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 Twenty: When Worries Lurk In The Dark Of NightMinerva shifted slightly in bed as a warm weight settled against her, and a low familiar voice whispered in her ear.
"I've missed you, Minerva. Have you forgotten about our arrangement?"
"Severus?" Her lips curved into a smile. "We had to call it off while Ian was here, don't you remember?" she murmured sleepily, enjoying the feeling of his hand moving ever so slowly up along her thigh.
With a horrid swiftness, the hand on her thigh grasped her cruelly, and with the aid of its mate, forced her over onto her back. She gasped and opened her eyes fully to find herself staring up into the angry brown eyes of her ex-husband.
Before she could move a muscle, he raised a hand and slapped her face so hard that she could feel her neck crack as it was wrenched to the side by the force of the blow. "Don't ever speak another man's name when you're in bed with me, Minerva! Not ever!"
She moaned with pain and began to struggle against him as he pinned her down firmly and began to roughly yank her nightdress up over her hips, ripping the delicate fabric with his hands, and forcing her legs to part for him by jamming his knee between her slender thighs.
Cold lumps of fear settled in her stomach, as she found herself losing the battle for control of her own body. His strong, grasping hands seemed to be everywhere, and no matter how she tried, she couldn't dislodge his much larger and heavier form from atop of her.
"Let me go!" she cried angrily, as she continued to twist and turn in her desperate attempts to get away.
Cold mocking laughter was her only response; then, when she felt the grating pain as he plunged between her legs and deeply into her unwilling body, his hands came to rest around her throat, pressing her down heavily against the pillow.
"You're mine, Minerva. What you have is mine. No one else will ever have it or you. I decide if you live or die. Me and me alone." His voice was ugly and gloating, it hurt her ears to hear it. Darkness was creeping up on her as he pumped his body viciously against hers and pressed down harder and harder on her throat, depriving her of the air she needed to respond…to fight…to survive.
"NO!" The scream that she finally succeeded in uttering, scraped her throat raw with its ferocity. Her body sprang upright in the empty bed with her heart pumping as fast as it was possible to go. Gasping deeply for breath, she stared around at the silent and darkened room and finally let herself sink back down onto the pillow in relief.
A dream. It was all a bloody dream. Yet another nightmare to torture her nights; a perfect twin to the agony her days had become. She couldn't escape this mental turmoil even for an hour or two of rest, apparently.
Wearily, she dragged her trembling body out of the tousled bed and stumbled over to the window to draw back the drapes. As she did, the room was immediately flooded by a bright sharp stab of lightning followed by an immense crash of thunder. Outside the castle, the very atmosphere echoed the turmoil that surged within her breast. She pressed her flushed face against the cool glass for a moment, and let the violent sounds of the storm without wash over the deep ache of the pain within.
How much more of this could she stand? She already felt as if the cold arms of imprisonment had her firmly within their grasp. She couldn't run, she couldn't hide, she couldn't eat or sleep. There was no refuge anymore. Not from anything. What was she to do?
Gradually, she got her ragged breathing under control and felt the rapid pulse of her heart begin to slow. As the lingering scraps of nightmare faded, she turned from the window and walked slowly into her sitting room. Another flash of lightning lit the room with a cold bluish glow, and she could see by the hands of her clock that it was a quarter to three in the morning. She'd slept for only an hour.
This lack of ability to get real sleep wasn't helping her at all. It made it so hard to think clearly. She probably needed a dreamless sleep potion to get any truly useful rest, but where was she to get it? Poppy? And be subjected to more speculative questioning and prodding for information? Severus? His angry face filled her vision once more as she recalled their last encounter. No, she couldn't ask Severus for anything…not ever again.
Another huge bang shook the air and harsh light outlined the contents of her room as rain began to drive itself against the windows like water propelled from a faucet. Without warning, she began to feel smothered…confined, as if fate had already locked the door and discarded the key. Staying here for another moment felt unbearable. She had to get out. She had to move…now. Grabbing up the tartan throw that she kept on the back of her sofa, she slid it around her shoulders and hugged it to her breast. Then she headed for the door to her room, opened it wide and, without a backward glance, fled out into the darkness of the cold corridors of stone beyond.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
As the distant sounds of violent weather echoed faintly in his ears, Severus Snape stalked through the empty halls of the slumbering castle and scowled angrily into the shadows. Sleep was a lost cause at the moment. He hadn't even bothered to try. Insomnia was an old companion at any rate. They'd been haunting each other's steps for many years. When sleep remained elusive for too long a stretch, he dosed himself with potions, but unfortunately, the aftereffects sometimes brought on a quick resumption of the symptoms that he'd been trying to quell in the first place. It became a vicious cycle and difficult to escape.
