Don't get too excited! This is an old story, which was previously posted (and now removed) as five oneshots that followed each other. I was always surprised how little interest those oneshots got. Honestly, this is one of my better written stories (I think). Putting this together in one fic is something I'm doing because my list of fics is getting so long, and I wanted to consolidate. That said, I'm wondering if, published in one go, it will get the appreciation I think it deserves. So, even if it's an old fic, please enjoy!

Denial

Cigarette smoke wafted about Minerva's room endlessly. Any person who might enter now wouldn't know where the fog's origin was, and might even be concerned about a greater fire than the one created by the butt of the Transfiguration Professor's twentieth fag. It was the end of the pack, but the tears were not yet all cried out, so Minerva reached for another box. She felt sick from the overdose of nicotine, but she didn't really care. If she threw up, so be it. At least for five seconds she'd be thinking of something else; something besides Amelia.

The door to her room suddenly opened, and the breath of fresh air was soothing for a moment, until she realized that the door being open meant that someone was here to take her away from the horrible reality that was a world in which her wife was dead. Minerva knew she ought to be grateful for any distraction, but that feeling did not reach her utterly broken heart. "Yes?" she asked crisply.

"Oh my," a soft, female voice said, coughing slightly. "Professor McGonagall?"

Minerva recognized the speaker as Hermione Granger, newly returned sixth year, and her star pupil. She realized it must be three o'clock by now; she'd had an appointment with Miss Granger scheduled. The Transfiguration Professor flicked her wand and banished the seemingly endless smoke into nothingness, only then realizing that she'd never even managed to get dressed this morning. Her hair was down in long braid, and she was still wearing a light robe over a rather skanky bit of lingerie that Amelia had given to her last Christmas… their last Christmas…

"Professor," Hermione started slowly, "are you ill? Do we need to reschedule our meeting?"

"No," she replied after a moment. Life must go on, Amelia would have insisted. "If you would take a seat, I'll just change…"

"You needn't," Hermione said. "I won't think less of you if you're comfortable in what you're wearing. And I won't tell a soul," she added with a soft smile.

What the hell. Minerva shrugged and left her seat on the sofa and made for her desk chair. "Thank you," she muttered. Her bare feet felt heavy as she walked across the room. Everything was heavy. Her posture was poor, her legs felt like irons were holding them back, and her heart felt as though it had been sunk to the depths of the deepest, blackest part of the ocean.

She made it to the desk, and sat there unblinking for a time. Much like all of last night, since she'd gotten the news, and all this morning, time seemed to pass at an unidentifiable rate. The next thing she knew, Hermione's warm hand had reached out and taken her own cool and sweaty ones.

"What's wrong?" warm brown eyes asked pleadingly.

"Amelia's gone," she uttered, emotionless. And then, the tears came back like a great flood having been held back by a levy to weak to bear the pressure. "My wife is dead," Minerva choked out. Somewhere, intellectually, she knew that she should not be pouring her heart out to a student, but logic was woefully overruled by her heavily burdened heart.

"Oh my god," Hermione murmured, getting up at once and taking quick strides towards the other side of the desk.

Before Minerva quite knew what was happening, she was sitting on the rug, next to her desk, crying on her student's shoulder. Hermione's arms were strong, but still tender, and it reminded her of Amelia's embrace. "Don't go…" she pleaded, not really sure if she was speaking to Amelia or Hermione at that moment.

"It's alright Minerva," Hermione said gently, stroking her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

Some hours later, after dark, Hermione Granger quietly slipped out of Minerva's quarters, careful not to wake her sleeping professor. She sighed, and silently made a vow never, ever to reveal what had happened between she and the Deputy Head in the last few hours. She'd known that she'd be treated a bit differently this term, as effective a week from now, she'd be legally an adult and free to come and go as she pleased, so long as she notified her Head of House and didn't miss classes. That fact was to apply after her birthday, not before, however the last couple of hours had been very...adult.

Hermione rubbed her hands in circles on Minerva's back, the light robe having fallen to the side, revealing her Professor in nothing but a rather sexy bit of nightwear. She tried, really she did, not to focus on the nearly naked woman sobbing in her arms, and reminding herself that this woman had just lost her wife.

Brown eyes scanned ahead, making certain her path back to the Common Room was clear. It had been a bittersweet moment, finding out that Minerva was married to Amelia Bones - she felt utterly saddened that this amazing woman was having to face such a horrid loss, but in the same stroke, it answered a question that had been plaguing Hermione for nearly two years - Minerva McGonagall was gay, or at least, bisexual. Not today, not even this year, probably, but down the road sometime, Hermione realized she actually had a chance to be with the woman she was in love with. It was a slim chance, no doubt, but it looked less slim now that…

Minerva cried, clinging tightly to Hermione. Nearly an hour into the event, Hermione realized that the combined body heat was making her robes decidedly too hot to keep wearing, so she'd untangled herself from Minerva, and suggested the move to the couch, where it would be more comfortable. The distraught woman nodded in agreement, and on route across the room, Hermione took off her outer robe, as well as her sweatshirt. It wasn't as if Minerva hadn't seen her in jeans before. Then, just as Hermione was about to sit down, Minerva grabbed her, and pushed her against the wall. Before the younger woman quite knew what was happening, she realized that she was snogging the living daylights out of her Professor. While Hermione would normally consider her level of self control above reproach, in this case, she'd been a goner the moment Minerva's lips touched hers. For the love of god, the woman was already mostly naked!

It had build from there. In the space of the next four hours, they had no longer been student and teacher. They had been lovers. Hermione had left after Minerva fell asleep, feeling decidedly guilty for allowing it to even happen, though she couldn't bring herself to regret it. A part of her hoped this would be the start of something between them - she was going to be seventeen in a week, after all - but on the other hand, she did not want to be Minerva's rebound. She wanted more out of a relationship than to be an outlet for grief.

Hermione reached the Common Room without incident, and was not surprised to see Ron snoring on the sofa, and Harry still awake, awaiting her return. "What just happened?" Harry whispered.

She saw the Marauders' Map in his hands, and panic set in. He knew where she'd been. "Does Ron…?"

"He passed out before I though to look on the map to see where you were," Harry assured her.

