Chapter 2

By: HPRairPairsOnly

The moment seemed to stretch, suspended in the charged air between them. Minerva's hand hovered near Hermione's cheek, her fingers trembling as if caught between desire and restraint. Hermione felt frozen, her breath shallow, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure Minerva could hear it. The connection between them hummed, a deep, thrumming force that seemed to pulse in time with their quickening heartbeats.

For a fraction of a second, the space between them vanished.

Hermione didn't know who moved first—whether it was Minerva, or her, or the magic itself pulling them together—but suddenly, their lips met. It was soft at first, tentative, a brush of warmth and confusion, but then it deepened. The kiss was electric, fueled by the magic swirling between them, by the suppressed emotions neither had allowed themselves to acknowledge. Hermione's hands moved almost instinctively, gripping the front of Minerva's robes, pulling her closer.

But just as quickly as the kiss began, it was over.

Minerva ripped herself away with such force that Hermione nearly stumbled back. Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as she stared at Hermione, eyes wide, her chest rising and falling as if she had just run a marathon.

"No," Minerva snapped, her voice sharp and trembling, filled with a kind of panicked anger. "No, this isn't—this can't—" She cut herself off, pressing a trembling hand to her forehead as if trying to regain control.

Hermione stood frozen, her lips still tingling from the kiss, her mind reeling. She wanted to say something, to reach out and reassure Minerva, to tell her that it was okay, that it wasn't just the magic, but something more. But the words wouldn't come.

Minerva turned away from her, shoulders tense, her back rigid as if she were trying to build a wall between them, to regain the control she had momentarily lost. "You need to leave," she said, her voice low and filled with something Hermione couldn't quite place—fear, perhaps, or maybe regret. "Go to your quarters, now."

"Minerva, I—"

"Go!" The word cracked through the room like a whip. Minerva's tone was cold, almost savage, and Hermione recoiled, her heart aching at the distance that had suddenly opened up between them. The magic that had bound them together was still there, but now it felt jagged, painful, as if the very force that had drawn them close was now tearing them apart.

Without another word, Hermione turned and left the office, her steps quick and uneven as she tried to process what had just happened. The door closed behind her with a dull thud, and she found herself standing alone in the corridor, her mind swirling with confusion, hurt, and that undeniable tug of magic still connecting her to the woman inside.

The portraits along the walls seemed to wake as soon as the tension in the air shifted. Hermione could hear the murmur of voices, low whispers that grew louder as she passed by. They had seen everything, or at least sensed it. Hogwarts portraits were rarely oblivious to the emotions that echoed through its halls.

"Well, that was a spectacle," one of the portraits, a regal-looking witch, remarked with a sly smile. "Not the first time I've seen students getting far too close to teachers in that room, though I must say—"

Hermione ignored the comment, her cheeks flushing hot with embarrassment and frustration, but the whispers continued. The pull in her chest grew stronger, a tight, painful pressure that made her wince with every step she took away from Minerva. The farther she moved, the worse it became. It was as if the magic was physically resisting the distance, stretching painfully like a taut string on the verge of snapping.

"Poor girl," another portrait murmured, sounding more sympathetic. "That connection must be excruciating. She won't be able to stay far for long."

Hermione gritted her teeth, willing herself to keep moving, even though every fiber of her being wanted to turn around, to go back to Minerva's office and demand an explanation. But Minerva had made herself clear. The kiss, the connection—it had shaken her deeply, and Hermione wasn't sure how to navigate the storm of emotions that now roiled inside her.

When she reached her quarters, the pain had dulled into a low throb, constant but bearable. Hermione shut the door behind her, leaning heavily against it as she tried to catch her breath. She could still feel Minerva, the presence of her magic entwined with hers, like a ghostly touch lingering at the edges of her senses. It wasn't something she could ignore, no matter how much she tried.

Inside her office, Minerva stood frozen, her hand still trembling as she reached for the decanter of Firewhisky on her desk. She poured herself a glass, the liquid sloshing slightly from the unsteadiness of her grip, and drank deeply. The burn of the alcohol did nothing to calm her frayed nerves.

What had she done? The kiss—that kiss—had been a mistake. Minerva pressed a hand to her mouth, her heart pounding with a fierce, almost painful intensity. She had crossed a line, not just as Hermione's mentor, but as the headmistress of this school. This wasn't just about desire. It was about power, about responsibility, and she had let herself be swept away by a moment of weakness.

