It was over.
Finally.
After years of not knowing, living in denial of emotions and unknown future, it was over. The dead had been done, blood spilled on the ground, making the trees cry; but in the end the. light had won. Little sparkles of magic could be seen with every little drop of water that currently had been spilling from overclouded sky.
And there she stood. Looking towards the moon, counting invisible stars and brushing crystal clear tears that were slowly making their way down her pale face.
It was over.
But it had left her heart broken in million little pieces.
He died, alone. He died the way he knew he would. The way he told her; alone with his throat cut, tears on his face and little whisper of love on his lips.
Oh, how they love each other, for almost as long as they both could remember. Was it fifteen years since he stepped into her room, telling her, in that voice of his, how much he wanted her in his broken and messed up with darkness life? How old was he then? Barely out of Hogwarts as a student himself. She did not say much on that but she smiled to him, looking into his dark eyes. Everyone thought they were black, but no, oh no. They were dark brown and they change colour, it all depended on his mood. And the moods he had, oh Merlin's beard! But she loved him and she had given him one gift that was only hers to give - to only one person throughout her all did not speak of feelings, they never felt the need to. They just were, they existed in the world caught between cold stone walls of Hogwarts and spells. They were and that was enough for both of them.
He was dead now. Leaving her - of that bloody fool! - all by herself. Leaving her to rebuild her school.
So, there she stood, leaning on the balustrade of Astronomy Tower, looking into the night, letting the wind to play with her hair, making mess of her bun. She should have been downstairs; she knew about it. She should have been in the Great Hall, with everyone. She should have been there for everyone, she should have been that always-so-strong-and-content woman, on whom so many people rely. She should have been, but she wasn't. Not just yet. She needed time for herself and for the first-fucking-time Minerva McGonagall decided to be selfish, decided to let HER emotion win and overwhelmed her.
"Wherever you are, my dearest heart," she had said, letting more tears fall. But, on her thin lips, the tiniest of smile was forming. The same smile, she had given him all those years ago.
"So, where all of it goes?" he had asked one evening. They were sitting alone in the stuff room, both grading papers, occasionally snorting at some more than ridiculous answers.
"What, exactly, are you referring to?" she replied, not bothering to look up from her almost incredible paile of students' homework.
"The energy. The whole energy when you transform one thing into another; surely it has to go somewhere?! It cannot just disappear into ernest. I would have thought, quite like with potions, that it creates little sparks of something still so unknown to us. With every eliksir I create, I can feel its power go through my veins, sometimes burning me - you know? My own magic, comes back to me with its doubled power, almost giving orgasmic sensation," she had almost blushed, biting down on her lip.
"It depends, I'd say. It feels different every time I perform each spell. But you are right; it does not disappear. It restores its power in your own organism. Every spell has its own category of strength, almost muggle-like atoms. Because you are creating something amazing, your powers that are within you, in your bones, it is what makes it come back to you. The energy, that sometimes leaves us breathless, comes back and like a transfusion, blends with your inner magical core," she looked at him then, her eyes sparkling with excitement, her heart beating faster with every spoken word.
"And because it is blending, mixing and transforming within you, it gives you pleasure. Those sparks, little bright atoms, that are dancing on the length of your spine, come back with your own magic. That creates sort of collision with the magic that already is in you. It fights, but I suppose it is not the right word, in which outcome, it can give you quite powerful sensations," words were spoken in almost purr like fashion, leaving her out of breath. Her wand, that always lay under emerald green robes, was already in between her long, slender fingers.
"Not everyone can feel it," she then said, moving from her favorite spot; big window that overlooked the lake and the grounds. Almost like the inner car in herself, she moved standing in front of him.
"Give me your hand," her voice, he noted, was different. It was anything else but what that people were used to hear, it was almost unhearable, smooth alike whisper, that made his heart skipped a bit faster, not that he would have ever admitted that - how very Hufflepuff, it would have been! Without any hesitation, that had come as a surprise even to him, he closed his cold fingers around hers.
"Close your eyes," she said, walking them to the center of the room.
"Feel," if anyone ever told him, that her would be standing hand in hand with old McGonagall, he would have hexed them into oblivion, swearing under his breath. She closed her eyes, muttering spells he had not heard of, but then he felt it. Little serpentines of magic touching his inner self, making him almost squirm. He tried to focus on them, visualising the blue colour of her magic core touching his skin and after, what seemed like second, he saw, in his mind, her lips. Those glorious lips moving from his own mouth to his neck. He tried, oh how much he tried to throw it back at her. Without realised what he was doing, he heard a gasp. A moan. And the most erotic sound he had ever heard in his life.
"How can I feel it, then? I am not a good man," he heard himself say, making delicate circles with his thumbs on her skin.
"You can feel it, because I chose you to feel it. Because it goes from within and I could feel it, because you chose me to. We cannot control it, it is something deep. And," she smiled, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"It is magic," and it felt like the most natural thing, for both of them, to close the remaining gap between them, to see the magic in others' eyes. He made the first move, as if he was dancing with her, but she was in control of the next steps. Her lips, Severus noted, were as soft as they looked when he first touched them with his thumb.
"Magic, what an extraordinary thing," he said, his voice - even then, years and years ago - was so beautifully low, sending sparks of excitement down her spine.
"It rather is, isn't it?" and it was her, who closed the lips around his thumb, grazing it with her sharp teeth, making him hiss in frustration. Maybe it was hours or maybe just second since she had took his hands, for all it was, he did not care. Severus walked her back to the wall between two large windows, on which rain had already started painting, slowly kissing her neck. It seemed so natural for them then. He kissed her pulsepoint, taking pleasure from her gasps.
Moving up to her ear, biting on it, he whispered "you are an extraordinary thing," and without hearing any protest from the black haired witch, Severus closed his mouth on hers. It felt as if electricity had gone through both of them. Something so much stronger, than they had felt only minutes ago. Her hands moved, ever so desperately, to his black as night, hair. And they kissed, emanating magic from the deepest part of themselves. When she felt his tongue stroking along her lower lip, Minerva so slowly opened her mouth, making both of them gasp and groan.
That was the first time, out of many, he kissed her, leaving her out of breath, moaning for more. It did not matter if it was staff room or the cold wall on the third floor corridor. Only his lips matter, his heart that had been beating faster under her fingertips and his smirks. Oh how her smirked at her, every damn time when she protested and begged for more. She knew, even back then, all those years ago, that she could love him with all her heart.
And she did.
Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy and Transfiguration Mistress, three wars veteran, turned around and with the smallest smiles she could master, had gone down the stairs to, yet again, face the aftermath of the death.