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 Fourteen: A Special GiftWhile smoothing down the skirt of her soft sage green gown, Minerva crossed the bedroom to her dresser. Swiftly, she undid the small bit of ribbon that bound her hair together and laid it on the wooden surface in its usual place. Then she took off her spectacles, laying them carefully aside, and picked up her hairbrush to begin the work of removing the kinks that were caused by her nightly braid. Over and over her hands performed her morning ritual without conscious thought.
She closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind as she enjoyed the feeling of the stiff bristles massaging her scalp and pulling gently down through the long silky strands of her hair. It was comforting to run her fingers through its thickness, absorbing the warmth from the nape of her neck, letting it slip softly over her knuckles and palms as she worked through her mane of hair in a smooth, rhythmic manner.
Idly, she counted the strokes as she let her mind drift wherever it wanted to go. Long fingers slipped through the dark strands and entwined themselves in it firmly. Pulling out pins one by one and scattering them like chaff on the wind, sliding up under the heavy mass of her hair to cradle the back of her head gently while warm sensuous lips sucked at the softness of her neck…drifted gently across her cheek…dark eyes bored into hers…
Her eyes opened abruptly, and she uttered a sharp gasp and straightened up. That was quite enough of that. No good would come of thoughts like that. No good at all. It was over and done with; let it go. With a determined gesture, she set the brush back in its place next to the ribbon and replaced her glasses on the bridge of her nose. Then she gathered her hair into her hand, and with practiced ease, she twisted it up into its usual tight knot at the back of her head and began to firmly pin it into place.
When she was finished, she walked into her sitting room just in time to witness the appearance of a house-elf in front of her fireplace. The elf held a package in his hands and bowed deeply to her.
"Forgive this intrusion, Professor Minerva McGonagall, but Scoder has been entrusted with a package for you and was told to bring it to you as soon as possible." The elf smiled an ingratiating smile and held out the package for her to take.
She crossed the room and took it from him quickly. "Thank you, Scoder."
Scoder bowed once more. "It is Scoder's job, Professor Minerva McGonagall. Scoder is happy to do it. Would you like some tea this morning? Breakfast in your rooms perhaps?" The elf eyed her eagerly, always hoping for a new opportunity to ply his trade.
Minerva was tempted to take him up on the offer, but instead she thought she should probably just go down to breakfast. In the end, it always seemed to be easier.
"No, thank you, Scoder, not this morning." She smiled pleasantly at the elf, who bowed once more and vanished with a rather loud pop.
Once he'd vanished, she looked down at the flat rectangular package that she held in her hands and frowned in puzzlement. It was a bit early for Christmas, and her birthday was already past. Predictably, whatever it was, was wrapped in gold paper and tied with a bright red ribbon. When sending packages to Gryffindors, apparently all anyone could think of was to wrap it up in red and gold, how unimaginative. There was a card in a snowy envelope that peeked out from under the edge of the ribbon. Carefully, she eased it out of its binding and, opening the envelope, drew out the card.
As she glanced at the once familiar writing, she sighed. He wasn't going to give up apparently. The heavy sloping writing in dark blue ink expressed sentiments that she'd really rather not hear again, but her wishes in this matter did seem to be irrelevant unfortunately.
Minerva,
Please, accept this gift as a token of my undying affection. I know that you don't really believe that I desire to resume our marriage, finding it unlikely after all these years. However, I assure you that I could not be more sincere. I need you in my life, Minerva. These years without you have been nothing but an empty lie. Only the time with you seems real and alive for me. As you can see, I remember everything.
Love,
Ian
She sank down onto her couch and let the card drop from her hands as she considered the package thoughtfully. She could return it unopened. That would probably be the wise thing to do, but now she was curious. What would he send her anyway? What did he remember?
Besides, Albus would no doubt want her to, if not actively encourage him, at least not discourage him completely. At least not until they knew what he was after. No matter what he might profess, there was no way that what he wanted was a resumption of the open warfare that she remembered as their marriage. How anyone could possibly delude themselves into thinking that the painful battle of wills that they'd lived through for six years could've ever constituted a happy marriage was beyond her.
With a sigh, she pulled the ribbon off the package and carefully slipped her finger under the fold in the gilt wrapping to remove it without tearing it. Then she found herself looking down at a box of Milk Tray chocolates. She hadn't even seen a box of these chocolates in years.
