Post by The Anglophile on Jul 13, 2007 15:21:38 GMT -5
A/N: I wrote this for a contest at The Hideaway and rather liked it, so I thought I'd share. Meh.
Title: Raspberry Jam. [For lack of a better title.]
Summary: The fic that everyone and their mom has written. My take on Minerva grieving for Albus.
Rating: 11+, I suppose. >_>
The sky was pale blue and blissfully calm as the sun rose, a tiny hint of pink on the horizon. Thin clouds stretched out lazily; the light itself was lavender and smooth. Minerva watched the sunrise, her eyes unblinking and dry. She hated the serenity of this soft summer dawn. It made her insides feel like ice, but she didn’t turn away. Her back ached from sitting with her knees clutched to her chest in the window seat all night. She was too old for sleepless nights.
The sun finally rose, ending the languid dawn. Owls swooped frantically in and out of the Owlery. She could see a few people scurrying up to the front doors of the castle. Minerva resented them all for still existing, still moving and breathing. She lost her sense of time. The minutes were swallowed by the ringing silence. Not even the portraits made a sound, though out of sorrow and respect or sheer curiosity it was hard to say.
After what could have been hours or seconds of daylight, she heard a faint pop. She still didn’t move, she didn’t care.
“Miss Headmistress?” a tentative voice squeaked. “Dobby has brought you breakfast, ma’am. Madame Pomfrey has said Dobby is to make certain you eat.”
“Thank you, Dobby. Please leave it on the desk,” Minerva said flatly, not looking at him.
“Is there anything Dobby can do for Miss?”
Even without looking round at him Minerva could tell that the house-elf was twisting one of his ridiculous hats in his hands.
“No, thank you,” she told him, her voice still dull and quiet.
She heard him set down the tray, then another pop told her he had gone. Minerva stayed in the window seat, her breath leaving a small oval of fog on the glass. She stared down at the grounds as though she expected to see someone walking across the Quidditch pitch towards the lake, placid and contemplative as ever. But there was no one, and there never would be again.
Finally her eyes flickered. She rose from the window seat and went to the desk. Dobby had prepared their usual breakfast tray, as though it were an ordinary day. She stared at it, almost in disgust, for a long moment, then decided that she ought to try to eat. Poppy would know if she didn’t, and she would have to deal with those horrible people from the Ministry today.
Slowly, as though it were painful, Minerva sat down and took a slice of toast. She reached for the jam and suddenly froze, her throat tightening. Raspberry.
Minerva abandoned her composure broke into unrestrained, heart-wrenching sobs, the silence finally broken.
Title: Raspberry Jam. [For lack of a better title.]
Summary: The fic that everyone and their mom has written. My take on Minerva grieving for Albus.
Rating: 11+, I suppose. >_>
Raspberry Jam
[/b]The sky was pale blue and blissfully calm as the sun rose, a tiny hint of pink on the horizon. Thin clouds stretched out lazily; the light itself was lavender and smooth. Minerva watched the sunrise, her eyes unblinking and dry. She hated the serenity of this soft summer dawn. It made her insides feel like ice, but she didn’t turn away. Her back ached from sitting with her knees clutched to her chest in the window seat all night. She was too old for sleepless nights.
The sun finally rose, ending the languid dawn. Owls swooped frantically in and out of the Owlery. She could see a few people scurrying up to the front doors of the castle. Minerva resented them all for still existing, still moving and breathing. She lost her sense of time. The minutes were swallowed by the ringing silence. Not even the portraits made a sound, though out of sorrow and respect or sheer curiosity it was hard to say.
After what could have been hours or seconds of daylight, she heard a faint pop. She still didn’t move, she didn’t care.
“Miss Headmistress?” a tentative voice squeaked. “Dobby has brought you breakfast, ma’am. Madame Pomfrey has said Dobby is to make certain you eat.”
“Thank you, Dobby. Please leave it on the desk,” Minerva said flatly, not looking at him.
“Is there anything Dobby can do for Miss?”
Even without looking round at him Minerva could tell that the house-elf was twisting one of his ridiculous hats in his hands.
“No, thank you,” she told him, her voice still dull and quiet.
She heard him set down the tray, then another pop told her he had gone. Minerva stayed in the window seat, her breath leaving a small oval of fog on the glass. She stared down at the grounds as though she expected to see someone walking across the Quidditch pitch towards the lake, placid and contemplative as ever. But there was no one, and there never would be again.
Finally her eyes flickered. She rose from the window seat and went to the desk. Dobby had prepared their usual breakfast tray, as though it were an ordinary day. She stared at it, almost in disgust, for a long moment, then decided that she ought to try to eat. Poppy would know if she didn’t, and she would have to deal with those horrible people from the Ministry today.
Slowly, as though it were painful, Minerva sat down and took a slice of toast. She reached for the jam and suddenly froze, her throat tightening. Raspberry.
Minerva abandoned her composure broke into unrestrained, heart-wrenching sobs, the silence finally broken.
Really poignant things that cause her to greive are really effective. This really worked it was like someone punched me 
