Christmas Wishes – PART I/II

Hogwarts' Great Hall was basically deserted when Hermione Jean Granger entered, carrying her leather bag, stuffed full of books and other study material, over to the table of Gryffindor House. Two female Second Years sat huddled together at the far end of it while holding seemingly interesting conversation – they were both laughing, giggling in between taking bites and sips of their morning meals. Her eyes slid over the rest of the neatly polished hard-wooden House tables: they were nearly as deserted as hers. She didn't find this very surprising, though.

At noon and dinner, pupils would gather in more little groups scattered here and there. Still, there was the occasional stray pupil who was trying to get something down. Most of them were from higher years, like Hermione. Surely, they had risen early to study or to invest their little time better otherwise, like Hermione. The others were undoubtedly still asleep, taking advantage of holiday time to sleep in for once. Hermione personally knew one of these pupils who was taking great advantage of that – Ginny Weasley. They were quite close, and Hermione did consider her her very best confidante (and had for years), but nonetheless were there many ways in which they differed – this was definitely one. Ginny was a lot like her brother in that regard… Too much.

The staff table was rather abandoned, too. The Headmistress was comfortably sitting in her high-backed chair in the middle, while talking to old Horace Slughorn seated to her right. Septima Vector and Aurora Sinistra were in their usual seats, too. They were not talking despite the fact that they were sitting beside one another. Hermione unsuccessfully suppressed a yawn – she hadn't had a lot of sleep, and definitely not enough. There wasn't any time for sleep or rest, though. The grave exhaustion that had been gnawing at her for months didn't help either.

She couldn't help her hazel eyes trailing to Minerva McGonagall again. Her green eyes were alert as they always were. She vividly remembered when in first year McGonagall had caught Harry, Ron and her about the castle after Malfoy's little hint. Sleep hadn't overtaken those lightning eyes; nothing had diminished strictness or the fright she sent over them that night. Hermione had seen emotion shimmer through on multiple occasions, though, for which she was… grateful maybe.

She really didn't look a day older than she had that first year, when the then still Deputy Headmistress had come to deliver her Hogwarts acceptance letter, telling the Grangers Hermione was a witch and had been accepted to school herself further in magic, should she desire to do so, at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hermione's initial admiration for the witch had been awakened that same day even – one sight already enough to create awe more powerful than she had ever felt before.

A sigh eschewed from Hermione's lips as she finally tore her eyes away and slowly reached for a piece of toast then the butter. No, she looked better now. Hermione looked upon her knife as she spread the butter across the rough surface. True, the Battle had left the witch with a scar visible across her cheek – one which Madam Pomfrey had never managed to Heal due to its nature, like the one on the inside of Hermione's arm. Professor McGonagall's scar was unlike hers, though. It made her possibly even more of a warrior. Hermione felt like her scar, the long word carved into her flesh by Bellatrix's silver blade, was a sort of physical evidence of the heritage Hermione was still proud of yet an ugly reminder of how very little she meant to Wizarding Folk who thought in those terms. It made Hermione feel little and insecure.

The resolve of war and the death of Lord Voldemort seemed to have given Minerva McGonagall some kind of peace, though, which had been shielded by huge turmoil as her heart ached for those she had lost while Hogwarts Castle, her home, still laid in ruins. Every survivor had felt unbearable ache; had needed to grieve each in their own way: sometimes alone, sometimes together, sometimes quietly, sometimes accompanied by tears, cries, screams, curses and other external sort of behaviors that could go with grief.

Tomorrow was Christmas Day. Over the course of a half-year, Hogwarts Castle had finally been entirely restored to its full glory. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, the new Deputy, had been rather happy to announce. Even the turrets and towers that had no longer been use since long before the battle, had been restored that morning – that and the few details they hadn't managed before the school opened. Professor McGonagall hadn't wanted to wait to reopen, though. Hermione saw why. Of course, you couldn't act like nothing had happened, but just maybe it wasn't for the better to deliberately remain unmoving only to continue to chastise yourself with painful memories.

Hermione felt the familiar and homey atmosphere that hung about Hogwarts, the Great Hall original with huge trees Hagrid had procured, decorated by Filius Flitwick, soothed something deep inside that had not been soothed since they had run from Bill and Fleur's wedding, run for their lives and fought in a war. Maybe that's what had eventually caused Minerva's eyes to lighten and become clearer, too. Hermione had at once noticed when Professor McGonagall came to ask the Gryffindors who would go home and who would stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. Those green eyes were the most beautiful she had ever seen and were one most agreeable and attractive characteristic of the Headmistress without doubt.

