Chapter 7
Minerva felt completely unmoored, alone, never so popular yet never so isolated. She tried to remember what it felt like to be even remotely happy but could only think that she'd have a hell of a time producing a patronus at the moment. And what could she do about it? Nothing, that was what. For the first time in their marriage Minerva considered leaving Silas. It didn't take her long though to come to the conclusion that Silas probably wouldn't last long without someone to look after him, how did she disengage herself from that responsibility? Would she ever be able to forgive herself if he ended up on the streets, or worse?
And yet the thought of staying churned her stomach almost as much. She was always on edge now, always on the alert for another outburst from Silas in the one place she should have felt safe, her own home.
She wasn't much better off at work. She'd had a straight week of students pretending to faint in terror at the sight of her, with Peeves the resident poltergeist treating them all to verses of his latest ditty:
'Some think she's a saint
And she teaches quite well
But Peeves knows she ain't
Quite as sweet as she smells,
For give her a prospect,
An unguarded back,
And she'll roll up her sleevies
And give you a smack…'
When she wasn't reducing students to ashes with the heat of her glare she was busy trying to avoid anyone who might ask any awkward questions, namely Dumbledore, Poppy and Polly. She was still trying to figure the situation out herself, she wasn't ready to start taking advice quite yet, no matter how well intentioned. Plus, she didn't want to admit that Silas had gotten the better of her, or how much he had shaken her. She was a Gryffindor, she was supposed to be made of sterner stuff.
She'd been living out of the spare room since that weekend and was still waiting for any kind of apology; she got the feeling it wasn't coming any time soon. Sobriety made Silas very, very cranky.
'Silas! Dinner's ready,' she called up the stairs, drying her hands on a tea-towel. It was raining again and the front door rattled a little in its frame in a gust of wind. There was no response from upstairs. She threw the towel over her shoulder and went in search of him.
He was asleep, face turned into the pillow. She did not go further than the doorway to say, again, that dinner was ready, barely able to see him in the deepening darkness.
He grunted and rolled away from her, throwing his arm over his head.
'Right,' said Minerva, taking this to mean he was not hungry yet. 'I'll put it in the oven for you then.'
She stood a moment longer, watching him. As much as she wanted to believe there was a way back from all this, there was something repellent about physical contact now and it wasn't because he'd tried to throttle her - that at least had been honest. To think that he had made love to her, looked into her eyes so tenderly… and it had all been part of a plot, to swap the keys. She'd thought that he was getting better, that the curtain that had descended between them all those years ago was finally lifting…
To learn it was a lie, just an act, cut to the bone and she was still finding it difficult to set aside. Did he even love her anymore? Or was she just his meal-ticket?
She quietly went back downstairs, but when she sat down at the kitchen table, her dinner of mashed potatoes, carrots and toad-in-the-hole before her, she found that she was not hungry either. She slid the two plates into the cooling oven and wandered around the living room, swinging her arms and clicking her fingers, looking for something to do, anything but more dwelling. She'd been dwelling for eight days without coming up with any new solutions, her brain was taking the night off.
The place was spotless though and her marking was up to date. She couldn't settle to reading though she gave it a fair try; she read the same paragraph about ten times before giving up and throwing the book aside. Bills paid, accounts balanced, lessons planned - she was too efficient for her own good. She paced the living room restlessly, pausing every now and then to gaze out a window at the steady downpour of rain. She had just about decided to rearrange the furniture when there was a knock at the door, which she rushed to answer with unusual eagerness, thinking perhaps it was one of her neighbours asking her round for rock-cakes again. At this point she'd take anything and they were friendly enough.
'Hagrid,' she smiled upon opening the door. 'This is a surprise.'
Hagrid smiled from behind his big bushy black beard. 'Yeh said ter pop in fer a cup o' tea one day,' he said, shuffling his feet a little and looking slightly awkward, 'an' I was passing this way, so I thought I'd stop by… if that's alrigh',' he added.
