A/N: Up goes the next chapter.....I hope you all know that I don't really
have the time for this right now, but I am doing it because I know what
it's like to be waiting for the next chapter of a story I'm reading and be
pissed off because it isn't there. Some people who shall remain nameless
*cough* MiniNerva *cough* Catherine E. Grant *cough* have begun stories I
really liked and left them perpetually unfinished. Not cool. So, answers
to reviewers.....
Kala: No problemo. Thanks ever so for reading!
HPluvva: What do YOU think? Many people think that stories mean what the author wants them to mean. Only partially true. A lot, not just beauty, but truth also, is in the eye of the beholder. If you think Snape was checking up on her, then he was, and if not, then not. Sorry to be such a pain, but I want you to read between the lines and come to your own conclusions.
Xela: Nice to hear you are so interested. Sorry to leave you hanging; it didn't seem to me like a cliffhanger, but sorry anyway. But here you go.
Lizella: What do you mean by "own section for McGonagall?" Do you mean her own compartment in the train? Or the fact that fanfiction.net hasn't got her as a character in the drop-down menu? Either way I agree with you; poor Minerva :) But don't feel too sorry for her yet; she's got a big hole to climb out of, but she dug it herself.
Tea: Thanky, thanky. Much obliged.
Alchemine: Thank you so much! That's a big compliment coming from you, since I am a big fan of your stories. You might not believe this, but the sunset metaphor was an accident :) I am so dumb I throw in important imagery without realizing it. The sunset just seemed like a thought- inducing setting. See what I mean about readers finding half the meaning?
Alois: Thanks for the suggestion. I think you might be right, but am not ready to admit it at this time :) I like punching-bag Snape. Maybe later on I'll give him a personality. After all, he's taken his first step already, and that's half the battle :)
VoyICJ: Thanks muchly. Stay tuned for an important announcement.....
.....here. I am revealing the cause of Minerva's death in this chapter. I've decided it's really not exciting enough to merit all this suspense :) I also have to warn you, this chapter is a little sappy. Although I think you've already figured out that this isn't an action-packed fic. :) And A- WAAAAYY we go.....
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 sense of deja-vu almost swept over Minerva as she strode hesitantly up the moving staircase. She was looking forward to this discussion even less than she had been the last one at the top of these stairs, if that were possible. She hated swallowing her pride, and she hated it even more when, as now, it intertwined with guilt to form a writhing mass of nervousness in her abdomen. Why didn't she just throw herself off the Astronomy Tower and be done with it? She stood for a long time behind his door, resting her flushed forehead against the cool oak. She tried frantically to scrape together all the fleeting shreds of her courage-- she was a Gryffindor after all. Where was it? Finally she raised her hand and knocked softly. His muffled "Come in" almost pushed her to her knees, but she pulled herself up and opened the door, not daring to assume the right to walk inside. He was seated wearily behind his desk, and as his eyes locked with hers, she searched them frantically for anger, contempt, pain, anything to punish her for what she had done. The pain was there, certainly, but it was not reproachful, it was hopeful, and the rest was only surprise. She could not speak, and was grateful that he did.
"You've come back," he said finally, and she nodded cautiously. He seemed to realize she was still afraid and with a sigh heaved himself out of his chair, coming to stand directly in front of her, paralyzing her with his proximity. "You didn't have to; I would have understood."
"But you wouldn't have forgiven me," she answered sadly, "and you would have been perfectly right. I can never run from you for long," she added philosophically.
His eyes flamed at this, and taking her hand in his, he led her to a chair, placed her in it, conjured her a cup of tea, and took a seat in the chair opposite hers. This act completed the atmosphere of confession she had been dreading; it was a sweet and painful reminder of the other night when Harry had come to see her and drawn her feelings out of her. Her hand trembled on her teacup at the memory, and this drew a concerned look from Albus. She reassured him silently that she was fine, and as she watched the momentary tension fade from his back, his shoulders and then his jawline, she reflected, not without pride, that she owned the possibility of granting him his dearest happiness. It was no more power than he held over her, but it was dizzying, and she fought to keep her voice level as she almost pleaded with him. "Please ask me. It is, after all, what I've come rushing back to tell you."
He watched her face closely for a few moments, then smiled slightly. "As you wish, my dear. What, then, was so frightening to you in the prospect of remaining here that you....." He stumbled then, unsure how to speak the words without causing her more pain than she could ever deserve.
