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Chapter Text

     Hermione's fourth year hadn't even started, but she was already nervous. She returned from Burrow in the heat of August and now the worry would not leave her. Some of it was that she had decided to stop using the time turner and packing her schedule. She had a horrible experience last year, but she still felt like she was somehow failing by lightening her course load. No one had ever alluded to failure. In fact, the only time failure was ever hinted at was when McGonagall had given her the time-turner to accommodate her impossibly packed schedule. She had been the one to encourage Hermione to ease up, in fact. McGonagall. Just the name ran shivers down Hermione's spine. Hermione admired her professor so highly that she was embarrassed by it. Everyone knew Hermione cared a great deal about having McGonagall’s favor. But it did go farther than that--in her heart of hearts, Hermione wanted to be more than the favorite of the classroom. She wanted somehow to stand out to McGonagall, but still couldn’t quite figure out why that was. She reasoned that it was because Minerva was everything Hermione dreamed of being.

     And that was why Hermione was anxious.

     Everything could change. McGonagall might no longer like her now that she was no longer special, no longer used the time-turner. Or there would be some other student to devote all that time and attention to. Hermione tried to convince herself that she was being unreasonable, but that sliver of doubt grew quickly without something to prove it false. In a matter of days, Hermione w wreck. She recounted all the stupid things she had said and done the year before. She played all types of scenarios through her mind. Excuses as to why her courseload was so much lighter, or how she might broach the question of animagus training. Or even to ask to have tea like they had done on a few occasions during her 3rd Year.

     Jean Granger was concerned for her daughter. She noticed that Hermione was smiling less and that meals were now a silent affair. One morning, she finally asked her daughter what was troubling her. "I'm just nervous about school," Hermione answered matter-of-factly.

    Jean eyed her daughter over her steaming mug. "You've never been nervous about school, dear. In fact, you're always excited around this time, and you just can't wait for class to start." Jean replied. She sipped her coffee, then looked at Hermione sympathetically. "Please tell me what's troubling you. I may not have magic, but I'm mum and maybe I can help." Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

     After a moment, Hermione exhaled, "There's this professor, mum." Jean Granger smiled lopsidedly at her daughter,

     "....Annnd you're nervous that, when you come back to school, you won't have the same sort of mentor-student relationship that you had last year?" Hermione nodded emphatically.

    “Well, when I was about your age, I had an English teacher, Mrs. Atkinson, who I absolutely adored. She had this horrible sardonic sense of humor and she was quite strict, but she was never cruel and gave each of her students a chance. She never let anyone fall through the cracks. Sometimes, a group of us ate lunch and drank tea in her classroom. We talked about the books we were reading, but really all manner of things. She made me feel so special, which made me crave her approval more. . I thought she was absolutely wonderful." Jean looked at her daughter and made sure she was listening before continuing.

     "Of course, I was distraught when the year was over and fretted what would come of the bond we had developed over the course of the school year. When I came back to school after summer holidays, I was so nervous to set foot back in her room. Unlike you, our teachers changed every year, so it was a while until I saw her again. My maths teacher sent me to her classroom to get more chalk. She was busily grading papers, and I stepped in, absolutely bright red in the face from nervous embarrassment."

     Hermione, to Jean's relief, was smirking in amusement and had laughed softly at the last bit. "Horrible, I know," Jean self-deprecatingly shook her head at her past self, "She was perfectly pleasant, of course. Soon enough, it was back to the way it had been. Our little group held together, even once having lunch with Mrs. Atkinson, her husband, and a couple of her children. It's been a long time since I've seen her, but I’ve got very fond memories and she inspired me a great deal." Jean paused with a faraway look in her eyes, but didn't finish the thought. 

    Jean cleared her throat and turned to her daughter. "So, this professor of yours..." Hermione blushed.

     "Well, I think you about summed it up there mum." Jean nodded, and gave her a comforting pat on the hand.

     "Have you considered picking up a hobby to take your mind off of it, dear?" Well, isn't learning a hobby? "And no, reading your course books is not a hobby." Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Jean held up a hand, stopping her. "And yes, reading for pleasure may be a hobby, but reading textbooks for pleasure does not count. I've had this argument enough with your father, so don't try. I will win."

     "What about writing?"

     "Sure, poetry or journaling can be a nice hobby, but essays are not hobbies." Hermione's face scrunched in frustration and Jean realized she needed to take another approach, or face a Hermione meltdown. 

     "When I was your age, I used to run," Jean offered. Hermione was totally shocked out of the tirade that had begun forming in her head. 

     "RUN?" Hermione blurted incredulously. Her mother nodded, giving the famous Granger smirk. 

     "It's great to get your mind off things and improve your mood. I ran all the time when I was a teenager. Kept me out of trouble"

     "But mum,” Hermione whined, “You know that I'm horrible at sport." Jean chuckled.

      "Who do you think you got it from?" Hermione giggled at that--her mum was even clumsier than she was! Crisis averted, Jean thought.

      "Indeed, no athletic ability required, sweetheart. Though you'll certainly gain some if you keep at it.” Jean added reassuringly. “We've got a couple weeks before you leave for school. How about we go get you some trainser today, and we can go out to that wonderful park across the street? If you don't enjoy yourself, no matter, you can come right home and we’ll try something else.” Smiling conspiratorially to her daughter, she added, “you can get wonderful muscle tone from running."

     Hermione laughed and playfully swatted her mother. Hermione knew that her mum’s friends used to call her Twiggy when she was younger, and, although she had gotten over it, she was still slim and wiry and very understanding, but realistic, when Hermione complained to her that she hadn’t gotten boobs yet.

    Later that afternoon. Hermione's mother dragged her outside and away from her books to purchase a new pair of trainers, a watch, and some running gear.  After brief instructions on using her watch, some nervous arguing, and a lot of encouragement from her mother, Hermione left to go running a few hours later. She was faster than she had realized. Once she felt like it had been a decent amount of time, she checked her watch. It had only been five minutes. But Hermione hadn't started hating it yet, so she kept going. After 35 minutes of running, Hermione was a puddle of sweat and decided to call it quits.

    "So did you enjoy yourself?" Jean Granger asked as Hermione entered the house. Hermione nodded and flopped onto the cool floor. Jean handed her a glass of water, which she took gratefully. "If you get too hot, you can take your shirt off and use it as a towel. The sports bra will cover you fine." Hermione's eyes widened with shock. "Or not,” Jean snorted. “You just look quite overheated. Remember to stretch, sweet." Hermione nodded and took another generous gulp of water before retreating to her room to sit in front of the fan.

