Minerva looked into the scratched, ivory-framed mirror that hung decoratively above the dresser in the living quarters of her office.
"Letting our hair down," she chuckled, thinking of the old-fashondness of the phrase she had used a dozen times a few weeks before in describing what would happen that evening. Christmas wasn't her favorite holiday, and hadn't been for years. She undid the tight bun above the nape of her neck and let the waves of once red hair fall to her waist. It was browner now, and streaked with white. She thought of magically dying it again.
"It's not worth it. There's no use hiding that I'm just getting old." She thought, trying to ignore the lines sprouting at the corners of her eyes and the fact that her figure was nowhere near what it used to be. Not that anyone noticed anymore. Not that many had ever noticed.
She glanced out the castle window at the rapidly falling snow. Hagrid was bringing a wreath the size of a small elephant into the great hall, Fang sliding on the slush behind him. They had used that wreath before, the professor thought distractedly, last Christmas. When there were only five students staying the holidays.
But that was a painful thing to remember. That was the day that Sybille had made her ridiculous prediction. And the day Minerva had finally told her off for it.
Minerva doubted that any student at school a decade before would recognize her now. Ten years ago, though still strict, Minerva had been cheerful, out going, held her head high and smiled at the students. She was full of the old fire that had burned for her then, she was a strong witch and knew it. Those days ended far too soon. The days when Minerva was in love.
None of the staff could have guessed it then, and few of them knew of it even now. No student in their wildest dreams could have imagined it, that tightly strung Professor McGonigal and the slightly eccentric Professor Trelwany were in love.
But they were. During sleepless hours of the night and during the long silence of work, images of the past worked their way into her mind. Sybille's blue green eyes, overflowing with happiness and affection. Her long hair tossed in the wind. Her jewelry sparkling with moonlight. Her soft, thin lips.
Those were the best years on Minerva's life, the years when she finally found someone who loved her back. Those were days when an observer might truly think love was blind, then look back a few years latter and see that it wasn't.
Maybe it was the difference between their branches of magic. Perhaps it was the huge gap in their personalities. But whatever it was, Minerva had felt it all shoved in her heart with the pained glance she was given by Sybille one year before, at the Christmas feast.
Minerva sighed and twisted her hair back into a bun. She tied her new, rather ugly dress robes around herself, and placed an even newer, even uglier hat on her head. She let her thumb run over the silvery band on her finger. A tear, a hundred times brighter than any precious metal ran down her cheek. She brushed it aside and made her way to the great hall.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters featured in this story. They all belong to JK Rowling. If you are a closed-minded idiot who is offended by this, then it's your problem, not mine. I would like to thank Mouse for thinking this one up, and will continue to punish myself for not thinking of it on my own :-)