Hermione nodded, and sat down beside him. He didn't look angry, and he already knew how she felt about Minerva. Ron did, too, though he although she was 'bloody mad' for it. She wouldn't lie to Harry. "Amelia Bones was her wife," she muttered. They'd all seen the paper this morning announcing that the the Ministry official had been killed.

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh, no," he said sadly. "Poor McGonagall."

"I was comforting her," she went on with the story.

Her dark haired friend nodded for her to continue as he took a sip of water.

"...and then we had sex."

"WHAT?!" Harry yelped, water spraying out of his mouth, and probably his nose, and all over Ron.

The red-haired member of their trio snorted loudly, and the rolled over and kept right on sleeping. Typical Ron, Hermione thought.

"Harry!" she hissed. "Quiet!"

"You had sex with Professor McGonagall?" he whispered in an urgent, disbelieving tone. "You had SEX with MCGONAGALL?!"

"That is what I said…" she muttered, blushing.

Harry looked at her, bug eyed, for another few seconds, before leaning back against the couch and sighing. "Okay," he finally muttered. "Now what?"

Hermione shrugged. "No idea. She may try and pretend it never happened, and if she does, I'd understand. Tonight was not about me… but rather her needing someone, and I was there."

"You always will be, 'Mione," Harry said. "Question is, will she be there for you?"

Minerva managed to mostly avoid Hermione Granger, sans classes, for over three months. It wasn't that she was ashamed of being with someone so much younger, and Minerva was not about to feel guilty about sleeping with a minor who was only a couple of weeks away from turning seventeen, but she did feel ashamed that she'd used Hermione. She and the brilliant young woman knew next to nothing about each other, and yet, before Amelia's body was even cold in the ground, she'd taken another to bed. She should have had more self control.

Hermione, it seemed, had been perfectly fine with the stalemate Minerva had created between them. Things were not awkward between them in class, and other than a soft, knowing smile that the young woman graced her with on her bad days, one would never have guessed anything had happened between them at all. It was obvious to Minerva, now, that Hermione actually cared for her - she had no idea how she'd never noticed before - and it seemed that the brunette was simply respecting her space.

That said, Minerva knew that the war was getting worse, and that, according to Albus, it was not likely that Harry Potter would be able to return to Hogwarts for his seventh year. In such a case, it was very likely that neither Ron Weasley nor Hermione Granger would either. It was Christmas break, effective this morning, and the Transfiguration Professor realized that there may never be another opportunity to clear the air between herself and the young woman she'd taken to bed. She was decidedly still mourning Amelia, and not ready to enter into a new relationship, though the more she thought about it, the more she realized Hermione deserved to know that what had happened between them had not been totally meaningless.

So, with a deep breath, Minerva found herself walking towards the trio of friends, who were just finishing up lunch in the Great Hall. "Miss Granger," she said softly. "Might I have a word?"

Hermione looked at her in surprise. Harry, she noted, was eyeing her suspiciously, making her fairly certain that he was in on the secret, though Ronald seemed totally oblivious. "Of course, Professor," the young witch said, standing. "Your office?"

Minerva nodded for her to follow, and moved to exit the Great Hall. "I think my quarters would be better suited," she whispered, as soon as they were out of earshot of the boys and any other students still lingering after the noon meal.

The younger woman didn't even seem surprised at her comment. "As you wish," she replied.

The walk down to her quarters was a quiet one, save for Minerva uttering her password when they'd reached their destination. As soon as the door was sealed behind them, she uttered a quick silencing charm around the room, and broke the proverbial ice. "So, Hermione… we had sex."

Hermione laughed at her bluntness. "That we did," she said, smiling ruefully. "I don't regret it, if that was a question."

Minerva huffed. "I cannot believe I didn't see how you felt… about me… prior to that night."

The younger woman shrugged. "I hadn't really been that obvious. Prior to that night, I wasn't even sure if you'd be open to a woman expressing interest."

"I was married," the Scottish witch said pointedly. "Which means I would not have been open to your advances one way or another."

"Another fact I was unaware of," Hermione countered. "You don't have a biography in the library. Trust me, I know; I looked."

Minerva chuckled. "Of course you did. All of that said, my dear, what happened between us needs discussed, before we no longer have the opportunity to do so."

"Agreed," came the easy reply. "I'd already figured that if you were to approach me for this little chat, it would be during the hols, or after term let out. I was giving you space…"

"I appreciate that," the Transfiguration expert said, pointing to the sofa and suggesting they take a seat. "It has not been easy… adjusting to a world without Amelia in it. I still feel overwhelmed sometimes."

"You're grieving," Hermione said, sitting next to her mentor and placing a hand on her knee. "And that takes time. I hope, however, that when you're ready, you'd consider me as more than a one night stand."

"What if it takes years?" Minerva questioned. "I couldn't ask you to…"

"I'll wait," Hermione said firmly.

"You're young, and beautiful, and could have anyone…" Minerva argued.

"And anyone is not what I want," the young woman interrupted again. "I'm in love with you."

Minerva sighed. "You finding me mostly naked and totally distraught in my quarters really was a perfect temptation for you, wasn't it?"

Hermione shrugged. "If that had been the end of the tale, then no, I could have restrained myself, albeit with difficulty. You kissing me made it the perfect temptation from which I was unable to walk away. One question though, Minerva - "

"Yes?"

"Why did you kiss me?"

Minerva looked at the floor. "There's no simple answer for that," she replied. "In some ways, you reminded me of Amelia, and I felt safe in your arms much like I did in hers. It also had a lot to do with that fact that it was you - I'm not suggesting I've had longstanding feelings for you, but you were always above your peers in maturity and intellect, and I trusted you. So I suppose it was a combination of all those factors. Reminding me of her, being someone I already trusted, and well…"

The older woman offered a flirtatious grin. "You are a very attractive woman."

Hermione blushed. "Well then…um...I mean..." she sputtered.

"Cat got your tongue?" Minerva inquired.

Brown eyes met green ones with mirth. "Not since right after start of term," Hermione replied with a grin.

And just like that, Minerva felt her resolve to not instigate anything further with this young woman beginning to fade. "We shouldn't…" she whispered, raising her hand and caressing Hermione's cheek.

