Chapter Eleven: Repercussions
It was, frankly, easier for Minerva to wait for Albus to return in his study. Anywhere else and she would be noticed. Moreover, it was warm there, now that the fire had been fixed. This settee was lovely for relaxing, for simply being.
She glanced behind her at the window through which she could see the heavy snow fall. It had started a nice little powder in the morning, but by lunch, it came thick as a cloud. The saving grace was really that the wind did not seem aware of its obligation to blow the flakes hither and thither. It simply fell.
A deep sigh escaped her as her eyes moved around the room to the mantelpiece where a clock ticked merrily away. It was nearly dinner time: surely Albus would be back soon. The conference was to be done by mid-morning. Although he did mention some errands, it never occurred to Minerva that he might be out so late. Of course, she couldn't be upset with him for avoiding the school…if she could be free, she certainly would be.
She casually reached down to the floor and grabbed her Advanced Charms book. Her fingers flipped through the pages disinterestedly, eyes stopping on a page every now and then. There was no need to study: she knew all of this chapter. Disillusionment, magnifying and spectrum charms had all been tried and accomplished within the week. She was ready for tomorrow's test.
Her ears perked.
The woman lifted her head up to look over the edge of the settee towards the landing, certain she heard Albus's office door open and then close.
"Min?" his voice whispered from up the stairs.
"Here," she whispered back and placed the book back down on the floor.
Albus walked through the entrance with his bag still slung over his shoulder and trudged down the stairs in an unmistakably sluggish manner. He let the thing fall off of his shoulder to the floor as he rounded the settee and then simply collapsed onto her. His body buried her own, the man's head resting against her chest, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist as though she were a teddy bear. He let out a contented sigh as he settled into her.
Minerva glowed as she let out a small laugh and ran her fingers through his wet hair. "Long weekend?"
"The longest," he groaned, not bothering to lift his head, but rather squeezing her tighter. "It's been snowing since I left. Everywhere I go, snow! Have I ever told you how much I hate sno-o-ow," he fake-sobbed.
She stroked his head as she rolled her eyes, "You poor man. At least you were able to leave the castle." It was true. Lucky bastard got to leave with the headmaster's knowledge and there would be no repercussions. Meanwhile she had been stuck inside with every eye in Hogwarts on her.
"Next time I go to New York, it will be in the spring," he grumbled back. "And it will be on my own time, preferably with a pretty girl to show off." His lips puckered against her chest affectionately. "I don't even know why I wanted to go in the first place anymore," he groaned.
Really, now.
"Because you were miserable and wanted away from the castle," she stated matter-of-factly.
Albus sighed into her, "I was. What a fool!" he threw his head up dramatically.
Minerva couldn't help but scoff—he pushed it too far and her sympathy had its limits. He got to leave. "Oh, it can't have been that bad?"
Perhaps hearing the jealousy in her voice, the man gave it a think before he admitted, "No," with a serious, deep exhalation. "It just seemed so unimportant. People out there at war while we are drinking wine and discussing cellular regeneration in plankton," he paused and then added, "Sod it. Sod them, really."—he lifted up his head and stared at her, clearly having dreaded whatever was next—"I have a confession to make."
Fear washed through her entire body.
She blinked as she stared at his full blue eyes.
A moment passed.
"Yes?" she asked with apprehension.
He shifted his body up and put his head on her shoulder, as though preparing to break some terribly serious news. His voice was a low, intimate tone, "I met your father; in London."
She scanned his face for any sort of hint as to what he could possibly be getting at: they met on purpose? They were in London? Albus was in London? Her father was in London?
His eyes gave nothing of any kind away.
A confused frown shadowed her face, "My father is in France."
His features stayed serious. He shook his head slowly, "That may well be where he is stationed, I do not know…but I met him in London," the man repeated.
Was there something she was missing? To what end? Was he trying to tell her that she had been lied to? That there was some sort of link between Albus and her father? And what of her father, was he well? And Albus? Did he even go to a conference?
"What were you doing in London?" she whispered as feelings of betrayal began to encroach upon bafflement.
"I'm going to find Gellert Grindelwald," he stated definitively—which was not at all an appropriate answer to her question.
She blinked not from surprise, but from the extraordinary assertion he was making, the sheer implausibility of it. What did anything have to do with anything anymore? She followed the thread of his statement, despite her utter bewilderment, "How?"
