Chapter Text
Minerva McGonnegal had a problem. She had an excellent ability to creatively conceptualize her problems, and nearly always to solve them, but this was one that she feared was beyond even her considerable abilities. It was one that no amount of painstaking arithmancy equations or dedicated research would touch. Not even her legendary practical common sense-- the one that allowed her to walk up to a handful of skilled wizards who were struggling to rebuild a shattered archway in the great hall, conjure a simple muggle hammer, and drive in a few nails to secure the keystone properly while they watched in confusion, a dozen complex but futile spells on their tongues-- not even that part of Minerva knew what to do with this very special problem.
The problem, it had to be admitted, took the compelling form of one Hermione Granger (soon to be the former), Minister for Magic.
Minerva had watched from both near and far as the woman had ascended quickly and single mindedly through the political ranks of the Ministry, after the dramatic end of the war against Voldemort. Minerva certainly cheered her on, but could not quite fathom the energy that she brought to the thankless political tasks required.
Hermione had done well in her work, as well as possible, losing many battles but winning many others: Increasing the rights and respect accorded to non human magical creatures, passing several measures to increase fairness among humans as well, and keeping at bay, for a time at least, the rumblings of trouble from a variety of external threats -- from restive Giant tribes, to hungry werewolves, with no apparent receptivity to her repeated, well intentioned overtures.
Under Minister Granger’s watch the foundations of a stable government had been rebuilt from the devastation of the reign of the Dark Lord, who had turned a feeble government into his own personal fiefdom for a time. Now the Ministry was once again a trusted institution, where talented young wizards and witches wished to contribute to their society, and the populace at large knew that their interests were being guarded.
Minister Granger had been very successful -- not as fully, not as completely as she may have imagined at the start of her career. But Hermione, as idealistic as she was, clearly had a wide pragmatic streak, or she would never have ascended in the political world.
Minerva had recently attended the Ministry Reception for the Ambassador from MAC USA, as she was asked to accompany her counterpart from Salem Academy. It was one of Hermione’s final appearances in office, and Minerva felt that she could read in the cast of Hermione’s shoulders and the firm look in her eyes that the departing Minister was proud of her accomplishments, and sated-- perhaps even relieved to be almost done.
Merlin, the girl-- no, hold on, actually she was most certainly a powerful woman now, even if it was hard to remember that sometimes-- had more than done her part. The work had been tireless ever since she took to the woods with her boys, culminating in the Final Battle. Instead of resting after her ordeal, Hermione seemed to have been driven by something insatiable inside of her that kept her moving ever onward.
After the arduous weeks when Hermione had helped Minerva to rebuild the crumbled infrastructure of Hogwarts, and they had gotten to know each other for the first time as comrades rather than teacher and student, they had kept in touch, the best that they were able-- but they had both been deeply absorbed in rebuilding magical society from their separate vantage points.
Minerva liked to think that she had been able to give Hermione a rare bit of respite over the years: a safe place, in her office at Hogwarts, where the rising politico could rest for a spot of tea and friendly and stimulating conversation without the need to impress, strive, battle, serve constituents or win points. Some humor was even shared, at times. Arguments and challenges were raised, refuted, and settled with joyful laughter.
She was honored that Hermione had continued to make time for their teas, even when absorbed in serious affairs of state. At the close of each visit Hermione would use the custom spell she had created herself to summon her glowing, three dimensional, color coded calendar, prompting Minerva to respond in kind, pulling out her less colorful, 2 dimensional ledger and quill, and they would set a time for their next visit.
Minerva could see Hermione surreptitiously casting glances at Minerva’s own schedule, and wondered if partly Hermione continued to visit so regularly to ensure that she, Minerva, would also schedule a break in her own demanding routine -- of administration of a many faceted institution with an expanding staff and budget to supervise, of directing the re-configuring of the house system to provide more support for students, of the overhauling and modernizing of the curriculum, and, of course, of her beloved teaching.
Be that as it may, it was appreciated. These visits, it had to be admitted, were a balm for Minerva’s soul and a highlight of her week or even month, though she tried not to think of them that way. She also had precious few people these days that she could let loose and laugh with, who could follow her convoluted thoughts far enough to see the hilarity of a misplaced emphasis in a third level transfiguration spell and its absurd consequences, for example. Most interlocutors would require so much explanation of the underlying magic involved as to entirely ruin the joke. But somehow Hermione, with her quick wit, could follow, even though she had not dedicated the time to extensive masteries, as busy as she was with mastering politics. But she knew enough. And she was so quick. So very quick.
Ah yes. And then there had to be Molly’s stray remark this morning in the kitchen at the Burrow.
Molly was another refuge for Minerva. Minerva tried hard to make time for regular visits to Molly’s kitchen as well. She had known Molly even longer than Hermione, of course. It intrigued her to see the path that powerful witch had taken. Rarely had she seen someone as skilled at dueling and defense as Molly had been in her student days. Minerva would not have predicted back then how the Prewett girl would react to the murder of her brothers-- the new found commitment she had embraced, in response, to living in the present moment, to creating new life and building it, nurturing it, one baby at a time, which had turned her vast energy in a wholly unexpected direction.
Minerva might have been one of the few who was not at all surprised, though, that Belletrix Lestrange would meet her demise at the end of Molly’s wand, even as rusty as her fighting skills might have been by then. There was more than met the eye to that witch, well, most people’s eyes, but Minerva had never underestimated her, even though her power was of a kind that might escape the notice of many a wizard, especially.
