There was a soft knock on the door in Gryffindor tower and then it was opened so that Pomona Sprout was able to shuffle in, followed closely by the much shorter Filius Flitwick who, as usual, had to hurry to catch up.
A tall figure had barely taken the time to open the door before she was pacing again, up and down like a boat in a hurricane, her expression dangerously lopsided.
She looked to be close to a nervous breakdown.
"Oh dear", Pomona asserted drily, as she took in her friend's state, sending a silent message to the kitchens for a bottle of firewhiskey and three glasses, which magically appeared seconds later.
"Minerva", Flitwick squeaked, "are you all right?"
For the head of Ravenclaw house, which prided itself on wit and wisdom, it was a remarkably stupid question. Minerva directed a smoldering glare at her friend in lieu of an answer and kept on crossing the room like a caged tigress, her hands closing and opening.
"Minerva", Pomona said softly, "it'll be all right, you'll see."
"You don't know that", Minerva spat, a little too harshly, and regret flickered over her face as soon as the words were out.
The herbology teacher didn't take offense. She knew her friend was in a delicate state.
"Of course I know that", she protested, her voice mild and calming, "Filius does, too."
"Oh really", Minerva snapped, "how?"
A small smile played around the corners of Flitwick's beard. "Anyone who has seen the two of you together could not harbour the tiniest doubt that she will say yes."
Minerva directed one last, long, hard look at him, and then collapsed in the nearest chair, a puddle of exhausted desperation.
Sprout quickly hurried over, pouring firewhiskey into the glasses - singles for herself and Flitwick, a double for Minerva - and handed them to her friends.
"What if she says no", Minerva whispered, looking at her friends with a wet shimmer from behind square glasses.
"Nonsense", Flitwick insisted, "she's waiting for this, we promise."
"What if it's too fast", Minerva wondered, to which Sprout replied loudly, "it's been three years!"
Minerva took a big sip of her drink, before asking, "what if I'm too old?"
"You're never too old for love!", Flitwick asserted, with such vehemence and conviction that it illicited a chuckle from the nervous wreck before them.
"Really, dear", Pomona chided, sitting down on the arm of Minerva's seat so that the piece of furniture tilted dangerously to one side and patting her friend's shoulder affectionately, "I really don't get what all the fuss is about. It's not like you're getting married for the first time!"
She was right, of course. Minerva had been married, to a wonderful husband, who had passed away far too soon. She had thought she would never find love again.
But one journey to bisexuality later, here she was. Still hitting the bumps in the road over dating a former student.
Attempting a weak smile, Minerva offered, "I wasn't the one to propose back then. All I had to do was say yes."
"The muggles are calling it feminism!", Sprout informed her, who was well attuned to such matters, "So you can do anything a man can!"
"Sometimes I wonder", Minerva started, stopped, and took a deep, shaking breath before continuing, "if she shouldn't rather have dated young Mr. Weasley. Someone her age. Someone appropriate."
"She doesn't want Mr. Weasley", Flitwick said softly, "she wants you."
A moment passed as they all looked at each other, then Sprout raised her glass and said, "to love!"
"To love!", the others echoed, each downing their drink.
"And now come on!", Sprout commanded, giving her friend a playful little push. "You're the head of house of Gryffindor! Where dwell the brave of heart! You're not going to chicken out now, are you?"
Not regarding Pomona, Minerva locked eyes with Flitwick, and hoarsely whispered, "is it too late to switch yet?"
Flitwick gave her a small smile and offered, "even wisdom demands that the two of you should be together."
Lights began to glow over the black lake as a familiar figure approached, a thousand lanterns being lit and beginning to rise.
Voices under water started up a gentle melody, hopeful, romantic, and Minerva stood and died a thousand deaths as her lover approached.
"Minerva", Hermione gasped, looking around with eyes wide with wonder, "it's beautiful!"
Minerva nodded but barely registered her surroundings anymore. Her breath had been taken away by Hermione in a light summer dress, her heart beating hard in her chest like it meant to escape its cage and physically leap into Hermione's hands. Where it resided, anyways.
"Hermione", Minerva greeted her, melting into the kiss Hermione bestowed on her, the younger witch standing on tip toes and wrapping her arms around Minerva's neck.
"Is this all for me?", Hermione asked, with a brilliant smile lighting her features.
Minerva's heart stuttered so abruptly she could all but nod. "Yes", she whispered softly, and pulled Hermione closer.
The summer evening breeze was playing all around them, as the many spells and enchantments Minerva and Filius had prepared unfolded their beauty, amplified by the sweet smelling and luminous flowers Pomona had provided.
With a small, amused quirk to her lips, Hermione asked, "is this a special occasion?"
Minerva looked at her and held Hermione at arm's length, nodding slowly and gathering all her courage to say "yes. Hermione, I ... I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
There. She'd said it. Only not quite, professor, a voice that reminded her of Albus chided, and so Minerva took a deep breath and slowly sunk down onto one knee.
She had never felt as vulnerable as when she asked, "Hermione Jean Granger. Will you marry me?"
Hermione's face was one of absolute shock. Minerva's heart began to sink for a terrible second before Hermione burst out, "yes! Yes! Of course I'll marry you!!!"
Tears of joy sprang down Minerva's cheek, which were suddenly hidden under a wild mane of extremely bushy, brunette hair, as Hermione flung her arms around the older witch and began kissing her all over.
"I love you!", Hermione told her, and Minerva breathlessly, needlessly replied, "I love you too."
They looked at each other with sheer joy and incredulity, kissing over and over, swept away in the moment and a lifetime of possibilities together.
"I'll wake up with you every morning", Minerva whispered, not believing her own luck, and Hermione replied, "and I'll wake up the happiest girl in the world."
They clung to each other for several more long moments, Hermione squealing and Minerva still crying just a little, until Hermione helped her lover up and firmly clasped her hand.
"Any plans for the rest of the evening?", she asked merrily, as they started to stroll around the lake.
"No, dear", Minerva told her, "just you."
Hermione beamed, and asked, "we'll tell the others tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow", Minerva confirmed, "but I do have a ring." She winked at Hermione, confident again that the woman she loved had agreed to marry her.
Hermione was immediately excited again, begging Minerva to show her.
Minerva brought forth a deep red velvet box and slipped the elegant, slim golden band onto Hermione's finger, before entwining her digits with Hermione's again.
The golden band jingled like a promise between them.
The promise of a long, happy life.