Post by gmshed on Jul 13, 2006 18:17:21 GMT -5
A/N: I am bad at titles. I admit it. This fic has turned out a lot more angsty than I thought. I make no guarantees to the quality of this story.
Disclaimer: Did JKR give me Harry Potter for my birthday? No, she didn't. I hold out hope for Christmas but until then, I don't own it.
A purple light emerged from Ron’s wand, narrowly missed Harry and ricocheted off the wall. Harry jumped to one side, his wand swinging wildly. The golden beam emitting from his wand went wildly off course. The two beams collided and melded. A second later, the beam hit Hermione as she climbed through the portrait hole. She collapsed.
“Hermione!” Harry and Ron cried together and rushed over.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so… ow, my head.”
Ron waved his hand in front of Hermione’s eyes. She blinked a few times.
“That was strange.”
“What was?”
“Your hand. It looked…strange.”
“How strange?”
“Like it was brighter…there was something extra… Anyway, it’s gone now.”
Hermione got to her feet.
She brushed off their attentions, and within a week, they had all forgotten the incident.
Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress, walked through the corridors of Hogwarts. It was the dead of night and she carried no lantern, relying on the sparse wall torches. She had walked this route hundreds of times in the past months and could have done it blindfold. Reaching her destination, a room on the seventh floor, she whispered the password and slipped inside.
Three weeks later.
“Split up!” Harry panted.
Harry ran down the stairs. Ron dashed across the hallway and Hermione pelted up the stairs. Never again. You’d have thought I’d have learnt by seventh year. I said that the Headmistress would probably allow us to look. But no, Harry and Ron think it’d be a much better idea to research Horcruxes in the Restricted Section at midnight.
There were heavy footsteps behind her.
“I know you’re there!” Argus Filch screeched.
Hermione didn’t look back. She tried desperately to transform, but it eluded her just when she needed it.
She darted down a side passage, it ended in a door. A locked door.
“Oh no, open. Please open. I want you to open. And I need you to open. Please, I would really love for you to open!” The lock clicked and Hermione almost fell through the door. She must have unwittingly found the password. She quickly raced to the darkest corner of the room and found the table she had been hoping to hide under was in fact a box. She jumped on the top and curled in the corner, managing her Animagus transformation. An otter, like her Patronus.
It was an hour later when she awoke with a start. The lock had clicked and the door was opening.
I fell asleep! I don’t believe it. Harry and Ron are going to be so worried…Mind you, they deserve to wallow in guilt about getting me caught.
Hermione pressed her otter-self against the wall.
Minerva couldn’t sleep. The bed was too big, too cold and too empty. She usually managed to doze for a few hours before rolling towards the empty space that should be occupied by Al-her husband. (She never even thought that name. It hurt too much.) That invariably woke her up and she would scream her pain as the reality of her situation hit her. No tears. She hadn’t cried in so long, she believed she had forgotten how. But tonight even that eluded her. She knew the trouble she would have if she didn’t sleep at all and she had tried, sitting in front of the fire, wrapped in a bright purple dressing gown that had long lost his scent and staring into a mug of his hot chocolate, but she had eventually had to admit defeat. And so, for lack of anything else to do, she had taken to the corridors. Her feet automatically carried her to the room, recognising the situation.
She whispered the password, “I want and need love.” and headed straight to one side of the room. The same scene as she had stared at nearly every night for months greeted her.
Hermione blinked a couple of times. The slight moonlight was enough to see by, but it took her a few seconds to recognise the witch who had entered the room. With black hair falling down her back and wrapped in a vivid purple dressing gown that was far too long for her, Professor McGonagall looked…different.
Hermione froze, scared that the slightest movement would attract McGonagall’s attention. She needn’t have worried; Minerva’s attention was focused on one thing only. The moon chose that moment to fully emerge from behind the cloud and illuminate the wall she had stopped in front of.
Hermione knew she was probably wearing a very un-otterlike expression of amazed bemusement. What was the Mirror of Erised doing here? In an unused classroom, just like her first year? Why was the Headmistress looking in it in the middle of the night?