     The next morning, Hermione woke up at 6, got out the door at 6:30, and ran until she no longer felt like it. This continued until August 30th, two days before Hermione would return to school. She had run for almost an hour and a half and could not imagine life without her new hobby.

    "Mum?" Hermione called up to her mother from her room. No answer. "MUM?" she shouted.

    "Yes, dear?" Jean Granger walked halfway down the stairs so she wouldn't have to shout.

    "DO YOU THINK I SHOULD BRING MY RUNNING CLOTHES?"

    "Dear, I'm right here." Jean stepped into Hermione's line of sight.

    "Sorry."

    "Take them if you want, dear. We can buy another pair of trainers or some leggings to get you through the semester?" Hermione shrugged. This year, she had room to spare for more books and...running gear?

    The Golden Trio (as they would come to be called), crammed into their usually compartment on the Express and launched into fast-paced conversation about the month they had spent apart. Harry was describing Dudley's new school uniform. "...and the HAT!" Harry burst out laughing. "Sweet Merlin, the hat was hilarious. It made him look like he belonged with Mary Poppins, and those bloody dancing penguins." Ron looked confused as Hermione and Harry burst out in hysterical laughter.

   "Is Mary Poppins some muggle thing?" Ron asked suspiciously. Hermione nodded.

   "It's a kid's movie," she answered. "It was one of my favourites when I was younger. Basically, Dudley's hat looks like a pancake with a brim." Ron chuckled at that.

    "So how was your August, 'Mione?" Harry asked as the tea trolley wheeled up to the compartment. After the trio purchased enough sweets to cover their table entirely, Hermione recounted the events of her summer after leaving the Burrow.

    “It was alright.” She paused and thoughtfully chewed on the end of a licorice wand. “I think, once I calmed down about what happened at the World Cup, it was good. I tried running. I like it a lot."

    "RUNNING?" Ron looked at her incredulously, and she could only nod at him. "My mum suggested it to keep me from getting too stressed," Hermione began.

    "Smart woman," Harry interjected.

   Hermione stuck her tongue in reply. "Anyway, I found that I quite like it. Hopefully, I'll be able to do it at Hogwarts."

     "Well, you could always try Quidditch, Hermione. Quidditch is stress-relief too, you know." Ron teased, knowing full well that flying was a recipe for instant Hermione Granger Stress. 

    "Well, I prefer to have my feet on the ground, Ron." Ron rolled his eyes, and Harry chuckled. Hermione could not help but laugh, too. They were the best friends she could ever have, even if they liked Quidditch.

    "Hey!” Harry’s eyes lit up as he lifted the lid on a chocolate frog. “I got a McGonagall." Harry slid the Chocolate Frog trading card to Hermione, who looked at him quizzically. "I've already got one, and, erm, she's your favorite teacher." Hermione inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that Harry didn't know about her near-fanatical obsession with her professor. Hermione took the card and slid it into one of the inner pockets of her bag.

    "Eh, I got a Helga Hufflepuff," Ron grunted and tore open a second frog. Hermione took another bite of her licorice wand and took out her tattered paperback of Pride and Prejudice. Mr. Darcy had just handed Elizabeth his letter, and Hermione was absolutely dying to know what it said. "Hermione, is that a muggle novel?"

    "Uh, yeah, why?"

    "I dunno, usually, you'd be reading a textbook or something. Or a giant pamphlet on some transfiguration theory." Ron spit the words out like a pepper flavored Bertie Bott.

    "Ron's got a point actually. Why the novel, Granger?" Harry teased but smiled to show Hermione that he was only joking.

    "I've already read through most of my textbooks for the year, and, muggle or not, Jane Austen is a fantastic writer." Hermione shrugged.

   "I'm actually glad you're reading a novel Hermione," Harry encouraged. "I'm happy that you're reading something you really enjoy…” Hermione glared at him “...that’s not just required reading?” Hermione kept glaring. “Well, whatever, hopefully, this year will be better. Less stressful and such." Hermione nodded. She shared the hope of her friends that things would be alright.

Chapter Text

     Once the uproar surrounding the Triwizard Tournament finally settled, things gradually returned to normal, with a few adjustments, of course. Hermione was not very pleased with the changes, at least to start with. The library was much more crowded than usual: her usual hiding places taken by gossiping girls from Beauxbatons, and the boys from Durmstrang liked to sit at her favorite table. Too afraid to confront the newcomers, Hermione took to the common room, which the Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs were careful to avoid.

     Thanks to her lighter course load, Hermione found herself with more time for reading and an ad hoc social life. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had invited her to study with them. She figured the invite was just a pretense for free tutoring, but was pleasantly surprised that they, unlike a certain red-head, never asked to copy her work or to have her do their work for them. Hermione enjoyed talking and laughing with her newfound...acquaintances. Hermione also found herself with more time to spend with Harry and Ron, who eagerly filled her in on every tiny update about the tournament. She would tell you, if you asked, that it annoyed her. But, really, she did enjoy it. 

     One thing Hermione had not done was talk to Professor McGonagall. . Hermione had intended to have a chat with her professor since the first day of class, but she had talked herself out of it. Usually, the reason was the array of papers on her teacher's desk, her furrowed eyebrows, and the rapid scratching of a quill on parchment. Now it was mid-October, and Hermione was still summoning up the courage to say something to her teacher that wasn't "hello," or an intricate answer to a question.  

      It was a crisp autumn day. The sky was cloudy and sunset-colored leaves were beginning to fall to the ground. FIve minutes before class was set to start, Hermione, as usual, quietly entered the classroom and placed her bag next to a vacant seat at the front of the room.

     "Hello, Miss Granger." Hermione jumped slightly, despite the fact that she knew McGonagall was present. "Early as always," McGonagall said approvingly, without taking her eyes off her lesson plans. Hermione smiled shyly and sat at her desk, opening her book and reviewing her notes.McGonagall lifted her eyes from the paper and looked at Hermione warmly, but matter-of-factly, "How are you getting on?" Hermione paused. She didn't want to look like a slack-off, so she can't be doing too well or having too much fun, she reasoned. She wanted to show she was happy though, too, not some desperate and pitiful fourth year who really missed the company of her Transfiguration professor.

     "I'm well."

     McGonagall almost imperceptibly raised an eyebrow. "Well enough," she added thoughtfully.  "I do miss our evening teas," Hermione's gaze was elsewhere and she forgot her audience, merely speaking aloud the first thoughts that came as she really pondered how she was doing, really. Something brought her out of her mind and into reality. A shaky smile tried to shove her fear and desire to shove all those words back in her mouth before they could surface. But instead of receiving a vacant glance or an awkward, tight nod, Hermione was met with one of Professor McGonagall's rare smiles.