So, over time, he'd found that wearing himself out was still the best solution. It also had the added benefit of allowing him to further add some joy to the hearts of the students. He'd managed to take points and give detentions to students from all three rival houses this night. His capture rate had slowed down rather dramatically after midnight though. Reluctantly, he was coming to the conclusion that, other than the vermin who haunted these halls, despite the overabundance of cats in the castle, he was likely the last remaining living creature who roamed their lengths this night.
Once he'd returned the last errant students to their beds for the night, he'd taken up the habit of counting his steps. He'd reached a venerable number by this point and was thinking that he might have finally succeeded in tiring himself out enough to get one or two hours of rest, when he heard the unmistakable sound of movement far ahead of him near the end of the corridor.
His head snapped up, and he peered down into the darkness of the hallway just barely in time to see a flash of white, overhung with a drapery of green plaid, scurry around a corner and disappear from view. Apparently, he wasn't the last person roaming the halls, after all. Should he pursue? Whoever it was had quite a head start on him, and he was finally tired enough to get some real rest. Was it worth deducting a few more House points to continue to stalk through the night when he'd rather be in bed…actually sleeping?
A shiver ran through him when he suddenly realized where he was. This was the fourth time this night that his treacherous steps had led him past her door. With a black scowl, he turned and glanced at the chamber in question as he started past, and was brought up short by the fact that the door now stood ajar.
Unsure just what that could mean, he moved over to the open door and pushed against it to take a look inside. The room seemed empty. Could that have been Minerva that he'd glimpsed disappearing into the distance? Any thought of sleep disappeared with a fresh rush of curiosity. Swiftly, he ran through the sitting room to the bedroom and peered inside just in time to have a flash of lightning reveal a severely disarrayed bed with no current occupant. He crossed over to stand beside it and looked down at the rumpled sheets. Slowly, he bent and laid a hand against the pillow and then smoothed it down the length of the bed. It was cool to the touch. If it was her running off into the darkness, she'd been up for awhile.
Puzzled, he turned and reentered her sitting room. His sharp eyes noticed that the green tartan throw that always adorned the back of her couch was gone as well. It must have been her that he'd seen. What could drive her from her bed at this time of night with only a piece of material around her shoulders against the castle's chill? Her robe had lain in its accustomed place over a bedside chair; her slippers were on the floor beside it. The fact that she took the throw, instead of the robe, seemed to imply an uncharacteristic impulsiveness in her flight. How odd.
Could she be going to meet Standish? Possibly…but why rush out and leave her door open? And why not wear her robe? None of this seemed to make any sense. Yet her behavior hadn't made much sense to him ever since Ian Standish had shown up to throw everything into turmoil.
Suddenly determined to discover where Minerva had been going, he left the room, closing the door behind him and headed off down the hall, following in her footsteps.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
With light quick steps, Minerva moved swiftly down the hallways and up the staircases within the depths of the castle. There was no goal, no purpose to her flight, other than to move and keep moving as far and as fast as she could. Having lived in this castle for many, many years, she was familiar with most of its twists and turns, but because the castle itself sometimes rearranged its floor plan, there was always something new to discover.
As her bare feet began to feel very cold against the hard iciness of the slick stone floor, she found herself regretting the lack of her warm slippers. So she solved that problem by shrinking down within herself and becoming the Tabby. Assuming her other form also had the benefit of allowing her to leave so many of her worries behind her. The Tabby's simpler thought processes held the obvious, if temporary, solution to her troubles…run…run and hide where no one could harm her. So she simply kept moving, skirting the edge of one flickering pool of torchlight after another.
Instinctively, she wended her way deeper into the unused parts of the massive structure she called home. Her fine, sharp claws clicked in a soft rhythm against the stone floor as she moved her small, furry body swiftly forward. Gradually, she lost her human concerns in the instinctive reactions of the hunting cat, and let herself think of nothing except the stray scents that touched her delicate nose as she moved along as silently as she could. She slowed her steps, tensed the muscles of her body, and listened for the faint sounds of possible prey. When nothing seemed to be stirring anywhere within reach, she continued on.