'To be honest I've been going a little stir-crazy,' she admitted. 'You have excellent timing.'
'Well, if yeh wanted ter get out fer a bit, we could go ter The Three Broomsticks - or The Hog's Head,' he added quickly, when her smile wavered.
'Erm…' Minerva glanced towards the stairs, thinking of Silas. Then again, he was asleep and unlikely to miss her for an hour. 'Actually, that would be great. Would you like to come in while I write Silas a quick note?'
Hagrid looked at the tiny cottage door; he had to stoop just to see her. 'Nah, I'll wait here for yeh,' he said wisely.
Minerva nodded, backing down the hall, 'I'll be two minutes,' she promised.
Quarter of an hour later they were almost to The Hog's Head, boots slapping against the wet pavement. As unsavoury as the place seemed to be - especially on nights like this, when the severed boar's head sign creaked ominously overhead - Minerva hadn't quite worked up the nerve to return to The Three Broomsticks yet. Besides, she didn't want to run into Vesta and her posse, who could frequently be found there, knocking back glasses of sherry.
There were barely half-a-dozen people there when they arrived and no one Minerva recognised, though Hagrid nodded to two men playing cards at a table near the bar as he approached. 'What can I get yeh?' he asked, as she slipped off her wet cloak.
'I'll have a Gillywater, thanks,' she said, as the tall, grey-haired landlord appeared through a door behind the bar. He looked at Hagrid.
'Usual fer me, and a Gillywater, cheers.'
'Evening, Mister Dumbledore,' said Minerva, this time not in so much of a flap that she forgot her manners. Aberforth merely grunted as he placed their drinks on the bar; he'd never had many manners to forget.
'Shall we grab a table?' suggested Hagrid, indicating the one beside the men playing cards and Minerva nodded, folding and draping her cloak over the back of a chair while Hagrid paid for their drinks.
'Evenin' Hagrid,' said the spindly wizard sitting closest to their table, examining his cards.
'Evenin' Jabez - er, Professor McGonagall, this is Jabez,' said Hagrid, doing the introductions, his chair creaking ominously as he sat down, 'and Adalard.'
'Affectionately known as 'Lard',' said Jabez, smirking.
'Oi!' said Adalard with a pointed look over the fan of his cards, his ample stomach moving the table as he shifted in his seat. 'There's just more of me to love…'
'What's that you're playing?' asked Minerva, eyeing the cards and small piles of bronze knuts on the table with interest.
'Poker,' said Jabez, pushing his hat up as he glanced at her. 'Why? Do you play?' he asked.
Minerva smiled a little wickedly. 'Do I play poker?' she repeated, pulling her chair closer to their table. 'Oh, I think I have a basic grasp of the game…'
Hagrid beamed, slapping his enormous hands together like a thunderclap and dragging his chair closer, too. 'You heard the lady - deal us in!'
Minerva had come close to thanking god for Hagrid over the last few weeks. He seemed content to keep his curiosity to himself, content to let her enjoy his company without fear of awkward questions - which was a rare commodity in Minerva's life of late. Having a night off from Hogwarts and Silas also felt better than she cared to admit. For a few hours she was able to forget about theatrical students and lyrical poltergeists, inquiring looks and smashing crockery. For a few hours she was just a woman playing a few hands of poker and cracking genuine smiles for the first time in weeks.
And after winning seven of the eleven hands played, she had every reason to smile.
Adalard seemed to find his predicament quite amusing. 'Here, Ab - does your brother know he's got a card-shark on his staff?' he laughed, then rolled his eyes as he surveyed his abysmal hand and folded. He picked up his tankard of mead and raised it to Minerva who, once again, appeared to be winning, if the look of quiet triumph was anything to go by.
Hagrid bowed out too, leaving just Minerva and Jabez to fight for the prize money in the middle, a dizzying sum of two sickles and 10 knuts.