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, "I don't know just yet. An owl should be arriving by tomorrow."
Her eyes closed as she suppressed the urge to scream.
"What are you talking about?"
He stayed remarkably stoic as he looked on what must have been an extremely exasperated face. "I will be helping with the war effort…outside of Hogwarts. The specifics are unclear."
Unclear? Everything about this entire cockamamie conversation was unclear! She scrunched her face in an effort to make sense of it all, despite her utter lack understanding. Did it make sense? Was he feverish? Was she feverish? Or was he just too exhausted to make sense? Her eyebrows raised with irritation, "…and my father?"
"Happened to be the man who arrived to vet me."
She brought her hand to her forehead and rubbed her temples, "For the love of Merlin," she sighed. "Let me see if I understand," she exhaled slowly. "Despite my pleading for you to leave two weeks ago, you chose, what, yesterday to agree to do some sort of aid…to my father…in London, where neither of you are meant to be?"
"That is largely accurate, yes."
The woman stared at the man.
Silence.
There were no words, except perhaps three: "Get off me."
The man did as he was told and took the cushion farthest from her on the settee, eyes set on her. Meanwhile, Minerva stood up, not sure of what else to do. She did just receive some very strange news, perhaps even upsetting.
But she did not feel sad. She did not feel anything as she paced around the room in the quiet, comprehending what she assumed were the facts. Oh, but it all seemed so outrageous. Really? He really was in London? And met her father? No. No. He clearly was suffering from hypothermia and lost his mind. Some sleep would help that.
The woman spun around dramatically and stared at him with a furrowed brow. "You met my father in London?"
"I did," he nodded with simplicity.
Silence again. The woman blinked.
Her hands flung up in the air, "What in the mythical malignant manticore's tail are you doing?!"
She begged him to go.
And now they were together, having thrown caution to the wind.
Her life would be incredibly and completely different.
But she was here…because of his obstinance.
Her eye twitched as the struggle with Headmaster Dippet, with her feelings towards Albus, with the war replayed in her mind in a flash.
…And he met her father…
Hot rage filled her, spreading from her heart out to her extremities and then leaking out onto the floor from her feet in thick, noxious pools.
Albus continued to stare with big eyes, as though he were facing certain death with the knowledge that he was the hero, not the villain.
"Damn it!" she shrieked. "Damn it, Albus!" Her hands came crashing down, clenched, to her side. Her feet thumped on the ground as she began pacing again. She threw her head back and yelled, "Damn it!" to the heavens.
Then she stopped, aware of the sheer impracticality of the tantrum, and took in a very deep, very slow breath. Her head did not snap back and she did not open her eyes, preferring to be blind to the world around her. Another breath allowed her to release her clenched fists; a third, her thumping feet.
Minerva swallowed her anger.
Loss took its place.
Well. That was the end of her first love affair, wasn't it? He would leave one day and would not come back. Or the headmaster would find out and sack him. And she would be left without him, left to pick up the pieces of the school and her heart.
Or perhaps worse off, her father would die and Albus will have seen him more recently than she.
Her chest ached openly at the thought.
A single question left her heartbroken lips, "Why now?"
Her eyes remained closed as he stated as though it were the simplest, easiest question he had ever answered, "Because you've inspired me."
Silence.
The pain in her chest rose into her throat, clouding it with emotion. Rather than swallowing it down, she let it linger there, enflaming her vocal cords. Her next breath did not help; she felt only the weight of the incredible, flattering, damning words. "Inspire you?"
"To be better."
Minerva suddenly became aware of the absolute silence of the room, except for the casual crackle of the fire. Albus did not move—she could not be sure that he was even breathing. She felt her heartbeat, she felt her throat and chest, therefore she was certain of her own existence. This was no dream, any of it.
She was reaping from the seeds she had sown.
Too soon, perhaps, but it was her doing; she did this to herself.
Realization struck her: there was nothing to say. She had no right to tell him what to do or when to do it. He was his own man. And any impetus he had for good, any motion forward that he took, was because of their relationship. Without her, he would still be angry, depressed and lost. Without her, he would be no better off than inferi: dead, but animated by the will of others.
He was so very much more than that.