Molly was a kind of glue for them all. After the war, she kept in touch with everyone from the Order, somehow, and probably held many confidences.
That was likely how Molly came to know that the, soon to be former, Minister had reshuffled her security detail, and was no longer keeping company with a certain tall, confident chief of security who had often been by her side while in office, and who Minerva had always suspected to have had a more than professional relationship with the Minister. Not that Minerva would ever have dreamed of asking Hermione, or anyone around her, about such things. Nor would she ever expect Hermione to broach such topics with her, regardless of how much their relationship had grown past the student / teacher and mentee/ mentor roles they had begun with.
Of course Hermione, as a politician, had to appear approachable-- down to earth even-- and to laugh and joke with the press and the public about the most mundane and seemingly personal matters. But Minerva knew that Hermione was really, like Minerva herself, a very reticent and private person where matters of the heart were concerned. Hermione had never asked Minerva any direct questions about her personal life, and Minerva felt it only right to repay her in kind.
It had clearly been necessary for Hermione’s public image for her to appear wholesomely engaged in a storybook relationship with one Ronald Weasley, and apparently Mr. Weasley, Merlin bless him, had been gamely willing to play along. Neither had ever explicitly stated publicly that the two friends were dating, but it had been assumed in the press to be the case, and neither of the friends had said anything to disabuse anyone of the notion, appearing together at many formal events, and responding coyly, or not at all, to pointed questions about the nature and future of their relationship.
The two war heroes had been allowed a surprising level of circumspection, perhaps in deference to their dramatic service to wizarding society, combined with the fact that everyone Thought they knew that a quiet romance was proceeding, slowly perhaps in deference to their professional responsibilities and ambitions, but respectably accounted for in any case.
Keen observers, however-- such as Minerva certainly was-- could hardly fail to notice that there was no heat in their interactions, not even the feuding and mutual irritation that had marked Hermione and Ron’s student days. Molly had seemed initially confused by it, but Minerva noticed that, after a short adjustment period, Molly had come to speak of Hermione wistfully, and perhaps with some concern, over how much she threw herself into her work and did not take time for herself or personal enjoyment.
And Minerva at least, occasionally observing at public events that both attended, could not fail to notice the gestures that existed between Hermione and her, it had to be admitted impressive, chief of security, that seemed a little more in sync than necessary-- the way their eyes sometimes found each other, or the way Hermione sometimes spoke with off hand warmth of her chief by her first name when discussing matters of schedule or of security.
Hermione always arrived at her meetings with Minerva unaccompanied, but sometimes, if she was travelling by flu, Minerva would see Chief Tanya in the background just before Hermione came through, which, while perfectly normal for a chief of security, she could only suppose, she occasionally thought she was witnessing something in their partings that was not entirely standard.
And on one occasion, when an international incident had occurred, causing a short term tightening of security around the Minister, Tanya and a second agent had arrived ostentatiously with Hermione to their regular meeting in Minerva’s office to escort the minister, sweep the surroundings, and stand guard on the perimeter. And Minerva couldn’t help but feel that she was being sized up with a tad more than professional suspicion and hostility by the Chief. It was enough to cause her to bristle, almost despite herself. Hermione only rolled her eyes and seemed irritated by the interaction, but they soon distracted themselves with tea and conversation, and Minerva wondered if she had been imagining the whole thing.
Now though, hearing Molly describe how Hermione seemed to be quite out of sorts around this current staffing change, and also hearing Molly’s observations that she hoped Hermione’s coming exit from the Ministry would allow the woman to finally put her own needs first, for once, Minerva wondered if Molly was privy to more, and what it meant that Molly was bringing up the matter now, albeit indirectly.
Had Molly noticed the same signs? Was she now hoping that Hermione would redirect her attentions towards one of the Weaselys, and become more officially part of the family? Or did she simply feel, as Minerva did, that whatever had been going on in brief gaps in the Minister's busy schedule with the person closest at hand had not ultimately been making Hermione happy or fulfilled, and hoped for something more for her? And why was she choosing to share anything about it with Minerva, of all people?
Minerva, certainly, hoped for something more for Hermione. Hermione was a very special woman who very much deserved more-- someone who could intellectually challenge her, equal her, support her. It would be hard to find an equal to her, surely, but did that mean it was too much to ask? Minerva’s appreciation for Hermione had only grown as she had come to know her better in recent years. And Minerva wanted to help her, in any way she could. But still, really, this was none of her business, not the sort of thing the two friends had ever discussed before.
And now here was Minerva's problem: Hermione was scheduled to arrive at her Hogwarts office for tea within moments, and Minerva was curious to see whether Molly’s observations about Hermione’s state of mind might be borne out. But if so, she was unsure whether she might try to raise the topic, or even why on earth she seemed to find herself wishing to do so? She cared a great deal about her friend, of course, but that did not mean that she had anything very helpful to offer to her. Merlin knows, she had her own regrets and difficulties to wrestle with, and perhaps not so much insight as one might wish for.
Sighing, she laid out the tea things, and of course the Ginger Newts, and as she bustled about she could not help but hear a sardonic voice from her past in the back of her mind, a caustic comment from Amelia that she would surely be making had she been able to be present on this earthly plane, about Minerva’s qualifications for advising in the department of intimate relationships. Something about “Pot, meet kettle”.
Minerva was mercifully interrupted from her contemplation by the flash of the flu, and a moment later, the Minister herself was striding through, brushing the cinders from her robes, brown eyes warmly seeking out her hostess, the Headmistress.