Disclaimer: All Harry Potter things belong to the amazing J.K. Rowling!
Fallen Lioness
Chapter 4: The Unexpected Guest
Minerva McGonagall tossed and turned throughout the night. Sleep seemed too far from reach. Her restless mind and sporadic thoughts allowed for little shuteye tonight. She sighed and glanced at the glowing clock on the wall.
Scarcely past three, she vaguely distinguished. Her lack of glasses provided a blurred image of the clock hands. At this stage in her life, though, she was an expert in reading the time with only limited visibility. She had acquired this skill through countless nights similar to this one. So many nights she spent simply thinking, musing over the things she had to do, the people she had to see, or just pondering about life in general.
Tonight was the no different. She lay in bed, sometimes staring at the darkness, sometimes at the backs of her eyelids. Either way, she couldn't see much. The only things she could make out were the gleaming clock hands and the images in her head. She saw Albus. All she saw was Albus. What was wrong with her? Why did her thoughts always revert to him?
She wrapped the covers more tightly around her body and rolled over. She knew the answer to the question. It was obvious. Albus had already captured her heart, and it seemed he had stolen it. It hadn't been long, but Minerva knew. Minerva knew the void within her would only grow. No matter how much time she spent with him, they would always have to part. She would become empty unless he filled the hole with love, or she moved on. She had gotten herself into some pickle. One option she could hardly control, and the other she could not control at all. Powerless is how she felt.
Minerva adjusted her position again. Later she would be talking to Pomona. What was she going to say to her? She didn't feel much like talking to anybody. She didn't feel the need to share her personal thoughts about the Albus situation. Logically, she knew she probably should not keep her emotions bottled inside, but logic didn't seem to work very well for issues of the heart. In addition, Minerva was usually a private person. Did Pomona honestly expect her to disclose her secret emotions?
Yes, Minerva thought. The two of you are friends, Min. Apparently friendship meant she was obligated to reveal personal information.
She pulled the tartan blanket over her head shut her eyes tightly, as if that would induce sleep. She had a problem. She was well-liked by her peers and colleagues, and she easily made friends, but she never wanted to get close to anybody. She always wanted to keep a comfortable distance from others, which sometimes her friends didn't understand. She felt uneasy about confiding in most people – everyone really.
Except Albus. Her brain returned to thoughts of Albus once again. This circle continued endlessly until, finally, sleep overcame her.
A loud thumping noise could be heard in the distance. It was quite disturbing to a person attempting to sleep. Someone was hammering on Minerva McGonagall's door.
Who in their right mind is doing Muggle construction at this hour? Minerva wondered grumpily, smothering her head with the pillow. It was too early to do anything, even in Minerva's opinion. It couldn't be anywhere past five in the morning.
This person was actually pounding on the portrait of Godric Gryffindor, which was quite rude in the opinion of the picture's subject. The vague sound of the brave school founder's arguments could be heard even within Minerva's bedroom. Somebody was obviously trying and failing to enter Minerva's private chambers.
"Just let me in, you dead codger!" the knocker screamed.
"Without the password, you may not enter! It is my duty to protect these rooms from intruders like you!" Gryffindor exclaimed firmly.
What is Rolanda doing here? Minerva asked herself, trying to imagine why she needed to get into her rooms so badly. And at this hour, Rolanda is not exactly an early riser.
Still, Rolanda Hooch persisted. Her shouts rang through the walls.
"Look, it's noon, and Professor McGonagall has yet to be seen by anyone anywhere in the castle. Will you just let me in to see what's wrong with her?"
Noon!
"How is it noon already?" Minerva muttered in bewilderment. She never woke in a P.M. hour. This was entirely unacceptable by Minerva McGonagall standards. She scrambled out of bed in a panic, threw on her robes from yesterday, not bothering to smooth them down, and rushed to let Rolanda enter. She could hear another voice as she popped the portrait open.
"Rolanda, will you just stop yelling? We can just tell Dumbledore—"
Dumbledore, Minerva thought singularly, oblivious to her guests' surprised expressions.
"Minerva!" the second voice exclaimed.
She blinked rapidly.
"...Hello," she answered dreamily, entranced by her sudden thoughts of Albus.
"Did you Silence your room or something? Pomona and I have been shouting at your portrait for the past ten minutes," Rolanda said, irritated.
"Have you?" Minerva responded faintly, looking from Rolanda Hooch to Pomona Sprout and back. She snapped out of her Dumbledore-daydream and felt perplexed as to why they were at her door.
"Yes! Minerva, what is wrong with you? You look like you just rolled out of bed," Hooch said bluntly. She had obviously taken in her disheveled appearance.
"Thank you, Rolanda," Minerva replied tartly, although Rolanda had hit the nail right on the head. She literally did just roll out of bed, but Rolanda didn't have to mention it. "Why are you here?"
Rolanda eyed Minerva strangely. One moment she was lost in some distant dream, and the next she was curt and caustic.
"Sit down," she commanded to her host. She brushed swiftly past Minerva, grabbed a straight-backed chair from the sitting room desk, and sat in it backwardly.
"You didn't answer my question," Minerva said from the door, where both she and Professor Sprout were still standing. She heard Professor Sprout sigh, and then Pomona promptly responded.
