*waves* Hello. It's been awhile. I'm not dead. I am trying to get back in the saddle here, and after a bit of friendly pressure from an old friend, I was inspired this evening to write a oneshot. Of course, me being me... it's not a oneshot. It's totally not a oneshot. This is a chapter one. I will update soon. Happy reading.

"Hi," Hermione Granger said dumbly to her former Professor, and former something never quite so defined. It had been ten years since she'd last seen Minerva McGonagall, although the woman hadn't aged a day. "How are you, Minerva?"

The older witch smiled softly as they hugged tightly, and then pulled apart. "I'm well. You look good, Hermione."

"Me?" she sputtered. "You look incredible."

A blush colored Hermione's cheeks, and Minerva's, as both women silently remembered what had been their post-war rise and fall. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had been free to admit one more thing that set her apart - that she was gay - and Minerva was free to finally grieve the loss of her husband, Albus. While entirely different journeys to be on, it seemed to draw the two of them together, and they established a pattern of having dinner together weekly.

That went on for a year before several things happened all at once. First, Hermione realized that she was attracted to Minerva. Second, the platonic flirting that had existed between them stopped being platonic. Third, Minerva seemed not to be all that opposed to the attention Hermione was giving her.

Until she was.

The dinners stopped after an awkward conversation about so-called misplaced affection and misread signals which Hermione still felt was less an issue of truth and more an issue of Minerva being scared shitless of what she was feeling. Still, she'd respected the older woman's position, and backed off completely. Then, she'd intended to just give her some time and then try to reach out again, but life had happened, and here she was ten years later, running into the woman at random in Diagon Alley.

And of course, the first damn thing she did was flirt with Minerva.

"Well, it was nice seeing you," Minerva finally said, clearly attempting to run away from the awkward situation. "Take care."

Hermione reached out and grabbed her hand before Minerva had managed two steps. "Minerva, wait. Please. I'm sorry."

"For what?" the older woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

The gesture made Hermione feel like she was back at Hogwarts, and she let out a soft chuckle. "Don't give me the Professor look, Min. I'm sorry for coming on so strong," Hermione replied. "Look, given our history, it's pretty pointless for me to try and suggest that I see you in a strictly platonic manner. I don't. I think you're a beautiful, intelligent, intriguing woman, and I'd like to get to know you better. Ten years is a long time. I'm not that insecure little girl anymore, so I'm just going to flat out ask. Minerva, could I interest you in a proper date?"

Hermione took it as a promising sign that, while Minerva was staring at her like a deer in the headlights, she had not let go of her hand. "Date? As in… date?"

"Yes. As in I am expressing romantic interest in you, if you require me to be completely clear."

Minerva looked conflicted. "I was certain that what you obviously felt back then was just grasping for comfort in the aftermath of the war. That it would be short-lived, and meant nothing. That it was a physical thing primarily, and for what little emotional element there was, it was unhealthy."

"If that's what it was then, it's not that now," Hermione replied. "I'm not claiming to be in love with you, Minerva. I'm claiming interest and attraction. I'd be claiming the same if I knew nothing about you except that you were Head of Hogwarts. I'm drawn to intelligence, and as a teacher, I'd assume you'd be reasonably intelligent. And you are beautiful."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "You need glasses."

"Albus had glasses and he thought the same," Hermione countered.

The older woman sighed. "Hermione, you're one of the few who even knows about Albus and me. Thank you, by the way, for keeping that to yourself all these years. I worried that after I pushed you away, you'd feel hurt and tell my secret in retribution."

Hermione pulled Minerva away from the front of the bookshop where they'd bumped into one another, across the street to a small café that had outdoor seating. They were obviously going to talk for at least a little while, and they were blocking foot traffic where they were. Sitting down and asking for a tea service, Hermione addressed Minerva's point. "Given what I did to Rita Skeeter during the war, that's fair. I can be a bit petty. I loved you, though. Then, and now. I love you, Minerva. That's never changed. It's just been an issue of how I love you that may be changing. And perhaps, how deeply."

"I never wanted to hurt you," the older witch admitted, "but on top of my concerns for your welfare - gods Hermione, I was your Professor! How could I not think of your interests first? - I was also feeling things I'd not felt for anyone except Albus in a very long time. It scared me."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "I figured as much. What about now? How about that date?"

Minerva took a deep breath. "I've never been with a woman."

Hermione smirked. "Trust me. You'll catch on quickly."

The older woman pursed her lips. "I have extensive reservations. I was your teacher. Our age difference. Our respective public images. Our respective careers. The fact that I know absolutely nothing about what you've been doing for the last decade."

"I have reservations as well," Hermione admitted. "Notably about how you'll react to certain things that I've been up to for the last decade. I am asking that you trust me, and don't start drilling me until the second date. I need you to give us a chance."