   "As do I." Hermione's face almost immediately flushed with embarrassment, and Minerva felt like kicking herself. Why had she said something so desperate? So foolish? Perhaps Hermione hadn't wanted to see her? Or perhaps Hermione just hadn't thought of it? Why am I calling her Hermione...Hermione's voice startled Minerva McGonagall from the inner parts of her mind. Though not quite addressing Minerva, Hermione was explaining, very honestly, why she hadn't come.

     "I certainly wanted to, but every time I thought it was a good time, you looked horribly busy...." Minerva's lack of reply seemed to bring Hermione back and she stammered in a more recognizable cadence, "I do apologize for not saying hello sooner, though." Her gaze drifted back to her hands and she fervently tried to stop blushing.

    "Miss Granger, I will always have time for you. Always." McGonagall smiled crookedly and wrung her hands as her inner war began again. She meant what she said, but was this really the time or place for words to be uttered like that?  Well, of course, it was, she would support all her students, not just Hermione, to the very end. It was her duty and she would always have time for it.

     A smile found its way back to Hermione's face. "Thank you, Professor."

     "How about you come by my quarters at 7:00 pm for tea, just like last year?" Minerva was about to kick herself again, but she saw the reality of the situation in Hermione's broad grin. Unable to keep a smile off her own face, "7:00 it is then?" Hermione nodded eagerly, and as though by magic, her classmates started to flood into the classroom.

   Hermione threw all her clothes out on the bed and sorted them into various piles, her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what to wear."Going on a date?" Ginny inquired. Hermione jumped nearly three feet in surprise. She took a moment to collect herself.

   "No, just tea with McGonagall."

   "Well, you don't have to dress up for that." Ginny ran her hand over a new pair of ankle boots.

   "Well yes, but it's the first time I've seen her out of class since last year, and I thought some effort might be appropriate."

   "Come on Hermione, McGonagall probably doesn't care. She sees you in your robes all the time." Hermione realized that she was being a little unreasonable, but she still wanted to dress nicely. Ginny glanced at Hermione, who was still running her eyes up and down the rows of clothes she had laid out, and realized that her friend was completely unconvinced that school robes were ay-okay.

   "Ugh, fine, I know there's no talking you out of this." Ginny hopped on the bed and began throwing clothes at Hermione.

   "Wear this nice shirt with the Gryffindor crest on it, these jeans...ooo maybe some boots if you've got them, and then this blazer if you must." Hermione looked dumbly at the pile of clothes in her arms. "Merlin, Hermione, just put the clothes on and I'll get some accessories for you while you dress."

   "Wha-why are you doing this Ginny?"

    Ginny shrugged, "Parvati and Lavender aren't around, and I'm bored. And hey, friends help friends right?" Hermione glared at her but went off to change. Hermione walked surreptitiously back into the dorm and was suddenly besieged by a flurry of red hair. "Hermione, you need to tuck the shirt in..unbutton a few of these buttons...don't want to look so stuck up"

   "Stuck up.?" Hermione squeaked out, but Ginny ignored her. A belt was whipped around her waist, her hair combed into a smooth ponytail, and jewelry on her ears, fingers, and neck. Ginny the tornado finally calmed, allowing Hermione to pull on a pair of calf boots.

    "Looking good, Granger," Ginny smiled at her and handed Hermione her watch. Hermione walked over to the mirror and smiled. Ginny had done wonders. She did look good. She glanced at her watch, 6:55. Ginny opened her arms for a hug, and Hermione wrapped her arms around her friend. Ginny smacked Hermione's back a couple of times, then shoved her out the door.

    Hermione knocked only once at Minerva's door. She was fiddling with her sleeves and getting up the courage to knock again when the door swung open. Hermione flushed as she looked up at McGonagall, who was dressed in her velvet teaching robes, her hair in a high bun, and her hand beckoned Hermione inside.

   "Two sugars, if I remember correctly."

   Minerva fussed over a pair of teacups. She had been teaching for years, and yet students still made her a little nervous. She cared for each and every one of her cubs, and to see Hermione, looking so nicely dressed up and well-rested made her heart pump proudly in her chest. Hermione felt herself smiling and nodding dumbly. Minerva hadn't forgotten. Now why am I calling her Minerva...

   "How was your summer, Miss Granger? I heard about the chaos at the World Cup, that didn't damage things too badly did it?" Hermione shook her head,

   "Not particularly. My summer ended up being quite nice. I spent some time at the Burrow, did some running back at home with my parents. It was nice." Hermione sipped her tea.

  "Running?" McGonagall asked, her eyebrows quirked.

   "You know, running, like on your feet." Hermione laughed at herself for sounding so silly.

   "Well, yes, I just wanted to be sure you weren't running for Prime Minister or something like that." Minerva teased, and the two burst into laughter. Just like old times.

   When they had calmed down once more, Minerva was the first to speak, "I'm a runner too, you know." Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief. "It was part of the auror fitness test, for one thing.  f Brooms were...not as trustworthy as they are now and sometimes apparating is too dangerous. We were taught to run, climb, etcetera, so if we had to escape a situation without using magic, we could. I kept it up, even while I was teaching. It's quite wonderful isn't it, running." Minerva nervously chuckled, and Hermione was taken aback. It was hard to imagine Minerva running, leaping, and covered in sweat...

   Finally, Hermione found her words, "I've never seen you out there. Where do you find a place to run? And, yeah, running is quite lovely." Hermione flushed. She was stammering.

   "Usually by the Black Lake. I've taken to the dungeons in recent years though. I could take you some time, Miss Granger. Although I generally run in the mornings, and you might be unaccustomed to early hours." Minerva quickly swallowed a mouthful of hot tea to keep herself from saying any more.  Had she forgotten her propriety back at home over the holidays? Minerva was sure that she could kill herself one day with all this anxiety. Gryffindors were known to be brave, but there was nothing in the Gryffindor code against nerves. And in any case, Minerva's nerves never won. 

   Hermione's cheeks flushed and her mind exploded with thoughts. Was this an invitation? Did she really mean it? Should I take it, or would that just be awkward..? Hermione chewed on her bottom lip as she thought it over.

   Minerva was unnerved by Hermione's silence and thoughtful look. "I'll take that as a no."She muttered to herself and nearly plunged into regret.

   Hermione heard only a few words, but it was enough for her to jump back to reality, "Professor, I would be so honored to run with you. Early hours are, luckily, not a problem for me." McGonagall broke into such a wide smile that it nearly broke Hermione's heart.