Hermione leaned over, and stretched her nimble fingers across Minerva's middle and settled them on her hip. A gentle grip urged the older woman to turn her body toward Hermione's already pivoting body. The young woman's lips slowly fell to Minerva's exposed neck, gentle kisses trailing slowly up toward her ear. "We already have," she whispered huskily, swinging her leg over and straddling the older woman as she bit down on the exposed neck.

Minerva moaned, instantly remembering how Amelia had so often done the same thing, and her hands found themselves on Hermione's waist, putting her close. Here we go again," the Scottish woman thought. For the next couple of hours, Minerva believed Amelia was still with her.

Anger

Hours after the final battle of the war, Hermione Granger found her former Professor, Minerva McGonagall, standing in front of Albus Dumbledore's tomb. She hadn't spoken to Minerva since she, Harry, and Ron had returned, but knew that a talk was sorely needed. Too much had happened since they'd spoken last, the night Albus has died, and there really hadn't been much talking involved in that last conversation. Just... sex. Hermione was no fool: she knew that each of the four times Minerva had taken her to bed during the course of her sixth year, the older witch had been thinking of her deceased wife, Amelia. A year ago, Hermione had been okay with that. She understood that the normal process of grieving had been delayed by the war, but now that was over, and Minerva needed to move forward. If she couldn't… then Hermione needed to, instead.

"Minerva?" she greeted carefully.

"Hello, Hermione," Minerva replied, not even turning to look at her.

The older witch's posture was stiff, which the younger woman knew from experience meant that she was angry. She'd seldom been on the receiving end of the legendary Scottish temper, but she's witnessed it a fair amount of times. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"It was pointless," came a bitter reply. "Amelia's death was pointless. I should have been there… protected her. I was needed here, but she should have been my priority."

Hermione's hand touched Minerva's shoulder tenderly, an action which caused the older woman to collapse in her arms, sobbing. "Shhh..." the young Gryffindor cooed.

"It's all my fault!" Minerva cried. "All my fault…"

"It is not," Hermione disagreed. "Minerva, the only one responsible for Amelia's death is Voldemort, and he's paid for her life with is own. Don't let the hate consume you…"

Minerva pulled away, or at least tried to. Hermione held tightly to the woman, whispering assurances in her ear. "You're going to make it through this, I promise you…"

"If you love me at all," Minerva spat, "or ever did, don't rob me of my hate. It's all I have!"

"No it's not…"

"Amelia, dead! Albus, dead! Remus, dead! My brothers, dead! My parents, dead!" Minerva hissed, each notation of death getting louder. "I have nothing to live for! Why didn't Voldemort kill me instead? Why did it have to be them?!"

As frightening as it was to see Minerva's temper so close to boiling over, Hermione stood fast. "It could have been you,"she said calmly, stroking the older woman's cheek. "And if it were, someone would be sitting with Amelia now, doing exactly what I'm doing now."

"And what is that, Hermione?" Minerva asked numbly, wiping away a flow of fresh, angry tears with her sleeve.

"Helping you grieve…" came a quiet reply.

Minerva watched in silence as Hermione Granger, head full of unruly brown curls covering most of her pillow, slept. This was not the first time she'd taken the younger woman to bed in a desperate attempt to just forget, but she did know it had to be the last. She was still too in love with Amelia to even think of giving Hermione her heart, and Hermione deserved to be with someone who could share her love, not just receive it in such a pitiful, sullied way.

There was nothing for her here anymore. Hogwarts was full of memories, and while many of them were wondrous, they were too overshadowed by the bad ones for Minerva to stand. She couldn't stay. True to her animagus form, the older witch carefully crawled out of her bed and padded her way to a closet, pulling a small suitcase off of a shelf. She selected clothing that would be good for travel, much of it muggle, and left behind every set of teaching robes. She would not bring anything that would remind her of this school.

She paused when she felt her fingers brush across the gowns she and Amelia had worn to their wedding. Last Christmas, she finally had the nerve to remove Amelia's belongings from her closet, but she'd been unwilling to part with those dresses. With a sigh, she realized that they would be the worst reminder of all, and her hand fell as tears started to fall down her cheeks.

Minerva felt so angry. She knew her anger ought to be directed at Voldemort, but it wasn't. She was angry at Amelia more than anyone else. The woman she loved so deeply had been the reason she'd been here to face all of this. When they had married, it had been just after the first fall of Voldemort. While Minerva, like many in the wizarding world, believed the Dark Lord to be gone and dead for good, Amelia had shared Albus' concerns that he would one day return. Already mourning the recent death of her brother Malcolm, the only of her family left after Grindelwald's reign of terror, Minerva had wanted to leave Britain and start a life somewhere else with her new wife. Anywhere else.

Amelia had, however, appealed to her sense of duty and said that it was their responsibility to build the foundations of a resistance for if and when Voldemort returned, so that the Wizarding World would not be caught so unprepared as it had been some years before. So, she had remained at Hogwarts, and Amelia had worked her way up the ladder and onto the Wizengamot, and in time, Minerva had mourned Malcolm and was quite content with the life she and Amelia were living. She'd not even been sorry for listening to her wife when Voldemort had returned. At that point, the already prepared Order of the Phoenix had managed to keep the death toll limited, especially she and Minerva's circle of close friends.

Just over a year later, Amelia had been killed. Her beloved wife, her partner.

Eight months after that, Albus. Her mentor, and dearest friend.

Three months after that, Alastor. The man she'd thought of as a brother.

Yesterday, Remus. The son she'd given up for adoption after being raped by a wizard she'd never seen before, nor since. There was a reason he'd been so good at Transfiguration. She'd never told him the truth. No one knew how he'd come to be or that she was his mother, except Amelia.

A choked sob escaped Minerva's lips as her line of thought brought her back to her deceased wife. She didn't know how she could feel such overwhelming pain brought on by lost love, and at the same time feel seething anger toward that same person.

"Minerva?" Hermione's voice floated into the air.

The older witch sniffled, and wiped her tears away with her sleeve before stuffing a few more items in her bag and closing the wardrobe. "I'm leaving," she informed Hermione, feeling guilt rake over her as she did. If she had just stuck to her guns and forced Amelia to leave… it was all her fault.

"Why?" Hermione asked quietly, climbing out of the bed and walking toward Minerva, who had started shoving various personal items from around the room into her bag.

"Because," she replied succinctly.

