I had to leave this for a little while so I could deal with my grief. Therefore it is important to note that I'm not writing this BECAUSE of what has happened. I'm writing it to fucking spite what has happened, because Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin (First fucking Class) and Queen of my Heart does not ever die.

Here's to keeping Minerva McGonagall alive for the rest of time, even when Mags has gone home to the love of her life - something I cannot fault her for given how long she's been without him.

~So thank you, Mags, for creating a timeless, beautiful, fucking perfect Minerva so that my imagination could play at giving her the opportunity to enjoy the love(s) of her life, too. Here's to you Mags.~

A/N: As always, Em has taken liberties with so many things. Roll with it, please. [Prompt by Lib McGranger - I don't really like writing to prompts/suggestions but I did this for the cause - and because she asked]

-0-

"Hey Mi! 'Mione! WAIT!"

She turned and smiled at Harry Potter, Saviour-Of-The-Wizarding-World, Deputy Head of the Auror Division and her Best Friend Forever ran down the stairs to greet her.

"I have said it once, I've said it a hundred times, I'm not going to lunch Harry, it's Thursday, you know what Thursday is for me."

She turned to look at him and saw the look in his eyes.

"Mi, I'm sorry, I ran -"

"Harry, what are you -"

"She collapsed, she's in -"

She did not need to ask who she was. Hermione knew that there was only one person Harry would run through the Ministry to tell her about. Only one.

There was a whining in her ear that wouldn't allow the noise from the outside world to penetrate it. She stared at his lips moving and wished she could tell what he was saying but the more he spoke the louder the whining got.

"Mi, did you hear me? I said she's collapsed. They don't know why, I just got word from Severus."

She didn't ask why Severus was sending messages to the Auror Division via his portrait in Harry's office - again. Minerva had insisted that it was useful, and she supposed she could understand the need in wartime but they were at peace. And they had been for nearly five years now. It occurred to her that it maybe didn't matter anymore and she turned back to Harry.

"What do you mean, she collapsed? What does that mean?"

"He didn't know. Poppy has her in the Hospital Wing. I have no idea. There was talk of St. Mungo's, but you know how she -"

Hermione felt the walls closing in and she closed her eyes as Harry's voice valiantly tried to keep talking to her. She tried to breathe through the panic but she could feel it closing in on all sides. Her breath wouldn't seem to come and she clawed at her neck to try and pull the scarf off her neck to get more air.

"Mi, Hermione, calm down. I'm sure it's going to be -"

Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin (First Class), Department Head of the Magical Society's Protection of Magical Creatures (MSPMC) screamed as she Disapparated from the Ministry of Magic's atrium.

She didn't see the explosion of glass that occurred when she did so. As every window in the place blew out as she Disapparated, Harry Potter arced his wand in such a way that every single piece froze in midair like a sick, cartoonish snowstorm, but his mind wasn't on the feat of magic he just performed, it was on his friend. His friends. And the hope that this wasn't the end of everything he'd been hoping for the both of them.

-0-

She landed hard outside the South Gate and glanced up at the Castle. There was no smoke, no rain, nothing to indicate that all was not well inside and to be honest, she wasn't sure how to take that. The Mistress of Hogwarts had collapsed and the sun was still shining? And in April, no less? It was unheard of and quite frankly, she thought it incredibly disrespectful. But instead of turning into some crackpot that glared at the sky, she simply pushed on the gate to let herself in.

It had been a long few years, more than a few, she realised because she was turning twenty five this year. She actually already had her birthday planned out, even though it wasn't for another few months. She just needed the term to finish at Hogwarts and the summer holidays to start, though, because she'd already planned it to the last detail. She was going to spring the trip of a lifetime on Minerva; take her to Spain and to Italy and then, onto Egypt and Morocco. If they had time and Minerva had the inclination, she wanted to travel to America as well. All the places that Minerva had mentioned at one time or another, places she wished she had been over her lifetime. Hermione wanted nothing more than the opportunity to remind her that life was for living. And that if Minerva perhaps trusted her to, Hermione could show her other things she could do to feel that life again.