   "I will meet you here tomorrow morning at 6:15 am, Miss Granger." Hermione nearly died of joy. The meeting went on until it was nearly curfew, and Hermione was beginning to run out of topics. "I will see you then, Professor. Thank you."

OH MY GOD. I AM RUNNING TOMORROW WITH PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL. wait, what?

Chapter Text

Hermione woke before her alarm—the muggle one on her ugly, plastic, but faithful running watch. She had barely slept the night before. Too overwhelmed by the possibility of running—o h, god, and sweating and turning bright red —in front of her professor. Hermione looked at the clothing she had laid out the night before and wondered what Minerva would be wearing. Probably not a baggy sweatshirt and tube socks. Hermione fought her nerves as she threw on her sweatshirt, steeled herself as she laced up her sneakers, and breathed a sigh of relief that her trusty hair tie did not break. 6:00 .

She quietly made for  Professor's quarters and very softly tapped at the door, which was almost immediately opened by her Professor, whose smile was much too bright for the early hour. Hermione flushed. Professor McGonagall looked stunning. Like a ninja...or maybe cat woman? Definitely catwoman.

"Well, thank you."  Minerva smirked and silently closed and locked her door with a little wave. 

Hermione’s eyes widened in embarrassment. oh no! she’d said that out loud.

As they navigated the castle, Minerva put a protective arm around Hermione's t-shirt clad shoulders and led towards a side exit, then towards a clearing that overlooked the Black Lake. Hermione looked at her Professor, a question mark between her eyebrows, "I thought you usually ran in the dungeons?"

"Usually, yes. But the idea of the Gryffindor head of house taking one of her cubs to frolic about in the Slytherin dungeon is just too odd to justify." Hermione breathed out a laugh. Minerva continued in a strict, yet bright cadence that matched her brisk and efficient strides  

 "It is a lovely morning, even if our route will be somewhat obstructed. " Hermione glanced at the tents and platforms scattered around the lake and nodded. "How about you set the pace, Miss Granger?" 

Hermione began at an even trot, her anxiety lessening with each footfall. Minerva fell into step beside her, only moving slightly ahead when it came time to navigate between tents or around a bend. Hermione wondered whether or not to interrupt the music created by footfalls, breaths, and the sounds of the breeze against the Lake. Luckily,  her professor made the decision for her. 

“When I was younger, I was an avid quidditch player.” Minerva grinned slyly at Hermione, who kept looking ahead and didn’t respond.  “I went quite far until a shoulder injury put me out of the game for good. Couldn't even race with that bum shoulder.” Minerva paused, leaving them to jog in silence towards the forest. “Do your best to never get injured Miss Granger." Hermione nodded. 

About halfway to Hagrid’s hut, Minerva tried again at conversation. "It was honestly a struggle to convince Snape to let me down there. You are still my student and too young to have witnessed my temper, but I will warn you that it is nearly fatal if not given some kind of an outlet.” Hermione smirked.

    Minerva let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding when Hermione finally spoke. "It's funny to imagine you as a quidditch player." Minerva beamed. 

    “I was very good. A chaser. And horribly competitive.” For all the times Hermione had tried to imagine what Minerva had been like as a young Gryffindor, she hadn’t imagined that . It did explain a lot though, like why she wanted Harry to play on the team and got him out of trouble for flying without supervision. Maybe she and Minerva didn’t have so much in common after all. 

Minerva, too, had returned to her thoughts, but was tranquilly reflecting that there was indeed a certain, special sort of silence in a run. More so than an airborne jaunt on a couple of broomsticks. Perhaps that was what had tied her to the practice.

Hermione couldn’t stay in her thoughts for long though. Minerva was maintaining the pace she had set with painful accuracy and Hermione was not about to falter. They returned to that pleasant silence, breaths and footfalls and breezes, until they began to approach Hogwarts.

Minerva was the first to stop. Hermione, realizing Minerva was no longer beside her, finally slowed and turned around. A bit of sun was peeking through the fog and shone gently over Minerva, who looked as stern and crisp as ever, if not a bit red around her nose and cheeks. Hermione knew that her entire face flushed and her hair was in absolute disarray from the wind and exertion. She let out a half laugh, drawing Professor McGonagall from her reverie. "I must look a fright."

“You look just fine, Miss Granger.” Minerva ruffled Hermione’s hair and draped that protective arm around her little cub's shoulders once more,  leading her back into the castle and walking her all the way to the Fat Lady's portrait. Hermione, still flushed, gave a little wave before disappearing through the portrait hole, feeling just as confused as she had when McGonagall had suggested they run together in the first place.

      The morning felt more like a dream, a moment outside of time, than a reality. In truth, that feeling never entirely left her, even after the numerous jaunts that she would share with her Head of House in the future.

Of course, the intent of the Triwizard tournament was to unify and create bonds across cultural and social barriers in the spirit of competition, everyone knew that it only created further division. And Hermione was keenly experiencing these tensions. 

Although she had selflessly offered help and advice to Harry, he grew increasingly attached to Moody and Ron, who was torn between supporting his friend and feeling the need to somehow measure up to an already impossible standard, was also in absentia. Not that she cared much for the dunderhead's company to begin with. In fact, without Harry there, she realized just how poorly she and Ron actually got along.

Though her time spent with Professor McGonagall outside of class filled up her time and provided some meaningful interpersonal interaction, it was not a friendship. In fact, she somehow felt more alone in a crowded room after spending an hour or so with Professor McGonagall.  She wasn't exactly spilling her deepest darkest secrets, fears, and joys to her professor-head of house-running buddy. Well, she wasn’t spilling anything to anyone. She was smarter than that. 

 In any regard, a friendship with a teacher did not do much to further one's social status among peers. Not that Hermione cared much for social status…but friendship…friendship was another matter.

After being so accustomed to interacting so openly with her Professor, Hermione came to the unfortunate realization that she was still viewed as the annoying know-it-all when she was simply being herself. She liked to believe that she was far less annoying than she had been as a first year, but first impressions, as it turned out, really are everything. It didn't help things much that she had grown tired of being used by other students, primarily Ron, who either left their work to the last minute or didn't do it all. Nothing more than a know-it-all, only good for my knowledge and nothing else. Unworthy of anything else , Hermione mused bitterly. And, sadly, there was little at the time to convince her otherwise

Chapter Text

Even though it would not appear that way to most people, the first run that Hermione and Minerva shared was more intimate than their evenings sipping tea Minerva's office. It was only until later that the women would contend with their still primordial affection toward the other. This was frankly for the better, as the two would have been overwhelmed by their feelings that, to quote some old squib, had yet to find their local habitation and a name.