"Well that just explains it all," the younger witch said sarcastically, as she wrapped her naked body in a robe.

"I'm running away, Hermione!" Minerva finally snapped. "Is that what you want to hear? The mighty Head of Gryffindor, House of the brave, is caving to cowardice and running away!"

The sound of a crackling fireplace was all the sound in the room for the next minute, as brown eyes stared intently into green ones, searching for more of an explanation. "Last night, you named Remus among those lost," the younger witch finally said, "as if his death was as painful, if not more so, as losing Amelia and Albus. You running away like this means that the events of last night triggered the last straw, as it were. What I don't know is why."

"Why does it matter?" Minerva snapped.

"Because I love you and I want to help you through this, but I can't if you don't tell me," Hermione replied.

"I'm leaving, Hermione! You won't be helping me through anything!"

The younger witch flicked her wand and banished Minerva's suitcase to Merlin knew where. "You're not going anywhere, Min," she said calmly. "I won't let you give up when you've already survived this far."

"Who the hell do you think you are?!" the older witch shrieked in angry protest.

"The woman trying to save you from your stupid self!" Hermione snapped.

Minerva was silent for a moment, contemplating. Hermione, despite obviously being used, still appeared to care deeply for her, which in itself was bloody mad. A small part of her wanted to make it through this, wanted to be the strong witch that Albus, Amelia, Alastor, and Remus had all believed her to be. That right there was the key to why Hermione was different. Hermione had never, at least not since after her first year at Hogwarts, looked at Minerva as if she was infallible and ever strong. Hermione had always seen the human inside, which she'd so carefully hidden behind a mask of other people's expectations and her desire to live up to that standard. Even Amelia, her wife, had seen McGonagall before seeing Minerva, but Hermione was the opposite.

"If she wants to help you, Minerva," the older witch said to herself, "then let her. Be weak in letting her pull you through this, rather than weak and starting onto the path of self destruction."

Damn logic, Minerva mused. "My son," she whispered.

"What?" Hermione asked, not understanding that Minerva was answering her earlier question, and probably more than a little confused at the very idea that she even had a child.

"Remus," Minerva whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "was my son."

If Minerva knew Hermione at all, her mind was probably buzzing right now with the what's and the why's of how the hell that had come to be, not to mention the question of if he was aware of the fact or not. He'd certainly never spoken of it, as the later was correct. Of course, for all Hermione knew, he'd kept it secret.

Despite the curiosity Minerva knew her younger lover had to be feeling, she did not sputter into a grand inquisition like the older which had expected. "Oh Minerva," Hermione sighed after a moment of processing the information. The younger woman made her way over to the bed, and pulled Minerva into a gentle, warm embrace. "I am so, so sorry, love."

Then, Minerva began to cry again, but for the first time in over a year, the tears didn't burn her face as they fell; hot, salty liquid boiling with anger. Now, they were warm, and sad. They offered release, not fuel to the fire. Today, they were welcomed rather than feared, and the actually process of crying felt like progress, not a regression into Minerva's state of grief.

She was going to be okay.

Bargaining

Hermione's soulful brown eyes rolled back into her head as she began to climax. For just under a year now, this beautiful young woman had often found her way into Minerva's bed, and the older witch was beginning to realize she'd also begun to find her way into her heart. I could have given her my whole heart, if not for Amelia's place in it, Minerva thought to herself as a final, hard thrust of her hand brought the younger woman over the edge with a throaty moan. If only.

As she usually did at the end of their encounter, she left the other woman panting on the bed and removed herself to the adjoining bathroom. She took a quick shower and threw on a robe, unsurprised to find Hermione had made her way to the sofa by the window in the interim. Smoke coiled out of the younger woman's lips as Minerva took a seat beside her.

"I told you not to do that," she whispered, snagging the cigarette deftly out of Hermione's hand and putting it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

"As I've told you not to leave me alone in bed after we make love, Minerva," Hermione replied sadly.

The Headmistress bowed her head in shame. Hermione had asked so little of her in the last several years in which they'd been involved, but she often disregarded the younger witch. She'd tried to convince her young lover that her leaving after they'd had sex was simply a matter of her desire to clean up, but Hermione saw that explanation for what it was - a lie. Minerva left because she was afraid to bask in the afterglow of their passion. She was afraid that if she let Hermione into her heart, she'd lose her, and she simply couldn't stand the thought of one more heartbreak.

"I've been thinking," Hermione suddenly said.

"About?" Minerva inquired.

"Teddy," Hermione replied. "He is your grandson. You never got the chance to tell Remus the truth of his birth, but you could form a relationship with Teddy. With both Remus and Tonks gone, he is going to need all the family he can get. I'm sure Andromeda would be happy to welcome you into the family. Harry, as well."

"I don't know, dearest," Minerva said sadly. "If I told Andromeda and Harry, it would inevitably come out - the circumstances of Remus' birth - I'm not anymore prepared for that now than I was when I got pregnant with him."

"Neither of them would betray your trust, and you know it," Hermione argued. "You and Remus were close over the years, despite his understanding of why you always looked out for him. Teddy being an extension of Remus, no one would think your interest in his son to be unfounded."

"You present an ironclad case, Miss Granger," Minerva teased, hoping to ease the tone of this conversation.

Hermione, however, would have none of that. "You need to move on, Min. You need to accept that for you, life has gone on, and stop living in the past and the pain within it."

"Who do you think you are?" Minerva snapped, "to tell me how long a period is acceptable to grieve?"

The younger witch sniffled, and it was only then that the Scottish woman noticed the tears cascading down Hermione's cheeks. "I'm no one," she said. "I mean nothing to you. That's the problem."

Minerva said nothing, shocked into silence at how her lover had boldly accused her of a crime she knew she was guilty of. She was using Hermoine, as much as she loathed to admit it to herself, and it suddenly hit her at how out of character the very notion of such level of disparity was for herself. She used to have honor. She used to show respect to everyone she made, no matter if she disliked them. She used to have a strong sense of propriety, and yet here she was regularly bedding a student under her care, whom she couldn't honestly claim to love. Beginning to love, yes, but she wasn't there yet.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione dressed herself and made for the fireplace; her usual method of returning to the Head Girl quarters that she lived in. "You're breaking my heart, Minerva," she whispered as she tossed floo powder into the ornate kiln. "The woman I fell in love with a few years ago would be ashamed to see herself wallowing over what ifs and wishes for a world that is gone and buried. I wouldn't have to wonder if that woman cared if I was to stay or go."