Minerva stared at the scene. She didn’t need the mirror to tell her what her most desperate desire was. It hurt seeing it, but she couldn’t stop. Just to see him again, even a silent image. His portrait still slept. It should have woken by now. Maybe he was hiding. She would quite like to waste away in front of this mirror, lost in a fantasy. At least she knew that what the mirror showed wasn’t possible. He was dead. He hadn’t survived this war. Many more people she loved wouldn’t. And it was quite likely she wouldn’t either. Even if she did, she would never want to announce it without him by her side. She’d leave that to any friends who outlived her. Their marriage was a secret she would take to the grave. She wrenched her gaze away from the mirror to check her pocket watch. It was only two o’ clock in the morning. Surely, it won’t hurt to spend an hour or two here. She sunk to the floor, her eyes already locked on the mirror.
Hermione didn’t mean to look at the mirror. She knew there was no point, even if she was curious. She was watching McGonagall’s back, trying to judge when it might be safe to run for it. But when she sat down, Hermione’s eyes were automatically drawn to the images in the mirror. She was in it. And Harry. And Ron. And all the Weasleys. Hagrid and Madame Maxime. Tonks and Lupin, Neville Longbottom and his Gran. Luna Lovegood and someone who was probably her dad. The whole Order. Madame Pomfrey and Moody. Madame Hooch, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick and Madame Pince. A sizeable portion of the Hogwarts staff. Someone who looked quite a bit like Dumbledore and must be his brother. People she didn’t recognise. She got the impression that there were too many people to fit in the mirror. Everyone looked so, so happy.
She registered it all in the split-second before she saw the two people in the centre. They broke apart long enough to unclasp a chain from around each other’s neck and slip the ring off the chain and onto the other’s finger.
Minerva reached out, but her fingers only encountered the cold surface of the mirror.
“Oh, my love. My bumblebee. I need you.”
Hermione was still inexperienced as an Animagus. She could only maintain her Animagus form for limited periods of time. Her transformation chose that moment to give out.
She stared up at them. The party that could never be. Already one was dead. For that was Minerva Dumbledore’s desperate, impossible wish; that everyone she cared about would survive the war, that Voldemort would be defeated, that she and her husband could declare their marriage without fear.
The ring still hung round her neck. She wears his as well now. Every time someone addressed her as McGonagall, she wanted to scream the truth. She had to lead the school through dark times, when all she wanted to do was hide and not feel the pain.
She thought she was alone. The unflappable ice queen melted.
A thud alerted her to another’s presence.
Hermione in her human form was far too heavy to sit on top of a fragile cardboard box. She ripped through it and landed with a thud. She managed to extract herself just as Minerva spun round, her wand at the ready.
“Miss Granger! What on earth do you think you are doing?”
Hermione didn’t hear her. Her ears were full of a strange buzzing and she felt sick as the full horror of the knowledge she had just gained hit her.
“You were married. You loved in secret. He died and you had to pretend your soul hadn’t been ripped apart, you had to act as if he had been nothing more than a friend, you had to carry on, take over his job. And nobody suspected a thing. You hurt so much, and more because you can’t show it.”
There was a clatter as Minerva’s wand dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.
“Yes.” She breathed. “Oh God, yes.”
She crumpled to the floor. Hermione rushed to her side and rocked her as she cried all the tears she had stored over the months since Albus’ death. Cried until she was hollow, her heartbroken sobs echoing in the room. It could have been ten minutes or an hour, she lost all sense of time, let her emotions overwhelm her. There was just her anguish at her loss, her relief at being able to cry again.
“How…how did you know?” Minerva’s voice was hoarse, her throat sore.
“I saw what you saw in the Mirror. I don’t know how.”
They were silent for a while; Minerva curled in Hermione’s arms like a mother and child.
“What was it, exactly?”
“It was the end of the war. Voldemort had been killed, everyone I love had survived, and Albus and I could declare our love to the world…I said it. It hurt but I can say it.”