For both witches, the run itself was a blur outside of time and space—it had happened, but neither could summon any specifics to their memory. Like waking up from a vivid dream and being unable to recall it. And both resolved the next time to pay greater attention.

Perhaps it was just the endorphins, but Minerva could not help a syrupy smile from spreading across her face as she returned to her quarters. She chuckled to herself as she shucked off her running clothes and stepped into the welcoming tendrils of steam emanating from her shower cabinet. It had been a long time, not since…that Minerva had so enjoyed the silent company of another witch. No, she would not think of … not today. 

Hermione's blush—from exertion, of course—continued to radiate off her cheeks long after breakfast. Perhaps it was the endorphins, but it was a different rush than anything she had experienced after a run by herself. Usually, she felt powerful, cheerful, and ready to take on the world. But, today, she frothed with nervous euphoria and another warm, pleasurable feeling that she couldn't quite explain. She sometimes felt it when her eyes would meet her Professor's when she had quietly finished a task before the rest of her classmates or upon hearing the little sigh that Minerva sometimes gave after biting into a ginger newt in the privacy of her office. 

Minerva was just as shocked as Hermione, if not more, by her own invitation of a morning run by the Black Lake. Nonetheless, what's done is done. The morning before they first ran together, Minerva had risen at 5am and was unable to fall back asleep. She ruminated over the fact that she was entirely unaccustomed to running with another person. And on top of this, the person she would be running with was one of her fourth-year students. Granted, Hermione was not just any other student. They had often met together outside of class and had occasionally strayed towards more personal subjects, but these teas in Minerva's office stayed within a self-imposed boundary of teacher-student propriety. To run together....this was a possibility she had never considered and never had to.  

Her offer to Hermione was initially an offhand gesture of support, but Minerva found herself genuinely enjoying the time that she spent with her student and charge. Most of the future was shrouded in foreboding and something that Minerva did not wish to contemplate (despite this, she often found herself doing it), Hermione was a little light in all that darkness. And perhaps…well, Minerva was also a little lonely. And here it was, someone with whom to run and discuss theoretical transfiguration. The less she thought about her position as Hermione's professor and Head of House, the easier it was to enjoy these moments.

The informality of it frightened Minerva a bit, but that wasn’t really why she had such difficult accepting her growing connection one of her students. Yes, she had more than welcomed opportunity to engage with Hermione and other students in a less formal manner. But, Minerva had rarely befriended former students—kept them as acquaintances, yes. Came to view them as peers and colleagues, sure. But friendship was another matter. Minerva, the survivor of war and heartbreak, chose her friends with great care.

As a muggleborn, Hermione had long learned to expect and accept the impossible, to adopt it, and adapt to it. And so the relatively minor anomaly of a jog with her favorite professor, for whom she held some confused, amorphous longing should not have been so difficult to process and accept as yet another realization of an unimagined impossibility. All the same, Hermione found it difficult to understand and accept the unofficial relationship composed of morning runs and evening teas that she had begun to share with her professor. This Professor McGonagall, unlike the one that she knew in class, was personable, warm, and had a positively sinful, radiant laugh. Hermione marveled at Minerva's ability to navigate between these two personas, so different on the surface yet both so very...Minerva. For now, there was only one Hermione.

One damp morning, Hermione confessed her frustration with her reputation as a "know-it-all" as she and Minerva tread on moist foliage and breathed the fresh, foggy air off that ran off the lake. "Your friendship with a certain professor likely doesn't help, no doubt," Minerva quipped dryly.

Hermione responded with just small smile that signaled to Minerva that she was far more emotionally affected about the whole thing than she was letting on.

"Who cares what they think? Is their opinion really so important to you?" Minerva raised an eyebrow, daring Hermione to argue otherwise.

So Hermione really thought about it. The only opinion that truly mattered to her was the opinion of the woman running at her side. Not that she would ever admit that to any living soul. "It shouldn't be, should it?" Hermione mused as they turned a corner. Minerva winked at her and whisked a branch out of their way with a bit of wandless magic.

"It would be horribly trite to tell you that they're just jealous, though that certainly is true." Hermione snorted. "Don't worry dear, they'll be changing their tune by the time OWLS come around," Minerva chimed in a singsong brogue. Hermione laughed in earnest as they turned a corner and headed back in the direction of the castle, Hermione's mood and the sky simultaneously brightening.

Chapter Text

Hermione's sunny mood was tempered by the first Gryffindor waltz practice that afternoon. There was her usual irritation—people were goofing off when she wanted to learn—but there was also  added pressure: Hermione could not waltz. And worse,  she could not simply learn and excel on her own as she did with everything else; waltzing occurs in pairs. In fact, she was confident that she could fly more proficiently than she could dance, which was really saying something.

Of course, Professor McGonagall, would be in charge of teaching them how to waltz. And this made Hermione flush and break out in a cold sweat at the same time. And not from a case of dragonpox.

 Minerva made her entrance with the usual grandeur and flourish of emerald and black velvet robes. Hermione's spine straightened of its own accord, as if it tried to match the elegance that had come striding through the archway.

Minerva gave a curt wave and music echoed through the hall. Another beat and Minerva began to demonstrate the bows and curtseys initiating the waltz, encouraging students to pair up and mimic her movements  

Hermione had been long aware of Minerva's sinuous and athletic way of moving, as it had long existed in her peripheral vision on many mornings; but seeing it in this context felt...different. There was a lot to take in that first morning, so Hermione was focused on a lot more than the way her professor’s limbs cut through the air. Anyone would be shocked to see their professor in something other than her teaching robes. (There was also the fact that one cannot simply gaze dreamily at her professor's elegant figure and gallop a straight line. She could barely talk and run as it was.)

But now, watching Professor McGonagall walking Neville Longbottom through a bow, Hermione felt that tingle of fear and fascination that had struck her when she would meet Minerva's eyes and linger just a little too long. As Minerva stuck out her hand, Hermione dreamed it may be for her  

To her dismay, Hermione found herself paired off with bloody Cormac McLaggen. It wasn't that Cormac was a bad dancer—quite the opposite in fact, which somehow made it all worse. Hermione found that she no longer cared that she kept trying to lead, stepping on Cormac's toes. Her rising temper only worsened the quality of her dancing. She kept trying to spot Minerva, who busied herself with helping their Triwizard Champion and to prevent him from embarrassing himself on the big night. He was waltzing with one of the Patil sisters, judging from the perfectly straight and luxuriant black hair that fell neatly down his partner's back. She never succeeded in meeting Minerva's eyes—one could glance only so many times until one's partner catches on.