The thought of what had happened made her stomach twist with guilt and fear. Hermione had looked at her with such trust, such openness, and she had responded with... Merlin, what had she done?

She slammed the empty glass down on the desk, her hand trembling again. This was why she had always kept her distance. Why she had maintained the boundaries between them, even when Hermione had become more than just a former student. Because the risk was too great. The emotions too complicated.

She was an adult, an experienced witch who had lived through more than most. Hermione was young, brilliant, yes, but still learning, still figuring out who she was. And Minerva had no right—no right at all—to let things progress in the way they had.

Her thoughts were a whirlwind of self-recrimination when a sudden voice broke through the chaos. "Well, that escalated quickly, didn't it?"

Minerva's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as she searched for the source of the voice. One of the portraits, a wizard with a pointed beard and a smug expression, was watching her with a raised eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Quite the display," he continued, his tone laced with sarcasm. "I've seen professors lose their composure before, but this? Impressive, really."

The pain in Minerva's chest twisted into something sharper, more dangerous. She could feel the rage rising within her, fueled by the unbearable tension still thrumming through her connection with Hermione, the guilt gnawing at her insides. Her hand clenched around the edge of her desk as she glared at the portrait.

"I suggest," Minerva said, her voice low and deadly, "that you choose your words carefully."

The portrait raised its hands in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face. "Oh, don't mind me, Headmistress. I'm just here to observe. Quite the interesting turn of events, don't you think? Though, perhaps you might want to—"

Before he could finish, Minerva crossed the room in a flash, her wand pointed directly at him, eyes blazing. The air around her crackled with barely contained magic, the tension between her and Hermione only heightening her fury.

Hermione woke with a groan, her body stiff and aching as though she'd been hexed in her sleep. The weight of the night before crashed over her in an instant, dragging her down before she could fully grasp where she was. The bed beneath her felt too firm, too cold, and her mind struggled to recall when she had fallen asleep at all.

She rubbed a hand over her face, blinking against the pale morning light filtering in through the narrow window of her quarters. The ache in her limbs wasn't fading, and a sudden wave of nausea rolled through her, leaving her feeling queasy and unsettled. She pushed herself upright, swallowing hard to stave off the feeling of sickness, but it lingered like a persistent, gnawing discomfort.

The room seemed off—everything about it felt wrong, like her body was rejecting it in some visceral way. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as the motion sent sharp pangs through her muscles. Her mind, still foggy from sleep, fumbled to make sense of it all, but one thought kept resurfacing, pulling her back with an unrelenting force.

Minerva.

Hermione pressed her hands to her temples, willing herself to push the thought away, but it was impossible. The connection from the previous night, the magic that had bound them together, was still there, thrumming in the background like a distant pulse. She could feel it, faint but constant, tugging at her even now.

And with it came the realization: the farther she had moved from Minerva, the worse she had felt.

The thought left her breathless for a moment, her heart pounding as the implications sank in. The spell hadn't just linked them in some abstract way—it had created a tangible, physical bond. One that was reacting violently to the distance between them.

She needed to see Minerva. There was no other option.

Hermione stood, her knees wobbling as she took a tentative step forward. Her body protested with each movement, but she pushed through the pain, her mind focused on one goal. As she left her quarters, moving down the corridor toward Minerva's office, the nausea and the aches slowly began to ebb away. The closer she got, the easier it became to breathe, the tightness in her chest easing with every step.

By the time she reached the door to the headmistress's office, she felt almost normal again, though her heart raced with nerves at the thought of facing Minerva after what had happened the night before. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, her fingers trembling slightly. She hesitated, unsure of what she would find on the other side—unsure of how Minerva would react to seeing her again.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione knocked softly.

There was no answer.

She knocked again, louder this time, her anxiety building as the seconds ticked by in silence. Finally, she grasped the doorknob and twisted it, finding the door unlocked. Hermione pushed it open, stepping inside cautiously.

The office was dimly lit, the morning light barely reaching the far corners of the room. Minerva's desk was cluttered with parchments and books, but the woman herself was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione's gaze drifted toward the corner, where a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky sat on the small table near the armchair. The sight of it made her stomach twist with guilt. She knew Minerva had been drinking last night—likely more than she should have.

