A/N: Well, more answers here for reviewers.
Lizella: I'm glad you're wondering. It means I'm doing something worthwhile.
Kala: Another colorful review :) Thanks so much for reading!
demonchilde: No, not brain cancer. It's not as black-and-white as that.
Whisper: Oh, boy. Where do I start? She's not dying from anything muggle; in fact, quite the opposite. Sorry if that doesn't help, it's all I'm willing to give away at this point. Your guess about her past is closer to the mark, although still not quite accurate. Thank you for the suggestion about the dialogue; I've tried to follow it, and you're right, it does clear things up a bit. The paragraphing was my fault. I thought double-spaced would be easier to read, but I suppose I should stick to bits of paragraphs like everyone else. Well, I've done that in this chapter, too. I am very new at this; this is my first fanfic, so if those are the only troubles I'm having, hallelujah.
HPluvva: I think this chapter answers your fluffiness question :) But to answer it right now, yes, fluffy with Dumbledore. I have read several stories with a Snape/McGonagall pairing, and I've been unable to take any of them seriously, and that's not what I want for this fic. Snape's the equivalent in this story of the clown in Hamlet, the comic relief. Let's face it, this story can use some. Which brings me to my next point:
This is another rather depressing chapter. Sorry. But interesting and worth reading, I hope. So please hang in there. Snape will be back, if only for the amount of time it takes to slip on a banana peel :)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the people, places or things in this story. That privilege belongs exclusively to the lovely J. K. Rowling, as I'm sure you're all aware.
A tremor ran through her body as one foot after another carried her up the moving staircase. There was only one thing she could salvage out of this, and only one way to do it. Her dignity, the vision that teachers and students alike perceived when they looked at her, the vision of an unyielding, resourceful leader: it was all there was left to her. She could step away now, gracefully, and deteriorate far away from eyes that would grow dim with her passing. She had told Harry the truth, as much as he needed, anyhow, and he would let her go. Not without speaking his mind, perhaps, but he would let her go. That was what mattered.
But Albus..... he would fight her. Not with words, not with anything so easy to combat. He would plead with her by wishing silently for her compliance, and she would be sorely tempted to give in, even to die in his arms, perhaps. But she could not be so weak. She would prefer taking her own life to dying slowly before his eyes. Slipping away from him while he watched her helplessly and not even being able to grasp his hand, to hold to what was so dearly familiar..... it was unthinkable, and she would prevent it if it cost her her strength. She knocked, but she knew as her knuckles rapped the wood that she should simply enter. This was not a social call, it was business, and urgent at that.
"Come in."
"Professor Dumbledore," she began, convinced that he had known it was her, since he was standing at the window, his back to her. "I....."
"You're leaving," he finished stoically, "and you've come.....why, for my permission?"
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, the crisp edge to her voice splintering a little at the cruel words he had covered in a coat of frightening neutrality.
"That was going to be my question," he answered quickly, never missing a beat, but keeping his voice steady and his face to the glass.
"You know why. The boy has told you, and we both know this is how it should be."
"It's very interesting, isn't it," he remarked almost whimsically, turning now to pierce her with the usually jaunty spectacles, "that the qualities for which I hired you, the very ones that make you such a valuable asset to me as a professor, are the ones that betray you now, when you're afraid and have great need of them."
"What do you mean?" When he answered, she almost wished she hadn't asked.
"Your love of teaching by example, and your penchant for keeping faith in your own judgment when all else fails. You would like to show me that if you can walk away now, seemingly without regret, that I and Harry and the other pieces of your life strewn all over this school can do the same. You judged it best that Harry tell me the truth, in case your emotional strength failed you. When does it, Minerva? When do you give up trying to protect yourself by projecting your feelings and needs onto others?"
"Is *that* what I've been doing?" She was pushing at sarcasm, willing it to enter her tone, but the hurt swept it away. He paled and looked away again, seeing her meaning in the pained toss of her head and the newborn tears struggling to reach her cheeks.
"That isn't what I meant and you know it," he answered with a semblance of firmness that amazed her.
"Do I?" She knew she was being horribly cruel, and she didn't expect him to forgive her; she only wanted him to let her go.
"Yes, for heaven's sake. Do you think I'd do all of this if I didn't care?" He suddenly spun around and strode across the carpet to stand in front of her, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. "You really thought I would simply sign your resignation, wish you well and pack you off on the next train?"
