Simple, Sincere, Secret
What a loathsome holiday. Marked by far too much pink, sugar and uninspired words of infatuation, February the fourteenth had become a day which brought out her worst temper. There was no explanation which could justify the existence of a superficial holiday, no amount of bribery which would grant her permission to have her classroom decorated for the occasion; nor any well intended teasing which could break the thin line of her lips whenever the word 'valentine' was mentioned. It was utterly revolting. Just insipid smatterings of lust, prepubescent crushes and the indulging of candy manufacturers, packaged up with pink bows, wilting flowers and heart shaped cards.
The evidence of which usually ended up covering her classroom floor.
It was a tragedy indeed. The art of romance, sincere tokens of affection and the simplicity which lay in a single look had been lost to the ages; replaced by a day which always looked as though a Christmas cracker had gone horribly wrong, covering the walls and floors with pink confetti and filling the air with the fumes of amortentia.
To insinuate that she was a 'romantic' would be a gross overstatement. The appreciation for the smaller, private demonstrations of affection did not make her a simpering child wishing to be swept off her feet by the proverbial knight. Minerva McGonagall merely wished for that which was lost on the more recent generations: simplicity, sincerity and secrecy.
These three attributes were essential to her. Perhaps it stemmed from a time long passed, societal constrictions which no longer held any merit, but they were part of the most guarded corners of her self. It was what she was taught, what she had come to believe through life experience.
There was nothing simpler than the sincerity of a secretly held affection.
There was nothing more sincere than the reciprocation of that simple, secret affection, guarded by two hearts and two minds; understood only by two souls.
How could anyone compare a heart shaped card to a gaze from twinkling blue eyes? No sweet made in the world could taste so well as the softest grazing of his lips upon hers; no flower could give warmth as well as his hand briefly clasping her own.
It was sincere and simple and secret.
Words were always at a loss for the simple and the sincere. How do you describe that which is unspoken? No poem can grasp the feeling in a glance nor express the warmth a mere thought can give.
When it is secret, confetti has no use but to clutter up her floors and give the caretaker something to clean.
She frowned at the obvious, snapped at the insincere and scoffed at the complex. None of it was real. This day was not real. It was all a fabrication used to satisfy greed and lust.
Except once. Once this day proved a failure. The simple shown through the complex, the sincere sprouted in spite of the false and the secret pressed through the obvious. Just one day in the ninety she had seen made her pause in contented satisfaction. Not all hope was lost, for there in the Hospital Wing sat two people who could share what she treasured.
There in the stiff chair sat a girl who found the gaze from bright green eyes more sincere than a heart shaped card; the softest graze of her lips upon his tasted better than all the chocolate frogs that sat waiting in unwrapped packages and the warmth of their fingers entwined brought a flush to her cheeks which no flower could induce.
It was that day when Minerva found hope again. It was the moment she would replay in her mind over and over again to get her through the long pink day until she could take part in her own secret. When she could see the simplicity of a loving glance in twinkling blue eyes, taste the sincerity of soft lips and feel safe in the security of his secret embrace and share in all that she loved, that was her defiance of the day.
Years later she would share her simple, sincere secret with the girl she had seen in the Hospital Wing. The young woman's brown eyes smiled in joy for she understood the virtues which Minerva held so dear.
Simplicity, Sincerity and Secrecy