Minerva and Hermione met for another morning jaunt later that week. Hermione complained openly about Cormac and the waltz practice and that she didn't even care whether or not she could waltz because it was silly and who even needs waltzing and balls—all banal frivolity.

Minerva chuckled, "You realize I'm one of the primary organizers of the Yule Ball." Hermione blanched and made to apologize profusely, but Minerva would have none of it."I felt the same when I was your age. It all seemed like meaningless pageantry." Minerva paused, "To be honest, I'm still not a great fan of balls…" This had Hermione looking expectantly, hopefully at Minerva…

"-but you really should know how to waltz, Hermione."
And her hopes were promptly quashed.

A vibrant tableau of disappointment, frustration, and downright petulance appeared on Hermione's face. Minerva held in a bemused laugh."You are a much better dancer than you think you are." They turned a bend and reached Hermione's favorite clearing along the perimeter of the forbidden forest. They paused; Hermione fiddled with her watch, while Minerva turned to gaze off into the distant mountains.

"This waltz will be far from your last." Minerva straightened, her tone momentarily taking on a familiar cold authority, "And balls, as you may know, remain an important part of socializing in the wizarding community. Call it backward, I often do, but you will benefit from learning."

"But with Cormac?" Hermione whined, not caring in that moment for any semblance of maturity. The ice of Minerva's previous speech was now broken by a small smile, tender and full of warmth. Minerva sighed and met Hermione's eyes—a fleeting look, but friendly. It was a gaze of a friend and companion; more than a professor.

A few moments passed and they came to a stop at the little meadow where they usually turned around. Hermione turned her face to the sun while Minerva shook out her legs, clearly thinking something over.

Hermione heard Professor McGonagall sigh, clearly pondering what could be done.  “I'll try to mix up the pairings at our next tutorial." Hermione smiled and looked hopefully at her Professor, panting a little.  

The wind whipped through the trees and the clouds, beckoning movement. "For now though..." Minerva caught Hermione's hand and twirled them just off the path. Impossibly tall and lovely, Minerva extended a graceful arm with long, tapered fingers, which Hermione took in her own without quite realizing it.

"I believe I'll be leading, Miss Granger." Minerva took a step forward, her grip just firm enough to guide Hermione in the proper direction every time.

In a moment beyond time, the witches waltzed in the grass to the broken tune that Minerva hummed. Bathed in the weak rays of autumn light that glint along Scottish highlands, it wasn't long before Hermione stopped thinking of the steps that were to come ahead. In fact, it wasn't long before Hermione stopped thinking entirely and let Minerva lead her.

This waltz, this meadow, this damp air, the odd crunch of a dry leaf, the smell of Minerva's perfume, the weak sun on her face…it all felt connected and Hermione felt perfectly at ease. For once, all could at peace. Everything could be perfect. 

Chapter Text

Only momentum and the gentle pressure of Minerva’s hand kept Hermione from floating away or dissolving. She could feel the breeze on her skin and the way the moist grass cushioned each step--but everything was Her.

a living haze of cinnamon, cedar, bergamot and parchment....pale skin, black hair, vibrant emerald eyes….gentle touches...and the breathy, lilting hum of a waltz plucked from the sunlight and the fall air.

Hermione wished that she might…

BEEP! BEEP !

Alas, every peaceful moment find its end. Hermione’s watch had punctured the haze of forgetting that had encircled them while they danced. The women were startled apart-- Hermione sharply pulled her hands from her professor’s shoulders and Minerva briskly stepped aside, clearing her throat and averting her eyes while Hermione expertly pushed a few buttons to quiet the tinny alarm. Minerva, who by then had transformed into Professor McGonagall, nodded curtly at Hermione and gestured towards the castle. “We should be--” Minerva swallowed. Hermione nodded quickly. They jogged back to the courtyard, forcing themselves to focus only on their breathing and the strides they took to their destination. 

It was a mere as a thorn of a thought, then. But it never left. It had been a spark of warmth--not yet a wildfire. Not yet. Whether a thorn or a spark, both women would ignore it, maybe to their detriment. Maybe it was an act of self-flagellation disguised as mercy.  Was it cruelty to deny themselves even to dream? Or was it self-protection, self-preservation, so that a better future was a greater certainty. This is the story they told themselves. 

The next waltz practice came fast enough. Hermione knew Professor McGonagall was sincere when she offered to change the pairings, but doubtful that Minerva could implement a change so quickly.

Everyone filed into the Great Hall and located their usual partners. Hermione’s stomach dropped. Cormac. Again.

No sooner than Hermione resigned herself to another dreadful afternoon, Professor McGonagall waved her wand and made good on her promise. Harry Potter a, Triwizard Champion, was in deep conversation with his usual partner, Parvati, when he was suddenly flung across the room—and collided with Dean Thomas!. Parvati, was whisked next to Katie Bell. Embarrassed giggles and anxious twittering rippled through the air as the surprise pairings rippled through the hall. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as Alicia Spinnett skidded towards her. Alicia had never asked her to write an essay for her and even told off a group of fifth years for being too loud when Hermione was trying to study.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. With a near-imperceptible twinkle in her eye, she addressed the new pairs: “It occurs to me that you may better understand the intricacies of the waltz if you understand the perspective of your partners.” The Weasley twins, who Minerva had successfully separated, erupted into such guileless guffawing that even Minerva struggled to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up.

Alicia was a bit better at waltzing than Hermione, but not by much. Hermione would freeze awkwardly whenever she stepped with the wrong foot, but Alicia would smile encouragingly, then lean in and remind Hermione of the steps and directions in the more difficult parts. Alicia's hold on her was firm and solid.  She guided Hermione with utmost chivalry, whispering proper counts, which no longer came so naturally as they did before. 

It was nothing like the dance she had shared with Professor McGonagall. Alicia moved with intention and rigidity, but Hermione felt like they were a team. Sure, they moved like an assembly line and not some organic, intuitive give-and-take...but the steps and counts were accurate.  Alicia could never compare to Minerva, but this was so much better than dancing with Cormac. Rather than pulling her around like a ragdoll or manhandling her, Alicia guided her with warmth and strength. succeed. 

Hermione finally felt like she was getting the hang of it, but then Minerva’s magically amplified voice rang through the hall and butterflies flooded her entire body: "Students--now you will switch. Leaders, you will be following now. Followers, you will be leading."  Minerva's instructions were nothing special,  yet Hermione felt the feverish blush taking over her face and spreading down her neck. Alicia quirked an eyebrow, but kept her thoughts to herself. She only gave an encouraging nod when Hermione bowed, then stepped off with the right foot. Alas, even when Alicia followed—she was leading. Hermione tried to do the subtle touches that Alicia had used to indicate the next step, but it was clumsy and Alicia had figured out how to pull Hermione in the right direction--which worked much better, Hermione had to admit. Maybe with Cormac, she would have ignored the subtle nudges and continued to thrust them in the wrong direction, on the wrong count...but with Alicia...she was willing to cede control of the situation. 