She stepped farther into the room, the air thick with the remnants of whatever tension had hung between them the night before. The pull was stronger here, more immediate, like a thread wrapping tightly around her chest, drawing her closer to the source of the magic.

And then she heard it—a faint noise, a rustling from the adjoining room.

Hermione hesitated, her heart thudding loudly in her ears, before slowly making her way toward the door that led to Minerva's private quarters. She raised her hand to knock, but before she could, the door opened, and there stood Minerva, her face pale and drawn, eyes bloodshot as though she hadn't slept at all.

The connection between them surged the moment their eyes met, the magic buzzing almost painfully in the air. Hermione could see the weariness in Minerva's expression, the way her hand still trembled as she gripped the doorframe for support.

"Minerva," Hermione said softly, her voice catching in her throat. "I—"

"You shouldn't be here," Minerva cut her off, her tone harsh but brittle, as though she were barely holding herself together. "This... connection—it's dangerous. You need to stay away."

Hermione stepped forward, ignoring the warning, her own emotions in turmoil. "I can't. I feel worse when I'm away from you. The farther I get, the more it hurts. This spell, it's done something to us, something neither of us can control."

Minerva's jaw clenched, her eyes flicking away from Hermione as if she couldn't bear to look at her. "That's precisely why you need to keep your distance. It's already gone too far, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head, frustration bubbling up inside her. "We can't ignore this. We need to figure out how to break the connection, but avoiding it isn't going to help." She hesitated, her voice softening. "We need to talk about what happened last night."

For a moment, Minerva said nothing, her face a mask of controlled emotions. But the flicker of something—fear, guilt, regret—passed over her expression, and she sighed, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all was too much to carry.

"I crossed a line," Minerva said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I never should have let it happen."

Hermione's heart twisted painfully at the words, but she forced herself to stay calm. "It wasn't just you. It was the magic... and me. I wanted—" She stopped herself, unsure of how much to reveal, unsure of whether Minerva even wanted to hear the truth.

Minerva looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing as if to warn Hermione not to finish that sentence. "It was a mistake," she said firmly, though her voice wavered just enough to betray the uncertainty beneath. "One that I won't let happen again."

Hermione swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. "But—"

"No, Hermione," Minerva interrupted, her tone more forceful this time. "Whatever this is, whatever you think it might become, it can't. I am your mentor, your superior, and we cannot—we will not—allow this to continue."

The words stung, cutting deep, but Hermione knew there was no arguing with Minerva when she was like this—stern, unyielding, and wrapped in the rigid sense of duty that had defined her life.

But that didn't change the fact that the magic between them still buzzed in the air, still bound them together in a way that neither could deny. Hermione could feel it—could sense that Minerva felt it too, despite her attempts to push it away.

"Then what do we do?" Hermione asked softly, her voice laced with quiet desperation.

This work is in large part thanks to a writing group I am part of that keeps me to a calendar of posting and betas my work. Please feel free to check out their website and learn more about them. I post chapters a day early there/two chapters ahead - https://fictioneers.thinkific.com/pages/blog

Otherwise updated weekly here.

Kinktober is coming up. I have 31 days of kinky smut to write. Any prompt/kink you want to see included for Hermione/Minerva or other pairings?

Next Chapter Preview:

"Hermione," Minerva said sharply, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the corridor. Hermione turned, startled, her eyes widening as she saw Minerva bearing down on her.

"Minerva, I—" Hermione started, but Minerva cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"What were you thinking?" Minerva hissed, her voice low but filled with barely contained anger. "You're making this worse by wandering off like that. I could feel the bond straining the moment you left."

Hermione's face flushed, her guilt evident, but she stood her ground. "I wasn't— I didn't mean to. I was trying to—" She faltered, unsure how to explain the pull that had led her to Minerva's office without making it seem like an act of desperation.

Minerva took a deep breath, reigning in her frustration as best she could. She could see the pain in Hermione's eyes, the same pain she felt gnawing at her own insides. The magic had bound them together in ways they hadn't anticipated, and trying to resist it was only making things worse.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said softly, her voice trembling. "I didn't know what else to do."

Minerva's anger faltered, and she sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as the weight of the situation pressed down on her. She glanced around the corridor, making sure no one else was nearby before lowering her voice.

"We can't keep doing this," Minerva said, her tone softening but still firm. "The magic is too strong. The farther apart we are, the worse it will become."