Tick. Tock.
A/N: This... weird? unpolished?... little tale was written for several challenges on the Diagon Alley II forum. I promise you, the concept sounded a lot better in my head, but well, here we are. I've wanted to explore the dynamic between Minerva and her first fiance, Dougal McGregor, and though I couldn't capture their emotions too much in this, I've always found it so sad that she gave him up.
Nevertheless, thank you for reading and please don't mind the SPaG (I'll get it beta'd when I can) :)
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Minerva drummed her fingers on the kitchen table, trying with little success to drown out the sound of the clock ticking. She was perfectly aware that time was slipping away from her; that it had been fifty-eight hours, twenty-six minutes and forty-two seconds since she had turned down Dougal. That each tick signified the two hours, nine minutes and fifty-two seconds that she had been waiting for him to see her, to allow her to explain why she couldn't be with him… at least not in the way he—or she—hoped.
Sighing, Minerva stopped drumming her fingers, unable to look at the ringless finger on her left hand. It didn't matter what either of them wanted now, it would never work. She was a witch, he was normal, and she certainly wouldn't put him through anything her parents had gone through. Pushing out her chair, she made her way over to the sink and filled up the kettle.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Dougal stared at the clock on the mantle, not really seeing the little golden hand moving around. His mind was elsewhere, replaying over and over again the events of three days previous. Replaying the moment when his pretty brunette had taken his hand and told him to sit down, how she then placed the ruby ring he had given her in his hand, telling him that, as sorry as she was, they were not meant to be.
Even now, the metal of the ring was cold on his skin as he held onto it, not ready to let go.
"Dougal, shouldn't you get going, now? You don't want to be late," his mother said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Tearing his eyes from the clock, he sighed and stood up. Placing the ring in his pocket and crossing the living room, he headed up the stairs to his room. His mother was right; if he didn't leave now, he would definitely be late, and all his plans for the future would be ruined for good.
Hsssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Minerva picked up the kettle, silencing the whistle it made to signal it was ready. At least one of them was ready, she thought bitterly, noticing yet again how bare her finger looked as she held the kettle. Ever since she was a little girl, she had always hoped that it would be donned with a golden ring, bought by the one she would call her husband. Up until the other day, her dream had come true, a gorgeous red ruby—her favourite stone—adorning her finger. Up until the other day, she had had a ring and a fiance who knew more about her than she realised.
Trying to block out Dougal's face when she had returned the ring and shattered the dream, Minerva poured herself another cup of chamomile tea. Her eyes peered out the kitchen window into the dark night, watching the tall trees swaying in the wind. The wind had picked up within the last half hour, stirring everything outside, from the thin wire fence to the pale yellow grass her father had yet to mow. Any other night and she would have found such weather soothing; tonight, however, she could only see the danger in it.
Where was Dougal? Was he on his way? Had he been caught up in the strong gale, or perhaps held back by something he had to fix on the farm? The thoughts blew around her mind like the wind, becoming more and more difficult to ignore.
Putting down her cup with a little more force than intended, Minerva turned from the window. No, Dougal would be fine, and better still, she would see him soon.
Hsssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Dougal stared up at the sky, marvelling at the way the stars managed to twinkle so brightly despite the clouds threatening to cover up their beauty. If he wasn't in such a hurry, he probably would've spent the entire evening staring at them, wishing he could capture one. Ever since he was little, he dreamed of spending each summer night under the stars, planning to do so even if he got married. He would bring his wife—and later on, their children—out with him, and together they would name each star before the navy sky transformed into a watercolour painting of maroon, scarlet, and orange. They would do so until he and his wife were both old, spending nights having picnics and dancing away.
Shaking his head, Dougal dragged his gaze away from the stars and looked around the farm. Of course, his dream of raising a family here now seemed highly unlikely, as did anything he dreamed of doing with a family of his own.
Almost as though it sense his mood, the wind picked up, causing him to pull his jacket tighter around him and reminding him that there was no point dwelling on his loss. It would be best if he went on his way, and with one, last deep breath of the fresh air, Dougal made his way down the driveway.
Honkkkkkkkkkkkkk!