The rest of the hour passed pleasantly. While Hermione was occupied with Alicia, Minerva was free to keep an eye on her one-day-only couples. As she expected, the girls cooperated easily. As for the boys--their partners had been carrying them through the previous practices (as expected), so they stumbled and struggled initially. A few were rowdy, some merely distracted. McLaggen seemed to constantly criticize his partner and tried to negotiate his way into leading when he was meant to be following. (Minerva may not have noticed if Hermione had not clued her into way McLaggen had behaved with her as a partner). When the excitement finally levelled off and all the groups seemed to be making a decent go of it, Minerva permitted herself to look Hermione's way and, as ever, that something that was the reason Minerva avoided looking at Hermione until a moment of calm predictably washed over her. It wasn't...no, it couldn't be...the tightness she felt in her chest and the bubbles that invaded her brain were surely pride and relief. That twinge at seeing Hermione being held and holding, moving and glowing, was joy alone, untinged with a poignant something. Surely. Minerva began to worry her lip as she moved away from feeling and into the thinking about the feeling. She resolved not to put herself in this position and not to look over there for the remainder of the practice, cracking only when she had called the switch and couldn't stop herself from watching Hermione bow to Alicia, vibrantly blushing.

Minerva had her reasons for pairing up the students as she had. Of course, she would solemnly swear to anyone who asked that this was just a bit of fun to help her students relax. Silly crushes (though not her own) could be put to one side for a day, thus her students, now more able to focus, might at least nail down the fundamentals so they wouldn’t embarrass themselves. This was all post-hoc, propter-hoc fallacy, of course. It was pure luck that the same-gender pairings were successful and made for a very productive practice that day. She would tell herself that this was a way to make good on her promise without making it too obvious.

She could even accept some part of her that had done it to normalize the way she and Hermione had waltzed together that one morning. As if the way they melted together could be explained by the simple fact of not despising the other. 

I suppose Dumbledore isn’t the only insuppressible fruit on our faculty, Minerva laughed to herself a moment, dipped her quill back in the ink, and returned to her grading. 

often, too often, she was thinking of that impromptu waltz in the fresh damp.  

Chapter Text

Mere layers of stone laced with magic separated the women who dreamed identical dreams or otherwise lay awake contemplating the other.

Any vacant space in Hermione's mind was immediately occupied by the feeling of the hand she held and the hand on her back, gently guiding her. The smell of pine, rain, and spice that was all...Minerva.

Sometimes it was spring when they waltzed. The breeze carried warmth and light and wildflowers were blooming on the hills and in the trees. She imagined Minerva wearing something other than her running gear-a dress maybe. Or a suit with tails and soft gloves. Minerva seldom wore her signature pointed hat outside the first Feast and special occasions, but in Hermione's meandering reveries, she sometimes imagined her in a felted hat with a hawk feather...or a top hat in the same midnight shade as her robes.

Other evenings, Hermione's thoughts would spiral into more painful territory-the memory would start, like a music box that had been wound and opened...but then Hermione would slam the lid shut. This was her professor. If she kept this up, she would never be able to look Minerva in the eye. There was some line, she could feel it, and if she was to cross it, this friendship or whatever it was would be turned to dust.

She had never seen two women waltzing. Perhaps for a laugh it had been done, but never in the way that she...Minerva did not love her. Did She "love" Minerva? Minerva could never look at her the way Hermione wanted her to...whatever that was. It was a chance occurrence, a mere one-off...that dance...it shouldn't mean anything more. But this was not enough to bring Hermione to put an end to her dreaming, wanting, and imagining.

It began to dawn on Minerva that another boundary had been crossed when Hermione took the hand that she offered. One that she had not anticipated. This was unfamiliar territory now, but she could recognize the feelings that had begun to bloom between her and Miss Granger. How...unfortunate. Yet she held onto them all the same, believing that with time, the pull she felt to Hermione would settle into its proper place. This could be fixed. Hermione's little crush was all hormones, which come and go. Surely.

It was a particularly cold November morning and a heavy feeling clung to the air. Minerva had been sleeping poorly as of late, her dark circles seemed more permanent now and sunken into her face.

The frosty remains of a prior snow were on the ground, forcing the pair to tread carefully to avoid ice. Hermione usually exuded sunshine, but a dark cloud of her own hung over her head this morning.

Minerva cleared her throat and awkwardly addressed her brooding student, "Knut for your thoughts?"

Hermione's features contorted as she tried to let the words free. Suddenly they all tumbled from her mouth in a tangled heap-

"ViktorKrumhasaskedmetobehisdateatttheYule Ball."

Minerva tried to pull apart the syllables to make a coherent sentence. "Come again, Miss Granger?"

"Viktor Krum has asked me to the Yule Ball." Hermione repeated more slowly. Minerva couldn't answer for the reply of her body, which responded before her mind could begin its machinations. She had no reason to pause before congratulating her student...or...something...so why did she?

"That's wonderful, Miss Granger. I'm very happy for you." Hermione's face twisted into a frown again. Hermione began to wonder if her white lie to Krum was perhaps closer to the truth than she had considered.

"It—should be. I should be happy, or at least relieved somehow.. . But, I'm not!" Happy to be right? Happy to be asked by the boy every girl wanted?

Minerva sighed. "Miss Granger, this is your first Ball, hmm" Hermione nodded. "Is this the first time a young man has expressed interest in you?" Hermione nodded again. "Then, perhaps this is all nerves?" Minerva prodded. Hermione only scowled. 

"Don't patronize me!" Hermione bit out. 

Minerva sighed. "Miss Granger-I didn't mean it like that." Hermione did not immediately nod to that. Instead she bit her lip and averted her eyes, so Minerva continued. "Life always eludes attempts to control it. And planning for the worst when faced with uncertainty. makes it nearly impossible to be happy, Miss Granger."

"There's something wrong with me. And don't lie and say it's all alright to me. I— "

A fire erupted within Minerva. She suddenly stopped running and put her hands on Hermione's shoulders, grounding her and absorbing all the momentum Hermione carried in thought and body. Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed, but she spoke with tenderness and intensity in equal measure. "There's nothing wrong with you, Miss Granger. "

Hermione looked away, shrinking under Minerva's penetrating stare ."I...Have I made you mad?" Minerva let out a shaky laugh and pulled away from Hermione, but continued to regard her with that soft, inscrutable look.