Hermione hadn't more clearly seen the Headmistress expression on Minerva's face until that particular moment. Suspicion was there, loud and clear, and she supposed it should be after a statement like that. "Very well," came a crisp reply. "I suppose in that case I'm agreeing to two dates, as true to the nature of my Animagus form, the curiosity of what exactly you're hiding will otherwise surely kill me. If I haven't got permission to drill you for answers until the second date…"

The younger woman grinned victoriously. "I thought you might see it my way."

"Are you certain you weren't considered for Slytherin House?" Minerva asked teasingly.

It was an old joke, and it brought Hermione back to the wonderful year of dinners they'd shared. For all of Hermione's Gryffindor qualities, it had become a known fact that if there was any cunning to be had in the Golden Trio, it was going to come out of Hermione. The fact that she was Muggleborn was a great irony that Harry, Ron, and later Minerva took great pleasure in getting a laugh over. Hermione's customary response to their occasional jab at her more sneaky side, however, was always the same. "Don't be nasty, Minerva," she replied with a grin.

Minerva McGonagall really couldn't say how, at seventy-four years old, she found herself going on a first date. Granted, she supposed she and Hermione had gone on their first date a decade ago, as well as a second, third, and many thereafter. They'd been dating for nearly a year before they'd realized it, and while Hermione had taken that realization with grace, Minerva had panicked. In many ways, she supposed this was them getting back together, although it still felt like completely uncharted territory. Granted, as they'd never explored physical intimacy previously, it was uncharted.

The older woman gulped as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. They were meeting in Muggle London this evening for the sake of privacy, so she was dressed in Muggle clothes. Blue jeans hugged her arse like a second skin, and a scoop neck, loose peasant blouse clung to her slender frame nicely, the cream colored satin blend heavy enough to look weighted down instead of billowed. Black boots and simple, silver jewelry was enough to complete the outfit. Minerva was up to date on Muggle fashion, quite unlike her late husband, but she wasn't the sort to over do it and be extravagant. She looked nice, and she looked like a woman who meant to be sexually appealing, and it completely baffled her that she was meaning to be sexually appealing to another woman.

Her father was probably rolling in his grave. The daughter of a Minister? On a date with another woman? Hellfire and brimstone! She could just imagine his face contorted with rage, were he alive to see her now. She almost hated herself for thinking it, but she thanked Merlin he was already dead.

Albus, on the other hand, was likely having a laugh in the great beyond. He'd been bisexual, so being attracted to both sexes was quite normal as far as he was concerned, and were he alive to see it he'd probably consider Hermione Granger to be a good match for her, gender be damned. Still, it unnerved Minerva how her heart sped up at the mere memory of the night she'd known - she'd known - she was in too deep. It had been the night she decided to end things, ten years prior.

They'd had wine with dinner that night, and things had gotten flirty as usual. They'd started talking about the war and Fred Weasley had come up, and they'd begun swapping stories of the pranks he'd pulled at school. His pranks had led to conversation about the Marauders, and about James Potter, which had led the conversation back to Harry and his antics. Minerva, rather tipsy, had gone on a bit of a rant about how much she'd wanted to give Harry Potter a piece of her mind for all the trouble he'd gotten himself into at school, but Albus had never let her. Since he was dead, she'd decided that she was going to march on over to Grimmauld Place and give Harry a piece of her mind right then and there.

She'd grabbed her wand, stood up and started out the front door and toward the Apparition point. She'd made it nearly there before Hermione had caught up with her, grabbing her wand with one hand and then slipping her arm around Minerva's waist from behind the older witch. "You'll splinch yourself, Min," Hermione had whispered into her ear. "You can hex Harry another time. Stay with me now."

Yes, Minerva thought with a shudder. The very memory was arousing. It had been the first, and the last time since, Hermione had dared touch her so intimately. There had been touches of arms, or bumping of legs, or even a quick touch to the small of the back if one of them were guiding the other toward some destination. Of course, there were hugs hello and goodbye, but in those instances, for however prolonged the contact, the hands remained above the elbows. That evening, Hermione's fingers were on her abdomen, her lips were nearly on Minerva's neck, and admittedly, the older woman could guiltily recall her rather tipsy urge to thrust her hips back into Hermione's embrace. There was sexual chemistry. There was a lot of sexual chemistry.

That had and still did scare the shite out of Minerva. Ten years ago, she'd let that fear rule her. This time, she wouldn't. This time, she was going to call it what it was. This time, she was going to date Hermione Granger, and if they happened to end up shagging and she happened to enjoy the hell out of it, then so bloody be it. She'd work it out with her conscience later.

Hermione wasn't sure if she could remember a time she'd been so nervous. Her first date with Minerva had gone splendidly. It had been as easy to talk to the older witch as it had been all those years ago, and this time, when they flirted, it was intentional, and they both knew what it implied. As much as Minerva had been clearly giving the green light that evening, a week ago, to kiss her goodnight, and as very much as Hermione had wanted to oblige, she'd held off. She knew that tonight's date would make or break things. There was something that Hermione had managed to keep off the public radar in the course of the last ten years, and if Minerva couldn't accept it as part of the package that was a relationship with her, then there was no point in investing any further. She hadn't wanted to kiss Minerva once only to lose her.

