Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.
This story is dedicated to scatteredlogic for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.
Chapter Twelve: Opening Old WoundsIn a move of unwanted intimacy, Ian's arm slipped around Minerva's shoulders and, before she could object, he'd guided her into his rooms and shut the door behind them. Immediately, she moved out of his grasp and walked across the room, turning back to face him.
"So, now that you've had a few days to observe us, what do you think of Hogwarts?" she asked briskly. Hoping that if she started their encounter off on a businesslike footing, that she could keep better control of the conversation. Overly optimistic perhaps, but she had to at least try.
Ian smiled and pushed his hands deeply into the pockets of his dark blue robe as he answered her. "I've been very impressed with everything I've seen and everybody I've met so far. The school is very well run and maintained, and the quality of the teaching that I've been exposed to has been excellent."
Slowly, he moved across the room to join her, stopping a mere pace or two away. His voice was warm and pleasant as he made conversation. "I was particularly impressed with the way you handled your class, Minerva. You had them hanging on your every word."
Then he shrugged casually and gave her a smile tinged with familiarity. "It's funny. I've known that you've been a teacher for many years, yet I've never thought about what you did or whether or not you were any good at it. Though I certainly can't imagine you doing anything badly. You're by far the most competent woman I've ever known. Still, it was fascinating to see you actually teaching in front of a class. It certainly seemed to me as if the classroom is your natural environment. You're a very good teacher."
Wary that his compliments were nothing but a prelude to something else, a way to soften her up and get her to let down her guard, it nevertheless felt good to hear them. She loved to teach, to help guide children into the larger world and arm them with the skills that they'd need to survive and do well. It was a mission in life that she got great personal satisfaction from pursuing. Very few people ever complimented her for that.
"Thank you. I enjoy teaching very much. It does seem to be where I belong, what I'm meant to do with my life."
He smiled once more. "I'd tend to agree. Would you like a drink? I believe I did promise you one."
Hoping to get this meeting over with as soon as possible, she nodded complacently. "Certainly."
There was a collection of bottles of varying sizes and contents sitting on a mahogany credenza on one side of the room. Ian turned away from Minerva and crossed over to examine the possibilities. He lifted up a bottle of amber liquid and turned back to glance at her. "I have a very good bottle of whisky here. There also seems to be some brandy, and a couple of bottles of wine. Burgundy and Shiraz. Does any of that meet with your approval?"
Minerva spread her hands and shrugged. She wasn't going to be picky. "Whatever is convenient."
A knowing smile slid across his features, and he opened the whisky bottle and poured out a measure into two glasses. "As I recall, your drink of choice was always single malt whisky…neat. Has that changed?" He picked up the drinks and moved casually back to her side, offering one to her.
Accepting the glass, she shook her head. "Not really. I'm surprised you remember."
He took a step closer. "Oh, I haven't forgotten anything about you, Minerva." His voice dropped to a rather low, suggestive tone, sending flashes of alarm up her spine as she took a sip from her glass and a simultaneous step back.
"What a coincidence, I haven't forgotten anything about you either, Ian." Her eyes flared with warning, and her voice had a rather sharp edge to it.
His response to that was to throw back his head and laugh. "I'll just bet you haven't." Extending his hand towards the fireplace, he added, "Shall we sit down?"
Her eyes flitted towards the cheery fire burning in the grate in front of which stood a large plush sofa upholstered in a deep burgundy. Not liking the cozy look of that, her eyes quickly scanned the room for other possibilities only to discover to her horror, that there wasn't a single easy chair in the entire room.
There was a loveseat against one wall, apparently the slightly more intimate mate to the sofa, but, other than that, the only other chair available was a wooden upright that stood in front of an antique writing desk settled comfortably beneath the windows. Who the hell was responsible for decorating this room? Didn't every sitting room have plenty of places to sit? She'd have to have a rather stern talk with the house elves about this as soon as possible. However, that didn't exactly help her out now.
Not seeing any way out of it without causing a fuss, she reluctantly crossed the room and perched gingerly on one end of the sofa. This tactic backfired immediately when Ian sat down next to her right in the middle of the sofa rather than going to the other end as she'd quite foolishly hoped.
Simply to take up time, she took another sip of her drink and watched him nervously over the rim of her glass.
Seeming quite comfortable himself, Ian sat back easily on the sofa and turned to her with a smile. "I did want to apologize to you once more for speaking out of turn this morning in your classroom. My only defense is that I found myself quite caught up in the lesson, and simply wanted to know more. One of the last cases that I adjudicated, before I retired from the court, concerned a man who'd transfigured his victim's body into a pole and put a bird house atop it in the middle of his yard. He didn't do a very thorough job of it, though. After a while, it began to…rot. Anyway, when you were talking about the theory behind the lesson, that popped into my mind, and I simply asked the questions that came to me. You were quite right to chastise me for their inappropriateness. I am sorry."