Her head rolled back carefully to face forward and she opened her eyes.
Albus stood up from the settee and reached out his hands cautiously. He spoke gently, as though he had read every thought that occurred to her in the last moments, "Don't let your morale whither on me, now. I won't be leaving the school if I can help it. I would like to keep my position here and within the community. And stay near you," he nodded. "I need you."
She had only waited her entire life to be told that, it always seemed so romantic when men said that to women. But she had never given thought to the symbiotic nature it. The truth was that she needed him, too. She, Minerva, who led quietly and alone, who made her own success at the expense of personal relationships, she needed this man.
Desperately.
A very small smile came upon her mouth and she gave a nod. "I love you."
He wrapped his arms around her to pull her close and kissed the top of her forehead, "I love you, too."
They rocked back and forth for a moment or two, Minerva inhaling his scent, Albus clinging greedily to the woman. He kissed her on the forehead again, but did not release her—nor did she wish to be released.
Her mind wandered over his news, now hungry for details and understanding.
She spoke into his chest with a soft voice, "How was my father?"
"Well," Albus nodded. "You do look an awful lot like him."
Sadness pooled her chest. She missed him so.
"He must have wanted to meet you," she stated with simplicity, releasing any and all jealousy.
There was a silence as Albus pondered this. "Do you think so?"
"It couldn't have been a coincidence."
"Hm," he sighed and let his cheek rest on the side of her head affectionately. "He had a picture of you; to prove identity. You were on a broom, laughing. I bet he takes that everywhere with him. Keep you safe and close."
Her throat tightened. She knew exactly what that photograph was. She sent it to him over the summer. "We played quidditch an awful lot when I was small. He's very proud of my flying skills."
"I imagine he's proud of you full stop."
She nodded into his chest and admitted sadly, "He is. Very."
"How could he not be? You're very impressive and only get better with age. Imagine what else you'll have accomplished in five years. At the rate you're going, you may well be the Minister of Magic," he teased with affection and then kissed her forehead. "Write about me to him, do you?"
Her lips curled up, "You know I do. You are the Professor that helped me accomplish my most recent ambition of being an animagus," and then added without any pretense of cleverness, "But I suspect you did not talk about me?"
"No," he stated much to her surprise and without hesitation. "We talked about Godric's Hollow."
She blinked.
That place.
"Hm," she exhaled softly. "Will you be going back?"
He kissed her forehead, "I suspect I will."
The words hovered in her mind for a moment before she let them sink down to the floor and disappear.
He would: the war called to him.
But she knew that. She knew he would leave, whether or not she cared to admit it. And admit it she did.
It occurred to her in that moment that if these last two months were a novel, Albus would have been the protagonist. Struggle and crusade as she did, he was the one with the internal struggle, the one who was clearly destined for greatness. And she was a catalyst for him. The story would climax and he would go on to his destiny; without her. But she would continue living, maybe find a story of her own to lead.
Was she not the protagonist in her own story?
She squeezed him tightly, if only to be sure he was still there as the realization that she needed him swept over her for the second time. He was so warm standing there, radiating love and strength and all the things that made him good. He smelled of pipe tobacco, no doubt from his travels, but it somehow seemed right, that sweet inviting scent.
Her eyes closed as she inhaled.
"No need to worry, Love," he whispered softly, "I will come back."
"I know," she said simply (knowing it was the right thing to say) and took in another large inhalation before unfastening her grip of him.
He squeezed her tightly and then released her, eyes staring intently on her. "How long have you been waiting for me here?"
"Hours," she shrugged.
Albus nodded, "Sorry I was so late"—he did look very sorry indeed—"It's very difficult to travel these days. I hadn't realized."
"There is a war going on, you know."
He bobbed his head again, "I do know. Just feels very…global when one travels," he gave a sad smile.
Minerva smiled sadly back. "I would not know, but I believe you. It's everywhere."
"Makes me glad to be here; with you."
The tips of her mouth rose ever so slightly, "Just us."
He leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. "Yes, just us. No one else."
No one else.
It struck her that they were in his very private, very romantic study. No one would be coming for them. The snow fell outside while the fire crackled merrily in with them. The flickering light reflected on his handsome features, emphasizing every line and shadow; but his blue eyes, they shined.
