by Vivien
September's Child Part 2
McGonagall Castle, 1956
He stood, shrouded in the shadows of her bedchamber, dressed in robes of white that shone in the darkness. His arms were crossed, and his face was closed to her, blank and furious at the same moment. Minerva felt gooseflesh prickle on her skin and sensed a change in the air with his presence. Who had she invited into her room? She glanced at the bedside table to make sure her wand was in close reach. Her room was protected by the ancestral magic of her family home, but she had not thought to place further wards upon herself or the room. She hadn't thought… That had been her problem ever since Tom had crashed into her life last Christmas. Stupid, how could she have been so stupid? Reckless, out of control… She would never let anything like this happen to her again.
"Did I interrupt?" she said, tartly, anger at Tom – at herself – swelling like a sickly bruise on her heart.
His eyes flashed with malice, and Minerva grabbed for her wand. A wave of pain and nausea surged through her. She wondered how quickly the House Elves would be able to come to her aid. Not quickly enough, she imagined. Breathing hard and trying not to jostle the baby, Minerva held her wand before her. The words she'd wished to speak withered in her fear and pain.
Time stopped, it seemed to Minerva. She couldn't imagine what would happen when the moment ended. There was no future - only past and present and regrets and love gone so badly. Tom broke his gaze finally, looking down at his sandaled feet. He glanced back up at her briefly, pain mirrored in his eyes, and then he covered his face in his hands.
Tom had been fully prepared to cut Minerva with his words, to wound her with his anger at her rejection, but he'd never considered hurting her physically. When he saw the fear on her face – fear of him – he'd felt an emotion with which he'd not had much experience. Shame at his actions, shame for how she must see him now, washed over him, especially when he'd noticed the bundle of pink flesh swaddled in her arms. His irrational weakness for this woman opened wide and devoured him.
Stepping tentatively towards her, he held his arms out in front of him so she could see he had no wand ready to use against her. "Forgive me, Minerva. I've tried so hard to hate you. It made it easier, you see, than to feel your absence. I promised to protect you and our child. I sealed that promise with powerful magic. I won't hurt you, Minerva. Not now, not ever. I… it's been difficult without you. I'm… sorry to have frightened you."
Minerva nodded her head slightly, her wand dipping.
"Why didn't you call for me?" His voice was small and so full of hurt. If anyone but Minerva had heard him speak like this he would have killed them on the spot.
Minerva's wand hand was shaking. She couldn't have held it up much longer. The relief that washed over her with his words was that much greater. Slowly she lowered the wand to the blankets beside her. "I don't know, Tom. It's been difficult for me, as well. But I have missed you." Tears prickled in her eyes, but she refused to let herself cry again.
Tom took another step closer. "Are you all right?" With uncrossing his arms he didn't seem to quite know what to do with them. Minerva saw in him the boy she'd once known, that shy, dedicated boy who'd have done anything to please her.
"I'm tired and more than a little uncomfortable, but I'm fine. Please, Tom, come and see our daughter."
He moved slowly towards her bed. The moonlight claimed him from the shadows. His gaze flickered between Minerva and his child in her arms. Minerva had dark circles under her eyes and she looked pale and exhausted. She smiled at him a bit wanly then arranged the blankets about the baby so he could better see her. The baby - his daughter, he thought with incredulity – had the black hair of both her parents and slept with no worries in her little mind.
"She's beautiful," he murmured.
Minerva motioned him to sit beside her on the bed. He carefully settled down. She smelled scents of cumin and hot sand on his tanned skin and felt a pang of longing for him, to touch him, to keep him with her always.
Tom sat facing her, his thigh pressed against hers. He had wanted to feel her touch for so long. There was a quiet dread balling in his stomach that told him this might be the last time, no matter what they might wish or hope. He placed his hand over hers where it covered the baby's tiny chest and took that moment to look into the eyes of the woman he'd idolized since the moment they'd met.
She met his gaze, but to her horror she perceived a faint glint of red shining from his dark eyes and reflected in the silver light from the window. Nothing had changed, no matter how she wished it had. She was rescued from this realization then by the stirring of the baby.
Tom smiled down at her. "When was she born?" he asked, stroking her soft cheek with one hand, while still clasping Minerva's hand with the other.
"A few hours ago," said Minerva.
"What are you going to call her?"
"Miranda," said Minerva. "The name means 'strange and wonderful'. It's how I've felt about how she came into my life."
Tom raised Minerva's hand to his lips and kissed it in response. He was silent for a time before he said with a catch in his voice, "It suits her well. Miranda McGonagall."
"I want you to give her a name, too. What should her second name be?"
Tom thought a moment, his hands connecting him to the only true family he would ever know. Now that he was here, before her, taking in the sights of this dear child and her beautiful mother, he wondered if this could be enough. Could he stay here with her and forsake his destiny, forget the thrill of power? He wanted it to be enough. But he knew he was lying to himself. "Grace," he said finally. "Miranda Grace."
'For the grace I will never know if I leave this woman,' he thought.
Minerva nodded. "Miranda Grace."
