A/N: For the QLFC Season Eight, Round 3. Magpies Chaser 1
Prompts — You'll Be Back: Write about someone missing the "good old days."
Lyric used: 'You'll be the one complaining when I'm gone.'
Optional Prompts — 3. (Restriction) only female characters / 4. (Object) candle / 5. (Action) dancing
maybe we will dance again
Always Padfoot
Minerva had taken to doing her marking in the staffroom. With the Wizarding War at its height, it was hard not to feel so alone in her quarters, and she was certainly not the only Professor making use of the communal space.
Tonight was no different.
She was grateful that it had felt like there wasn't a dark presence shrouding the country. But, as she grew weary of marking, melancholic thoughts whispered in Minerva's mind. She almost surrendered the possibility of completing any further marking to the draining subject of war.
It was only as she sat back circling her wrists slightly she noticed the candle she was working beside flicker in the half-light—as though it were caught in a breeze. Minerva stared at it intently. Just as she was hoping it had been a figment of her imagination the flame extinguished itself with a soft pop. Her hand instinctually went for her wand.
"Not going to curse me are you, Minerva?"
It took all of Minerva's strength not to jump out of her skin at the sudden sound of a voice in a room she had thought she was the only person still occupying.
The voice, of course, was familiar. There was no intruder; she knew she was perfectly safe here, and yet, the paranoia that encapsulated most of society these days still made her doubt every rational thought she had.
"Rolanda." Minerva found herself scowling as she turned in her chair to face the Quidditch Professor. "I thought you'd left hours ago."
Rolanda grinned. "I did, but now I'm back. It's nearly midnight. Merlin's beard, Minerva, give yourself a break and go to bed."
"Nonsense." The transfiguration professor waved her colleague off. "I have one last essay to mark; I may as well finish it now so I can relax."
Rolanda rolled her eyes as Minerva waved her hand across the candle to relight it. In her opinion the ex-Quidditch professional always seemed to have it easy. She taught very little and spent most of her evenings in Hogsmeade. How the grey-haired woman always managed to appear so nonchalant and non-committal about absolutely everything was really quite infuriating at times.
"Suit yourself." She responded with a shrug and stole a biscuit from the communal tin, which she shoved it in her mouth whole. "You'll be the one complaining when I'm gone and your head explodes from stress."
When Rolanda spoke, biscuit crumbs went everywhere, and Minerva barely managed to make out the words the woman was actually saying.
"That was both ill-mannered and a completely inaccurate statement regarding my head."
"Night, Minerva."
"Goodnight."
Rolanda gave a short salute with a smile before she left. Finding herself alone again, Minerva returned to the last piece of work she had to mark, and reluctantly got on with doing so.
Finally, as midnight came and went, she finally replaced her quill to its holder. The last piece of work had taken a little longer to go through than usual. A given really considering that it had been written by Lily Evans and she regularly submitted far more than necessary. At least it had been a pleasant last read.
Minerva stretched her arms above her and waved her wand so the essays sorted themselves into a neat pile. Then, with another flick, they organised themselves in Minerva's pigeon hole on the far side of the staffroom. As she collected her belongings the photo acting as a bookmark fell out of her planner, and as she bent down to retrieve it, Minerva found herself smiling fondly.
It depicted a happier time.
A happier time back when she began working at Hogwarts and the staffroom had been decorated for a welcome party in the first week of term.
She watched as Poppy, who had also been a new faculty member the same year, tried and failed to teach Professor Vector how to do the Lindy Hop. Then, after mere seconds, Vector stopped to speak to someone out of frame on her left. Minerva felt her lips twitch into a smile.
If you're going to criticise, Minerva, why don't you show us all how it's done.
Fine. Out the way, Septima.
She watched her younger self switch places with Professor Vector. Then, without missing a step, Poppy and Minerva danced whilst others in the photo clapped. They laughed and jived. They moved in ways that Minerva wasn't sure she could quite recreate a decade and a half later. It made her smile just the same as it had then.
When the photo looped back to the beginning Minerva felt a poignant sense of loss.
Whilst not quite as carefree as she once had been, the suffocating responsibility of protecting her students in a time far darker than she had experienced in her life weighed heavy on her shoulders. She wouldn't give it up; the responsibility of protecting her students would remain with her until the day she died.
And yet she longed for just a split second of the elation portrayed in her photo.
Right now, it seemed impossible to find anything even remotely similar, let alone experience it for more than a few precious moments.
Minerva heaved a sigh, her smile fading fast, and tucked the photo away.
Poppy would tell her she was foolish not to allocate herself even a small fraction of time to step back from her students and work. And even now she already knew how the conversation would go should it come up, especially with a woman just as stubborn as she was.
Besides, Poppy was just as dedicated to her job as she was, which left very little time for her to relax either.
Perhaps that was their downfall in the end.
Perhaps that was secretly why Minerva missed that chaotic carefree attitude she'd once shared so closely with Poppy. With both witches dedicated to protecting their students, there was no time for that in the midst of war.
She just hoped to Merlin that things would pass. Maybe then she'd get her chance to dance again.