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and into her personal quarters, and was surprised to see someone waiting on her sofa. "Harry!" she said, quickly rubbing away the evidence that she'd been crying.

Not quick enough, however.

"How's Minerva?" he asked with a sad sigh.

"The same," Hermione replied, joining him. "Shag and shut down. Sometimes if I'm doing more harm than good, letting her use me like this. Perhaps if I stepped out completely, she'd… I don't know...move on."

"Which is why you don't want to leave her," Harry concluded. This was not the first time they'd had some variation of this particular conversation. "Because you're afraid she will move on, and move on to someone other than you."

"And I'm stupid in love with her and as much as this hurts, I'm pretty sure seeing her with someone else would hurt worse," Hermione added. She shook her head, forcing herself not to dwell. It wasn't every day that Harry just popped by. Unlike herself, he and Ron had not elected to return to Hogwarts for their final year of schooling, rather both jumping right into the Auror Academy. "So, Harry, what brings you to Hogwarts?"

"Well, you graduate tomorrow, and you've not said anything about your plans after," he said slowly. "I just wanted to make sure you had something lined up - you'd be welcome at Sirius' with me, if you don't have a better option."

Hermione cringed. She'd known this was going to come up, but she'd hoped Harry would wait to ask until after the ceremony tomorrow afternoon. "Honestly?"

"Of course," he replied.

"I have no idea," she admitted. "I sort of gave Minerva an ultimatum this evening. If she asks me to stay, I'll stay. If not… then I'll grab the first portkey out of Britain and try to move on from somewhere far, far away."

"Wouldn't leaving Hogwarts be enough, 'Mione?" Harry pled, obviously not having much faith in Minerva to ask her to stay. "Do you have to leave the bloody country?"

"If I stay in Britain, it will probably mean I end up working at that Ministry or Saint Mungo's, both places which regularly interact with the Headmistress of Hogwarts. I'd be bound to run into her. That's not even counting all the places we both shop, not to mention just passing in the street. As much as we used to think Dumbledore was a fixture at Hogwarts, he did leave often, and so does Minerva. Over the summer, she'll be all over Britain seeking out new muggleborn families. I just… I just can't be here. I can't live in fear of crossing paths with her."

"I don't like it," Harry stated.

"I know," she sighed.

"But I do understand," he added, gentler. "Just please promise to let us know where you end up, if it comes to that. Me and Ron will come visit."

"I promise."

After chatting for a bit longer, Harry took his leave and Hermione settled into her desk chair intent on composing a lengthy letter to Minerva in which she explain why she was leaving. Like Harry, she didn't really have much faith that the older woman was going to ask her to stay. She wished she believed that love was more powerful than grief, but after watching Minerva suffer over the last three years, she just wasn't sure anymore.

For hours, Hermione sat there in the flickering candlelight, trying to find the right words. Despite being normally verbose, she found herself unable to translate the pain she was feeling into words, much less sentences. For that matter, she wasn't even sure she had a solid thought. Hermione had never felt so conflicted in her life.

It was about two in the morning when her brown eyes suddenly widened in surprise, realizing the key factor to making her choice which she had expressed to Minerva verbally just hours before.

"The woman I fell in love with would be ashamed…"

The woman whose bed she'd been sharing was not, at least not presently, the woman who had Hermione's heart. Minerva had become a shell, and that shell was a cruel woman, and decidedly not the sort of person Hermione would have, under any other circumstances, wasted her time on. If and when Minerva managed to sort through her grief, she'd likely been another person entirely than the woman Hermione loved. Who knew if Hermione would feel the same about her.

Grabbing a fresh bit of parchment, Hermione said all that she had left to say to the Headmistress of McGonagall. Sod graduation, she thought as she folded the paper and set it to the side. The Ministry can mail me my transcripts. Best do this before I change my mind.

By the time Minerva awoke the next morning, Hermione had packed her belongings, left Hogwarts, and apparated to the Ministry. By the time Minerva picked up the note left on her office desk in Hermione's familiar script, just after breakfast, the younger witch had already taken a Portkey to America and was sitting in a cheap motel crying, much like Minerva was upon reading a single word on the parchment - Goodbye.

Depression

It had been two years since Hermione Granger has stepped out of Minerva's life, and not a day went by that she didn't regret not begging the younger woman to stay. Upon realizing just how much of a coward she'd been, both in not running after Hermione, and in wallowing in her grief, she'd stepped down from her position as Headmistress, and moved to McGonagall Manor. For the first six months, she'd done a fair bit more wallowing, and then something surprising happened.

On a chilly day in March, one Andromeda Tonks had showed up at her door with a letter from Remus. Minerva had read it so many times in the time since, she had it memorized. Every crossed T and dotted I, every stroke of the familiar penmanship, was precious to her.

Dear Minerva,

If you are reading this, then I'm dead. I wouldn't wish regret on my worst enemy, so for both our sakes, I've penned this letter to save you from that feeling. I know I'm your son. I know the circumstances of my birth, and why you chose to give me up. I've also managed, in the years before Albus kindly offered me the Defense post at Hogwarts, tracked down the bastard who fathered me. I know you never did find him, and I hope you don't resent me for not telling you now who he was. All that you really need to know is that he's dead, and has been for a long time.

I'm sorry we never had a chance to talk about this in person. I wish I'd been able to know you better, though knowing you at all was a gift I am thankful for. As to how, as I'm sure you're wondering, you can blame James for that. During our fourth year at Hogwarts, he, Sirius, and Peter snuck into your quarters searching for books on how to become Animagi, and they were rude enough to look through your journal. They didn't tell me till after they managed their transformations for the first time, at the end of that term. I had the whole summer to think about it, and by the time we came back for our fifth year, I'd decided to wait to confront you until after graduation.

Graduation came and went, and with a war on, I didn't want to compromise you emotionally by opening the door to a more suited relationship for mother and son. After James and Lily died, I was too caught up in my own depression to reach out, and then the next thing I knew, years had passed and I was returning to Hogwarts to teach. I desperately wanted to tell you, then, but the threat to Harry we thought Sirius posed took my attention. I didn't want to fail him the way I felt I'd failed James.