A slightly sad smile flitted across her face, and she pulled open the box to release the sweet aroma that she remembered so well, a smell that took her automatically back into her past. This particular brand of Muggle chocolates had been a guilty secret of her childhood. Coming from a pureblooded Wizarding family, most things Muggle were frowned upon, but her grandmother had lived on the edge of a nearby Muggle village, and had a terrible sweet tooth and a strong desire for Muggle candy. Whenever Minerva had gone for a visit, she and her grandmother had treated themselves to some chocolates from a shop in the town. These had always been her favorites. They reminded her of the close relationship that she'd had with the older woman and of sharing a taste for slightly forbidden fruit.
A craving for them had continued through her married years, intensifying with each pregnancy. She could remember begging Ian for some of these chocolates and being refused as often as not. After that last devastating miscarriage, she'd lost her taste for them. Indeed, as she'd grown older, she seemed to have lost her taste for most really sweet confections, preferring the bite of a lemon pastry or a ginger newt.
Now, as she found herself looking down into a whole box of these sweet nuggets of her past, all of them nestled in their small paper cups, so many things that she hadn't thought of in years came rushing back at her. She could see the smiling face of her grandmother as she took her hand and walked her through the strange town and into the forbidden candy shop. A warm happy memory of a woman who'd loved her very, very much.
Unfortunately, that sweet memory was overlaid by visions of herself plucking chocolates from a box exactly like this one while dreaming about the family that she was about to have, only to be disappointed over and over again. That thought was swiftly followed by visions of Ian's angry face as he berated her for one failure after another.
Suddenly, she slammed the lid back down onto the box of chocolates and shoved the unwanted thing off of her lap onto the sofa cushion beside her. Then she got to her feet and paced over to rest her head in her hands against the mantel over the fire.
How could he think for a moment that a box of these chocolates would be a welcome gift? Didn't he remember any of the pain of those years? It seemed so obvious to her that any reminders of her failed pregnancies would only drive her further away from him. Why did he seem to see it so differently? It was almost as if he was determined to take the past and twist it into some sort of fairy tale with a slightly unhappy ending that could be smoothed over instead of seeing it for the agonizing tragedy that it really was.
Lifting her head from her hands, she stared into the fire for a few moments. One hand drifted slowly across her abdomen in a protective gesture, though there was nothing there to protect and there never would be. Suddenly, she clenched her fingers into a fist and fought back a wave of nausea. The past. She did not want to think about the past. It was over and done with, and she was damned grateful for that. How dare he come here into her world and attempt to turn her contented life upside down like this? What gave him the right?
Her narrowed eyes turned away from the fire and focused on the box and its wrappings that sat so innocently on the chesterfield. She shook her head, and reached into her pocket for her wand. Pulling it out, she aimed it at the pile on the couch, and, with a brief flash, the package wrapped itself up once more.
At this point, the thought of going down to breakfast turned her stomach. So she waved her wand in the appropriate manner, and a house-elf appeared before her. It was Scoder again, as it usually was. Different elves seemed to have different professors whom they watched over in particular.
"Yes, Professor Minerva McGonagall? How may Scoder be of assistance?" The elf bowed low.
"I changed my mind about breakfast, Scoder. I think that I would like to have it here, after all. Nothing too heavy though. Tea, grapefruit juice and perhaps some buttered toast."
"Yes, Ma'am," the elf said smoothly.
Then before he could vanish, Minerva spoke again. "There's something else that I'd like you to do for me, Scoder."
"Of course, Professor Ma'am. Scoder is happy to do anything that the very kind Professor Minerva McGonagall wishes."
Minerva forced a faint smile. "Please return the package that you brought me to Mr. Standish. You may leave it in his rooms if you wish. Oh, wait just a moment though." She crossed the room to her desk and retrieved her quill; then she picked up Ian's card and scrawled a brief message of refusal across it and shoved it back into its envelope. Once she'd done that, she slipped the small white square back under the ribbon and handed the box back to the house-elf.
"There. Thank you, Scoder."
The elf bowed. "It is my pleasure, Professor Minerva McGonagall. Scoder will be back shortly with your breakfast."
"Thank you," whispered Minerva once more as she watched the elf vanish with the abhorrent package clutched tightly in his hands. Albus might not approve, but there was no way she was taking presents from Ian. Actually, defying him might be a better course of action anyway. Ian won't like being thwarted, and it just might make him react impulsively. In fact, it might force him to tip his hand completely and reveal what he actually wanted from her. Not that that thought gave her much comfort. The fact was that the longer this went on, the more reluctant she was to actually discover what Ian Standish was really up to.
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With a look of annoyance plastered across his broad face, Ian slammed angrily into his room. What kind of coy games was the bitch playing now? Once more, she hadn't shown up for breakfast. Was she trying to avoid him? Tease him? He would never understand women. They were too unpredictable, and Minerva had always been more mysterious than most. What did it take to get through to her anyway?