"No," she stammered, unable to restrain the tears now, "but that's what I need you to do."
"I can't," he protested gently, "not until you understand, and possibly not even then. Your spirit is embedded in the fabric of life here at the school. It's a very powerful spell, more so than the magical prowess of any living witch or wizard..... even you," he added playfully, coaxing a small smile out of her. It seemed to give him the courage to continue. "Do you have any idea how large and jagged a hole you would leave behind if you ripped yourself away?"
"But.....but if I died here, wouldn't it have the same effect?"
He flinched noticeably at the word "died," but answered her question glibly enough. "No. The school's tapestry of souls recognizes death as the natural sequel to life. It would simply absorb it as it does now."
"Well..... but others have left. Remus, two years ago....."
"He had only just arrived, Minerva. And even he, as much as the students loved him, did not belong here as you do."
"What about Salazar Slytherin?"
"And what happened to him? Just think about what *his* contribution to Hogwarts turned out to be. I hardly think he serves as a practicable example to prove your point, my dear."
"So I can't leave because a spell will destroy me if I go? I hardly see how that's a step down from my current situation."
"And the school?"
"If it can withstand the best-laid plans of the Dark Lord, three times, I might add, it can get over my absence."
He let her go and crossed to the desk, resting his hands in defeat on its smooth surface. "And what of those who cannot?" he whispered. "Would you doom them to the knowledge of your suffering, but the inability to ease it in any way, even only in imagination?"
This was her chance. It was so cruel that she almost passed it by, and hated herself immediately for not doing so. "No one cares for me as much as that," she answered him pointedly, grateful beyond conception that his back was to her, hiding from him her tears, her anguish and her remorse. "No one has the right to ask that of me."
There was a horrible, ghostly silence. It was unbroken by so much as a breath until his voice drifted back to her, tight and unnatural: "Go, then. I see you are not to be swayed. It was only to be expected, I suppose." He pulled himself up, swiftly drew a quill over a slip of parchment and waved it over his shoulder in her direction. She caught it and read it over, and after nodding her satisfaction, put it in her pocket and headed for the door. Her hand was on the knob when she heard her name again. "Minerva." She paused, unmoving on the threshold, and listened quakingly. "Don't look back."
Lizella: I'm glad you're wondering. It means I'm doing something worthwhile.
Kala: Another colorful review :) Thanks so much for reading!
demonchilde: No, not brain cancer. It's not as black-and-white as that.
Whisper: Oh, boy. Where do I start? She's not dying from anything muggle; in fact, quite the opposite. Sorry if that doesn't help, it's all I'm willing to give away at this point. Your guess about her past is closer to the mark, although still not quite accurate. Thank you for the suggestion about the dialogue; I've tried to follow it, and you're right, it does clear things up a bit. The paragraphing was my fault. I thought double-spaced would be easier to read, but I suppose I should stick to bits of paragraphs like everyone else. Well, I've done that in this chapter, too. I am very new at this; this is my first fanfic, so if those are the only troubles I'm having, hallelujah.
HPluvva: I think this chapter answers your fluffiness question :) But to answer it right now, yes, fluffy with Dumbledore. I have read several stories with a Snape/McGonagall pairing, and I've been unable to take any of them seriously, and that's not what I want for this fic. Snape's the equivalent in this story of the clown in Hamlet, the comic relief. Let's face it, this story can use some. Which brings me to my next point:
This is another rather depressing chapter. Sorry. But interesting and worth reading, I hope. So please hang in there. Snape will be back, if only for the amount of time it takes to slip on a banana peel :)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the people, places or things in this story. That privilege belongs exclusively to the lovely J. K. Rowling, as I'm sure you're all aware.
A tremor ran through her body as one foot after another carried her up the moving staircase. There was only one thing she could salvage out of this, and only one way to do it. Her dignity, the vision that teachers and students alike perceived when they looked at her, the vision of an unyielding, resourceful leader: it was all there was left to her. She could step away now, gracefully, and deteriorate far away from eyes that would grow dim with her passing. She had told Harry the truth, as much as he needed, anyhow, and he would let her go. Not without speaking his mind, perhaps, but he would let her go. That was what mattered.