After it became clear Sirius was not an enemy, I thought to go to you for help. I can't really offer a good reason as to why, but it probably had a lot to do with how comfortable I'd become with our relationship as it was, and I didn't want to upset that.I had no way of knowing if you'd even want to have a relationship with the child you mothered against your will. Even as I pen this, I don't know for sure, but after working closely with you in the Order, I'd like to think that you would have at least been open to it. You too smart not to have known who I was all along, and yet you never came to me. Perhaps fear of rejection is a genetic trait.

Anyway, I decided to pen this letter now because the call has just come in that Harry is making his move, and that there will be a battle here at Hogwarts tonight. I'm actually sitting at your desk at the moment - the irony does not escape me. Just know this, mother: if you're reading this letter, I did not survive the night, and we have been robbed of the chance to be a family. I have a son myself, now, and he deserves to know you in a way I never did. I've never asked a thing from you, but I do ask that you look out for your grandson. Have with him what we never had the chance to have.

All my love, Remus

No matter how much she'd wanted to continue wallowing in her grief, she could not deny her own son's dying request. She'd broken down in tears upon reading the letter, and shortly after, Flooed over to Andromeda's and told her everything. Since then, she'd seen little Teddy at least once per week, and during those visits, she was happy.

The rest of the week, depression still clung to her like a warm blanket. After all this time it was so familiar it was almost a comfort, but she knew that before much longer, spring would metaphorically arrive, and she'd have to start finding joy in the day to day of her life. Hard as it was to even try, Minerva knew she had to. As Hermione had said to her, life had gone on. It was about time she got with the program and rejoined the world.

Two years, four moves, five jobs, and seven girlfriends after leaving Britain, Hermione was packing her things to return. She wasn't sure if it was a good idea or not, but when Filius had Owled and practically begged her to take the Charms post this fall, she'd not been able to find any sort of reason to not go. It was, after all, her dream job.

Since leaving Hogwarts to get away from Minerva, Hermione's life had not improved much. Her education meant nothing in muggle America, and very little in the Wizarding part of the United States, so her job prospects had been slim. She'd learned quickly that retail work was not for her, nor was bartending, nor childcare. Working at the Animagus Registry at the American Ministry of Magic hadn't been too bad, but after a year of that she'd been so bored that she'd decided to try bartending again. She'd been on the verge of quitting when Filius' Owl had arrived. His title being marked as Headmaster told Hermione that whatever had become of Minerva, it had included leaving Hogwarts, and for the sake of her sanity, she didn't ask Filius for details.

Her personal life had fared little better. Finding a willing woman was easy enough. According to several of her lovers over the last few years, her accent was damn sexy. The women she'd dated had all been nice enough, and she shared many interests with each one of them. That said, despite each of them having a particular shade of green eyes and long dark hair, none of them were Minerva. It was really sad that the borderline abusive relationship she'd had with Minerva had meant more to her than any of the relationships she'd had since. A couple of the woman she'd dated had wanted more than just the casual sex, but when the flowers and cards started, Hermione found herself sabotaging those relationships. Eventually, those women changed their minds about wanting more, and found themselves wanting less. The last one had ended two months ago.

True to her world, Hermione had kept in touch with Harry and Ron, though she'd warned them both that if either of them so much as mentioned Minerva to her, she'd never speak to them again. As much as she had loved Minerva, the woman she'd left at Hogwarts two years ago had not been the woman she loved. Being in love with a memory was not how Hermione wanted to live, and so until her heart got over a woman long gone, she'd simply choose not to engage. Simple, really.

Going back to Britain would make that harder. Hermione knew that there was a chance she'd run into Minerva, at some point. Gathering the last of her things and preparing to Apparate, the brunette wondered if she ought to talk to Harry and Ron about where Minerva was these days. It couldn't be that hard to avoid her former Professor. Resolved to do just that after checking in with Filius and settling into her quarters at Hogwarts, a loud crack sounded and a moment later, she was standing at the gates of her beloved school.

Spotting a familiar face just on the other side of the gate, Hermione mustered a smile and called out to her long time friend. "Hagrid!"

The half giant squinted at her, and then grinned upon recognition. "Hermione!" he exclaimed. "Good ter see ya! The Headmaster said you'd be coming, but I'd reckoned it wouldn't be till tomorrow mornin' at least!"

"I didn't really have any obligations keeping me in America still, so I figured I'd come a little early so I have a bit more time to settle in before students arrive," she replied. "I suppose I should have told Filius, but I didn't think he'd object."

"Naw, he's as excited ter see ya as anyone," Hagrid beemed. "It's long past time you came home."

"I suppose so," Hermione nodded. "That said, I am not really dressed for Scottish fall, so I best get inside before I catch cold."

Hagrid nodded in agreement. "Off with ya then. Headmaster should still be in his office. You remember the way, I'm sure."

"Of course."

With that said, Hagrid took his leave and Hermione began the walk up the path toward the castle that admittedly, she was glad to be calling home again. Had everything with Minerva not been a factor, it's likely she'd never have left in the first place; a fact that Harry subtly reminded her when she'd spoken with him regarding Filius' offer. If circumstances had been different, he'd said. She knew what he'd meant, though they'd both pretending he'd simply been referring to the war.

Before long, Hermione was climbing the staircase to the Headmaster's Office, trying not to think of how often she'd come here while involved with the school's previous Head. As she raised her hand to knock on the door, she heard voices beyond, though the thick wood muffled the conversation. "Probably Filius talking to one of the other Professors," Hermione muttered to herself as her knuckles impacted the barrier.

"Enter!" Filius' voice called, and with no hesitation, Hermione did just that.

She regretted it about five seconds later, when she recognized the Headmaster's companion. Brown eyes met green ones, and Filius paid rapt attention to the tension which had suddenly flooded his office.

"I'll be god damned," Hermione uttered in shock as none other than Minerva McGonagall dropped the glass she'd been holding. It shattered on the floor. So much for avoiding her, the new Charms Professor mused to herself.

Acceptance

Minerva wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run, literally. She'd make it out of here faster if she turned into her animagus form. That said, she'd been living with the regret of letting Hermione Granger go for the last two years, and despite cowardice beckoning again, the proud Gryffindor fought the urge. "My apologies, Filius," she muttered, flicking her wand to banish the shattered glass. "Miss Granger, it has been some time."

