Hermione would have recognized this notebook anywhere in the world, as it had been such an integral part of her school life. She had invested a lot of time and effort in choosing the right notebook and designing it in a way that she thought was appropriate for the occasion.
Not only was it full of inappropriate fantasies about her former Transfiguration teacher on the inside, but its external appearance also reflected everything that Minerva was in Hermione's eyes.
It was bound in green leather, the same green as the color of her eyes, those eyes that Hermione had so often wished she could sink into. The front was decorated with Celtic patterns that were reminiscent of Minerva's Scottish origins and with a feather like the one the black-haired witch liked to have in her witch hat. Hermione's greatest pride, however, was the lock of the notebook. A golden Gryffindor lion adorned the button that held the notebook together.
This book and its contents had been her greatest treasure in her last years at school, but now that it was in the place where it should never have returned, it seemed to Hermione more like a poisonous snake that the brown-haired witch feared to touch because she was afraid she might get bitten. Bitten by the thoughts and feelings of her past that she had long since buried - or so she had thought.
But now, with the proof of the deepest secret she'd managed to keep all these years right in front of her, her own feelings hit her like a slap in the face. There they all lay before her, hidden between the lines of her inappropriate feelings for her professor, daring her to confront them again. The past had finally caught up with her and all the memories, precisely recorded in the notebook in front of her, flashed past her mind's eye like flashlights.
It had all started with the Yule Ball in fourth year during the Triwizard Tournament. Although Hermione had already been aware of her sexual preference at this point, Minerva McGonagall had not been on her radar until then. Of course, she had valued the formidable Transfiguration teacher immensely for her integrity, her expertise, her determination and reliability, her magical abilities and her big heart. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Minerva McGonagall at the Yule Ball, when she swapped her full wizarding robes for an evening for a skin-tight velvet green ball gown that matched the exact color of her eyes and made them shine in a way that Hermione could no longer take her eyes off her even though she had come to the ball with Viktor Krum.
For the first time, Hermione had noticed her professor as a woman - and a damn attractive one at that. Her dress couldn't be described as provocative at all, as it covered most of her skin, but the slit that reached up to her thigh and occasionally revealed a slender leg when Minerva moved in a certain way made Hermione freak out.
But the upper part of the dress was much worse. Here, the dress also appeared modest at first glance, with sleeves that were tight but reached down to the wrists. But when Minerva was led into a turn during a dance with Professor Dumbledore and her back was suddenly turned to Hermione, she almost tripped over her own feet and took Krum with her if he hadn't been so strong to compensate for her faux pas and to lead her back into the next steps.
Hermione's heart had been pounding wildly in her ears and she had almost felt the heat creep into her cheeks when she saw the completely bare back that Minerva presented on the dance floor. Fine muscles stood out beneath the skin and she could see that this back was strong and hard despite the older witch's delicate build.
Yet the skin there seemed so incredibly soft and Hermione longed to run her fingers over it, to explore every inch of that strong back with her lips, to run her tongue along the spine and to feel Minerva shudder under her touch. She imagined herself clawing at that very back while Minerva lay on top of her, giving her so much pleasure that she had to hold on to her desperately.
But what finally killed Hermione's libido was Minerva's hair. Hermione had never seen her professor with her hair down before. The Transfiguration teacher, who was considered extremely strict, always wore an equally strict bun that didn't let a single hair get out of line. But not this evening.
Her long black hair slid over her shoulders like a silk waterfall and reached almost to her lower back. Hermione wanted to slide her fingers through it and feel if it was as soft as it looked. The whole evening she couldn't take her eyes off her, which fortunately Krum didn't seem to notice, who was already quite happy with being able to dance with Hermione. But her thoughts were only on Minerva McGonagall and she wanted nothing more than to be able to dance with this wonderful woman, all evening and all night long, and never let her go again.
After that, everything just got worse. That evening was the starting signal for an almost pathological obsession that Hermione developed for the Scottish witch. She watched her every move in class, looked for excuses to stay longer and asked her questions after class that she already knew the answer to, just so she could spend more time with her and be close to her.
She also studied all her eating habits during meals in the large hall and which colleagues she liked and didn't like spending time with. She figured out her schedule and arranged it so that they would run into each other regularly or that Hermione would happen to be sitting reading in the hallway that Minerva would have to walk down sooner or later.
In the library, Hermione gathered all the information she could find about the older woman. She wanted to know everything about her and almost turned it into a project of sorts. She was obsessed with the woman and all her waking thoughts revolved around her. During the day and also at night.
When Hermione became a prefect in fifth year and was given her own room, she was able to fully live out her nightly fantasies without having to worry about being discovered by anyone. And how she took advantage of that privilege.
She had never masturbated as often in her life as she did at that time and she had never been so happy to be a girl. If she had been a boy, she would probably have had to hide what felt like a permanent erection. But this way she could live out every fantasy she had about Minerva McGonagall in her head, down to the smallest detail, and in every free moment she could retreat to her room and touch herself, imagining that it were Minerva's fingers that slipped over her skin.
Over time, however, it was noticed that she locked herself in her room more and more often, and in order not to risk her secret being exposed at some point, and also in order to become the master of her urges again, she had to look for another outlet for her fantasies. And so she decided to banish them to a place where she could still live them out, but at the same time put them out of her head for a while.
Like a pensieve into which she slipped thread by thread of thought, she took up pen and paper and wrote out everything that had built up in her head about the woman she desired more than anything else. It was a tremendous relief, and since her classmates were used to seeing her constantly sitting in a corner, either with a book on her lap that she was completely engrossed in, or with a notebook that she was delving into like crazy when she wrote her notes, her penchant for writing was not particularly noticeable. If her classmates had only known what she wrote about in that one green notebook, many would probably have blushed terribly.
