I own nothing Harry Potter-y
My Thoughts - Minerva.
I know I am old, gnarled, wrinkled and going grey, but does this mean I am to forget the feelings I had once when I was of a young age? Feelings do not disappear for age to replace, they stay with you, with me, only the cause changes; to yearn rather than act-upon. In my mind and soul I am as young as ever, with feelings that are as alive and as strong as the sun is warm, and sometimes I do forget myself. But then I catch sight of myself in a trophies cabinet glass, or look down to my hands, and then does my mind finally resolute itself to who and what I truly am.
I had my first encounter with a girl at the spritely age of 17. I was feisty, true to my Scottish ways, my looks and tall, slim figure attracting both boys and girls. I'd only ever been with a boy once and found him too heavy handed. The girl was much more tender and understanding, she knew the true meaning of making love.
Engrossing myself in my work finally meant that my affections waned for anyone, and that anyone's affections waned from me. I studied all day, read leisurely in the evenings and had to sleep all night to muster courage and energy for the next days revision. I took pride in trying hard, in doing so I out-casted myself from any social group, bringing this strong and stern exterior you see before you. I had to build an immunity from the snarky comments made about me in the halls, through my own fault of being shut out. It's been 50 years later that now I realise how lonely I've been.
I look upon you as if I were 20 years old again. My heart beats wildly when you look at me with those respectful eyes, knowing full well you trust me whole-heartedly and think the world of my knowledge. I try to ignore you when you thrust your hand in the air every time I ask a question, looking around the room expectantly, but to no avail.
It is you, my dear, who makes me feel the woman I am. I have never fraternized with my students, it is against every rule that I ever placed myself, but in these hard times of trials and tribulations, we all cling to something, or someone, in a hope to feel safety once again. Being placed as Headmistress is stressful, frightening, and one wishes to be able to have someone to lean upon when emotions like this course through ones veins. Of course, when alone, the mind will wonder from a simple tea party organised by you to "lighten my load", to some far off place where not a soul would think a Professor enamoured with her student is a disgrace.
But why be it a disgrace? I was once young, with the feelings of a teenage witch. Who is to say that, just because in age and feature I am old, I am only to be attracted to people who are of the same description as me? Am I to forget what it is to find another attractive both physically and emotionally?
I see myself in you, you know? Your hard work, your acid tongue, your ability to take everything said to heart, and worry for days on end about it. But you are collected, and able to look after yourself, and selflessly look after others around you too. You have come to me every night since Albus' death, both for your sake and for mine. It flatters me to know you are thinking of me and sometimes my heart will have palpitations. Some days I can control my emotions, others I put my hand to my heaving breast to ease the ache that dully sits there, finding air hard to find.
Years I have spent alone, never once reflecting on what kind of impact it would have on my own life. I want to be selfish, to love and to be loved. I wish to hold you in my arms, feel your safety and for you to feel mine.
It is nothing of age, I would have you whether you were 20 or 200 years, you is what I long for. Age is one of those irrelevant numbers that tags us all throughout life. And it is why I find it hard to ever come to terms with what I truly feel for you my dear.
It was only the other night you came to my office with tea tray in hand. You kissed me lightly on the cheek, your hands either side of my face, before you nuzzled your nose back and forth against mine. I was sure our lips were to meet, but you pulled away in embarrassment. I began to feel ill with anxiety, the shock of your new action thrumming through me. We sat and drank tea, the evening moving in to the night as it usually did. You asked if you could stay whilst I worked, your rounded eyes fixed onto mine. I popped a blanket over you and sat in an adjacent armchair, watching until my eyes rolled and I could wake no longer. I settled myself into bed, when the door opened and shut. You came to my beside and asked to get in, you were cold and had had a nightmare. You snuggled in behind me, your hand creeping to my shoulder and you tentatively touched it. My heart nearly stopped beating, as if I had been stunned by a wizards wand. It was you, dearest, who rolled me over so you could snuggle into my side. We held each other until morning, both of us sleeping the best we had in the dark years.
Oh for that moment of joy and love again. You left that day, never to return. I last saw you walking with the two younger boys, away from the grounds and into the horizon. Where are you now, my dearest one? You knew that night to be our last.
Until we meet again, my love.
A/N: R&R?