"Of course not, never."

Hermione averted her eyes from the gaze that was doing something to her. She knew something was wrong, still. There was something Minerva wasn't telling her. Hermione wanted to forgive McGonagall for what she had implied and to believe everything that she was telling her. How dare she always freeze her in place and melt all her insides! And how dare Hermione lack an acceptable explanation for it!

"There's nothing wrong with you." Minerva repeated more softly. And Hermione looked at her with such vulnerability and open eyes—pupils blown and breathing heavily from exertion, Minerva was caught. She doubted she would have successfully resisted tenderly tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear and leaning in closer, had Hermione not smiled awkwardly and gestured at the lake before taking off again.

The pair fell back into a brisk jog. "I think he might like me like me." Hermione continued as they pressed onward to the lake. Minerva smirked, but luckily Hermione didn't catch it. "It really doesn't matter to me, but he was so kind and respectful about it that I just said yes."

"Respectful is good."

"I don't like-like him...I don't think." Hermione repeated. Minerva huffed and gave a shrug that said "who cares?" And Hermione believed her. "Who will accompany you to the Ball?" Hermione asked earnestly.

"Dumbledore. of course." Minerva snorted.

"Of course!" Hermione laughed easily, buoyantly, now. . . she knew she shouldn't ask, but had to know, even though it shouldn't be important "You aren't….you know, an item?"

"Miss Granger, one need not feel romantically about their partner to waltz with them. Or go to a ball, for that matter." Minerva winked.

"So you're not?"

"Heavens no…..he's not my... type." Minerva chuckled, "but a very good friend. And friendship can be just as good, if not better, than mere romantic attachment" Hermione flushed and smiled to herself. She started thinking about the relationship she had with the woman running alongside her.

A few more moments passed, the sun rose higher, and they turned around.

"I wish Viktor Krum was my type."

"And suffer a long distance relationship?"

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder." Hermione countered facetiously. Minerva snorted and Hermione smiled. "It's a pity. He's so intelligent." The air was still cold and damp. Foreboding hung in the air. But it seemed that Minerva had protected Hermione—and Hermione, Minerva—from the weight of each other and the world for that moment.

Freezing weather and harshness must do something to one's soul, because Krum was understanding and accepting in a way she could have never anticipated. After her talk with McGonagall, she sat with Viktor in the courtyard and prepared to tell him that she didn't have feelings for him. She was expecting the worst, but when Viktor took her hand in his and she slid her hand away, he only smiled. Before she could apologize and explain, Viktor put up his hand-not unlike McGonagall had-and stopped her.

"There's someone else, yes?" Hermione froze. "You have this feeling. . I can tell. I've got someone else, too. I knew you'd understand. That's why I asked you."

"I well — I'm not..." Hermione was puzzled by this "someone else" concept. But at least it seemed like Viktor accepted that she wasn't interested.

"My someone is from back home, my home. Not Durmstrang.. My family expects me to wed a pureblood girl. Or a half blood of title who will be a perfect gentlelady and wife of status greater than mine. People are… still quite backward in the East." He paused and looked thoughtfully at Hermione, studying her carefully as he spoke. "She's like you. But, you're much warmer. You're fire. She is, more like air or ice. You are autumn, she is winter. But cold—Kholdovstoretz. Brutal. Smart. It suits her as Hogwarts suits you." He looked at her, then at the castle, nodded as if in agreement with himself. "Most wealthy witches go to Beauxvatons. They learn shallow magic." He paused again and a dark look covered his fatures."Except for very rare exceptions. oppressive families or born in a village too far away." He shuddered. "The villages are..."

"I understand" Hermione replied quietly.

Suddenly Viktor's demeanor changed completely. The dark look fell away and his eyes lit up. "We are lucky." He beamed. "To be here." Hermione nodded. Viktor didn't let the "someone" thing go.

"You didn't tell me about your someone." Hermione blushed.

"Well, I'm not really sure if…" she started hesitantly. Viktor stopped her.

"The one you'd rather waltz with. That's the someone. Easy test." Hermione immediately thought of the meadow.

Oh.

"I guess I do have a someone—but it's not like that. It's more like an idealization. To waltz with who I hope to be and embody"

Viktor shook his head and tutted disapprovingly. "You're in denial Herminny."

"I am not!"

"I will lay a bet with you. If I am right, that you are in denial. That there is a someone that lights you on fire and who has taken your heart—that you will give willingly...and that you end up together with this someone..., you must notify me so I may congratulate you for love and congratulate myself for being right. And I will brag about it for life. You will also invite me to the wedding. And make me your man of honor." Hermione lifted an eyebrow.

"And if I win?"

"I don't think it is much of a win for you. First, if I am not with my someone, I will tell her I love her, even if you can't say it to your someone." Hermione scowled at that. "And you can regret it forever but still tell me how wrong I am." Hermione huffed.

"And…"

"I can get you into the Durmstrang library." Oh, he knew Hermione well.

"You, sir, have a deal." It was impossible to get into the Durmstrang library without privileges of birth and blood. And Hermione only made bets she knew she would win.

"You wouldn't dare!" Minerva thundered. "First, a dragon, and now, we're putting more innocent lives at risk. If a champion fails, an innocent third-party dies. I can't abide by this!"

"Have you so little faith in my champion?" Karkaroff growled.

Minerva was just an inch taller than the Durmstrang headmaster-and she used that inch to her advantage as she glared down her nose at him. "My concerns apply equally to the safety of all students. and all the—ahem—bait, as you so eloquently put it Headmaster Karkaroff." Minerva snipped. She was seconds from shoving her wand underneath his chin, but then Dumbledore stepped forward.

At 4am, Minerva woke to the sound of footsteps outside her chamber. After a bout of frantic knocking, Minerva got out of bed and went to answer the door.

"Miss Weasley!" Minerva was aggravated at the early hour, but softened immediately at the sight of her frightened student. "What are you doing awake?"

"I'm sorry it's so early, Professor" Miss Weasley stammered in a hushed voice, "But Hermione didn't come back from the library and she's not in bed. It's not like her to be out this late." Minerva nodded. "I didn't want to wake Harry before tomorrow's event so I came here…" Ginny nervously crossed her arms

Minerva delicately patted Ginny's shoulder. "Hermione is fine," Minerva said, even though, in reality, she wasn't so sure. "Now off to bed Miss Weasley, before I start taking house points." Ginny nodded quickly and darted back to the portrait hole. Minerva waited for Miss Weasley to disappear behind the Fat Lady, then sighed and returned to bed, trying to forget her own worry in the hopes that she might get just a bit more rest before the upcoming event.