Something about this little story of his didn't quite ring true, but she didn't see the point in questioning it, preferring instead to skip on, finish her drink, and leave as soon as possible. So she nodded and took another sip. "It's over and done with, Ian. I told you there was no need for a further apology."
"Yes, you did, and I'm grateful for your generosity," he murmured softly. His left arm now lay along the sofa's back much too close for her comfort and slowly his free hand began to lightly stroke her hair and play with the pins that held it in place.
At this unwanted touch, she sat up even more rigidly, pulling her head away from his reach and frowning across at him. Before she could rebuke him though, he spoke once more.
"So, what are your plans for the future, Minerva? Do you hope to succeed Albus as Headmistress of Hogwarts someday?"
The question caught her off guard. What was its purpose anyway? Since when was he interested in anyone's future plans other than his own? "I've never really thought about it," she answered warily. "I don't expect that Albus will be ready to step down as Headmaster for many years yet, and I certainly wouldn't want him to. I'm perfectly content to remain in my classroom. I thought we'd established that that's where I belonged." She forced a brief smile.
A warm chuckle filled the space between them. "So we did. I just wondered if you'd ever thought beyond the classroom. Most people want to advance in their professions after all."
"Well, I'm not sure that trading the classroom for the administrative office is really advancing in my profession. I think that Albus has to deal with a whole set of headaches that I would definitely prefer to avoid…permanently. I love to teach. I'd be quite happy to simply remain a classroom teacher for the rest of my career. I don't have any aspirations beyond that."
He moved slightly closer again, and his hand reached out to stroke her cheek gently as he spoke in a soft voice, "That's a shame. You could do anything that you set your mind to, Minerva, I'm sure."
She drew back from his hand but found that she didn't have anywhere to go unless she stood up. "Ian…" she said warningly.
"Why didn't you ever marry again, Minerva?" he murmured. The worrisome hand lightly caressed her shoulder this time, squeezing gently and stroking in small circles.
Caught further off guard, her face went slightly pale at this turn in the conversation, and she gulped down the rest of her drink in one shot. "I'd had quite enough of marriage," she managed to reply, rather stiffly.
His body slid closer once more. Now his leg rested intimately against hers, and his hand began to move slowly across her back in far too possessive a manner. "I should never have let you get away from me," he whispered hoarsely as he leaned closer and attempted to kiss her.
Abruptly, she shoved him back and stood up. "Well, fortunately for me you did. However, I have no desire to relive the memories with you now. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll be going." She set her empty glass down on a nearby table with a thump and headed for the door. Unfortunately, she didn't get very far before he caught up to her and, whirling her around, grabbed her arms tightly in his large hands.
"Don't walk out on me, Minerva," he pleaded. "I took this job of the Board's solely for the purpose of seeing you again. Please! I need you in my life. Letting you go was a horrible mistake. It should never have happened."
Her eyes snapped, and she tried unsuccessfully to wrench her arms from his iron grasp. "Really? You couldn't wait to divorce me at the time. You were in much too much of a hurry to marry your pregnant mistress as I recall," she spat angrily as she uselessly continued to try to pull away from him.
"I had no choice. You know that." His voice rose in agitation. "I needed an heir! I couldn't afford to take the chance of losing that one. I gave you every opportunity to provide me with one yourself." He pulled her struggling body closer to his.
"Every opportunity!" she gasped in an outraged tone. "You mean you forced yourself on me over and over again even after it was apparent that I couldn't give you what you wanted. I endured five miscarriages, Ian. Five! In six years time. The last one almost killed me, and you were sorry that it didn't." Tears sprang to her eyes, and she angrily blinked them back. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain.
"No. I never wanted anything to happen to you. Never! I kept trying so hard to get you pregnant because I knew that the only way I could keep you was if you bore me an heir. I wanted you to remain my wife more than anything, but I had an obligation to the family to continue the line. Nelda has never meant anything to me. She was a means to an end, nothing more. Our marriage has been in name only for the past thirty years."
There it was. She'd been expecting him to use that tired excuse for some time. Minerva tried to turn away, but he forced her to look back at him. Escaping began to seem impossible, though she continued to struggle angrily with him as she cried, "Let me go, Ian. Your marital problems are of your own making. It's nothing to do with me anymore. If Nelda isn't to your liking, then divorce her as you did me."
"Promise to come back to me, and I will!" he exclaimed hotly.
Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? You can't be serious. How would your precious sons feel if you threw their mother out after all these years?"
"I don't care how they'd feel," he growled. "Worthless, the lot of them. Shiftless, lazy. If I'd known how they'd have turned out, I'd have never set such store on having them, I assure you. They weren't worth losing you over, Minerva. Our divorce cost me far more than it brought me in return."
