Disclaimer: Don't own HP.
Chapter One
Minerva Mae McGonagall
The flames flickered in the dying hearth and no sound was uttered from the only occupant of the room. Across the small chamber; numerous quills, books, leafs of parchment and assorted articles of clothing surrounded the small window seat. The bed was still neatly made, even if the school year had begun over a month ago. A few plates of food sat on the table besides the fire; sandwiches, nibbled at half-heartedly; half-filled goblets of pumpkin juice; and large, generous portions of cake overflowed onto the single chair besides the table. A suitcase stood open besides a smaller door, which one would assume, lead to the washroom.
But the most curious sight one would see, was the small knapsack besides the window seat. It held numerous wrapped packages, which held stale old sandwiches, mostly ham and cheese that had been delivered by worried house elves. Besides the sandwiches, a faded t-shirt and a worn, knee-length gray skirt, one from her early Hogwarts year, sat tucked in the bottom of the bag. Tided up in a smaller cloth bag was a toothbrush, a small hand mirror and brush. Tucked between the clothes and bag was a worn, black pair of sneakers and a slightly nicer pair of ballet shoes.
As soon as one entered the room, they would see the one scene that hadn't changed, except for a few short hours a day, since the night of September first. On the window seat, sat Minerva McGonagall, staring out into the sky, night and day. Her normally tidy raven-colored hair that usually was pulled into a braid down her back, hung loosely around her face. The normally smiling face, with deep, smiling brown eyes, now looked worn, as if years of pain and sadness had been pushed forwards by a single word.
And indeed it had.
There was nothing left for her. No one was there to laugh with her, no one to dry her tears, no one to be there when she needed a shoulder to cry on. And, the most important for her, no one for her to love. She thought he didn't love her. He was too old for her, probably married and with a family of his own. After all, he was her professor. She had no right to love a man of his status. But she did. He listened to her, any time she needed someone to be there for her.
Minerva could still remember a night in her first year, when the fact that her father had left her and her mother because he had been in love with someone, much younger, all along. The memory was still fresh in her young mind and worried her deeply. Even though it had happened when she was in her late childhood years, the summer before her ninth birthday, her life had been such a common, daily routine, that one event such as this one, could upset her so.
She had made her way to his office, seeking comfort in one who might be able to help her. Knocking quietly, she had pushed open the door and asked, very quietly, to see the Headmaster. He had agreed, taking her by the hand and offering her his hand and leading her along the dark hallways towards the Headmaster's office. Once there, Armando had taken her in his arms and rocked her gently in his lap, as if she was a small child again. He knew of her past and resented her father, whom he knew on a personal level, deeply and vowed to protect her no matter the situation. After she had been consoled, Minerva allowed herself to be lead back to Gryffindor Tower, still allowing tears to flow down her cheeks.
Even now, she let her mind think upon the days when she wasn't in love with him and when she could return home, lock herself in her room and dream of Hogwarts and the upcoming year. She allowed her past to consume her, for then, there was no love. There was no broken hearts. There was only a friendship, a strong bond from the moment they met. From the moment she walked into his classroom, they were, when possible, inseparable, and no one could stop her from getting what she wanted.
Except her past.
