, and Elise were all fairly bitter about the marriage, which Anne hadn't had any real say over, although they were trying to be happy for their friend in that she was expecting a baby soon, and had been taking bets on who among them Anne would pick for Godmother. According to Elise, Anne and Minerva had been lovers during their Fifth Year. Anne had been Minerva's first, in fact. She cleared her throat. "Are you talking about Anne Avery?"

Tuft raised an eyebrow. "Afraid so."

She let out a heavy sigh. "Will it be alright if I inform a few of my students? I didn't get the opportunity to meet Anne, but I'm friendly with a number of students with whom she was close, and the impression I get is that Tiberius Avery has a hostile relationship with them. I don't expect him to reach out to them and let them know what's happened."

"Just ask them to keep it to themselves until the official notice posts in the Prophet in a few days," Tuft said kindly. "Knowing that, I'll forward you information regarding funeral arrangements. I trust you can pass it on to them."

"That would be appreciated," Hermione said. "Thank you."

Once Tuft was gone, Hermione checked the time and realized that exams and supper would be over by now. She cast a Point Me spell to direct her to the location of Roland Wood, knowing that he'd been Minerva's first confidant in regard to her relationship with Anne Thomas. If anyone had a right to comfort Minerva in the wake of this, it was him. Arriving at his location, she saw him sitting on a ledge in the south courtyard in the company of Ignatius Prewett, and mused that Iggy had known about Minerva and Anne as well, the latter having been a confidant of Anne's. For a time, according to Minerva, there was talk of Ignatius and Anne becoming betrothed.

"Mister Wood. Mister Prewett," she greeted. "A word?"

"Hey Professor," Roland said, grinning. "You should have seen us during the Defense practical! We blew Tuft's socks off!"

She offered a soft smile. "I heard. I'm afraid I have some bad news, however."

Both boys straightened, mirth leaving their eyes. "What is it?" Ignatius asked softly.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Anne Avery died in childbirth this afternoon."

Roland and Ignatius paled, the latter shaking his head back and forth in denial. "Does Min know yet?" Roland asked after a moment.

"Not yet," Hermione admitted. "I felt it best if you were there to support her through this, Mister Wood. Given the history."

"You know about the…" he gaped, surprised at her inside information on something that was deeply personal and very much private. "How… why…"

Ignatius raised an eyebrow. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

Oh, great, Hermione thought, groaning internally. "If you would kindly keep your suppositions to yourself…"

He was not going to do that. "They're shagging," Ignatius barrelled on.

Roland crossed his arms over his chest. "Really? You're our bloody professor, Professor!"

She mirrored his actions. "And Minerva is over age, a grand total of two years my junior, and we love each other, Mister Wood. Get off your Gryffindor high horse about it."

Ignatius laughed. "This is beautiful. I am never not going to make fun of her for this. That said, Anne is dead, that blows, and we have a duty to be a comfort to Minerva right now. I expect you'll want to tell the 'Claws as well."

Hermione nodded, flicking her wand and sending her Patronus to Minerva, Genia, and Elise. "We have a place to meet."


Minerva arrived in front of the Room of Requirement nearly at the same time as Genia and Elise, who were coming from the opposite direction. Before she could open her mouth to ask them if they knew why Hermione had summoned them there, she saw her lover striding swiftly their way, with Roland and Iggy hot on her tail. That wasn't good. "Hi boys," she greeted nervously. "Professor Dagworth."

Ignatius snorted in amusement. "Professor Dagworth? Is that what you call her when you two are shagging?"

The Scottish woman groaned, although that groan evolved into a moan as Hermione moved forward and captured her lips into a kiss; an unusually passionate kiss considering they were in mixed company.

"Alright, alright!" she heard Roland say. "Break it up. We get the picture!"

To Minerva's surprise, and growing concern, after Hermione pulled away from her, she moved to Genia and Elise, pulling each girl into a warm hug. "Okay, now I'm worried. What's going on, Hermione?" she asked.

"I was about to ask the same thing," Elise admitted. "Not that I mind the hugs or anything."

"We didn't get hugs," Iggy grumbled.

"You boys haven't spent the best part of the year getting to know me outside of class," Hermione said pointedly. "That said, I could oblige. Do you want hugs, gentlemen?"

Minerva giggled at the horrified looks on Roland and Iggy's faces. "Hermione, did you want our room or did you want something else?" she asked.

The older woman looked thoughtful for a moment and then stepped forward, seeming to have decided on crafting an alternative site for their meeting with the boys. When the door appeared a moment later and opened, they appeared to be in a Manor of some sort, in a sitting room, and Minerva was struck by how familiar the place looked, although she was having a hard time placing it. "Where are we?" Roland asked.

"Technically, we're in the Room of Requirement," Hermione replied. "It's a representation of the first floor den at an Abbey in the Highlands I had a chance to visit for a few weeks last summer."

Then, it clicked. This was Ross Abbey, Minerva realized. She'd only been here once when she was a very small girl. Her grandparents had died a few years later, and the place had been set to slumber at that time. Isobel was disowned so she couldn't occupy it, and neither Robert nor Malcolm were remotely interested in living there. In their way, they were their father's sons and preferred a more simple life. Until Isobel McGonagall announced her intention to disown Minerva, she'd thought of taking up residence at the Abbey herself, but if she was also disowned she had no right to be there either. The next in line would be one of Robert or Malcolm's children. That said, if Hermione indicated that she had been there, then that suggested at some point Minerva must have taken up stewardship of the Abbey, in order for her to have extended an invitation. She'd already said she didn't know Minerva's brothers.

"Nice place," Elise said. "Why are we here?"

Hermione sighed. "Someone once told me that this place granted them a sense of serenity when nowhere else could offer it. I hoped it would offer you the same, as I am afraid I am the bearer of bad news."

Minerva's heart clenched. She knew war was coming, but it was still early. Surely her loved ones were still safe from the tyranny of the Dark Lord Hermione was so concerned about. The beginning of it wasn't here yet, was it? It couldn't be! "What's happened?" she whispered, sinking into one of the sofas, and reaching for Roland's hand as he sat beside her.

Her lover offered her a tender look, as if trying to convey sympathy for a pain she knew was coming. "Anne Avery died in childbirth this afternoon," she said softly. "The baby didn't survive either. I am so sorry, ladies."

Minerva vaguely noticed Elise and Genia comforting each other, and Iggy trying to be a support to them, as Roland held her as she cried. She did note Hermione refusing to come near her, and within a few minutes, moving toward the door to leave. "Hermione?" she called. "You're leaving?"

The older Witch met her gaze, face emotionless. "Yes," she said softly, "and if you think about it for just a moment, you'll understand exactly why. I'm sorry, love, I really am, but this is how it must be."

The Scottish woman sighed and nodded, not even needing that moment to comprehend what her lover was implying. This wasn't a loss because of war, but it was a loss all the same, and Hermione knew it was the first of many to come. Hermione wouldn't be here to comfort her as the losses piled on, down the road, and it wasn't fair for either of them to have Minerva get used to having Hermione's comfort in moments like this, knowing that it wouldn't be possible by the time the next need for it came along.

Roland would be here. Hermione wouldn't.


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