But Albus..... he would fight her. Not with words, not with anything so easy to combat. He would plead with her by wishing silently for her compliance, and she would be sorely tempted to give in, even to die in his arms, perhaps. But she could not be so weak. She would prefer taking her own life to dying slowly before his eyes. Slipping away from him while he watched her helplessly and not even being able to grasp his hand, to hold to what was so dearly familiar..... it was unthinkable, and she would prevent it if it cost her her strength. She knocked, but she knew as her knuckles rapped the wood that she should simply enter. This was not a social call, it was business, and urgent at that.
"Come in."
"Professor Dumbledore," she began, convinced that he had known it was her, since he was standing at the window, his back to her. "I....."
"You're leaving," he finished stoically, "and you've come.....why, for my permission?"
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, the crisp edge to her voice splintering a little at the cruel words he had covered in a coat of frightening neutrality.
"That was going to be my question," he answered quickly, never missing a beat, but keeping his voice steady and his face to the glass.
"You know why. The boy has told you, and we both know this is how it should be."
"It's very interesting, isn't it," he remarked almost whimsically, turning now to pierce her with the usually jaunty spectacles, "that the qualities for which I hired you, the very ones that make you such a valuable asset to me as a professor, are the ones that betray you now, when you're afraid and have great need of them."
"What do you mean?" When he answered, she almost wished she hadn't asked.
"Your love of teaching by example, and your penchant for keeping faith in your own judgment when all else fails. You would like to show me that if you can walk away now, seemingly without regret, that I and Harry and the other pieces of your life strewn all over this school can do the same. You judged it best that Harry tell me the truth, in case your emotional strength failed you. When does it, Minerva? When do you give up trying to protect yourself by projecting your feelings and needs onto others?"
"Is *that* what I've been doing?" She was pushing at sarcasm, willing it to enter her tone, but the hurt swept it away. He paled and looked away again, seeing her meaning in the pained toss of her head and the newborn tears struggling to reach her cheeks.
"That isn't what I meant and you know it," he answered with a semblance of firmness that amazed her.
"Do I?" She knew she was being horribly cruel, and she didn't expect him to forgive her; she only wanted him to let her go.
"Yes, for heaven's sake. Do you think I'd do all of this if I didn't care?" He suddenly spun around and strode across the carpet to stand in front of her, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. "You really thought I would simply sign your resignation, wish you well and pack you off on the next train?"
"No," she stammered, unable to restrain the tears now, "but that's what I need you to do."
"I can't," he protested gently, "not until you understand, and possibly not even then. Your spirit is embedded in the fabric of life here at the school. It's a very powerful spell, more so than the magical prowess of any living witch or wizard..... even you," he added playfully, coaxing a small smile out of her. It seemed to give him the courage to continue. "Do you have any idea how large and jagged a hole you would leave behind if you ripped yourself away?"
"But.....but if I died here, wouldn't it have the same effect?"
He flinched noticeably at the word "died," but answered her question glibly enough. "No. The school's tapestry of souls recognizes death as the natural sequel to life. It would simply absorb it as it does now."
"Well..... but others have left. Remus, two years ago....."
"He had only just arrived, Minerva. And even he, as much as the students loved him, did not belong here as you do."
"What about Salazar Slytherin?"
"And what happened to him? Just think about what *his* contribution to Hogwarts turned out to be. I hardly think he serves as a practicable example to prove your point, my dear."
"So I can't leave because a spell will destroy me if I go? I hardly see how that's a step down from my current situation."
"And the school?"
"If it can withstand the best-laid plans of the Dark Lord, three times, I might add, it can get over my absence."
He let her go and crossed to the desk, resting his hands in defeat on its smooth surface. "And what of those who cannot?" he whispered. "Would you doom them to the knowledge of your suffering, but the inability to ease it in any way, even only in imagination?"
This was her chance. It was so cruel that she almost passed it by, and hated herself immediately for not doing so. "No one cares for me as much as that," she answered him pointedly, grateful beyond conception that his back was to her, hiding from him her tears, her anguish and her remorse. "No one has the right to ask that of me."
There was a horrible, ghostly silence. It was unbroken by so much as a breath until his voice drifted back to her, tight and unnatural: "Go, then. I see you are not to be swayed. It was only to be expected, I suppose." He pulled himself up, swiftly drew a quill over a slip of parchment and waved it over his shoulder in her direction. She caught it and read it over, and after nodding her satisfaction, put it in her pocket and headed for the door. Her hand was on the knob when she heard her name again. "Minerva." She paused, unmoving on the threshold, and listened quakingly. "Don't look back."