"That would be Professor Granger, Madam McGonagall," Hermione replied stiffly.

Minerva did not miss the enunciation of her lack of Headmistress, or even Professor, title. Nor did she miss the clearly sent message of how angry the younger woman was with her. Certainly, the older witch knew it was more than deserved, though she did not think Filius' office, with the Headmaster himself present, was an ideal place or time to even attempt to reconcile their differences. Whether or not Hermione would ever consider pursuing a relationship of any sort with her now, she did hope they would move past the animosity that Hermione was clearly feeling.

"Of course, Filius did mention you'd be taking his old post," she acknowledged. "That being said, I'm sure you're here to see him, and Filius, my friend, I'm afraid I must be going anyway. I had planned to stop by Andromeda's this evening, and I would like to make it in time to see Teddy before his bedtime."

Filius nodded, and she saw a flicker of confusion in his eye, reminding her that though she'd been an active part of her grandson's life for over a year now, her Ravenclaw friend had not accepted that her interest in Teddy Lupin was as simple as she'd expressed previously. Soon, she promised herself, she'd share with him the truth of her relationship with Remus, and by extension, little Teddy. The comment about going to see him would have been something she'd normally have not bothered with – Filius didn't need a reason for her departure – but with Hermione here, she hoped that her former lover would appreciate knowing that she had, after all, gotten involved with Teddy's life.

"May I escort you to the gates? I'm afraid the Floo network is down at the moment." Filius inquired. "I'm sure Hermione won't mind waiting a few minutes."

"If you'll tell me where my quarters are, Headmaster," the new Charms Professor interjected, "I can make use of the time by dropping off my things."

Filius indicated to Hermione that she would be taking up residence, ironically, in what used to be Minerva's quarters here at Hogwarts. Minerva wondered if Hermione's question, while she was still standing there, was a subtle invitation to seek the younger woman out. It would be so like her, to force Minerva to read between the lines like that.

With a curt nod and no further comment, Hermione exited the Headmaster's office and made for her new rooms, and Filius and Minerva turned toward the path that led to the Hogwarts' gates, from where she'd be clear of the castle's wards and free to apparate to Andromeda's.

"So, what was that about?" Filius finally found the nerve to inquire when they were about halfway to their destination.

"I'm afraid that's a bit of a long story," Minerva sighed. "Suffice to say that we have… history."

"And your comment to her regarding going to see young Mr. Lupin was for…?" he asked leadingly.

Minerva smiled, not surprised that he'd picked up on that. Well, no time like the present to tell him the truth. She should have told him months ago, besides. "Hermione was the first to urge me to make time for Teddy," she stated calmly. "As she believed that my grandson deserved to know his father's only living relative."

Filius stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide. "Minerva, you can't be saying that Remus was your son!"

"That is exactly what I am saying, my friend," she replied, turning to face him. "A few weeks before start of term, 1959, I was raped by a man I never was able to identify. I became pregnant, hid said pregnancy, and if you remember, in the beginning of March that following year, Albus covered my classes for a week, as I was ill. I gave birth to Remus, arranged for his adoption by the Lupins, and returned to Hogwarts with no one the wiser."

"Did he know?" Filius asked, still wearing an expression of disbelief on his face.

"He found out the truth at the end of his fourth year here at Hogwarts, though he chose not to approach me about it. I did not find out that he'd ever discovered that I was his mother until after his passing. He… he left me a letter, and a request that I be there for Teddy. That is what started to snap me out of my depression."

"Now knowing the final battle took the life of your son, I can understand why you chose to step down from the Headship," the stout man sighed. "But back to Hermione – I know Amelia and Albus were gone by then, but you still had many friends to lean on, myself included. Why did you tell such a secret to a student?"

Minerva cringed. She knew Filius was not going to like the answer to his question, but if she meant to try and work things out with the woman that she'd finally accepted she was in love with, then she'd need his support. "Another long story, but the short of it is that five years ago, right after Amelia died, I broke the one rule a teacher mustn't break."

Filius looked like he'd been slapped upside the face. Despite being colleagues for years, Filius was her junior both in age and tenure at Hogwarts, and he still held some level of dilution that she was infallible, much like Albus has been perceived as. "You didn't…" he whispered.

"I took her to bed that night, and then again just before Christmas break that year. After the hols, she spent more nights with me than in her dorms, and then of course there was little contact over the year she was on the run with the boys, but when she returned to finish her education, we resumed our relationship. The night before her graduation, she left the castle – I'm sure you remember that surprise – because she felt like I was using her; too wrapped up in my own grief over Amelia, and then Albus, and then Remus, to love her like she deserved to be loved. At that point, two years ago, she was right. Now, it is my hope that I can fix things, because somewhere in the middle of that affair, I did fall in love with her, and no contact for the last twenty months has not changed the feeling in the slightest."

"Bloody hell," Filius muttered. "Well, I suppose all I can say is good luck, Minerva. You seem to have made a mess of things, and if Pomona finds out what I just found out before you fix it, she'll kill you."

Minerva smirked. "Well, I hope to have it all sorted, one way or another, before long." She bent slightly and kissed her friend on the cheek. "I'll just avoid your wife until then, because we both know you can't keep a thing from her."

Hermione had been pleased to hear that Minerva had gotten involved with Teddy's life. She wasn't sure how deeply she was involved, though if Filius didn't question her statement about visiting, she supposed it had to be a fairly regular occasion. Despite the logical side of her nagging about how hoping Minerva would one day be ready to actually love her was how she'd turned into the right mess she'd been for the last several years, the voice of hope had urged her to give Minerva a chance. So, she'd used Filius' offer to take Minerva to the gates that day as an opening, and offered the older witch a subtle invitation to at least talk about what had happened between them. Hermione hoped that at least, they could say the goodbyes that she'd taken away the opportunity for two years ago.

Things at Hogwarts were different than they had been when Hermione left, and it was taking some getting used to. Filius was a far more orderly Headmaster than Albus had ever been, and more direct in his involvement than Minerva had been the year she'd been Headmistress. Hermione hadn't been at the castle when Snape was Headmaster, but she imagined he would have run things in his own, distinct way as well.