'She's bluffing,' said Aberforth, who had stopped and leaned on his broom to watch. Well, 'stopped' would imply that he had been doing something with the broom, perhaps sweeping, which he characteristically was not, as anyone who had taken the time to notice the state of the floor would know. Most of the patrons had begun to suspect that the sole purpose of the broom was for leaning on…
Minerva looked up at him with a politely challenging smile, 'You think so?'
'Yeah,' said Aberforth, scratching his whiskery cheek, 'I do.'
'And what do you think, Jabez? Am I bluffing?' she asked, turning back to her opponent. 'Willing to risk it?'
Jabez didn't look like he'd come to a conclusion on that yet. His hat had worked it's way to the back of his head during the game and he was in danger of losing it as he studied Minerva's face as if trying to see into the depths of her soul. A moment later though he shook his head, slumping back in his chair as he threw his cards facedown on the table, 'I fold.'
Minerva grinned, sweeping the pile of coins towards her and just happening to glance at the clock behind the bar. 'Is that the time?' she asked, smiled faltering.
'Certainly is,' said Aberforth, turning to look and noticing Dewy Dankworth waiting to be served. He returned to the bar.
'It's almost ten o'clock!' she exclaimed, 'I've been here half the night. Sorry, gentlemen, I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short,' she said, transferring her winnings to her money pouch.
'I'll walk yeh back,' said Hagrid, getting up, but Minerva shook her head.
'No need for you go out in that before you have to. I can find my way; you finish your evening. Thanks for inviting me out tonight, it's been fun,' she said, pulling on her still damp cloak and buttoning it. 'And it was lovely meeting you two,' she said, shaking Jabez and Adalard's hands.
'Hope to see you for a rematch sometime soon,' said Jabez. 'I'll be ready for you next time.'
Minerva chuckled. 'Enjoy the rest of your night. Good evening, gentlemen.'
She heard a loud burst of laughter as she pushed open the door and glanced back to see them examining her cards. 'Told you she was bluffing!' she heard Aberforth say matter-of-factly just before the door swung shut behind her.
The weather had not improved in the two hours she'd been in The Hog's Head, in fact if anything it was raining harder. She pulled her hood up and wrapped the folds of her cloak more securely around her body, freezing great dollops of rain splashing into her face every time the wind gusted. And they said that April was wet; at this rate they'd all drown before then.
She arrived home quickly, and completely out of breath, having run most of the way. She thought Silas might still be asleep as nothing seemed to be out of place as she walked through the living room, pulling her now soaked cloak off. Silas was awake though and waiting for her in the kitchen, the note she had left for him on the table before him.
'You're awake,' she said, barely missing a beat though her heart did as she went to hang up her cloak. 'Have you eaten yet?' she asked, pushing wet hair out of her face and wiping her damp hands on the front of her robes.
'You said you'd be home an hour ago,' he said, and she could hear the rustle of parchment behind her as he waved the note, as if to say 'exhibit A'. She opened the oven door and jabbed her wand at the base, igniting it.
'Yes, I know - sorry about that… lost track of the time,' she said, straightening up again and pushing the oven door closed. 'Got into a game of poker with Hagrid's friends.'
She turned to find Silas's eyebrows raised questioningly.
'We were only playing with knuts,' she added quickly. 'You know I wouldn't squander money we can't afford to lose.'
Silas laughed, 'Oh so it's 'we' now, is it?'
'Silas-'
'How much did you drink?' he asked with seemingly polite interest. He was like a niffler when it came to catching a waft of alcohol. 'You know how you get when you've been drinking.'
Minerva rather thought this smacked of the pot calling the kettle black. 'For your information, I had one glass of wine.'
'You expect me to believe you only had one?' he scoffed.
'Yes, well some of us are capable of moderating ourselves,' she snapped, her temper momentarily getting the better of her.
'While the rest of us are moderated by the person controlling the purse-strings,' said Silas, scraping his chair back.