"Went too far?" she asked miserably. He nodded slowly, and when her gaze dropped to the teacup in her lap, he reached out a long hand and tipped her chin up so that their faces and eyes were level.
"Yes, too far. So far that I knew you were only protecting yourself, and that your fear spoke those words," he said gently, "not you. Your anger and your fear betrayed you, Minerva; let them go, and believe that I would never do as they have."
Tears pooled on his fingers at these words, and he wiped them away softly as a river of words spilled out of her mouth. "I do believe that, and I knew it, but it was not strong enough for everything I was thinking and feeling. I felt too alone. Please understand."
"I'd give anything right now to do just that," he remarked with a slight return of the usual twinkle that she loved so much. He continued more soberly, stroking her cheek to calm her. "But I must know your reasons, Minerva, no matter how painful or farfetched they might seem to you now."
Taking his hand from her face and holding it tightly in her own, she stared deeply into his eyes, gathering the trust and the peace she found there and projecting them back at him. "I was a coward," she stated simply. "I thought dying alone would be easier than saying goodbye."
"It might be," he said after a short silence had run its course following her words.
"Until the last moment, yes," she conceded. "Until the last moment before my eyes faded from this world, I would triumph in the knowledge of having spared us both unnecessary pain. But in the moment of my death, I would need you, cry out for you, and you wouldn't be there." She stopped as tears choked her voice in her throat, imagining the terrible scene. Judging from the pain in his expression and the moist wavering that had filled his eyes, he was doing the same. "Anyhow," she continued in a lighter tone, determined to give Albus the opportunity to recover his self- possession, "I can't think about what is easier. Having Snape kick the sense back into me made me realize it's too selfish, even for me. He's horrible, cruel and not a little infuriating, but he's braver than I'll ever be," she admitted tentatively.
"You came back," he contradicted her. She smiled slightly.
"You're a bit less frightening than the Dark Lord, Albus. At least I know when *you* try to string me up by my toes, the option of blasting your sock drawer to smithereens always remains to me as a means of suitable revenge."
"You wouldn't," he gasped with a very good imitation of a dramatically injured air. "I forgive you any assault upon my own person, but you will spare my socks or suffer the consequences." Minerva giggled, but they both turned serious again very quickly, and he added softly: "It is much more difficult to face the wrath, real or imagined, of a friend than that of an enemy. I know how much it cost you to admit you were wrong and face me again, and I am more grateful than you can imagine." She blushed, and he smiled at her confusion, then gently kissed her scarlet cheek. "You thought I'd be angry," he said earnestly. "Why?"
"Because I left without even giving you a chance to save me," she said shamefacedly. "I hurt you terribly and I asked you to blindly accept the inevitability of my death without proving it to you."
"And you wish to prove it to me now," he finished flatly, his tone betraying the fear rising steadily up on a tide under his words.
For answer, she pulled in a clear, shuddering breath and said: "It's a curse, Albus. A family curse. 'The first born shall be the first to die.' Years ago, when I was a little girl," she continued, speaking over his inarticulate protest, "Grindelwald was rising to power. He knew my father was working against him. Many were, but our cellar was the birthplace of an infinite number of potions, spells and other magical devices that were of invaluable aid to the Light side. My father worked in secret, but you know as well as I do that secrets were cheaply bought and sold in those days. Some Dark wizard must have bargained for information, found out about his work and where he lived and brought the news to his master. It was one night in March, when I was five years old, that he paid us a visit." She swallowed and paused, recalling the horror that had possessed them all, and only remembered to continue when Albus squeezed the icy hand still twined around his own.
"My father wasn't helpless. He hid all of us very effectively with his own invisibility spells and told us to hide ourselves the Muggle way as well, just in case. I remember my sister Eloise and I pressed our heads together to watch him fight for his life through the keyhole in the bedroom wardrobe." She couldn't quite hold back the tears as she said: "He wouldn't hide. He insisted that someone had to stand up and tell Grindelwald where he got off." She looked at the floor and added shyly: "I'll always be thankful to you, Albus, for giving that gift to my father's memory."
"Many have said that it was my greatest achievement," he answered wonderingly, "but it is only now that I believe them." There was a silence of communication for a few moments before Minerva took up her story again.
