Disclaimer: All Harry Potter ideas and characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim to own or to have created them.
A/N: Welcome to my new fic, Fallen Lioness. This is kind of straying from my usual light-hearted, humorous plots, but I hope you like it.
Fallen Lioness
Chapter 1: Lone Flickering Candle
"I'm sorry, Minerva. It just wouldn't work out... Nothing is there."
Minerva McGonagall felt like she had been struck with a Stunner. She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. There she stood, gaping dumbly at this man. It was all she could do.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly.
Minerva nodded.
"Of course," she managed in a voice not like her own. It was a squeaky, choked-up voice, which didn't sound like her at all.
"I should go," she continued, turning toward the door. She had to get away from that room, away from that man. She needed to be alone. Just as she placed her hand on the knob, a voice behind her spoke.
"Minerva."
It was a firm, yet gentle, command. Slowly, Professor McGonagall turned around to face him. Those blue eyes bore into her, completely without their usual twinkle. She hated when his eyes lost their sparkle. The small change in his appearance signified deep negative feelings, namely, disappointment, depression, or anger. Those feelings didn't suit him. The sparkle did.
"Please, let us just pretend this never happened. We mustn't let our relationship grow awkward." His tone was grave.
"Right," Minerva agreed shortly and made a swift exit. She hurried down the winding staircase and shot past the stone gargoyle. As soon as she felt she was far enough away, she reduced her speed to a normal pace. It was late. No students roamed the halls, and the other teachers, in general, did not wander at this hour. There was no need to run. She had already escaped the uncomfortable situation with Albus.
Albus Dumbledore. Never in her life had she felt uncomfortable in his presence. She didn't like the change.
She murmured the password to the portrait of Godric Gryffindor. The portrait swung open to allow Minerva to enter her private quarters. She walked straight toward her bedroom and collapsed onto her bed. She didn't even bother to turn on the magically-powered lights. She simply sat wordlessly there, gazing blankly at the wall. Even the loud meowing of her cat-shaped clock when the hour hand struck eleven didn't snap her out of this trance-like state. An onlooker would probably find this setting eerily quiet.
Minerva replayed the night's events over and over in her head. It was a normal evening. She and Albus played their nightly chess match and discussed whatever topics came to mind. Conversation always flowed freely, and this night was no different. Only this time, Minerva decided to change the conversation to a daring subject. She knew it was risky, and she had debated if, when, and how to do this for quite some time. Finally, she had concluded that the risk was well worth the reward. Otherwise, she wouldn't have done it. She had professed her love to him.
Well, she partially did. She had gotten nervous and told him that she sincerely cared for him. She sincerely cared for him in a romantic way. Then she asked if he'd be willing to try a "closer relationship." It was the honest truth, but it wasn't the entire truth. She wasn't sure what would have happened if she did say that she loved him. Love if such a strong word. Maybe she didn't actually love Albus Dumbledore. She felt like a silly school-girl.
"What have I done?" she muttered into the stillness.
The same strange silence was restored after a moment. She twisted her thin lips into a frown and stared dejectedly into the darkness.
Was that a reckless thing to do? Minerva wondered. She knew she could have used better phrasing. Other than that, she simply didn't know. Was she foolishly confusing friendship with love? Had she ruined a perfect friendship? She couldn't stand feeling stupid.
Minerva rose. She made her way through the darkness toward her desk and, with a wave of her wand, lit a single candle that hovered by the adjacent wall. On the left-hand corner of her desk lay a scarlet diary. The emblem of Gryffindor House on its cover glittered in the candlelight. Minerva sat down and pulled the journal toward her. She opened the book and reread her own writing. Her neat cursive filled page after page with accounts of her days' events, questions about things that mystified her, and her deepest, most private emotions. This little book housed all of her most heartfelt feelings about Albus. Unwillingly, and perhaps unknowingly, she let a single tear roll down her cheek and splash onto the red ink that flowed across the pages.
"Why?" she whispered to no one. The word was simple, yet the question was complex. She asked this about more than one thing. A single question was actually multiple questions, which, naturally, required multiple answers. Why did Albus feel the way he did? Why did he say what he said? Minerva could ask the same questions to herself. Why did she feel so much for Albus, when he felt nothing more than friendship? Why did she say less than what she truly felt? There was no obvious explanation, and she seemed to be left without one at all.
It was too difficult to comprehend on her own, at least at a moment like this one. She wanted to understand, but she could not. She could scarcely think straight or even sort out her feelings. What did she feel anyway? She couldn't even recognize her own emotions. Was she sad, disappointed, angry? Maybe. She only knew she was confused, and that was the best she could do.
Confusion. She settled for confusion. Minerva McGonagall rarely accepted confusion as an agreeable state, if ever. This was highly unusual for her. Minerva was not one to leave problems unsolved or questions unanswered.
She got up and finally decided to change her clothes. It was nearing midnight, and she had yet to change into a nightgown. It was not uncommon for Minerva to be up so late, but normally she would be ready for bed by this hour. However, tonight she had not been busy marking papers, writing lesson plans, or even reading a thick novel. If Minerva took the time to think about it, she would deem this night very unproductive, and such behavior was completely unacceptable. She was not bound to think about work at the moment, though. Perhaps she was too tired to care.
After putting on her usual tartan nightgown, she strode over to her bed and extinguished the sole candle with a flick of her wand. Once the room was again enveloped in darkness, she placed the wand on her bedside table and climbed into bed. She slipped into the warmth of her covers, the familiarity comforting her. Minerva positively loved getting into bed each night, for she knew that she could rest for several hours without guilt. One probably would not guess that Minerva McGonagall enjoyed sleeping, taking into account that she rose early, retired late, and never took naps. However, she enjoyed the tranquility of sleep and the thought of waking to see a new day. Minerva liked peace.
Unfortunately, tonight she could not receive enough solace from the coziness of her bed. Minerva's restless mind refused to calm down. She pulled the blankets over her head, as if they could hinder the thought process. She didn't want to think; she wanted to sleep. She wanted to sleep, sleep for a very long time, and not be bothered by any disturbing or overly optimistic dreams. If only she had a Dreamless Sleep Potion.
Minerva once again reviewed the evening's events in her mind. He wanted to act like this never happened. Of course, an awkward relationship wouldn't be good, considering they worked so closely together. He was the headmaster, and she was the deputy. Obviously they would have to be together to run the school.
But does he still want to remain such close friends? Minerva wondered. She hoped he did, knowing she would never be able to tolerate being away from him for too long. She questioned how she would feel in his presence, though. It was likely to be awkward at first, considering what she had told him, but he seemed to want to make the situation as comfortable as possible. Why, though? Why...?
She knew she wouldn't be able to figure out his reasoning tonight, but somehow she still wanted to try. She wanted to know how she could feel such strong emotions for him, while he didn't feel it at all.
He had even said that nothing is there...
"How can he honestly think that?" Minerva asked aloud, letting silent tears flow onto her pillow.
A/N: Umm.. so how was that? Terrible? Okay? Do I have a lot of major improvements to make? Please let me know! I've got the story all outlined and bits written here or there; I just have to fill in all the rather large gaps... one being the second and third chapters. I've got Presidents' Weekend, so hopefully I'll hop to it, and it will be smooth sailing, as in, updates that are not too far apart.