Hermione slowly twirled the sugar quill between her lips and then reclined more comfortably in her chair. The transfiguration class was halfway through and Professor McGonagall had managed not to look at her once. As had been the norm for the last few days.

Not that the ignoring Hermione thing had worked: the Headmistress was still messing around with the young witch's belongings, in varying degrees of intervention, and Hermione could still feel Professor McGonagall's magic swirling around her body now and again. The only difference was that Hermione was making it a point now to let the Headmistress know when that happened, hence why she was making a show of toying with the freshly transfigured sugar quill.

The student kept her eyes intently focused on the witch at the front of the classroom, even if the spell being taught was one Hermione could perform during her sleep.

"You will hold your wand at arms length and swipe it…"

...right to left.

"Make a circle in an…"

...anti clock-wise motion.

"Then flick your wand…"

Up.

"...down."

Wait.

It took only a second for the Headmistress to realize her mistake and when she did she couldn't help but look at Hermione. The young witch returned her gaze with a curious expression and Minerva could already feel a blush crawling up her neck. She hoped the high collar of her robes would conceal it.

"I mean, up. Flick your wands up." Another quick glance at Hermione. "Work on your spells, let's see if you can perform it by the end of the class" – then the Headmistress took a seat at her desk and proceeded to mark parchments.

Hermione smirked. There was no way the Headmistress could focus on student work with her magic all over the place like that. The young witch felt the electric buzz as it skimmed over her, prickling her skin like minuscule needles of embarrassment.

There was nothing Hermione could do about it tough, so she followed along with the lesson plan. The witch held her wand at arms length and focused on transmuting the state of matter, but instead of an easy flow of magic she felt her wand trembling and then a surge of energy shot up her arm and threw it back with such force Hermione heard her shoulder snapping.

It hurt, a lot, and Hermione yelled from pain and surprise. Some classmates approached her to ask if she needed help, some others took a few steps back, just in case. In the front of the classroom, Professor McGonagall was rooted to the spot.

Hermione cradled her injured arm with the good one and looked at the Headmistress. And waited. She knew it was Professor McGonagall's magic that coursed through her, she was familiar now to its flow and rhythm, and still the Headmistress was just standing there, a perfectly blank expression on her face, with not a move in Hermione's direction.

Hermione found that stillness to be more throbbing than her aching shoulder, it made seep into her the notion that maybe the reason why Professor McGonagall was postponing the solution to that matter was not because she'd met a dead end and was too stubborn to ask for help, but because

She doesn't care.

Well, now Hermione's eyes were stinging too. The young witch looked upward and took a long breath to hold in the tears, but she could tell that wouldn't work. She was profoundly sad, strangely so, much more than she should, in her opinion. What did it matter if she wasn't high on the Headmistress's list of concerns?

Hermione risked a glance at Professor McGonagall, and her eyes got blurred. It mattered a lot, it seemed. Afraid to cry in front of the witch, Hermione dashed from the classroom.

By bedtime, the sadness hadn't waned.

"Even if it was insensitive of her not to ask after you, you shouldn't be feeling like this. McGonagall must have a lot on her plate, with the war and all the work she's doing", Ginny had been repeating variations of this for the last 20 minutes, but Hermione wasn't buying it.

"How could she do this? It's all her fault, she messes with me everyday, then pretends nothing happened! To hell with her, I'm pulling out of her class. I'm pulling out of this school!", Hermione said, throwing herself on the bed.

"I should just take my N.E.W.T.S. and be done with it", Hermione said, turning away from Ginny and clutching a pillow, her breathing short and tremulous from crying. The redhead laid beside Hermione and started to stroke her friends hair.

"What is it now, Mione? What's with McGonagall?"

Hermione's answer was muffled by the pillow:

"It's nothing… I think I'm just tired. Maybe it was a mistake coming back to Hogwarts. I thought it would do me good to have something normal in my life, but not even Professor McGonagall is the same anymore."

Ginny thought it better not to press any further, a good night's sleep would rid Hermione of those ideas of leaving. In any case, it was best to keep her friend company, so Ginny stroked Hermione's hair until they drifted off to sleep.

Ginny cursed that purebitch Pansy Parkinson enough to last her for three generations. The slytherin had sent a bludger right to her chest and Ginny felt it weighing her down as she fell from her broom towards the ground. The damn girl had even charmed the bludger to scratch her chest. What the…

Ginny opened her eyes and realized she wasn't in a Quidditch match, but on a bed, and she wasn't being clawed by a charmed bludger, but by a feral looking cat standing on top of her.

Half shocked and half asleep, Ginny tried to sit up but just managed to make the cat hiss viciously and sink its claws through the fabric of her pajamas.

Hermione stirred at the sound, but didn't wake up.

Trapped under the cat, Ginny whispered for help – "Mione… Hermione!" – but her friend was fast asleep.

Ginny didn't want to angry the animal further, so she reached her arm very slowly and grabbed the first part of Hermione she found, it was a very soft part. The squeeze she gave wasn't enough to wake the girl, but was enough to send the cat meowing furiously, which in turn made Hermione jolt upright. Startled, Ginny jumped from the bed and sent the cat bouncing on the mattress.

"What's happening?! Crookshan…", Hermione asked frantically, but then her eyes adjusted to the candlelight, and her voice faltered.

"Professor?"

"Professor?", Ginny asked, a few feet from the bed. She stared at the cat but it just looked like an average, if enraged, tabby. Then her brain caught up.

"Is that McGonagall? What is she doing…"

Nor Hermione nor the Headmistress were listening to her though, their eyes locked in each other in a strange, sort of comical face-off.

"Ginny", Hermione said in a serious voice, "I'll explain everything tomorrow, but now I need to talk to the Headmistress, in private."

The redhead didn't need to be told twice, she was out the room in a second. As the door lock clicked, Hermione asked:

"What now, Professor? What is it that you want?"

As it seemed, cat-Minerva had simple desires, for she just walked up to where Hermione was sat on the bed and curled against her thighs.

Affronted, Hermione stood up.

"Well then, aren't you going to say anything?"

The Headmistress just rolled around on its back and meowed. Gathering all of her patience, Hermione knelled by the bed, in front of the cat, and tried again:

"Professor, please shift back so we can talk."

Professor McGonagall scuttled closer to Hermione with her big emerald eyes, sniffled the young witch's face and licked her nose. Hermione stood there dumbfound and the Headmistress took the opportunity to butt her head all over her face.

Not knowing what to do, Hermione got back on the bed, reclined against the headboard and waited for Professor McGonagall to stop playing games.

It must have taken a while, because it was way past breakfast when Hermione woke up and found herself snuggled up to the Headmistress, who had shifted back to her human form, at least.

AN: I hope you're all safe during this quarantine.