As Hermione bit in her toast, she realized Minerva McGonagall hadn't only been the logical choice but undoubtedly the best, too, to become Headmistress after Dumbledore. She seemed to suit the position, she had to admit, even though she regretted no longer being taught Transfiguration by her. Oh, Catherine Downley was okay. Hermione didn't doubt her knowledge in any way – after all, she had been selected by Professor McGonagall herself. She taught in ways that Hermione wasn't used to, treated her pupils unlike McGonagall had and still did. She wasn't exceptionally unkind, but… For instance, when Professor McGonagall had taught Transfiguration, pupils sometimes stayed behind if there were questions right after class, which she would always answer if she wasn't afraid the response would lead them too far – Minerva McGonagall had learned to read Hermione and had soon recognized her wish to know everything possibly related to the subject of question. Professor Downley didn't allow that. She always reserved her Saturdays for that, when pupils could freely come to her office and ask all that they wanted to know. Hermione didn't see the reasoning behind that really – to ensure in-depth and maybe unhurried responses?

She had been there a couple of times only. She had looked in awe at the changes in Professor McGonagall's old rooms the first time she set foot there after the battle: the odd way of decoration, the soft beige color of the walls, rather than the dark Gryffindor red that it had always seemed to have before the battle.

As Hermione slowly stood and took her bag, she fleetingly let her gaze aside once more – the Headmistress appeared to have left. She sighed and began to the library, where she hoped to get some work done. As she did so, she wondered whether the Headmistress's rooms now in the Headmaster's Tower looked similar to her former ones, when she had been a Deputy and a regular teacher, now.

She had been there with Professor McGonagall when they rebuilt that part of Hogwarts Castle. She remembered how they had found it: cold and without emotion or personality yet very Severus Snape beneath ruins. She remembered that day well, and not without a reason. She remembered how the Bell Tower sounded to indicate time for dinner. Professor McGonagall had lagged a tad for no obvious reason until Hermione turned and moved to walk from the room to have dinner and the new Headmistress gave a little swish of her wand to color the walls a familiar dark red before smiling slightly and following. Hermione quietly suspected Minerva had wanted to do it inconspicuously, but she had seen all from the corner of her eyes… She wasn't sure if Professor McGonagall knew she had seen it really or if she actually minded. She understood why the new Headmistress would like to go back to how all used to be even in little ways, though. Hermione Granger desperately wanted to turn back time often enough herself. Unfortunately, she knew that she couldn't do so.

She and McGonagall had paired together often while rebuilding lasted – it was then when Hermione had gotten the top of her respect for Professor Minerva McGonagall, even when Hermione thought it couldn't have been any higher. Ginny and Neville had shared with her, Harry and Ron how the Gryffindor Lioness had fought the Carrows to defend the pupils at Hogwarts, let them punish her instead of them. That had actually made Hermione both sad and yet made her smile, too, somehow. It created a weird feeling deep inside her.

She was a quite fierce, powerful witch, yet if you looked well enough, you knew that she always cared lots more than one could see on first sight. Keeping pupils safe in her way was one matter, but there had been the scream when they had thought Harry was dead which she couldn't possibly forgot, nor undoubtedly ever would either. How Minerva had cradled Hermione's cheek in her hand and looked into her eyes for an honest answer upon those many unasked questions then hugged her tight when she had come to find her, Harry and Ron after the great battle and asked the trio to join everyone in the Great Hall to have a little bit to eat or a cup of pumpkin juice or stronger. Most survivors had remained – most to rest than sleep after everything, though. Actually, it had been comforting to be able to just open your eyes and be assured of everyone's safety with a glance. Hermione heard from Madame Pomfrey the new Headmistress had been awake all night then, just looking upon the survivors. It were those little facts that did it. Oh, Hermione Granger had fallen hopelessly and irrevocably…

It wasn't anything which Hermione had shared with anyone, let alone Minerva herself. She had had some strange sort of infatuation with the witch in her third year, intrigued by her wisdom and intelligence, the admiration she had had for Minerva McGonagall since day one having been the foundation for that small emotional increase. It had lasted for a few months, but it had gone to 'basic admiration' after summer holidays once more. In hindsight, there had always been a little bit more yet indescribable to that admiration after that, but it was different still from now.

They had worked very closely together when the school was rebuilt, and that admiration and love had blossomed over that period gradually, despite the fact that they had never really talked about any of their personal business, although Hermione still had somehow suspected, somehow known, Minerva McGonagall really wanted to know where they had been over the course of last year. Hermione was curious, too.

They had almost never talked about their personal business… There was that one time when she had reached over to get her wand after having sat down for a cup of tea for a little while. Her sleeve had caught at a splinter in the wooden table and unexpectedly slid up to reveal the scar that Bellatrix had left. Hermione had never told the story to anyone other than Minerva, and when she had her gaze had been down while Minerva had been quietly watching her. Only when she had finished telling what she really wanted to about the past year, had Hermione slowly lifted her face again, told the Headmistress she didn't like to say any more on the matter, then gotten upright to continue casting powerful Reparo's. Minerva had never asked more, but she had undoubtedly hoped it had helped to tell the story once.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry, I couldn't resist this.