“You care for a lot of people.”
“I care for every single student that has ever passed through this castle. And nearly all of them only know me as frosty old McGonagall. But I still care.”
“Harry and Ron and-”
“I don’t have favourites. But yes, especially you three. You remind me quite a bit of myself when I was at school. I was always hardworking, got good grades. Always got pulled into trouble by Poppy and Xiomara. My best friends. They understood, they’ve lost people too. Their secrets aren’t mine to tell.” She added in response to Hermione’s questioning look. “I couldn’t have coped without them. Look, this is me coping.” She gave a shaky laugh.
“Do you-”
Minerva pulled out two chains from under her nightdress. One had a delicate silver ring attached. A bumblebee was inlaid in gold. The other chain had a chunkier gold ring hanging from it. A cat, inlaid in silver, chased her tail around the ring.
“I was his Tabby and he was my Bumblebee. He didn’t always like that name, sometimes he felt a comparison with a phoenix would be more flattering. I always called him that, though.”
They sat mostly in a comfortable silence.
As the dawn started to lighten the night sky, Minerva stated that it was his dressing gown, but that it lost his scent long ago. Hermione agreed that it didn’t exactly seem her style and admitted that the locket around her neck carried a picture of Ron. Minerva smiled and was happy to know that love still existed in the world.
She woke up and the world was still painted into shades of grey. He was still missing. It still hurt. But perhaps the grey was a little brighter. Perhaps she had hope. Hope that they could pull through. The heavy depressing weight of uncried tears had lifted from her heart.
“Hermione! Where have you been? We thought you’d been caught and expelled or something! You’ve been out all night. What happened to you?”
She knew that if she admitted the truth, the first response would be ‘Bloody Hell!” It would be quite interesting to see their faces. But she would never tell. That would be a betrayal of trust.
“I transformed and hid in a classroom. And I fell asleep.” And that was the truth and nothing but the truth, even if it wasn’t anywhere near the whole truth. They would need Veritaserum to make her admit to anything more. That was Minerva’s secret to tell.
Disclaimer: Did JKR give me Harry Potter for my birthday? No, she didn't. I hold out hope for Christmas but until then, I don't own it.
A purple light emerged from Ron’s wand, narrowly missed Harry and ricocheted off the wall. Harry jumped to one side, his wand swinging wildly. The golden beam emitting from his wand went wildly off course. The two beams collided and melded. A second later, the beam hit Hermione as she climbed through the portrait hole. She collapsed.
“Hermione!” Harry and Ron cried together and rushed over.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so… ow, my head.”
Ron waved his hand in front of Hermione’s eyes. She blinked a few times.
“That was strange.”
“What was?”
“Your hand. It looked…strange.”
“How strange?”
“Like it was brighter…there was something extra… Anyway, it’s gone now.”
Hermione got to her feet.
She brushed off their attentions, and within a week, they had all forgotten the incident.
Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress, walked through the corridors of Hogwarts. It was the dead of night and she carried no lantern, relying on the sparse wall torches. She had walked this route hundreds of times in the past months and could have done it blindfold. Reaching her destination, a room on the seventh floor, she whispered the password and slipped inside.
Three weeks later.
“Split up!” Harry panted.
Harry ran down the stairs. Ron dashed across the hallway and Hermione pelted up the stairs. Never again. You’d have thought I’d have learnt by seventh year. I said that the Headmistress would probably allow us to look. But no, Harry and Ron think it’d be a much better idea to research Horcruxes in the Restricted Section at midnight.
There were heavy footsteps behind her.
“I know you’re there!” Argus Filch screeched.
Hermione didn’t look back. She tried desperately to transform, but it eluded her just when she needed it.
She darted down a side passage, it ended in a door. A locked door.
