Oh goodness me! It's been…2 months? I should be struck down! You have my permission to send angry emails, all of have excuses, but I figure you don't want them, so I won't give them. This chapter is short, yes, but it is utterly complete.
I would advise a re-read on the last chapter…one may be lost otherwise in this one. :)
The next update should be within 2 weeks…I am FINALLY on summer break!
Chapter Nine: Drop
Heavy, bulging, forceful tears were leaking down her cheek, falling gracefully along with the rain which surrounded her, striking her soaked body as she sat at the edge of the balcony. There was an inevitable chill about her body, coming from the thousands of icy drops, but it did not scourge the woman.
There was a conflict of emotion upon Minerva that she had never quite known; it was not that he loved her—men always loved her—but that he saw something in her that seemed so fragile, something that she never saw in herself. Albus could see the hurt in her eyes that so many had seemed to miss…he noticed that little glimmer that she knew she'd misplaced for what felt like an eternity. The man realized, undoubtedly, that there was a desperate, frantic, heartbreaking need for love inside the woman that simply could not be reciprocated if it were indeed administered—he thought of it naught in these terms, but in the terms that he loved her and could see her wanting to love him back… he saw the sadness in her eyes which could only be explained on his terms as conflicting emotions. He perhaps knew that she was incapable of getting past her discords, yet, Albus loved her.
She was not good for him, she knew—and perhaps that's what brought on the rush of tears in the beginning—but for no other reason than his understanding, she was quite willing to make herself believe that she could fall in love with him. Minerva could pretend…she had always been good at that; just tell herself every moment that she was not with him that he was wonderful, but could never be there for all eternity…it would work. Someday, hopefully one that wasn't so terribly soon, the woman could say goodbye to him—but until then, she chose to act, play the part of lover.
Thus, she got up from her seat on the wet balcony, pushed the glass door open as water dripped onto her floor, and very slowly removed her wet, cold clothing while staring at herself in a mirror as the chilled wind blew through the open door.
She was beautiful; there hung no doubt on the subject. There were nuances to her that simply weren't familiar to others; ivory skin, a smooth face, soft curves, and a rabid lust for a soft touch. Her figure simply radiated with a sensual air that beckoned those around her; there hung no doubt upon her mind that Albus would make love to her if she asked.
And Minerva…Minerva could most certainly act as if she loved him the way he loved her.
There was little light inside the house; merely the little pigments that came from the gray outside, due to the rain; all the curtains were open and a fair few of the windows too, yet, it was not a gloomy place. The home was quiet, mysterious—the sort of lovers paradise that she had always been pained to leave. Only a fire stood for light, which held a place in the front room, glimmering softly in the shadowy response from outside Minerva's home.
She did not bother to make anything to eat like she had told Albus she would do; there was merely her, the dimness of a room, perhaps a fire, and a will. She didn't anticipate the man to be late, and indeed, she could see him waiting outside her door before knocking. The woman could have answered without his hand even touching the wood, but just as a formality, she waited—indeed, he waited a fair long time too.
He had the most peculiar expression upon his face as he took a side glance through the open window by the door. Though he couldn't see her, she could see him, and the man appeared quite inquisitive while at the same time, vaguely delighted. It was as if he couldn't decide which emotion was better, for he was quite clearly baffled at the placement and lack of light inside the house and yet utterly intrigued. He knew what was flowing through Minerva's mind by the setting of things, and inevitably, Minerva learned his through the subtle movements of his lips—they both realized that an affair was clearly about to commence.
His knuckle hit the door in three loud thumps.
Deep blue eyes met the woman when she pushed open the door, staring into her as they always seemed to do, and grabbed her chest tightly. "Albus," she whispered gently as a greeting.
"Minerva," he nodded, "I trust you're feeling better?"
She bobbed her head slowly up and down. The woman had forgotten the events of earlier in the morning where she threw that horrid tantrum; it was of no importance. Minerva had merely been reminded of something that happened so very long before then; Merlin forbid she ever be placed in a situation where she was forced to do something again. The woman merely fought, as was her intuitive reaction—what replaced her outburst was the man's heartbreaking story about his long lost lover. The first half was completely expunged from her memory and the latter held a special place in her heart. He said she had the eyes of his lost love; it wouldn't surprise her if he loved her for that.