Silence fell between them. The light of the moon enveloped the young family in a soft, calming glow.
"How have you been, Tom? Where have you been?"
"A long way from here," he said. "May I hold her?"
Minerva hesitated, and impatience twisted on Tom's face. "I told you I wouldn't hurt either of you. I won't Disapparate with her either. Why don't you trust me?"
"You know why," said Minerva calmly, gathering the baby up. "But of course you may hold her." She lifted the baby to him, and he carefully took her.
Miranda opened her eyes and yawned. Tom smiled, the firm, warm weight of the infant's body settling into his arms. It was an amazing experience to hold this life, this little life that he'd been a part of creating. He was rocking her slightly, admiring her tiny features, when into his mind sprang the potions and charms that could be made with an infant's blood – potions to seal fates and hide misdeeds, charms to mislead and enslave. It horrified him. He had appraised his own daughter's potential sacrificial benefits in Dark magic. Perhaps Minerva had been right when she'd told him the Darkness would change him. He somewhat hurriedly handed Miranda back to her mother and walked to the window. Looking out on the dark loch, he listened to the Darkness sing in his veins, calling more power for him by any means necessary. He didn't want to think about this, not now.
"I've some news," Minerva said after an awkward silence. "I've been asked to teach at Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore has been made Headmaster, and he asked me straightaway. I start after the Easter holidays."
Tom grimaced at the name Dumbledore. "How wonderful for you," he said archly.
"I was hoping… I wanted you to stay, Tom," said Minerva. "I've been doing research on Banishing Darkness spells, and Dumbledore was intrigued when I told him – in the vaguest terms, of course – about my theories. He would be a great help to you, and…"
"No," said Tom sharply. "I will never want his help. And why do you insist I must be cured of what I am? I have a destiny, Minerva, a great one. You could join me with our daughter and we could rule the world. Come with me, Minerva, please. I would make you so happy."
"No," said Minerva. "I couldn't, Tom. You know that deep down. Already you're changing into something else, something that won't allow the man I loved to exist."
Red sparkled behind his eyes as anger rushed through him. How dare she speak to him that way? A vision of slapping her for her impudence flashed through his brain and then he shook his head to snap out of the uncalled mood. She was right. He walked slowly back to her bedside. "I know," he whispered. He sat down beside her once again and took her hand. "I'll send you money every year. At Christmas, for her upkeep."
"Tom, you don't need to do th…"
"No, I do need to," Tom said fiercely. "My father abandoned me upon my birth. I'd never do that to my own child. I may be evil, but I am honorable."
"Of course, Tom, of course," said Minerva. "And I'll send you pictures, if you want, of Miranda each year. I'll, oh gods, Tom, I'll miss what could have been."
As the tears began, he reached towards her, enfolding her carefully into his arm so as not to disturb the baby. He kissed her forehead and said, "We were destined to be together, Minerva. I wish that it would have been for longer."
She leaned up and pressed her lips softly to his.
"Stay with me, " she breathed.
"Come with me," he said softly back.
Neither spoke for several minutes as they held each other for the last time. Miranda began whimpering, and Tom moved back. He stroked the baby's soft hair. "Goodbye, sweet one," he said. "Goodbye, Minerva. Remember that I will protect you and Miranda, no matter what. I will always cherish you both, no matter what else might change."
"I hope that stays true, Tom," said Minerva, her eyes shining with tears. "Goodbye."
Tom stood up and with one last longing glance, he Disapparated. Minerva picked up the baby and held her closely to her chest.
The door to her bedchamber opened. "Mistress, does you need anything," said Mimsy. "Mimsy thought you might be needing her."
"Could you help me put the baby in the bassinet?" she managed to say.
"Yes, Mistress," said the House Elf, moving quickly and efficiently. She took Miranda and placed her softly in the bassinet. Then she returned to Minerva and patted her hand. "Mistress is sad. Can Mimsy do anything to help?"
"No, Mimsy, thank you," said Minerva. "No wait, could you bring me a draft of Dreamless Sleep?"
"But Mistress, the baby will need feeding soon," said Mimsy.
"Oh, yes, that's right," said Minerva, suddenly even more tired and miserable than she'd been before. "Some Soothing Tea, then, please."
Mimsy hurried off to her task. Minerva pressed the hand that Tom had held to her lips and began sobbing with gasping breaths. The past nine months had thrown her life into a disarray of conflicting emotion, change, and loss. She couldn't regret her affair with Tom, no matter what might come, because the end result had been this beautiful child. Her life was much happier in many ways than it had been nine months ago, but she was intensely sad at losing Tom forever. She would never let anything like this happen again. The rest of her life would be one of planned reserve. And yet the memory of those heady days being swept off her feet would stay with her always.
Pulling herself together, she quieted herself with a few deep, wavering breaths. She waved her wand at the bassinet, and it scooted closer to the bed. She looked down at her sleeping daughter with love. Her strange and wondrous life had brought her this sweet little girl. For that she would always be thankful.
Minerva's story continues in "Betrayal and Confessions, 1978"