“Oh no, open. Please open. I want you to open. And I need you to open. Please, I would really love for you to open!” The lock clicked and Hermione almost fell through the door. She must have unwittingly found the password. She quickly raced to the darkest corner of the room and found the table she had been hoping to hide under was in fact a box. She jumped on the top and curled in the corner, managing her Animagus transformation. An otter, like her Patronus.
It was an hour later when she awoke with a start. The lock had clicked and the door was opening.
I fell asleep! I don’t believe it. Harry and Ron are going to be so worried…Mind you, they deserve to wallow in guilt about getting me caught.
Hermione pressed her otter-self against the wall.
Minerva couldn’t sleep. The bed was too big, too cold and too empty. She usually managed to doze for a few hours before rolling towards the empty space that should be occupied by Al-her husband. (She never even thought that name. It hurt too much.) That invariably woke her up and she would scream her pain as the reality of her situation hit her. No tears. She hadn’t cried in so long, she believed she had forgotten how. But tonight even that eluded her. She knew the trouble she would have if she didn’t sleep at all and she had tried, sitting in front of the fire, wrapped in a bright purple dressing gown that had long lost his scent and staring into a mug of his hot chocolate, but she had eventually had to admit defeat. And so, for lack of anything else to do, she had taken to the corridors. Her feet automatically carried her to the room, recognising the situation.
She whispered the password, “I want and need love.” and headed straight to one side of the room. The same scene as she had stared at nearly every night for months greeted her.
Hermione blinked a couple of times. The slight moonlight was enough to see by, but it took her a few seconds to recognise the witch who had entered the room. With black hair falling down her back and wrapped in a vivid purple dressing gown that was far too long for her, Professor McGonagall looked…different.
Hermione froze, scared that the slightest movement would attract McGonagall’s attention. She needn’t have worried; Minerva’s attention was focused on one thing only. The moon chose that moment to fully emerge from behind the cloud and illuminate the wall she had stopped in front of.
Hermione knew she was probably wearing a very un-otterlike expression of amazed bemusement. What was the Mirror of Erised doing here? In an unused classroom, just like her first year? Why was the Headmistress looking in it in the middle of the night?
Minerva stared at the scene. She didn’t need the mirror to tell her what her most desperate desire was. It hurt seeing it, but she couldn’t stop. Just to see him again, even a silent image. His portrait still slept. It should have woken by now. Maybe he was hiding. She would quite like to waste away in front of this mirror, lost in a fantasy. At least she knew that what the mirror showed wasn’t possible. He was dead. He hadn’t survived this war. Many more people she loved wouldn’t. And it was quite likely she wouldn’t either. Even if she did, she would never want to announce it without him by her side. She’d leave that to any friends who outlived her. Their marriage was a secret she would take to the grave. She wrenched her gaze away from the mirror to check her pocket watch. It was only two o’ clock in the morning. Surely, it won’t hurt to spend an hour or two here. She sunk to the floor, her eyes already locked on the mirror.
Hermione didn’t mean to look at the mirror. She knew there was no point, even if she was curious. She was watching McGonagall’s back, trying to judge when it might be safe to run for it. But when she sat down, Hermione’s eyes were automatically drawn to the images in the mirror. She was in it. And Harry. And Ron. And all the Weasleys. Hagrid and Madame Maxime. Tonks and Lupin, Neville Longbottom and his Gran. Luna Lovegood and someone who was probably her dad. The whole Order. Madame Pomfrey and Moody. Madame Hooch, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick and Madame Pince. A sizeable portion of the Hogwarts staff. Someone who looked quite a bit like Dumbledore and must be his brother. People she didn’t recognise. She got the impression that there were too many people to fit in the mirror. Everyone looked so, so happy.
She registered it all in the split-second before she saw the two people in the centre. They broke apart long enough to unclasp a chain from around each other’s neck and slip the ring off the chain and onto the other’s finger.
Minerva reached out, but her fingers only encountered the cold surface of the mirror.
“Oh, my love. My bumblebee. I need you.”
Hermione was still inexperienced as an Animagus. She could only maintain her Animagus form for limited periods of time. Her transformation chose that moment to give out.