Suspicion and anger narrowed her eyes once more. "The divorce was your idea, Ian. You agreed to it at the time; you can't go back and change it now. It was of paramount importance then for you to get your sons. You can't come crying to me now if they've turned out to be a disappointment. They aren't my responsibility, and fortunately, neither are you!"
Abruptly, he released her, and she staggered a step, automatically raising her hands to try to rub some feeling back into her arms where he'd held her so tightly. She knew she'd have bruises there tomorrow…just like old times.
Ian just stood there and looked at her for a moment then an expression of contrition flashed across his face. "I'm sorry, Minerva. I had no right to hold you like that. I just had to make you hear me out. I had to get you to listen to me. I still love you. I just want you back in my life. That's the only reason I came here…to get you back."
"Then you might as well leave tonight because it isn't going to happen. The day my divorce became final was a day I celebrated. I was happy to get away from you, Ian. I'm a free woman, and I'm never going back into bondage, not to you or to any other man. Husbands always want to be masters, and no man will ever be my master, not ever again."
With her heart pounding loudly in her ears, she turned away from him and walked across the room towards the door as outwardly calm as she could pretend to be. Somehow, she had to get out of here before the trembling that she could feel welling up inside took hold.
As she reached for the doorknob to open the door and make her escape, Ian said, "I'm not giving up on you that easily. I still have a job to do here, so I have a few more days, at least, to persuade you to change your mind. I'd be a much better husband to you now, Minerva. I've learned what's really important in life."
"So have I, Ian," she answered firmly without turning around. "And it doesn't include you. Good night." With a deep breath, she swept out the door and closed it behind her.
Ian stood there and stared at the closed door in frustration. Damn it! So much for gentle persuasion and a declaration of love. Why were women so stubborn? He couldn't afford to give her too many more chances. Something had to work with her, and unfortunately for her, he knew what that something was.
Angrily, he turned and stalked across the room and on into the bedroom. Once there, he picked up the well-wrapped package that rested on his bedside table and caressed it with nervous fingers. It appeared that Minerva would need some stronger persuasion before she'd give him what he wanted. But persuade her he would, one way or another. There was too much at stake for him to give up, and he couldn't leave here without gaining what he needed. He simply didn't dare. If she wouldn't come to him willingly…there were other ways. And although it wasn't what he wanted, he wasn't afraid to use them. Considering his situation, she really wasn't giving him any other choice.
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Minerva fled up through the castle to her rooms with her heart still pounding furiously within her. She passed students and staff and managed to nod pleasantly as needed, but her feet never stopped moving towards her goal. Fortunately, no one tried to hinder her progress, and she made it to her rooms safely for once without having to actually speak to anyone. Something that she truly didn't feel capable of at the moment.
She opened her door and slipped inside, slamming it firmly behind her and leaning back against it. Her eyes closed and her hands came up to cover her mouth, then she simply took a deep breath and let it out very, very slowly. What the hell was going on? Never, not once, in all of the years they'd been married, had Ian said that he loved her. It simply wasn't possible that now, after all these years, he'd suddenly fallen victim to its embrace. No. She refused to believe it. There had to be another answer. There had to be.
Stiffly, she dropped her hands and opened her eyes and moved straight across the room to open the French doors on the far wall and walk out onto her balcony. The frigid air hit her in the face briskly, and she shivered at its touch. The cold seeped into her bones and brought a sense of reality back to her mind. She was missing something here. What was it?
He was lying! That much was certain. He was lying through his pearly white teeth. Her mind turned inward and dredged up an overheard conversation that she'd hoped never to think about again. The horror of it still stabbed her deeply in the pit of her stomach bring a wrenching jolt of agony to her heart.
All these years later, she could still feel the rough surface of the stones beneath her cheek as she'd pressed herself against the wall, listening, hiding. Her hands had gone automatically, protectively, to her abdomen as she'd heard the deep callous voice of her husband hold forth on his hideous desires. A sharp stroke of fear and pain had shot through her, to forever still the faint stirrings of life that had just begun to move within, as she'd listened in horror and cried silently.
"I'd wait on the congratulations for a while yet. It's still far too early to count on success. Considering how things have always gone before…"
There was a murmured reply from an unseen figure, masked by the roaring of the fire within, and the wind without, then Ian's voice hung horridly in the air once more. "If things succeed this time then I'll have everything I need, and I won't have to let anything go. All the pieces will have finally fallen into place. If it turns into another failure, I suppose that the best outcome I can hope for is that she doesn't survive this time. If Minerva was dead…things would be greatly simplified. I grow tired of waiting, and tired of her failures. She's easily replaced, after all."
With a gasp, Minerva shook her head and brought herself back to the present, shivering in the cold night air. The man, who could so callously speak of wishing her dead if she continued to inconvenience him, could not have loved her…not then…not ever. There wasn't a doubt in her mind about that. So why was he pretending to love her now? Why did he want her to return to him? What did he really want?
