11 - A New Beginning
"And that's what brought me to you." She said finally. Her fingers fumbled with the laces of her dress, and she undid them, opening the gown far enough so that he could see the black imprint on her chest. "Impaled on my own weapon." This time she did not feel the need to cry, to mourn. Telling the story had felt like exorcising a demon, she had expelled the devil of guilt and shame from inside her, and she felt cleansed of the touch Jeromie had left on her soul. It felt like her life was beginning all over again.
Albus Dumbledore seemed to have come to the same conclusion, blue eyes glittering with silent contemplation. "I believe," he said quietly, "That some souls are meant to know each other. You will meet that child some day, Minerva, a soul you were meant to know."
She was touched by his words, and wondered f it were possible, and if she would know the soul if she ever did meet it. Would she recognise it somewhere in her heart as the soul that had once resided inside her?
He continued as though he had never spoken. "I am Headmaster as Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There is an opening in the staff, for a new Transfiguration teacher." His eyes gazed at her steadily, taking in everything that she was - the woman, the witch. "With proper training, I believe you are the right person for the job."
She couldn't speak. He was offering her the chance of a lifetime, the chance to begin again in a place where nobody but he would know of her past failure, a chance to make something of the life she thought she had destroyed, a chance to enrich children's lives as she had planned to teach her own son or daughter. Tears glittered in her eyes once again. Sometimes, she wondered if the hormones were still somewhere inside her. She was not a woman who usually cried.
She was overcome. She didn't know how to respond, how to encompass how grateful she was. Instead, her reply was probably the most ridiculous thing she could have possibly said, but, at the time, the words were the first to land on her tongue. "But I have no wand." She whispered.
Albus smiled. "Wands can be replaced."
She smiled herself, unable to resist. What a stupid thing to say. "Albus, I don't know what to say."
"Say yes." He prompted.
He was not telling her, he was asking her, offering it to her.
"Yes." She smiled. And at that moment a light seemed to dawn on her, as if the sun was shining through a hole in the clouds directly into her soul. Where, just a few nights ago, her future had seemed bleak and hopeless, everything important in her life torn away from her by cruel twists of fate, now she saw a long, vast road stretching out before her, a sea of endless possibilities.
Her eyes met Albus Dumbledore's, stared right at him, into him, their eyes locked for a but a moment that seemed an eternity. He saw the hope in her eyes, and she saw fulfilment that he had been able to create that hope, a great happiness that he gained only from the witnessing of happiness in others. At that moment, she realised she loved him - loved him more than she would possibly ever love anybody else for ever more. It was not the passionate, physical love that she felt for Sebastian, who would have a place in her heart forever, but a deep kindred love, as though he were the brother or the father that she had never known. It filled her up inside and made her feel complete again.
"Thankyou, Albus."
****
Weeks later, she stood in front of the mirror surveying herself. She wore robes of rich red and green tartan, belled around the wrists and hovering voluminously about her ankles. She wore smart, high heeled boots and there was a wand protruding from her pocket. She felt more like a witch than she had felt in years. She felt natural, like this is how things should be. She looked at herself in the mirror. It was wonderful, but she still didn't look right. There was something wrong, the face looking back at her, or more the whole image, didn't seem to fit the new identity she was trying to create for herself. There was a trace of the child there, of the child she no longer wanted to be. With a wry smile, she realised what it was.
She picked up a hairbrush from the dresser, raked it through her thick curls. They were Minerva, the unsure child burdened under the weight of a key that really had no weight at all, they were Minny, the girl that had suffered, the girl that had felt that guilt and hatred would consume her. With a nod to herself, She raked them back across her head, and with several sturdy pins, she pinned them back into a tight bun behind her head. She looked like a woman now. This was who she wanted to be. She looked like Professor McGonagall.
"And that's what brought me to you." She said finally. Her fingers fumbled with the laces of her dress, and she undid them, opening the gown far enough so that he could see the black imprint on her chest. "Impaled on my own weapon." This time she did not feel the need to cry, to mourn. Telling the story had felt like exorcising a demon, she had expelled the devil of guilt and shame from inside her, and she felt cleansed of the touch Jeromie had left on her soul. It felt like her life was beginning all over again.
Albus Dumbledore seemed to have come to the same conclusion, blue eyes glittering with silent contemplation. "I believe," he said quietly, "That some souls are meant to know each other. You will meet that child some day, Minerva, a soul you were meant to know."
She was touched by his words, and wondered f it were possible, and if she would know the soul if she ever did meet it. Would she recognise it somewhere in her heart as the soul that had once resided inside her?
He continued as though he had never spoken. "I am Headmaster as Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There is an opening in the staff, for a new Transfiguration teacher." His eyes gazed at her steadily, taking in everything that she was - the woman, the witch. "With proper training, I believe you are the right person for the job."
She couldn't speak. He was offering her the chance of a lifetime, the chance to begin again in a place where nobody but he would know of her past failure, a chance to make something of the life she thought she had destroyed, a chance to enrich children's lives as she had planned to teach her own son or daughter. Tears glittered in her eyes once again. Sometimes, she wondered if the hormones were still somewhere inside her. She was not a woman who usually cried.
She was overcome. She didn't know how to respond, how to encompass how grateful she was. Instead, her reply was probably the most ridiculous thing she could have possibly said, but, at the time, the words were the first to land on her tongue. "But I have no wand." She whispered.
Albus smiled. "Wands can be replaced."
She smiled herself, unable to resist. What a stupid thing to say. "Albus, I don't know what to say."
"Say yes." He prompted.
He was not telling her, he was asking her, offering it to her.
"Yes." She smiled. And at that moment a light seemed to dawn on her, as if the sun was shining through a hole in the clouds directly into her soul. Where, just a few nights ago, her future had seemed bleak and hopeless, everything important in her life torn away from her by cruel twists of fate, now she saw a long, vast road stretching out before her, a sea of endless possibilities.
Her eyes met Albus Dumbledore's, stared right at him, into him, their eyes locked for a but a moment that seemed an eternity. He saw the hope in her eyes, and she saw fulfilment that he had been able to create that hope, a great happiness that he gained only from the witnessing of happiness in others. At that moment, she realised she loved him - loved him more than she would possibly ever love anybody else for ever more. It was not the passionate, physical love that she felt for Sebastian, who would have a place in her heart forever, but a deep kindred love, as though he were the brother or the father that she had never known. It filled her up inside and made her feel complete again.
"Thankyou, Albus."
****
Weeks later, she stood in front of the mirror surveying herself. She wore robes of rich red and green tartan, belled around the wrists and hovering voluminously about her ankles. She wore smart, high heeled boots and there was a wand protruding from her pocket. She felt more like a witch than she had felt in years. She felt natural, like this is how things should be. She looked at herself in the mirror. It was wonderful, but she still didn't look right. There was something wrong, the face looking back at her, or more the whole image, didn't seem to fit the new identity she was trying to create for herself. There was a trace of the child there, of the child she no longer wanted to be. With a wry smile, she realised what it was.
She picked up a hairbrush from the dresser, raked it through her thick curls. They were Minerva, the unsure child burdened under the weight of a key that really had no weight at all, they were Minny, the girl that had suffered, the girl that had felt that guilt and hatred would consume her. With a nod to herself, She raked them back across her head, and with several sturdy pins, she pinned them back into a tight bun behind her head. She looked like a woman now. This was who she wanted to be. She looked like Professor McGonagall.