She had never mentioned her own name in the notebook because she was too afraid that someone would find it and bypass the spells she had placed on it. However, she had used Minerva's name all the more often; she simply couldn't suppress it and it would have restricted her writing flow too much.
Which meant that the headmistress Minerva McGonagall knew exactly that she was being talked about in all those scenes that Hermione had immortalized in the notebook. All the scenarios that Hermione had imagined with the older witch, recorded in black and white in a book that had long been buried deep in the darkness of her attic, among many old boring objects in some box, lost forever. Until now.
Hermione felt sick as she thought of all the many fantasies written in that notebook, which she now knew Minerva had read and knew everything about. That Hermione had imagined having to sit in detention with her professor late at night and be punished, and oh how much she wanted to be punished and spanked by the older woman.
Or that Hermione's performance in class was no longer sufficient and she had to do extra work to get good grades, which she had to do under Minerva's desk between her thighs with her tongue.
How often had she imagined herself bent over on Minerva's desk, her teacher behind her, pushing up her skirt and penetrating her from behind, or studying alone in the library late at night when the black-haired woman sneaked up behind her and slipped her hands into her blouse to massage her breasts.
She dreamed of green eyes glowing in the darkness of her room, watching her as she slept, and delicate fingers sneaking under her covers and taking what was theirs.
She imagined those same green eyes in the prefects' bathroom, watching her greedily as she pleasured herself in the warm water until Minerva joined her there. She had also changed the Yule Ball in her imagination and imagined a jealous Minerva who drove away every dance partner who made advances to her star student, ultimately dragging her into a dark corridor and taking possession of her.
Hermione had also often thought of a massage she could give the overworked woman to help her relax, which then led to so much more when she fantasized her fingers slipping between the proud woman's thighs.
The younger witch had imagined heated debates about academical topics on Minerva's sofa in front of the fireplace, which ended with Minerva showing her student in a completely different way how right she was and who of them was actually in charge. and then lead her to the Room of Requirement, where Minerva could live out all of her own dominant fantasies and Hermione was only too happy to obey her.
Hermione dreaded what Minerva had to say about all these fantasies, which she now knew did not come from her daughter Rose, but from the woman who had once been her star student.
She didn't think twice before panic took hold of her and forced her to act. She broke out of her state of shock, grabbed the notebook and ran as fast as she could down the steps to the office door, yanking on the gold-plated door handle to push the door open and get as far away as she could from the green-eyed witch who now knew her deepest and darkest secret, and almost dislocated her shoulder when she pulled so hard on the door handle, which didn't give an inch.
She shook it desperately, pushing it down again and again and pulling with all her might, clutching the notebook protectively to her chest, before giving up and slamming the palm of her hand against the door, pressing her head against the wood and exhaling in frustration.
At the same moment, the headmistress uttered the word that had just formed in her head and brought home the harsh realization of her situation: "Locked."
A panicked whimper escaped Hermione as she closed her eyes, now holding the notebook tightly to her chest with both hands, as if she wanted it to melt into her, so that all of its contents would disappear inside of her, where they belonged, completely deep inside where no one would ever see them again.
"No. No, no, no, that can't be," she whispered, her voice full of desperation as tears ran down her cheeks again and she realized how hopeless her situation was. "Let me go, oh please, let me go," she pleaded, her shoulders now shaking uncontrollably with sobs that seemed to come from deep within her, from a place she had buried long, long ago and now revealing all the pain she had never dared to feel. That she had no right to feel.
"No, Hermione, I won't."
Hermione jumped at the sound of her first name and whirled around in shock. Minerva McGonagall had never called her by her first name before. The headmistress was still standing up next to her desk, completely calm and collected, her expression impenetrable.
Slowly Minerva started moving and came towards Hermione, like a predator that knew it had cornered its prey and there was no way out for it. She could take her time because escape was out of the question. Hermione had nowhere to go, nowhere to fly, she was stuck and helpless against the headmistress. Minerva only stopped when she was just a step away from Hermione.
"Give it to me."
Hermione didn't say a word and just shook her head as if in a trance, unable to articulate herself clearly.
Without a word, Minerva reached out and fixed her with her green eyes, which on the one hand clearly communicated what she wanted from the younger woman, but on the other hand revealed absolutely nothing about what she was currently thinking.
Hermione tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat as she once again gave in to the black-haired headmistress's will, loosened her iron grip on the notebook, let her eyes drop in resignation, handed the notebook to Minerva and admitted her defeat by doing so.
She closed her eyes, tried to calm her breathing and not imagine what the headmistress was about to confront her with. She couldn't listen to this, she wanted to sink into the ground and block out everything that was happening around her. The shame of what Minerva now knew about her seemed to be eating her up from the inside and nothing, absolutely nothing Minerva had to say about it could make it any better.
Quite the opposite. She could already hear how disgusted the supreme Scot would be by everything her former student had written about her. How tasteless her thoughts were. How disappointed she was in her former star student. Hermione was trying to brace herself for the recriminations, insults and disappointments that were about to come her way when she heard the notebook hit the floor with a thud, which brought her out of her thoughts.
"So, Miss Granger…" Hermione's eyes widened in shock as she heard her maiden name come out of the headmistress's mouth, in a voice that sounded anything but hateful, disappointed or reproachful. No, Minerva's voice had suddenly become much deeper, more sensual, even seductive, and a primitive, animalistic part of Hermione responded immediately.
She could feel a twitch deep in her abdomen and a wet warmth spreading between her legs as Minerva took the final step towards her, resting her arms on either side of the brown-haired witch's head and leaning further forward.
She was so close now that Hermione could feel her breath on her face. Mint, it flashed through her head before Minerva's next words made her weak in the knees: "Now about all those fantasies that obviously come from your pretty little head..."