"Well, you weren't at breakfast, which is unusual to start, and nobody else has seen you today. Personally, I was concerned. No one knew where you were, Minerva, so we came looking for you," she explained. "Anyway, you promised we'd have a friend-to-friend talking-to today, and here we are! Come on, Min, sit down and we can chat." She squeezed past Minerva and took a seat on the small crimson sofa near Madam Hooch.
Minerva gawked at her friends and strongly had the urge to splutter stupidly. Indeed she had promised to talk to Professor Sprout, but absolutely nothing about Madam Hooch was incorporated in the agreement. Seriously, how could Pomona do that? Certainly Madam Hooch was one of Minerva's friends, but that did not mean she had to be included of this sort of heart-to-heart. Minerva had consented to reveal her feelings about her private life to one person, but not to two. This was a very irksome thing Pomona did, and Minerva was not happy.
She sighed inwardly. There was no way out of this. She could not justify her unhappiness without offending Rolanda. Finally, she acquiesced to Pomona's instruction to sit down and talk.
After shutting the opening to her rooms, she slowly swept over to a scarlet armchair. It was much squashier than Minerva's normal tastes, but it had once been Albus's when he lived in these rooms, and he had insisted that she keep it for the times he would come to visit her. She knew just how much he valued comfort, so she kept it for him. It matched the décor anyway.
She stared from friend to friend for what seemed like several minutes. What was she supposed to say? She knew she had to tell them something about her feelings toward Albus, but where to begin? She didn't know how to start.
"Minerva?" Pomona called gently, effacing the silence.
"…What do you want me to say?" Minerva asked quietly. "I… I don't know where to begin."
"The beginning, Min," Rolanda said brusquely.
"That is vague, and you know it, Rolanda," Minerva said irritably, scowling and glowering at Rolanda. Really, she was never even invited. She could at least be polite.
"Start wherever you deem it necessary," Professor Sprout suggested, but not before shooting a reprimanding glance toward Rolanda.
If I knew where I 'deemed it necessary', I wouldn't have asked the question, Minerva thought impatiently. She sighed inside again and closed her eyes. Where to begin, where to begin…? She opened her eyes.
"Well… the both of you know the feelings I've held for Albus, right?" she began slowly, and her two listeners nodded. "It's not quite a secret anymore. Thursday night I… I told him." She took a sharp intake of breath and waited for a response.
You told him, you told him, you told him, Minerva! Why on Earth did you tell him? You knew he wouldn't feel the same. He's eighty years old than you are! He's a very famous man! He's your boss, for Heaven's sake! The yelling in her head was back, and suddenly, she found herself choking back a sob.
Damn it! What the Hell! she thought angrily. She felt about to cry with no warning, and for no real reason. She unwaveringly fought back the uncalled-for tears. Fortunately, neither Pomona nor Rolanda seemed to notice. She straightened her posture and regained her composure.
"What happened, Min? What did he say?" Pomona urged.
"'Nothing is there,'" she said wistfully. That was all she needed to say. The point was clear: He didn't feel anything for her.
"Oh dear," Pomona murmured, and she seemed not to know what to say. "Are you all right, Minerva?"
Evidently this time Minerva had failed to keep up her façade. The sad truth must have lain in her eyes, as she was positive she had kept a rigid appearance. Some say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and it seemed an accurate statement. Often, try as she might, she could not control the emotions conveyed in her eyes. Her luminous green eyes were, contrary to the rest of her, very expressive.
"Yes, of course," Minerva said softly, yet resolutely. She knew she wasn't all right, but for some reason, she felt she had to lie to her friends. It wasn't that she was trying to be deceitful; she just didn't want to look fragile. The idea that she, Minerva McGonagall, was fragile – that was not something she wished to be believed.
A silence fell among the three women. Minerva took fleeting glances at her friends, but for the most part, she kept her eyes low. Professor Sprout gazed concernedly at Minerva but eventually looked away. Madam Hooch's hawk-like eyes darted from person to person.
"Well, if that's that," Rolanda interjected abruptly, "then move on! Give him up! He's ancient, and he's your boss anyway. You weren't expecting much, right?"
"Rolanda!" Pomona hissed through her teeth, aiming a sideways glare at the flying instructor.
Minerva was appalled. Rolanda was being positively obnoxious! She could have sworn Rolanda had more respect than this. She looked daggers at Rolanda and frowned. She fought the impulse to hex her ruthlessly, although that wasn't really necessary, considering she didn't have her wand at hand.
Why in Merlin's name did Pomona bring her along? Minerva wondered, feeling a headache coming on. She really wanted to be alone now. I most certainly did not give any indication that I wished for her to bring company. Still, Rolanda is not in any way justified to act the way she has. She sighed openly.
"Please, please go," she said firmly, yet nearly inaudibly.
"All right, Min," Pomona said, rising slowly. "See you at dinner." She ushered Rolanda out of the room and swung the portrait shut behind them.
Minerva slumped in the chair, actually allowing herself poor posture. She pressed her fingers to her right temple and let out a relieved breath. Finally, for the first time today, she had achieved a tranquil silence. Slouching in the squashy armchair, she purposefully blocked out all unproductive thoughts and pondered how she would possibly make up for the half a day she had wasted.
A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you are enjoying this so far.
- Erin