Harry hadn't been thrilled when she'd told him she was going to tell Minerva.

"You've no right!" he'd snapped.

"I have every right, Harry!" Hermione had countered. "I realize you've got a lot on the line here, and it's not just my secret, but I am not going to start a relationship with that kind of secret standing between us. If it were just some random, new relationship I'd not be even considering this, Harry, but it's Minerva!"

He'd let out a ragged sigh, and nodded. "You're in love with her, aren't you? You've always been."

"Not yet," she said wistfully. "But I know damn well that's only because I haven't let myself fall. The moment I open up to her… there will be no going back, and I expect it will be the same for her. Which is why I have to start this right. Honest. If it goes badly, I trust her to be discreet. I didn't betray her trust regarding Albus, and I expect she would do the same regarding…"

Harry chuckled. "There's irony."

"Hermione!"

Minerva was coming toward her, and she shook her head and forced herself to focus on the woman in front of her, and not the wizard she'd been by to see earlier. "Minerva, hello."

The two quickly found a booth at the Muggle diner they'd agreed to meet at. Hermione much prefered meeting in the Muggle world. The privacy it offered was beyond wonderful, and she had to admit, seeing Minerva in tight blue jeans was quickly becoming a favorite activity. Damn.

"So. The curiosity has been effectively killing me for two weeks," Minerva admitted. "You have my renewed attention, affection, and blast it all I'll admit it, I'm attracted to you. Still, you act like whatever it is you're hiding is going to make me run. I've seen a good deal, and been through a lot of crazy, my dear. Not much is too off-putting to me. You asked me to trust you, and give us a chance. I have. Now trust me. Trust that I won't run. What are you hiding?"

Hermione had always loved Minerva's bluntness. It was a characteristic that her younger self had striven to emulate, and at this point in her life, she could be accused of having the same trait. Still, what she was hiding required a bit of context, so she began with a question. "How much have you kept up with Harry over the years?" she asked. "How much do you know about his family?"

Minerva cocked her head to the side, clearly wondering what this had to do with anything, but trusting a connection would be made. "I know he's been raising Remus' boy, who is at Hogwarts now, and that he and Ginny have had three children of their own. I'm afraid I don't recall names or ages. Harry has been rather insistent on keeping his children out of the public eye."

The younger woman nodded. "Harry and Ginny are indeed raising Teddy Lupin. He's twelve. Harry and Ginny have a son - James, who is five, and a daughter - Lily, who just turned a year old."

"Harry and Ginny aren't particularly imaginative, are they?" Minerva jibed. "All due respect to his parents, mind you."

Hermione chuckled. "If you tell Harry I said I agree with you, I'll hex you into next week."

"What of Harry and Ginny's third child?" Minerva pressed.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Harry has a third child. Ginny does not, though the public believes otherwise and will continue to do so. Four years ago, Harry and I had an emotionally charged, drunken encounter. It resulted in a pregnancy. Ginny, while obviously unhappy about it on a number of fronts, agreed to help us hide it. If the public found out, Harry's image would have been shattered, not to mention mine. Their marriage would have been made a public mockery, whether they remained together or broke up. It was a disaster in the making. Logically, terminating the pregnancy would have been the smart thing to do, but neither Harry nor I could bring ourselves to make that decision."

At this point, Hermione managed to force herself to look up from her hands and at Minerva. She'd been expecting a horrified, disgusted expression, but she found one of compassion and understanding instead. "Go on," Minerva whispered.

"We used charms to make it appear that Ginny was pregnant, and I was not, if either of us needed to be seen in public, and I lived with them for the next year - for the course of the pregnancy and for three months following the birth for a bit of recovery and transition time. Ginny couldn't bring herself take my child away immediately, even if we all knew that in the end, I couldn't be a part of his life day to day. I'd be named godmother so I would have a reason to be in his life fairly actively, and if anything ever happened to them, I'd get custody with no questions asked. He's a big part of my life, Minerva, so if we're going to see each other, you need to understand he is a part of that. I could have just introduced you to him as my godson, but I wanted to be honest with you. I didn't want to start this relationship without being honest about why he is so important to me."

Minerva nodded. "I still don't know his name."

"His name is Albus," Hermione said with a smile. "Albus Severus Potter."

Minerva looked like she was about to cry. "Whose idea was that?"

"Once Harry and I knew we were keeping the baby, and we knew it was going to be a boy… he knows how I feel about you, and Dumbledore told him about the two of you, so it seemed right to both of us. As for the middle name, we both felt like Snape deserved to be honored and knew damn well that not many others would even consider naming their children for him," she explained. "So there you have it."

"There I have it," Minerva said with a nod. "You have a son you cannot claim and is being raised to believe he's merely your godson."

Hermione studied the older woman, who looked completely relaxed. "You're not running."

"Hardly!" Minerva laughed.

"I expected you to run."

"Do you want me to run?"

"No!" Hermione yelped. "Of course not!"

"Then stop whinging and drink your tea," the older witch ordered.

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