Not that Minerva wasn't full of life. Quite the opposite, most days. But sometimes, when they were tired and the marking put away, the day grew longer. When the Whisky was poured and the silence was comfortable, Minerva grew wistful and regretful. A lifetime of fighting had ruined the woman's chances at happiness, at travel. At a life well lived.

And Hermione did not want that to be the woman's legacy. She would not allow it. Because, to Hermione, she was worth so much more.

She'd tried to do it a hundred times. She'd tried so hard again and again. She'd been so close, one night at dinner, when Minerva had removed her outer robes and sat, with her legs crossed at the ankles, leaning back on her chair and waving her whisky glass around like some debonair movie star. Hermione had been leaning on her hand while Minerva talked and when she'd muttered, out loud mind you, that she was beautiful, Minerva had stopped cold and sat up.

Hermione, as usual, had panicked and taken it back. That was, of course, until she realised she'd taken it back verbally and completely had not meant to and so said it again and then smacked herself in the face to shut herself up. Minerva had chalked it down to too much wine with dinner and they'd never spoken of it again.

For all her intelligence and her brains, Hermione was terrible in love.

And she was that.

She had been since she was 16.

Since the day she had watched from the Astronomy Tower, since the time she thought Minerva McGonagall had lost her life.

She raced up the steps to the big doors and did not question why they opened for her with nobody to greet her. She raced up the stairs, waving her wand and freezing the stairs where they were for now, sprinting down corridor after corridor and sliding around the corner to the Hospital Wing where a group of Professors were standing outside the doors.

"Hermione!"

She tried to catch her breath but as Filius Flitwick looked up at her, she couldn't. She held up her hand and leaned over her knees and breathed.

"Tell me -" she gasped. "What has -"

"We don't know anything yet," Pomona Sprout said gently.

She pushed Hermione into a seat next to the Astronomy Professor, who immediately reached out and held her hand. Pomona shoved a square of chocolate under her nose.

"Eat it, Poppy should be out in a moment."

She did without question and chewed it robotically. She had just managed to swallow when the Hospital Wing doors opened.

"Poppy!"

Considering they were Professors, the way they clamoured at the mediwitch for information was reminiscent of their students after a weekend that Hogsmede had been cancelled.

"Calm down, all of you."

Hermione squeezed the Astronomy Professor's hand in thanks and got up. She liked the Astronomy professor, she always had, but she needed to see Poppy's eyes before she could make her own decisions as to Minerva's prognosis. Poppy was one of Minerva's closest friends and Hermione had come to know the mediwitch quite well after so long. She pushed past the new-ish Muggle Studies Professor and the new History of Magic professor that she'd helped Minerva install herself and to the front, where she stood in front of Poppy, searching her face.

Poppy's hand took hers and held on for dear life and Hermione's heart crumbled.

"She is alive," Poppy said, almost to her and nobody else. "She is alive but gravely ill."

Hermione stared.

"I cannot allow you back there -" Hermione glared at her. "She's got Dragon Fever. And for anybody that hasn't had it, it can be deadly. As it is, I'm going to have to figure out her schedule so I can quarantine everyone she's seen in the last two days and get them to St. Mungos of necessary. If all of you can -"

"I've had it," Hermione said quietly. It stopped Poppy mid sentence. "I had it after the Battle of Hogwarts," she whispered. "After the funerals -"

Poppy's eyes widened as she realised and then, presumably, remembered. Hermione had been in Hogwarts Hospital wing for a week after coming down with the illness after the battle. In all honesty, she'd fought the beginning symptoms for a long time before giving in and going to the mediwitch for help. The only consolation being that she had done so at home. Once she was sequestered in the Hospital Wing, and as she'd burned, Minerva had sat with her every day. The woman had explained later, once Hermione was conscious again, that she'd caught it during her Ministry Days around the same age. In that time, or rather - after that time of forced seclusion - they'd come to know each other as friends and not as Professor and Student.

Dragon Fever had started all this.

And now...

"Hermione," Poppy said urgently. "Come with me."

She glanced back at the others as Poppy pulled her through the doors and into the Wing. She stared at Filius, who just nodded and then, the doors closed with a bang.