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The clatter of aluminum knitting needles hitting the stone floor of her quarters drew Minerva’s attention away from the latest issue of Transfiguration Today. A ball of yarn, Gryffindor red, rolled across the floor and hit her foot. Looking up, her eyes followed the strand of yarn to the ottoman by the fire, where Hermione was sitting.
“I don’t know why I have to change anything!”
Minerva Summoned the ball of yarn and the needles. Arranging the items on her lap, she cast a spell that would pick up the dropped stitches. It was a spell she had never expected to need to know, but it had come in handy more times than she could count. Later, when she calmed down, Hermione would be upset if she lost the progress on Winky’s hat.
“Doesn’t the Ministry know how long I’ve spent on this project? How much time and effort I’ve put into tracking down every single variation of each story?” Hermione threw herself off the ottoman and paced in front of the fire.
Putting Hermione’s knitting on the sofa beside her, Minerva smoothed her green, tartan blanket over her knees. At times like this, it was best to let Hermione get it all out before attempting to turn her to logic. Usually, anyway. Sometimes, she couldn’t predict the best thing to do, which was something she loved about the younger woman.
She watched, silently and patiently, as Hermione continued to pace, slippers slapping against the stone tiles. A rug would be nice there, in front of the roaring fire and crackling logs, for the times they were too impatient—
“I’ve worked on the Tales for two years! Two years I could have put into working on house-elf rights, or advocating for human and centaur interaction. Centaurs have so much to teach us, if only we could get past the dislike our species have for each other. I’d even take Divination from a centaur instructor. Firenze has such a fascinating viewpoint ...” Hermione trailed off, momentarily considering the benefits of Firenze teaching the woolly subject, and then shook her head. “Maybe I should take the position Kingsley offered. The Ministry needs someone to set things right, and that someone is obviously me.”
“Hermione.” Abandoning her previous course of letting Hermione rant, Minerva patted her lap. “Come here.”
The young woman didn’t need any more invitation. As quickly as she had jumped off the ottoman to pace, she crossed the room in two strides, landing in an ungainly heap next to Minerva. Opening her arms, Minerva pulled Hermione close, and not a moment too soon. Face buried in the velvet of Minerva’s outer robe, Hermione started sobbing.
The pained sound hurt Minerva’s heart, and she made soothing sounds, one hand stroking bushy curls that had been tamed into a ponytail. She had expected this outburst all day, ever since Hermione had returned from her meeting with the Muggle Liason Office. Hermione had met with them to discuss publishing her translation of The Tales of Beedle the Bardfor a Muggle audience, so that scholars of all backgrounds would be able to compare traditional fables with her “new” versions.
Knowing well how the Ministry operated, and how strictly they adhered to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, Minerva hadn’t had high hopes. She thought Hermione’s proposal was promising, but knew the Ministry wouldn’t care about the academic possibilities that sharing the Tales would offer. No, the only thing the Ministry cared about—even the reformed Ministry, with Kingsley Shacklebolt at its head—was staying hidden from Muggle eyes.
“They—they said I could publish a revised version. One without any magic at all.” Hermione sniffed, voice thick. “I tried to explain most Muggles wouldn’t understand. That ninety-eight percent would read them as fantasy stories, if they read them at all. The other three percent—they don’t need to worry about them.” She dashed the backs of her hands across her eyes, wiping away tears. “The Ministry won’t believe that I’m right.”
Minerva chuckled to herself. Even when upset, Hermione clung to her beliefs and her knowledge, and that was just one more thing she loved about the younger woman. There weren’t many—male or female—who could keep Minerva McGonagall on her toes, keep her mind engaged, and keep her interest in other areas. Hermione Granger was the first in long time, and Minerva was secretly glad that her research had taken two years.
Having expected both the Ministry’s response and Hermione’s frustration, Minerva had come up with a possible solution. “Tell me why you don’t want to publish an edited version of the Tales.”
The structure of Minerva’s words helped to calm Hermione, and she took a few deep breaths. “I refuse to compromise my academic integrity. To put out versions of the fables without the magic would change the meaning behind the stories. It would devalue all of the work I have done.”
Minerva shifted so that Hermione’s head rested on her shoulder. “I have a suggestion. It’s not a perfect one, mind you, but it’s a start.” The younger woman nodded, eyes inquisitive. “Why don’t you include your Tales with the information that is given to every Muggleborn when they are notified about Hogwarts?” The “welcome pack,” full of tidbits about the Wizarding world, had been another idea of Hermione’s, one that had been very popular and useful.
Hermione’s expression changed to one of excitement, but Minerva held a finger to her lips. “If you talk to the Hogwarts Board of Governors and convince them, the Ministry will have no choice but to allow it.” She smiled slyly then, pleased with her own cunning. There were some benefits to being Headmistress, and knowing how to manipulate the Board was one of them.
“That’s perfect!” Winding her arms about the older woman’s neck, Hermione hugged her happily. “We can start with that, like you said, and once the Ministry has warmed up to the idea, we can bring it up again.”
Minerva’s heart skipped a beat at the way Hermione included her in further plans, and she kissed Hermione’s forehead. “I’m happy you approve.”
“You always know the right thing to say.” Try as she might, Hermione still hadn’t mastered the art of being diplomatic. She was too brash at times, impatient with the slow changes that the Ministry allowed.
“The benefits of age, m’dear.” Trailing her mouth down Hermione’s nose, she kissed the tip. Hermione’s lips were next, and their mouths came together gently, lovingly. The younger woman’s lips were soft against her own, and Minerva’s desire stirred. Seeing Hermione fired up on a topic she was passionate about always did it for her. Also, it would be remiss of her, not to make sure that her lover was comforted in every way.
“Shall I show you more of those benefits? Such as ... patience?” Minerva winked. She noticed that Hermione’s eyes had turned a darker brown, signaling that the younger woman was ready for something other than talking.
Hermione kissed her back, harder this time, and that was all the answer Minerva needed.