She stared up at them. The party that could never be. Already one was dead. For that was Minerva Dumbledore’s desperate, impossible wish; that everyone she cared about would survive the war, that Voldemort would be defeated, that she and her husband could declare their marriage without fear.
The ring still hung round her neck. She wears his as well now. Every time someone addressed her as McGonagall, she wanted to scream the truth. She had to lead the school through dark times, when all she wanted to do was hide and not feel the pain.
She thought she was alone. The unflappable ice queen melted.
A thud alerted her to another’s presence.
Hermione in her human form was far too heavy to sit on top of a fragile cardboard box. She ripped through it and landed with a thud. She managed to extract herself just as Minerva spun round, her wand at the ready.
“Miss Granger! What on earth do you think you are doing?”
Hermione didn’t hear her. Her ears were full of a strange buzzing and she felt sick as the full horror of the knowledge she had just gained hit her.
“You were married. You loved in secret. He died and you had to pretend your soul hadn’t been ripped apart, you had to act as if he had been nothing more than a friend, you had to carry on, take over his job. And nobody suspected a thing. You hurt so much, and more because you can’t show it.”
There was a clatter as Minerva’s wand dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.
“Yes.” She breathed. “Oh God, yes.”
She crumpled to the floor. Hermione rushed to her side and rocked her as she cried all the tears she had stored over the months since Albus’ death. Cried until she was hollow, her heartbroken sobs echoing in the room. It could have been ten minutes or an hour, she lost all sense of time, let her emotions overwhelm her. There was just her anguish at her loss, her relief at being able to cry again.
“How…how did you know?” Minerva’s voice was hoarse, her throat sore.
“I saw what you saw in the Mirror. I don’t know how.”
They were silent for a while; Minerva curled in Hermione’s arms like a mother and child.
“What was it, exactly?”
“It was the end of the war. Voldemort had been killed, everyone I love had survived, and Albus and I could declare our love to the world…I said it. It hurt but I can say it.”
“You care for a lot of people.”
“I care for every single student that has ever passed through this castle. And nearly all of them only know me as frosty old McGonagall. But I still care.”
“Harry and Ron and-”
“I don’t have favourites. But yes, especially you three. You remind me quite a bit of myself when I was at school. I was always hardworking, got good grades. Always got pulled into trouble by Poppy and Xiomara. My best friends. They understood, they’ve lost people too. Their secrets aren’t mine to tell.” She added in response to Hermione’s questioning look. “I couldn’t have coped without them. Look, this is me coping.” She gave a shaky laugh.
“Do you-”
Minerva pulled out two chains from under her nightdress. One had a delicate silver ring attached. A bumblebee was inlaid in gold. The other chain had a chunkier gold ring hanging from it. A cat, inlaid in silver, chased her tail around the ring.
“I was his Tabby and he was my Bumblebee. He didn’t always like that name, sometimes he felt a comparison with a phoenix would be more flattering. I always called him that, though.”
They sat mostly in a comfortable silence.
As the dawn started to lighten the night sky, Minerva stated that it was his dressing gown, but that it lost his scent long ago. Hermione agreed that it didn’t exactly seem her style and admitted that the locket around her neck carried a picture of Ron. Minerva smiled and was happy to know that love still existed in the world.
She woke up and the world was still painted into shades of grey. He was still missing. It still hurt. But perhaps the grey was a little brighter. Perhaps she had hope. Hope that they could pull through. The heavy depressing weight of uncried tears had lifted from her heart.
“Hermione! Where have you been? We thought you’d been caught and expelled or something! You’ve been out all night. What happened to you?”
She knew that if she admitted the truth, the first response would be ‘Bloody Hell!” It would be quite interesting to see their faces. But she would never tell. That would be a betrayal of trust.
“I transformed and hid in a classroom. And I fell asleep.” And that was the truth and nothing but the truth, even if it wasn’t anywhere near the whole truth. They would need Veritaserum to make her admit to anything more. That was Minerva’s secret to tell.