"You would have thought that seeing our father tossed limply to the ground like a rag doll would have made my sister and me run out of hiding or cry out in terror. But we were frozen; we had never seen death before, and it was staring us in the face. We could not process our father's absence, even while his body lay pressed into the carpet 3 feet away. After that," she said quickly, "Grindelwald grew angry. His confidence had fled. He could find not one other human being in the house, although there were five of us holding our breaths and trying to make ourselves as small as possible. He screamed out in a fury what we all, including him, I'm sure, thought were idle words of desperation: 'This house shall be a house of wretchedness and misery from this day,' he yelled. 'Mark your children well, for the first born shall be the first to die.' After he had gone, we all came out shaking, and Mother, after checking me over thoroughly, forgot his words and Father became the center of attention. Th-that's all the information that is relevant to the present situation," she finished in a rush.
"Are you sure?" he asked gently. "I have three very relevant questions, none of which you must answer, of course. One: What is it that turned an angry cry of defeat into a deadly magical entity? Two: Why is it that you've lived this long? Why is the curse only taking hold now? And three, how did you ever realize what was happening?"
"I don't know the answer to that first question, Albus," she whispered faintly. "If I did, perhaps we could find a way of turning it back. As to why the curse is killing me now; well, Eloise works for the Ministry, and about a week ago, she and her scouting group happened upon a group of Death Eaters unexpectedly. Funny, isn't it," she mused, "that Cornelius Fudge only gets good work done when he's trying not to." Albus smiled and urged her to continue. "She was knocked off balance by the edge of a curse aimed at someone else. It didn't kill her directly; she's in St. Mungo's right now, with about a week and a half left to live."
"And if one of your siblings dies, you must needs die first in order to fulfill the curse," he finished dismally.
"Yes. It won't take Eloise until I'm dead. Which is another reason I wish we could save my life. If I can stay alive somehow, even if we simply drive the curse away instead of dispelling it, that will keep Eloise alive as well, possibly long enough for her curse to run its course and leave her health in salvageable condition."
Albus smiled at her suddenly optimistic outlook. "This sounds more like you," he said cheerfully, brushing a black lock back from her face that had tumbled into her eyes during her story. His voice grew soft, and he added: "I'm sure Harry would love to help us."
Her eyes swung up to meet his with the brightness of stars, and it took some doing for him to look away and bring both of them to their feet. "Thank you, Albus," she murmured impulsively as she headed for the door.
"Thank *you*, my dear," he answered gallantly, then more quietly as she closed the door behind her: "Thank you."
Kala: No problemo. Thanks ever so for reading!
HPluvva: What do YOU think? Many people think that stories mean what the author wants them to mean. Only partially true. A lot, not just beauty, but truth also, is in the eye of the beholder. If you think Snape was checking up on her, then he was, and if not, then not. Sorry to be such a pain, but I want you to read between the lines and come to your own conclusions.
Xela: Nice to hear you are so interested. Sorry to leave you hanging; it didn't seem to me like a cliffhanger, but sorry anyway. But here you go.
Lizella: What do you mean by "own section for McGonagall?" Do you mean her own compartment in the train? Or the fact that fanfiction.net hasn't got her as a character in the drop-down menu? Either way I agree with you; poor Minerva :) But don't feel too sorry for her yet; she's got a big hole to climb out of, but she dug it herself.
Tea: Thanky, thanky. Much obliged.
Alchemine: Thank you so much! That's a big compliment coming from you, since I am a big fan of your stories. You might not believe this, but the sunset metaphor was an accident :) I am so dumb I throw in important imagery without realizing it. The sunset just seemed like a thought- inducing setting. See what I mean about readers finding half the meaning?
Alois: Thanks for the suggestion. I think you might be right, but am not ready to admit it at this time :) I like punching-bag Snape. Maybe later on I'll give him a personality. After all, he's taken his first step already, and that's half the battle :)
VoyICJ: Thanks muchly. Stay tuned for an important announcement.....
.....here. I am revealing the cause of Minerva's death in this chapter. I've decided it's really not exciting enough to merit all this suspense :) I also have to warn you, this chapter is a little sappy. Although I think you've already figured out that this isn't an action-packed fic. :) And A- WAAAAYY we go.....