It was more than just the Head's style of running things, though. Only a few of the Professors that she'd studied under were still here. Hagrid remained as Care of Magical Creatures Professor, Sprout for Herbology, and Sinistra for Astronomy, but all the other Professors had moved on, Binns included, and been replaced by unfamiliar faces. Poppy was still the school's Matron, but Filch was gone, as was Madam Pince, though Filius had told her that the former Librarian still came by to check on things and criticize her successor with fair regularity. As much as Hermione was enjoying her new job as the Charms Professor, she was beginning to realize that Hogwarts really wasn't home without Minerva here. It could be, in time, she supposed, but the instant gratification was lacking.

It had been three weeks since Hermione had arrived in Scotland, and two since classes had begun and the halls of Hogwarts were now full of happy children, not having to live under the threat of a war. The upper years, Hermione noted, still held a few veterans. Despite being evacuated before the Battle of Hogwarts, many of the current fifth, sixth, and seventh year students had been in their first, second, and third years during the year Snape had been Headmaster, and the Carrows had reigned terror on the school.

Professor Ridley, the current Defense Professor, had commented on how he kept calming draughts in his classroom, as dueling exercises sometimes triggered anxiety attacks in the older students. Hermione thought about Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, and how obvious it was that it was not only a muggle problem. War was ugly, no matter who you were. Somehow, seeing the older students struggle like this gave her a bit more sympathy for Minerva and her process of grief than she'd previously done. Hermione had been one of the lucky few who didn't lose someone she was very close to during the war. The woman she loved had survived. Harry and Ron had survived. Hermione hadn't had a child to lose. Minerva had a lover, a friend, and a child ripped away, and while the younger witch couldn't condone how her former Professor had treated her, now at least, she found she could better understand.

Hermione sighed as she entered her quarters. It was Friday, classes were done for the day, and she was not on monitor duty until Sunday. She had a pile of essays to grade, but that could wait until tomorrow. For now, she was intent on opening a bottle of Firewhiskey, and relaxing. A knock on her door twenty minutes later caused her to groan. She cast a notice-me-not charm on her bottle of liquor and the half drunk glass beside it, in case her visitor was a student, and went to answer the door.

It was not a student.

"Minerva," she breathed.

Her former lover was dressed casually muggle, and wore a soft smile on her face. The look in her green eyes spoke of knowing Hermione would be open to talking, and while a part of her wanted to turn Minerva away for the sheer arrogance of that assumption, she couldn't deny that the older woman was right – she was willing to talk, and so she stood her ground and waited.

"Hello Hermione," she whispered. "I was hoping that we could… talk."

Well, the younger witch thought. At least we're on the same page there. "Come in. I was just having a drink," she said, removing the notice-me-not charm. "Care to join me?"

Minerva nodded in agreement, and Hermione summoned a second glass as she closed the door behind her and ushered the older woman to the sofa facing the large window – the very window they'd used to sit in front of together after making love. The sofa was different now, as was the coffee table, and no ashtray sat waiting to become the subject of an argument.

"I should start by saying I'm sorry," the older woman said as she took her seat next to Hermione. "I'm sorry, my dear, for using you the way I did. You didn't deserve it."

"Thank you, for that," Hermione replied. "And I'm sorry for leaving like I did. I just… couldn't bear to stay and listen to you justify your actions. To that note, I'm also sorry I wasn't more understanding. Minerva, you lost your wife, and then your best friend, and then your son. I was lucky, and those that mattered most to me all made it through the war."

Minerva nodded. "Neither of us was at our best, then. It was war. It makes fools of us all."

"Well…" Hermione paused, unsure of what else to say, but not wanting things with Minerva to end here. There was something in that easy smile, and the way she'd walked into the room had been lighter than before. Maybe, just maybe, Minerva had finally healed. "What now?" she asked. "For us?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course," Hermione said, hoping she was actually prepared to face her greatest fear – the reason it had taken her so long to leave in the first place – the fear that Minerva had moved on… with someone else.

"I don't think we can be friends," Minerva stated, sorrow in her voice. "I'm sorry if you hoped otherwise."

Hermione nodded, fighting back the tears. She'd hoped to ease into a friendship with Minerva, and then maybe in time try to rekindle the romance, but if Minerva was unwilling to even be friends, than all of her hope was for naught.

"I'm in love with you, Hermione," Minerva whispered after a moment. "And friendship is a pale substitute when I know that once, you felt the same."

Hermione's jaw slackened. "Do you mean that?" she demanded, praying this was not a dream, or a joke, or a hallucination brought on by too many years of pining after someone she couldn't have, culminating in a psychotic break.

"Well, mostly," Minerva admitted with an unreadable expression.

"Explain," Hermione ordered, eyeing the older woman suspiciously.

"Well, if you don't love me anymore, I would be willing to be your friend, but as my intention is to woo you until you do let me back into your heart, no matter what it takes to do so, I figured I'd go with the romantic declaration and try and win you back right here and now."

The smirk on Minerva's face was clear, and Hermione heaved a sigh of exasperation. "You bloody arse!" she yelped. Without further ado, she leapt forward and planted a searing kiss on Minerva's lips. "I love you too, you stupid, stubborn, aggravating woman! It's always been you, and it always will be!"

Her own confession on the table, Minerva pulled Hermione onto her lap, and returned the kiss with a vigor Hermione had never felt from her older lover. Kisses turned to caresses, and caresses turned to a rapid discarding of their clothes, at which point she lifted Hermione up and carried her into what had once been her room. For the first time, Minerva allowed Hermione to love her, rather than simply offer comfort, and the younger witch relished in every moment. This, right here, had been what she'd been waiting for all these years, and as she orgasmed under Minerva's careful ministrations, she decided it was worth the wait, and the heartache that had ensued in the process. She'd always known Minerva had been meant for her, but now, for the first time, Hermione knew that she'd been equally meant for Minerva.

After hours of lovemaking, the two fell asleep, and in the morning, Hermione woke to find Minerva still wrapped tightly around her. Any doubts she had regarding Minerva's journey through grief being complete or not faded away as she watched the older witch smiling in her slumber, so obviously sure of where and with whom she was. Denial, anger, bargaining, and depression had been faced and conquered, and finally the two women had all that they'd ever wanted; acceptance that life does, in fact, go on.

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