It was rather ironic, she thought in those milliseconds that followed after the door was opened, for one very interesting idea occurred to her: Albus was attracted to her for the memory she produced inside his mind and she was attracted to Albus for the same reason—yet her memories were of the most awful sort where as his could only be imagined as wonderful. The man saw the charm in Minerva's eyes which ultimately brought him to her and she saw the wit and humor which would ultimately bring her away from him; he was very much like Edwin had been—intelligent, humorous, creative, rich—save for one reigning difference: he too had been heartbroken. Thus, Minerva arrived at a very interesting conclusion which she had never arrived to before: she had once told herself that she would love Albus forever; the reasoning for this was simply because he was always going to be good to her, and she knew that…by love of course, she meant hold a great esteem for the man.
"Come in," she whispered.
His wet shoes squeaked from the offset in which he looked at Minerva with a chuckle. "Do you mind if I leave these outside?"
She shook her head. Of course she didn't care; what were shoes anyhow?
Patiently waiting, the woman folded her arms as he slipped off the black shoes he had been wearing. Once finished, he looked at her with a puzzled expression as means to say 'what now?' Well, she didn't exactly know what was to come next. Thus, she motioned towards the settee by the fire where the both of them went and sat, as they had the first night they met at the lake; Albus took one end and Minerva the other.
"Strange morning, isn't it?" Albus was the one to speak, perhaps not able to find anything else to say, perhaps being interested in Minerva's outburst—one never knew. In all that the woman was aware of, she wouldn't have been surprised if he was compelled to find out why she wanted to leave in such a hurry—and cried out when he attempted to stop her.
She whispered back softly, desperately hoping that he would not turn the subject to…well, ultimately to Edwin and what had happened. "Quite strange. But this whole business of being at Hermit Lake is causing things to be disrupted, you know. I think it's accurate of me to say that normally neither of us is emotional."
A shrug was her answer, followed by a passive expression. "I daresay, it's in everyone's nature to become emotional when faced with a new situation."
"Yes," she spoke back with hollow words. Minerva tried to carry the same face in all hours and at all times, but that never worked; the words of Albus rang much too true. She never cried so much as those moments when her life was inalterably changed. After all, the woman still carried tears for such things as even her mother dying—though that had only been a few months beforehand. There was always that moment where emotion grew high and quite frankly, for Minerva, it took much too long for her to be released from that zenith where the tears rolled and to revert back to a normal level of emotion. As such, she knew Albus was correct, but she'd never admit to it in a wholly heartfelt sentence.
"You weren't yourself at all earlier," the man spoke. She knew he would have said more if she'd given him lee-way, but she hadn't and he didn't. In fact, there was a long silence after that. Minerva refused to give in to his questions and he refused to overstep her boundaries. The yarn of time for them suddenly seemed cut short by the speechless air.
Minerva, not knowing exactly what to do and having something of a habit of subconsciously touching her necklace, began moving the sapphire charm back and forth along the thin chain. The gold felt light and thin between her fingers where as the jeweled part was cold and bulky. She swallowed gently as the time passed, keeping her eyes away from the man, attempting to avoid the conversation at all costs. But of course he found a way of grabbing her attention, in this case, moving his own hands to the charm and then grasping her fingers.
"That's a beautiful necklace."
"Thank you," she whispered back. "It's a family heirloom. My great-great-great grandmother owned it and since then, all the women in-between her and I." There was a sickly pain to telling this part of the story on Minerva's part—she feared never being able to pass on the trinket. What perhaps made the yearning in her stomach worse, however, was Albus' response: "It looks lovely on you. Perhaps one day it will look lovely on your daughter."
Her head moved up and down slowly where a warm smile crossed her face. Albus meant nothing by it; he was merely alluding towards the happy family he supposed she would have some day in the future. He did it the same way he hinted towards her being beautiful—and it received the same response, at least inwardly. "Perhaps," she whispered, "I'll be able to pass this on to a little girl who's as close to my heart as I was to my mum."
Albus smiled and then pecked her very gently on the lips. "Your future, Minerva, is what you make it to be."