Minerva jumped up, hearing the sound of a pick-up truck horn blaring outside. Not many people in the town drove cars or small trucks, save for the farmers who, once in a blue moon, drove around their expansive paddocks and the local businessmen who often visited the city for months at a time. Living just up the road, Dougal normally had no cause to drive to her place, preferring the outdoors and a good walk to the noise of the cars. Given the wild weather, however, Minerva knew in her heart that it was Dougal outside, announcing his presence.
He was here; he was ready to forgive her.
Running to the front door, Minerva took just a moment to smooth down her dress before opening it.
Honkkkkkkkkkkkkk!
Dougal ran down the remainder of the driveway, hearing his father blast the pick-up truck's horn. The wind whipped his fair hair about his face as he opened the door, taking just a moment to throw his rucksack into the back tray. Hopping in, he shut the door and grinned at his father.
"Thanks, dad, you're a lifesaver."
His father grinned at him, though Dougal thought he could detect some sadness within his brown eyes. "Aye, are you all set then?" his father asked, fiddling with the gearstick.
Turning his head to look down the long dirt road, Dougal focused on the little house a hundred or so metres away. Small, golden squares could be seen around it—lights signalling that Minerva was still up and waiting for him. It made the house look inviting, and as he continued to survey it for a moment longer, Dougal's hand moved into his pocket, searching for the ring hidden inside.
Swallowing, he nodded. "Yes, let's go."
Wooooot hoooo. Wooooot hoooo.
Minerva looked around the front yard, certain that Dougal would have been standing there. She tried to ignore the way her chest felt heavy as she realised that the only being out there was a lone barn owl, circling the concrete driveway in search of prey. She watched it soar around for a moment, admiring its ability to remain afloat in the wind.
He isn't coming, she thought, turning around and starting to close the door. Before she could, however, she noticed something white fluttering underneath the door mat. Bending down to take a closer look, she realised it was an envelope.
Wooooot hoooo. Wooooot hoooo.
"Here we are. Well, have fun, son, and good luck," his father said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Smiling, Dougal returned the hug before opening the truck door and hopping out. Fetching his rucksack from the back of the truck, he gave his father a wave and watched as the man drove off.
Only as the car disappeared over a hill did he turn around and begin to walk up the concrete path. The brick building at the end of it seemed to loom above him, made just a little bit more ominous by an owl circling above its tiled roof. Still, he couldn't afford to waste any more time, and he hastened his pace.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The sound of the clock seemed to penetrate her brain, ticking away the two hours, thirty-nine minutes and two seconds since Minerva had opened the envelope and read its contents:
Dear Minnie,
Though it did not mean to you what I hoped it would, I don't think this could belong to anyone else. I wish you nothing but the best in life, and I hope you will support me with the same as I move on to new adventures in this great world you were so fond of.
~Dougal.
Her chest felt tight and her eyes stung, yet she couldn't bring herself to get off the chair to fetch a drink or tissue. Dougal wasn't coming to dinner; no, he was off elsewhere, exploring the world. She would no longer be able to explain to him why she couldn't marry him, that the 'great world' held magic that would prevent them from ever being truly happy together. Dougal was by no means a jealous person, but a normal life—as Minerva had seen from her own Muggle father—was not something he could have with her. What was worse, however, was that now she would never be able to explain that she would have given it all up for him.
Holding onto the ruby ring that had slipped out of the envelope, she continued to stare at the clock. Two hours, forty-one minutes and twelve seconds had since she would ever hear from the one she could've called her husband again.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
"Got your ticket, sir?" a squat man asked, holding out his hand.
Dougal's gaze slid from the large clock embedded onto the brick wall of the station building and focused on the conductor. With a small, nervous smile, he gave the man the little slip of paper he held. When the man ripped off the stub at the end, he then took it back and placed it in his empty jacket pocket. His chest felt heavy, but he kept his smile in place as the conductor nodded towards the steam engine waiting at the platform.
"Very good, sir; the train will be departing shortly."
"Thank you," Dougal said, taking one last look at the large clock.
Minerva would most likely have already read the letter, and the thought of her doing so was almost enough to send him running back into her arms. However, he also knew that she didn't want him like he did her, and with that in mind, he stepped onto the train.