Minerva tensed as he moved towards her, wand handle slippery in her suddenly sweaty hand. Her jaw seemed locked tight as Silas stopped in front of her, close enough that his breath stirred the hair around her face. He stood with one hand either side of her on the counter and Minerva forced herself to look up at him as if she wasn't nervous of what might happen next.
'I bet you were loving it, weren't you, all that male attention. Well, since you're feeling so flush at the moment, maybe we should go out together tomorrow,' he suggested, though Minerva knew it was no suggestion at all and it wasn't her company he wanted but her purse. 'And in the meantime…'
He shook Minerva's skirt, listening for the familiar tinkle of a money pouch. She didn't stop him from taking it, he'd be lucky if there was enough for one or two drinks in there, which he soon realised as he tipped the contents onto the kitchen side. What had felt like a healthy purse turned out to be nothing so much as a bag of coppers.
'You have more,' he stated rather than asked.
'No, I don't,' she shook her head, leaning back a little, the edge of the work-top digging into the small of her back.
'Then you'll get more.'
'No,' she said again, 'I won't. You've been doing so well, why ruin-'
'This little slice of happiness we've been enjoying the last few weeks?' he barked, slamming his hand down on the side, the anger boiling over again. Minerva flinched, tightening her grip on the wand in her pocket. She didn't want to jinx Silas but so help her she would if she had to.
'Haven't you punished me enough yet?' he demanded.
'Silas, I'm not trying to punish you,' she said, attempting to push him away and gain some breathing room.
'I need to drink,' said Silas, his voice low and gruff as he dropped his gaze from hers, looking suddenly vulnerable and unsure of himself. 'Min, I'm begging you… please…'
He had eased back a little and Minerva was able to straighten up again, her back aching. Silas was turning puppy-dog eyes on her, the tips of his rough fingers brushing her cheek, playing on her sympathy. 'Please, Min, I'm going crazy, please… help me.'
Minerva closed her eyes and swallowed. He knew how difficult it was for her to refuse him anything, doubly so when he looked as miserable and desperate as he did now. But one of them had to stay strong. She couldn't afford the bar bill for a bearable marriage. If he couldn't learn to manage without drink, all was lost.
'We've been down this road before,' she said gently.
'Not a lot. Just enough to take the edge off. Please, Min,' he pleaded again.
'Silas, I can't-'
'You mean 'won't',' he spat bitterly, the fingers that had so recently caressed her face curling into a fist.
'You know I'd do anything for you - almost anything,' she corrected herself. 'But not that. I know this is hard for you but you have to keep-'
'No!' he shouted. 'You have to get me what I need!'
Minerva discreetly pulled her wand out of her pocket, Silas's proximity shielding the action from view, though her arm was as good as pinned to her side with Silas's thick arms once again planted on either side of her.
'I won't do it,' she snapped back, sounding much braver than she felt. She pulled herself up as tall as she could manage, her lips set in a thin uncompromising line, though her hands trembled. It felt as if some frantic little bird had somehow gotten caught inside her ribcage.
Silas leaned closer, raising his right hand as if to cradle her head, his fingers slipping into her hair as his mouth approached her ear, his voice challenging, almost amused as he said, 'Oh no?'
There was a flash of red light but the stunning spell just missed Silas, bouncing off the stone tiles and splintering a cupboard door as he yanked her wand out of her hand.
'Silas-'
'That wasn't very nice,' he growled, tightening his grip on her hair so she had no choice but to look up at him.
'Silas, you're hurting me,' she gasped, trying ineffectually to loosen his hold, frightened now. Before she'd been afraid she might have to jinx him, now she knew the danger to herself was far greater than the risk she had posed to him, because she had no real desire to harm him - she couldn't say he felt the same way about her at this moment.
'Let go of me!' she snapped, struggling, attempting to stamp on his feet or knee him where it would hurt the most. He had her pinned too tightly for her to do any damage though and his response of slamming her head into the spice rack was far more effective - at least, it was the last thing she remembered.