Eventually, she tired of her fruitless hunting. From the myriad of scents she discerned, she had a feeling that other cats had already pounced on all the interesting possibilities to be found in this part of the castle tonight. So when she rounded a corner and came upon a red velvet covered window seat in a secluded alcove that beckoned to her with its comforting cushions, she crossed the corridor eagerly and leaped up to settle herself for a rest. Curling up into a furry ball, she stared out through the wavy, ancient glass at the storm tossed night outside.
As she watched nature's fierceness spend itself against the stout walls of the castle, she tried desperately to keep all thought and feeling at bay. Eventually, her eyelids began to feel a bit heavy, and she knew that she should probably retreat once more to the solitude of her rooms. With any luck at all, she'd finally be tired enough to actually sleep...for awhile at least.
The damp cold of the stones that she leaned against was creeping into her small body even through her thick fur and making her a bit uncomfortable, but her mind had quieted, and the feeling of panic that had sent her off on her flight through the castle had subsided. Finally, she began to feel that she'd managed to escape her fears for a short time. As a sudden jagged bolt of lightning flashed against the glass, she got to her feet, stretched her body in a fluid motion and turned away from the window to head back to the dubious safety of her rooms.
As she did, she happened to glance through an open door across the corridor and saw a faint flash of movement within the shadowed room. Curious, she transformed herself back into her human form, crossed the hallway and peered inside, regretting it almost immediately. Inside the room, leaning at a slight angle against the far wall, was an instrument of evil that she'd hoped that she'd seen the last of forever.
So this was where Albus had put it? He never would be specific when she'd asked. Another jagged shard of light reflected back at her as she gazed across the empty space at the dark imposing shape of The Mirror of Erised. A cold pang of dismay coursed through her. Nothing good ever came from that thing in her experience…only pain.
She'd gazed into its depths four times in her life, and each time it had shown her the same unattainable image. The first time she'd seen it, she didn't understand what it was, what it did. What it meant. She could still remember how happy it had made her to see what she thought might be a glimpse of her future. When she'd really come to understand that all the horrid thing truly did was mirror her desire, instead of her reality, she'd come to hate it. The last thing she needed were more reminders of what she'd wanted so badly but could never have.
With a shake of her head, she tried to turn away, but something within her wouldn't let her leave. Her treacherous thoughts whispered that this time it might be different. It had been many years since she'd last looked into its depths and maybe what she saw this time could somehow help her with her current dilemma. Since it displayed the deeply hidden desires of her heart, it might help her decide what she needed to do.
Hesitantly, she turned back and began to slowly walk across the room. Every time she'd looked into that cursed piece of glass, it had shown her cradling the child that her body could never produce. Yes, she was older now, and she'd accepted that that would never be her reality. That particular longing, as strong as it once had been, was likely a thing of the past; but whatever that mirror showed her now, it wasn't likely to be anything that would help her any more. Why was she doing this? It was sheer foolishness.
Yet still she continued to move forward until she stood directly in front of the glass and gazed within. Her breath caught in her throat as she simply stood there and stared into the hateful thing. The image had changed, but what she saw now was just as impossible for her to attain, and she'd been right to doubt. Seeing this image wasn't going to help her, any more than the other would have. Here was simply another glimpse of the unattainable…not helpful to her in the slightest.
Hot stinging tears sprang to her eyes as she leaned closer and touched a trembling hand to the surface of the glass. As they spilled over and ran unnoticed down her cheeks, she watched herself in another world being held and kissed lovingly by a familiar figure in black. A new gulf of sorrow opened up within her as she watched their passion-filled embrace. How had this happened? How had she ever let it happen? Yet as she watched she knew that as improbable as it seemed, it was indeed a true image. Somehow, without even realizing it, she'd foolishly allowed herself to actually fall in love with Severus Snape.
The sad truth was that she had somehow come to love this arrogant, angry man who was younger than any child she'd lost, wanted him more than she'd ever wanted any other man she'd ever known. She'd been denying it to herself for some time now, she belatedly realized, but faced with this proof, she could deny it no longer. She did love him, and what a mistake that was. All the years between them were such an impossible divide to cross. Not to mention the suspicions and distrust of her that he seemed to hold so dear at the moment. Love was one thing that would never be between them. Like all men, Severus only wanted to control her, nothing more.