The woman's arms wrapped around his neck, but she didn't move herself to him any more than she already had. Instead, she stared. His eyes, as blue as the sky, were staring at her closely, attempting to read every thought and dream she'd ever had—metaphorically of course; while she did not doubt that Albus could read her mind due in part to the fact that he was powerful, she knew that he couldn't ever do such a thing; the man loved her much too much to breach that code of conduct. She was amazed at the depth he had within his stare, as if he held the entirety of the universe inside himself and chose to share it with only those who dared to love him. And of course, Minerva daren't love him, but she dared to act the part and by doing so, she saw what no one else saw inside Albus Dumbledore: a ravaging thirst for contact.
"What do you see in your future?" she asked tenderly as one of her hands started gliding through his red hair—over a vast number of lovers, she had learned when to coo and when to squawk; when to dive and when to soar; when to wait and when to strike; when to push and when to be pushed—she was prepared for his words of love and devotion, but not for his response which struck her so deeply that she felt metallic, unforgiving pain.
"I'm not sure what I see." The man pulled a gentle finger across the side of her face, not removing his deep blue eyes from hers. "But it's bright and colorful. There's laughter everywhere and children. And all this pain from the past no longer lingers in my life for I am truly happy with someone who loves me as I love them. I see myself dancing with her in the dark while the candle runs low and that smile on her face doesn't seem to ever leave. And when the children demolish the moment by crying out in the middle of the night," he half chuckled, "we'll both go and I'll smile when I hear her telling our children a story. And I'll know that life is perfect, if only for a few moments, because, my dear, that is my fantastic dream of the future."
In all honesty, her hands shook ever so slightly and the water in her eyes began to bulge unwillingly, but she made no other physical sign of being so terribly oppressed by his words. He did not say that he wanted her—Merlin knows, it would have made things easier for her to analyze if he had—but rather that he wanted everything that she had ever dreamed: love, children, and a home; he wanted to live; love; be loved—and he made no hint whatsoever that his lover would indeed (in his mind) be Minerva as so many others had.
And this very fact caused the woman to question everything that had been happening between them; if Albus really loved her as he said he did, then the man would have told her that he saw Minerva—not just any woman.
Alas, he had not and she was suddenly left with a thought: she needed to know that he loved her, even if she didn't love him—there was no way that she could possibly make herself go any farther without some sort of reason; for whatever her thought process was, there always needed to be a wonderful ending in sight. She knew she would walk away from the end result if there would ever be one from their relationship, but Minerva had to know that there was a chance…it gave her more reason to move onto someone new when the time came and to look upon the past more fondly.
"Albus?" she asked much too softly, for it gave way to the crack inside her throat.
"Yes, my dear?"
She did not mean it—she never meant it—but she needed to hear his response, his devotion to someone he ought not to be devoted; "I love you."
"I love you too," he whispered strongly.
Then he kissed her on the lips, gently sucking her flesh to his and then letting go. She pushed up to him, grasping his mouth to hers, refusing to let it leave. For whatever reason, the girl simply had to keep holding onto the man—call it a primordial instinct, call it a mind that couldn't make itself up; she had not ever held so close to anyone, save for one person. All that Minerva could possibly think about was the man and her and the rain pounding on the window panes; it was like the shards of water were working furiously to destroy the glass as she was hoping malignantly to forget all that life had ever done to her and replace it with yet another mess.
She didn't care.
Her arms snaked tightly around his neck as he naturally gave in to her hot (perhaps desperate) mouth. As a response, the man's hands slid beneath her clothing, gliding over the tight, prepped skin at her abdomen; feeling first her protruding hip bones, soon followed by a particularly molded ribcage, and then stopping at a fleshy chest. His fingers were warm and surprisingly curious, grazing over the less tolerant bits of her body, sending a pang of lust—that of which both were aware. Minerva let out a sigh, breaking away from his lips as one of the man's hands went to the very beget of her state, prodding gently.
In a voice much too far from calm to be Albus', the man whispered into her ear, "Everything will be all right; I won't hurt you."
She nodded, unable to process anything he could possibly say. Only later, after the rain had subsided, was she able to think about what his words meant to her; everything.
(sighs) next chapter has been started
Please review if you've decided to stick with me. I love this story and I want it to stay good, but that won't happen without your critiquing!