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 sense of deja-vu almost swept over Minerva as she strode hesitantly up the moving staircase. She was looking forward to this discussion even less than she had been the last one at the top of these stairs, if that were possible. She hated swallowing her pride, and she hated it even more when, as now, it intertwined with guilt to form a writhing mass of nervousness in her abdomen. Why didn't she just throw herself off the Astronomy Tower and be done with it? She stood for a long time behind his door, resting her flushed forehead against the cool oak. She tried frantically to scrape together all the fleeting shreds of her courage-- she was a Gryffindor after all. Where was it? Finally she raised her hand and knocked softly. His muffled "Come in" almost pushed her to her knees, but she pulled herself up and opened the door, not daring to assume the right to walk inside. He was seated wearily behind his desk, and as his eyes locked with hers, she searched them frantically for anger, contempt, pain, anything to punish her for what she had done. The pain was there, certainly, but it was not reproachful, it was hopeful, and the rest was only surprise. She could not speak, and was grateful that he did.
"You've come back," he said finally, and she nodded cautiously. He seemed to realize she was still afraid and with a sigh heaved himself out of his chair, coming to stand directly in front of her, paralyzing her with his proximity. "You didn't have to; I would have understood."
"But you wouldn't have forgiven me," she answered sadly, "and you would have been perfectly right. I can never run from you for long," she added philosophically.
His eyes flamed at this, and taking her hand in his, he led her to a chair, placed her in it, conjured her a cup of tea, and took a seat in the chair opposite hers. This act completed the atmosphere of confession she had been dreading; it was a sweet and painful reminder of the other night when Harry had come to see her and drawn her feelings out of her. Her hand trembled on her teacup at the memory, and this drew a concerned look from Albus. She reassured him silently that she was fine, and as she watched the momentary tension fade from his back, his shoulders and then his jawline, she reflected, not without pride, that she owned the possibility of granting him his dearest happiness. It was no more power than he held over her, but it was dizzying, and she fought to keep her voice level as she almost pleaded with him. "Please ask me. It is, after all, what I've come rushing back to tell you."
He watched her face closely for a few moments, then smiled slightly. "As you wish, my dear. What, then, was so frightening to you in the prospect of remaining here that you....." He stumbled then, unsure how to speak the words without causing her more pain than she could ever deserve.
"Went too far?" she asked miserably. He nodded slowly, and when her gaze dropped to the teacup in her lap, he reached out a long hand and tipped her chin up so that their faces and eyes were level.
"Yes, too far. So far that I knew you were only protecting yourself, and that your fear spoke those words," he said gently, "not you. Your anger and your fear betrayed you, Minerva; let them go, and believe that I would never do as they have."
Tears pooled on his fingers at these words, and he wiped them away softly as a river of words spilled out of her mouth. "I do believe that, and I knew it, but it was not strong enough for everything I was thinking and feeling. I felt too alone. Please understand."
"I'd give anything right now to do just that," he remarked with a slight return of the usual twinkle that she loved so much. He continued more soberly, stroking her cheek to calm her. "But I must know your reasons, Minerva, no matter how painful or farfetched they might seem to you now."
Taking his hand from her face and holding it tightly in her own, she stared deeply into his eyes, gathering the trust and the peace she found there and projecting them back at him. "I was a coward," she stated simply. "I thought dying alone would be easier than saying goodbye."
"It might be," he said after a short silence had run its course following her words.
"Until the last moment, yes," she conceded. "Until the last moment before my eyes faded from this world, I would triumph in the knowledge of having spared us both unnecessary pain. But in the moment of my death, I would need you, cry out for you, and you wouldn't be there." She stopped as tears choked her voice in her throat, imagining the terrible scene. Judging from the pain in his expression and the moist wavering that had filled his eyes, he was doing the same. "Anyhow," she continued in a lighter tone, determined to give Albus the opportunity to recover his self- possession, "I can't think about what is easier. Having Snape kick the sense back into me made me realize it's too selfish, even for me. He's horrible, cruel and not a little infuriating, but he's braver than I'll ever be," she admitted tentatively.
"You came back," he contradicted her. She smiled slightly.
"You're a bit less frightening than the Dark Lord, Albus. At least I know when *you* try to string me up by my toes, the option of blasting your sock drawer to smithereens always remains to me as a means of suitable revenge."
"You wouldn't," he gasped with a very good imitation of a dramatically injured air. "I forgive you any assault upon my own person, but you will spare my socks or suffer the consequences." Minerva giggled, but they both turned serious again very quickly, and he added softly: "It is much more difficult to face the wrath, real or imagined, of a friend than that of an enemy. I know how much it cost you to admit you were wrong and face me again, and I am more grateful than you can imagine." She blushed, and he smiled at her confusion, then gently kissed her scarlet cheek. "You thought I'd be angry," he said earnestly. "Why?"