Perhaps, she hadn't come down because she was enjoying the gift he'd sent to her. He tried to seize on a positive possibility. When they were married, she was always pleading that he get her some of those horrid sweets, and she'd eat them in the morning as well as at any other time. It'd never made any sense to him, but there'd been no question that she'd enjoyed them. Surely, she'd appreciate the gesture, and take it for a sincere bid for her affections? After all, he was running out of time. Something had to work with that infuriating woman sooner or later.
His eyes narrowed as he glanced across the room to the top of his writing desk. There was a suspiciously familiar package lying on top of it. Great Merlin! Couldn't the house-elves around here do anything right? Lazy and stupid, the lot of them. Angrily, he crossed the room and picked up the package, thinking that he should just summon one of the stupid creatures back and let it feel a taste of his wand, when he realized that the card that he'd tucked carefully under the ribbon was now open. Damn it! She'd sent it back!
He dropped the box of chocolates roughly onto the desktop and yanked the card free of the ribbon. Then he pulled it out of its envelope and read Minerva's rapid scrawl: You cannot buy my affection, Ian. I am not for sale.
Furious at being thwarted once more, he grabbed the garish box and flung it across the room with all his strength. It bounced off a large mirror that hung over the fireplace and burst open, scattering small pieces of chocolate all over the hearth and the facing sofa.
The mirror squeaked in surprise. "Mercy! Watch where you throw things! You could've broken me."
"I'll do a lot worse than break you, you nasty piece of glass, if you don't shut up!" roared the infuriated wizard as he stalked across the room to glare at his red-faced reflection angrily.
"Temper, temper," cautioned the mirror softly. "Breaking a mirror brings seven years of bad luck, you know."
"Indeed? And how much bad luck does melting one bring? Or perhaps transfiguring one into a log for the fire? I doubt if that would bring me even a moment of bad luck, and it would certainly bring me a lot of satisfaction at the moment…shall we try it?" he snarled as he twirled his wand threateningly in his hand.
The mirror seemed to shiver slightly, but it didn't reply. A nasty smile crept over his face at the silence. "I'll take that as a "no" then."
As he stared at his face in the mirror, the smile was slowly replaced by a frown. She'd rejected him again. What should he do now? He couldn't fool around trying to persuade her forever. The Dark Lord had a limit on how much grace time he was willing to grant him after all, and the clock was already ticking along much too fast.
He could try to make excuses, he supposed, but that was always dangerous. Failure and excuses were never looked kindly on, and pain had never been something that he'd been overly fond of experiencing. Why should he be the one who was punished, anyway? He was doing his best. The one who needed to be punished here was Minerva.
His lips twisted up into a smile at the thought of Minerva writhing on the stones at the Dark Lord's feet, while he directed the Cruciatus Curse at her and peals of echoing laughter surrounded them all. It would serve her right to be taken down a peg or two. She'd always thought herself better than everyone around her. Somehow, he'd never been able to beat that arrogant streak out of her, and now it was coming into play once more. Insufferable woman.
Then there was Snape! The Dark Lord had assured him that he was one of his most useful and loyal servants. Well, so far he certainly hadn't been overly useful, and that didn't seem particularly loyal to him. The man promised to put in a good word with Minerva. Either he'd failed to do so, in which case, he should've tried harder or Minerva refused to listen to him, in which case, he should've found a better approach. After all, they were colleagues. He'd worked with the woman for years. She'd taught him in school. He ought to know what buttons to push in order to get her to dance to his tune. If he didn't, then what good was he?
The Dark Lord would not be getting a good report of Snape's behavior from him that was for sure. In fact, perhaps it was time for him to see just what Snape has been doing to further his cause. The taint of failure wasn't going to rest solely on his head if he could help it. There was more than enough to go around.
Not that failure was likely, ultimately. He still had one last trick to pull on Minerva. One that she could only ignore at peril of her own life. He hated to do it because, once he did, there was a chance that it could be dangerous to him as well, and if for some reason it failed…
No. He couldn't afford to think that way. It would not fail. Even Minerva wouldn't be so foolish as to give up her life rather than give in to his demands. She had a very comfortable life here. Surely she'd rather keep it than rot forever in the bowels of Azkaban. It would work, but first, he'd seek out Snape and see if there wasn't any other way. If the Potions master had failed him, though, he'd have no other choice than to show Minerva a little piece of her past. Something that she wouldn't be prepared to see at all. No, indeed.
With a hard, determined look on his face, he went off in search of his supposedly most helpful ally.