Determinedly, she wiped the tears from her face and stepped back. The difference in their ages, the circumstances of their lives, their disparate personalities, even the Houses they so proudly represented, these things would always keep them apart. Even if by some miracle, Severus did actually care about her, what it now appeared that she was guilty of, the fate she probably faced, would finish off any chance that they'd ever have of being together.
Oh, why had she found this here now? Did she really need to know that here was one more thing she stood to lose forever if she didn't give in to Ian's demands? With a shake of her head, she turned away and walked out of the room. No. That was the wrong way to look at it. She couldn't lose what she never had. No matter what else she might lose, Severus would not be part of it. If there had ever been any chance of them being together, that chance was already lost, and there didn't seem to be any way to get it back.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Snape stomped down yet another empty corridor and snarled into the dimness. Where the hell was she? And why was he wasting his time wandering all over this castle looking for her anyway? It was obviously a futile exercise. For all he knew she'd turned herself into a cat and was off merrily chasing mice with the other flea-bitten furballs that infested the castle with their presence. What difference should it make to him anyway? None. Simply satisfying his curiosity just wasn't worth the aggravation.
Determined that he wasn't going to waste another moment searching for her, he whirled around and began to retrace his steps back into the more frequently trod parts of the castle. With a dark scowl, he admitted that the most likely place to find her anyway was probably in Ian Standish's bed. Despite the fact that she'd headed off into the unused part of the castle, odds were still outstanding that she ended up in the Governor's arms. That was where she was spending most of her evenings and free time anyway, wasn't it?
Doubt flickered dimly and was firmly squelched. Irma Pince didn't know what the hell she was talking about. He knew what he saw. Standish had been skittish as a newborn unicorn until a couple of days ago, then, suddenly, he'd begun strutting around the castle as if he owned it. Every chance that man got, he had his hands on Minerva. He'd found them kissing in the corridor like a couple of seventh years, for god's sake! In any mathematical text that he'd ever seen, one plus one equaled two.
He clenched his hands reflexively and kept on walking. It was long past time to wash his hands of Minerva McGonagall. If the woman wished to throw her life away on an idiot like Standish, so be it. It's not as if he truly cared. If he didn't have his own concerns to worry about, he'd have ceased thinking about her long before this. It was definitely time to speak to Albus about the situation. If she was going to be involving herself with Standish, then his interests needed to be protected, and protect them he would, if he had to obliviate all knowledge of his spying from her mind himself!
No doubt Albus would balk at such a drastic solution, though if he was forced to it, he could simply do it and not mention it to anyone. Minerva could hardly complain about what she didn't recall. He frowned. No. Sooner or later, such tampering would likely be discovered, and the resulting uproar would be more trouble than it was worth; he had no doubt of that.
No one would see it as the act of self-defense it was. Instead, they'd all be whining that he'd overstepped his bounds. That he'd violated her rights. No thought would be spared for his rights. Oh, no. He shook his head in disgust. Perhaps Albus could force her to limit her involvement somehow, though…to behave more cautiously. Hopefully the stubborn woman would listen to the Headmaster because it was obvious that she wasn't listening to him.
Swiftly, he rounded a corner and headed down the corridor that led to Minerva's rooms. He'd had it in the back of his mind to check and see if she'd returned, but frankly, why should he bother? Still, he was brought up short to see the woman he'd been pursuing for over an hour round the opposing corner and head towards her door. She was moving almost as if she was in pain. Her head was bowed and her bare feet moved slowly as she clutched her tartan shawl tightly around her slightly hunched shoulders.
The Potions master hesitated and then came to a stop. Standing quietly a few feet away from her door, he just watched her move towards him. When she finally reached her room, she raised her head and, with a sudden start, met his eyes with hers. He could see the tracks of tears on her pale cheeks in the firelight from a nearby torch, but she didn't look injured in any way.
The two of them simply stood and stared at each other silently, much as they had a day earlier outside the Great Hall. Neither dared to close the gap between them…nor truly knew how. Finally, Minerva simply opened her door and went inside, closing it softly behind her, and with a troubled frown, Snape passed on and turned his footsteps down towards the dungeons where he belonged.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Next Chapter: Severus gets an eyeful, and Minerva makes a decision.