"Because I left without even giving you a chance to save me," she said shamefacedly. "I hurt you terribly and I asked you to blindly accept the inevitability of my death without proving it to you."
"And you wish to prove it to me now," he finished flatly, his tone betraying the fear rising steadily up on a tide under his words.
For answer, she pulled in a clear, shuddering breath and said: "It's a curse, Albus. A family curse. 'The first born shall be the first to die.' Years ago, when I was a little girl," she continued, speaking over his inarticulate protest, "Grindelwald was rising to power. He knew my father was working against him. Many were, but our cellar was the birthplace of an infinite number of potions, spells and other magical devices that were of invaluable aid to the Light side. My father worked in secret, but you know as well as I do that secrets were cheaply bought and sold in those days. Some Dark wizard must have bargained for information, found out about his work and where he lived and brought the news to his master. It was one night in March, when I was five years old, that he paid us a visit." She swallowed and paused, recalling the horror that had possessed them all, and only remembered to continue when Albus squeezed the icy hand still twined around his own.
"My father wasn't helpless. He hid all of us very effectively with his own invisibility spells and told us to hide ourselves the Muggle way as well, just in case. I remember my sister Eloise and I pressed our heads together to watch him fight for his life through the keyhole in the bedroom wardrobe." She couldn't quite hold back the tears as she said: "He wouldn't hide. He insisted that someone had to stand up and tell Grindelwald where he got off." She looked at the floor and added shyly: "I'll always be thankful to you, Albus, for giving that gift to my father's memory."
"Many have said that it was my greatest achievement," he answered wonderingly, "but it is only now that I believe them." There was a silence of communication for a few moments before Minerva took up her story again.
"You would have thought that seeing our father tossed limply to the ground like a rag doll would have made my sister and me run out of hiding or cry out in terror. But we were frozen; we had never seen death before, and it was staring us in the face. We could not process our father's absence, even while his body lay pressed into the carpet 3 feet away. After that," she said quickly, "Grindelwald grew angry. His confidence had fled. He could find not one other human being in the house, although there were five of us holding our breaths and trying to make ourselves as small as possible. He screamed out in a fury what we all, including him, I'm sure, thought were idle words of desperation: 'This house shall be a house of wretchedness and misery from this day,' he yelled. 'Mark your children well, for the first born shall be the first to die.' After he had gone, we all came out shaking, and Mother, after checking me over thoroughly, forgot his words and Father became the center of attention. Th-that's all the information that is relevant to the present situation," she finished in a rush.
"Are you sure?" he asked gently. "I have three very relevant questions, none of which you must answer, of course. One: What is it that turned an angry cry of defeat into a deadly magical entity? Two: Why is it that you've lived this long? Why is the curse only taking hold now? And three, how did you ever realize what was happening?"
"I don't know the answer to that first question, Albus," she whispered faintly. "If I did, perhaps we could find a way of turning it back. As to why the curse is killing me now; well, Eloise works for the Ministry, and about a week ago, she and her scouting group happened upon a group of Death Eaters unexpectedly. Funny, isn't it," she mused, "that Cornelius Fudge only gets good work done when he's trying not to." Albus smiled and urged her to continue. "She was knocked off balance by the edge of a curse aimed at someone else. It didn't kill her directly; she's in St. Mungo's right now, with about a week and a half left to live."
"And if one of your siblings dies, you must needs die first in order to fulfill the curse," he finished dismally.
"Yes. It won't take Eloise until I'm dead. Which is another reason I wish we could save my life. If I can stay alive somehow, even if we simply drive the curse away instead of dispelling it, that will keep Eloise alive as well, possibly long enough for her curse to run its course and leave her health in salvageable condition."
Albus smiled at her suddenly optimistic outlook. "This sounds more like you," he said cheerfully, brushing a black lock back from her face that had tumbled into her eyes during her story. His voice grew soft, and he added: "I'm sure Harry would love to help us."
Her eyes swung up to meet his with the brightness of stars, and it took some doing for him to look away and bring both of them to their feet. "Thank you, Albus," she murmured impulsively as she headed for the door.
"Thank *you*, my dear," he answered gallantly, then more quietly as she closed the door behind her: "Thank you."