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It happened in Transfiguration, right at the beginning of Hermione’s third year.
Professor McGonagall had handed back their homework and right as she had been about to hand Hermione hers, a loud bang had pulled her attention to a place behind her. The professor had craned her head back, arm still outstretched.
This unusual pose had lifted the sleeve of her robes - just far enough for Hermione to read the letters there.
Letters that were usually so well hidden under the Professor’s long sleeves and thick robes.
Letters that made Hermione’s eyes grow wide, a sudden understanding knocking the air from her lungs.
For a whole week, she contemplated how to broach the subject - or if at all. In the end though, she knew she needed to talk to Professor McGonagall. She was sure she had finally found someone who would understand the turmoil and the darkness that had taken root inside her since her eighth birthday.
Since the day the letters had appeared on her own wrist.
Staying behind after class was no unusual occurrence for Hermione, so neither Harry nor Ron batted an eye as she didn’t make for the exit with them. She gave them a curt smile and a nod, signalling them that she would meet them later.
They were the last to leave, closing the door so she could be alone with Professor McGonagall.
“Miss Granger. How can I help you today. Any issues with your time-turner?”
“No, Professor,” Hermione replied, setting her bag back down as she stepped up to the professor’s desk. “No. And… well, it’s not… it’s not even about school at all.”
With a flourish, Professor McGonagall signed some paper in front of her before looking up, watching Hermione with interested eyes.
“Tell me then. What is it about?”
“I hope you won’t find this impertinent or out of line. I would understand if you did. You certainly don’t have to answer and I promise I will never bring up this topic ever again should you-”
“Miss Granger,” McGonagall interrupted her babbling, a soft smile twitching at her lips.
Hermione knew the older woman had a soft spot for her but it was always nice witnessing it. She was sure anyone else would have been reprimanded by now for wasting her precious time.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione calmed her nevers, sorted her thoughts, and then began anew.
“The other day… I-I couldn’t help but see your… your wrist.”
“Ah,” McGonagall replied, looking back down at her desk, brushing away some imaginary dust. After a moment, her eyes were back on Hermione, a hint of annoyance there Hermione had been afraid of to find. “Miss Granger, while I do value you as a person and a student - probably the brightest student I ever had the pleasure of educating - I fear I fail to notice how my private life, the letters on my wrist in particular, are any of your concern.”
“They aren’t, Professor.”
“Then I don’t see why we are having this con… versation - Miss Granger?”
Halfway through, McGonagall must have noticed the tears welling up in Hermione’s eyes, for her voice grew softer again, underlying shock mixed into it.
Hermione hated to cry. She had cried so often in her life, especially because of these terrible letters on her own wrist. She knew it would be a mistake to speak of such a private, such an intimate matter with her professor. But the truth was…
The truth was…
“No one else understands me.”
The whisper stole itself from her lips, followed by a soft hiccup, her tears threatening to spill over.
“No one ever has. My mother… my father… they try to. So do my grandparents, my aunts and uncles. Those I trusted to show. They try to, but really- really they pity me.”
Hermione was unable to help herself, her right hand clutched her left wrist. Clutched the place where the crude word stood.
“They pity me, I know it. But they don’t understand.”
As her tears began to run freely, McGonagall got up from her seat and hastened around her table. The next moment, Hermione found herself in a motherly embrace. Unable to hold in her feelings, she clutched tight to McGonagall’s robes and sobbed.
And sobbed.
And sobbed.
She lost track of time but she was just so tired of always keeping it in. Always pretending she was fine. Always pretending everything was perfect whenever people talked about their soulmates.
Nothing was perfect. Nothing would ever be - and she had finally found someone who might understand her.
When she calmed down at last, her tears slowly drying, she found herself on a comfortable couch in a corner of the classroom. One McGonagall must have transfigured just now, for she had never noticed it before.
“There now,” McGonagall said, offering her a tissue.
Taking it, Hermione dried her eyes and then blew her nose.
“I must apologise-”
“Oh, nonsense,” McGonagall interrupted right away, sitting down next to her, a chocolate bar in hand. When Hermione looked up in wonder, McGonagall gave her a soft smile. “I took some notes out of Professor Lupin’s book. He’s quite right, you know? Chocolate does make everything much better.”
With a huffed laugh, Hermione took the proffered chocolate, nibbling on it as she slowly calmed down.
“Now then,” McGonagall began. “Would you like to show me? Or rather not?”
Sniffing one last time, Hermione put aside the chocolate and then pulled up her sleeve.
Revealing the ugly four letters that had haunted her for so long now.
Hate.
To her credit, Professor McGonagall didn’t gasp in shock. In fact, she didn’t show any immediate reaction. Calmly, she reached for Hermione’s wrist with both her wrinkled hands, cradling it in her palms. After a long time of silence, she released Hermione’s arm again, only to pull up her own sleeve. Revealing what Hermione had already shortly seen the other day.
Disgust.
“Have you… have you met them? Your soulmate?”
“Oh yes, yes I have,” McGonagall replied, tracing the word with her own thumb. “This is not what it used to read. When I first got it, it was the most wonderful word an eight year old girl could have hoped for. Fascination, it read, and isn’t that just wonderful? What young girl doesn’t wish for a suitor who is fascinated by them the very moment they first meet.”
A soft smile played around her lips and Hermione wondered how her professor could remember such memories with fondness instead of sorrow.
“What happened?” she asked in a quiet voice.
For a moment longer, McGonagall traced the word in silence. Then, she began to speak.