Her eyes stared into his before trailing down his crooked nose to his lips: she could kiss them. He would not mind. They would be warm and passionate. They would be soft. And hers…they would be hungry. All she wanted to do was consume them and his flesh in that moment.
She wanted to taste him.
Warmth flushed between her legs at the thought.
Her fingers slid through his hair and a knowing grin fell upon her lips.
Clearly he recognized her expression for he groaned, "I don't have the energy, Min."
Her eyes stayed constant on his lips. "I can do the work," and then added, "Professor."
Her eyes flicked upwards again and could see his already weakened defenses at a loss: she directed the man to the settee and sat him down.
Minerva had never really given much thought to how messy sex could be. In novels, it was sort of a thing that happened in the background and most people just went on with their daily lives after it happened. That was certainly not the case in reality. In reality, there were smells and liquids that sort of just…clung onto the skin.
She slid on a new, clean pair of pants under her robes quickly and flung the soiled ones into the basket of her room in Gryffindor Tower.
"Still spotting?"
Minerva gave a deep inward groan as Gwen came into the room.
The blonde girl walked over to her bed and began changing her socks casually.
"Uh, a little," Minerva responded, finding that the easiest explanation for her current actions.
"I will say, sex is all well and good, but then you are driven absolutely crazy, waiting for a cycle. Must be nice to just know what to expect and when to expect it."
Minerva clicked her tongue, uncomfortable on too many levels to count.
"Can't imagine being this age and having children though, either. Lots of girls do. Especially now that a war is going on, I would imagine. Passion is up and all that. Heat of the moment. Lots of children going to grow up without fathers. And those poor mothers! But I suppose it's their own fault, having children at such a young age. You've got it right, Min. Stay single until this war is over."
Gwen looked up from her feet, having successfully completed her task.
Minerva stared blankly, unsure where to even begin or if she ought to begin in her outrage.
The blonde girl cocked her head to the side with confusion, "What?"
"Well…"—she searched for words—"Maybe it makes sense to have a child with a soldier. In case he doesn't come back. Maybe that child is the only living proof that he ever existed."
"Very romantic," Gwen shrugged, "but that is the sort of thing in those muggle novels you read. In real life, a girl has had a baby with no one to provide for it. And then the baby grows up bitter and the mother grows bitter of the baby and of that love affair in the first place. So two lives are ruined."
Minerva blinked. "You don't know that their lives will be ruined. Maybe the mother is the only child of a wealthy family and everything is really all right."
Gwen raised an eyebrow, "We're not talking about you. We're talking about me."
Silence.
"Ah," the woman pursed her lips. There she was, thinking that they had embarked upon a question would asking regarding the current impact of society on family structure and expectations, but of course philosophy was no Gwen's area of interest. Minerva sighed, "Are you pregnant?"
"Sure hope not," she shrugged with a grimace, "Imagine Jez as a father. No thank you."
"Ah," she repeated. "It makes perfect sense to have sex with a boy who you would not want to father a child. Absolutely brilliant logic."
"It sure is fun," she stated, as though that were some sort of argument. A grin spread over her face, "Jez is a lot of fun."
Minerva stared, feeling rage well up inside of her. She did not doubt that he was fun. She also did not doubt that they were acting like children that should not be begetting other children. What was wrong with people her age? "Have you told Jez that?"
Gwen's eyes lit up, clearly misreading Minerva's response, "All the bloody time. He's really turned a corner. Much less focused on his sad family drama and more concerned with our relationship."
"Ah," she whispered and walked towards the door, "I'm off to dinner."
She did not wait for Gwen to respond, but rather, raced down the stairs as quickly as she possibly could. She couldn't do it. She couldn't stand it. Life was not something to be tossed to the side. Love was not an object with which to play.
And what if sex were fun? There would be repercussions: emotional ones, if not physical.
Poor Jez; Minerva desperately hoped that he wouldn't end up chained to the creature that was Gwenella Paige. She had no feeling for anyone but herself, and it seemed unlikely that she would ever change. And while Jez was not the brightest glowworm, he was in many ways just a frustrated boy. With any luck, they would stay a short-lived school romance.
Next time, Minerva would not encourage any coupling, even if it helped her cause.
The woman blinked as darkness fell upon the corridor: maybe she was a little selfish herself.
R&R SVP