“Dougal McGregor. Oh believe me, he was every girl’s dream. Handsome, clever, and funny. The son of a farmer in the village I grew up - so not only all that, but also one who would inherit well once his time came. Not that I cared for that. But it was an added bonus,” she said with a wink that pulled a grin from Hermione’s lips. “No, I didn’t care for that. What was far more important to me was that Dougal and I shared a sense of humour so far different to others that it was refreshing to be around him. And we argued oh so fiercely-” a soft chuckle told of old memories McGonagall still held dear, even after all this time “-but we always parted in good spirits. We were, to say it in short, soulmates. There was no question about that. The words on our wrists matched the feelings we had when we first met and the moment we realised there was more between us; the moment our words changed to read love on both our wrists, Dougal was down on one knee. In the middle of a ploughed field, and all he had was a band of grass he had quickly woven together. But it was enough. It truly was. Dougal was proposing to me and nothing could have been more perfect in that moment - so of course I accepted.”
A dark shadow came over McGonagall’s features and Hermione knew that the dark side of the tale was coming.
“That night, I decided to tell him the truth about me.”
“Your soulmate was a Muggle?” Hermione gasped out.
McGonagall nodded. “Yes. He was indeed. As was my father, which is why we grew up in a Muggle village.”
Never in her life would Hermione have thought to learn this much about her Professor. She had so many questions all of a sudden - but she bit her tongue, rather hoping to hear the rest of the tale.
“As you can imagine, the conversation didn’t go well. He was not only shocked but… well,” McGonagall raised her wrist in lieu of explaining further. “He dissolved the engagement and for a while, I thought I might have to obliviate him. But I never wanted to lay a hand on him and he promised to keep quiet about it - under the condition that I would leave. Which was no hard bargain, for without Dougal, my village held no appeal.”
“So you just trusted his word?”
“Looking back at it now, I know I was a naive young girl, but thankfully, my trust in him was never broken - not in those regards, at least. I guess, no one would have believed him anyway; or my mother would have taken care of that issue.”
For a moment, McGonagall seemed to dwell on her memories but then she turned, taking Hermione’s hand in hers.
“The word on my wrist has not changed in decades and I know it never will. Dougal passed away a long time ago, his feelings for me never changing. But, Miss Granger, the important thing is, I’ve been leading a very happy, very fulfilled life. I found my destiny, here at this school - I need no soulmate to be happy here. Had I stayed with him, I might have never gone back to teach at Hogwarts.”
“But… he was supposed to be your destiny, was he not?”
“Oh no. No, Miss Granger. That is only one way to look at the whole picture. We all have our free will. Just because the Fates gave us our supposedly perfect match doesn’t mean we have to like it. Or even that we need it. Yes, some people might need their other halves to complete them. But others - like you and I - do not.”
She paused, giving Hermione another one of those rare smiles and Hermione had new insight into why she might be a favourite of her Professors.
“My destiny has always been this school. I even found love again, after Dougal. I was married to a wonderful man and the many years I spent with him were some of the brightest in my life.”
In a very motherly gesture, Professor McGonagall reached for Hermione’s cheek, wiping away a tear Hermione hadn’t even noticed falling.
“I’m not going to tell you that it will be easy to get over this. Yes, Miss Granger, this will leave a scar on your soul. But that is not to mean you won’t overcome it. Some soulmates are meant to be our happiness, our destiny, our partners for life. But some, my dear, are meant to show us that we can grow stronger and can overcome just about anything. One day, you will find your destiny. You will also find love, even if it is not with the man that the Fates designed for you.”
Sniffing, Hermione nodded, trying to take in all that her professor told her. She had a feeling that she would remember this conversation for many years to come.
“But… how- how will I find someone to love if I don’t have my soulmate-mark to guide me?”
“Oh, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, smiling fondly at her. “By opening your heart to the possibilities out there. By not being afraid to have your heart broken. Believe me - broken hearts can be mended. So don’t let that fear keep you from enjoying life.”
“What if I don’t like what comes of my choice?”
“Well, as a wise man once said: Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.”
Huffing out a watery laugh, Hermione wiped at her cheeks.
“You’re quoting Mark Twain?”
“He was one of my favourite authors growing up.”
Chuckling again, Hermione let herself be pulled into another hug, enjoying the embrace and the warmth of a motherly person in her life. Of someone who understood.
When she drew back, she was able to breathe more freely than she had in a long time. Somehow, it felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest.
“Thank you, Professor. For… for your trust and for telling me all this.”
“Of course, my dear. And one more thing. I know this seems daunting - but just because your mark is black does not mean it has to stay like this forever. Even the deepest feelings can be changed. For better or for worse.”
Hermione nodded; she understood what McGonagall was telling her. As she got up to collect her bag and to finally leave for the rest of the school day (she should probably use her time turner; surely she had already missed her next class), her professor reached for her wrist one last time. When their eyes met, she smiled up at Hermione.
“One day, you will be happy, Hermione. Trust in that. You have a bright future ahead of you, and the Fates have no say in your happiness. You are in control of that!”
For a moment, Hermione didn’t even realise that McGonagall had used her given name for once, too shocked by the force and sincerity behind her words. She even wondered if her professor might be in trance and had just prophesied her future.
But no. No, Minerva McGonagall’s eyes were clear as day and focused on her. And yet… something in the sureness of her words set Hermione’s heart even further at peace.
“Thank you,” she whispered again, leaning down for one last hug before leaving the classroom with more hope for her future than she had had in over six years.