Revisitation

[pudupudu]

Summary: Right, this is my first story and I have no idea where it should be posted. It's an angsty poetry-fic about Minerva's reaction to Albus' death, and other things, so hopefully it's in the right place.

The poem I have used is 'Revisitation' by Siegfried Sassoon. It was written about a very special (and very Dumbledore-esque) doctor called WHR Rivers whom I adore- for more information on him, 'here's one I wrote earlier' en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Halse_Rivers_Rivers (Yes, I am sad and obsessed enough with the man to write an encyclopedia article on him… what of it? )

It is a truly beautiful poem and I fear my fiction won't do it justice so if someone else wishes to use it and make a better job of it than me then please do!

Note on the story: Bold Italics represent lines of the poem and other italics represent either a memory or just something I felt like slanting for some reason

Chapter: One of however many it takes to use up all the lines of the poem- the chapters will be very short but please be patient with me

What voice revisits me this night? What face
To my heart’s room returns?

Minerva sat in her office and tucked her knees up underneath her chin. Staring out of the open window at the night sky she saw nothing but his face; his blue eyes, twinkling maddeningly, always twinkling, reflected in the midnight stars. Even the summer breeze seemed to whisper to her in his light tones with a hypnotic quality that would have soothed her heart were it not lying broken with her love, thrown from the Astronomy Tower, bathed in green light.

She didn’t feel sad, not truly, not yet; grief would come later. For now she just felt numb, shivering despite the warmth of the air. A slight tingling in her chest was the only hint of the pain to come, diluted by her state of shock. For now he was alive within her, his voice clear in her ears, his face a vision before her eyes.

“Albus? Where are you…” she stopped herself from asking, biting her tongue. She knew he couldn’t say and she didn’t want him to feel guilty for not being able to answer.
He turned to her, eyes twinkling but not with their usual joy; now they glistened with unshed tears- not for himself, but for her. “Minerva…” he took her into his arms and held her close in a one-armed embrace “…it’s time for me to go.”

They both knew that he would not be back, no more words had needed to be said. They just stood there, two souls entwined until the clock struck and Albus left in a swirl of violet robes. Minerva had waited until the door had closed before sinking into a chair, biting her lip until it bled, refusing to let her emotions out.

Now she did. Tears ran down her cheeks as she wept to the window pane face, the starlight eyes and the voice in the breeze.

“I love you.”

So sad, but i like it. Its really well written.

[dianahawthorne]

I love it, and I absolutely adore that poem!!! Great job.

[MinnyCat]

I love it. So very sad, but those are the best storys.

[Blue]

Oh, that's really sad. I loved the idea of McGonagall biting her lip until it bled to keep her emotions in check, it seems like a very-McGonagall thing to do.

[pudupudu]

Author Note: sorry this took so long to post- real life got in the way. This chapter contains Deathly Hallows spoilers

From the perpetual silence where the grace
Of human sainthood burns

Harry had told her what had happened; told her how Albus had drank the debilitating potion rather than have Harry go through that same acute agony of being forced to see… What had Albus seen? Harry hadn’t known, he merely repeated what Albus had said, over and over again “don’t hurt them, please… hurt me instead.” A single tear ran down Minerva’s cheek as she considered his words; even in the height of mental anguish his thoughts had been of others.

And then there was his death itself… Minerva shivered despite the warmth of the summer air. When Harry had told her of what happened she had felt a greater medley of emotions than she had ever previously experienced in her long life. Shock, when he had told her that Albus was dead, which quickly resolved itself into disbelief- surely not… But then she had seen his body. In that moment she had felt as if her world had shattered. The ringing in her ears dispelled all sounds but that of the blood surging around her body from her racing heart, beating for the both of them now that his had ceased.

Kneeling at his side she felt a sick dread that made her clasp a hand to her mouth, halting both the nausea and the sob that was building in her chest. She turned away. The prominent emotion was now confusion. She looked once again to Harry, her mouth open in a silent question… “Snape” he spat, green eyes blazing. She closed her eyes, tears welling as the ringing intensified. Astonishment, horror, sadness… anger. When she looked up again the fire in her own eyes mirrored Harry’s.

But then he explained exactly what had happened and the bottom seemed to fall from her stomach. She felt dizzy at the revelation… he had pleaded… “Oh God” she mumbled, burying her head in trembling hands. Harry looked torn, not knowing whether to comfort his professor or keep his distance. He saw, or at least he thought he saw why his last disclosure had upset her so much… he shuddered to remember it, the powerful wizard broken and pleading for his life… Knowing he was in no shape to be of any use to his professor right then, he had decided to leave her to grieve.

“You bastard” she had hissed at the cold body as Harry left. “You utter bastard” but even as she spoke her harsh words she was lifting the lifeless form of her friend and lover into her arms, kissing the forehead that lolled against her chest. Her exhausted eyes had closed, her head aching as her brain tried desperately both to process the information and to block it out. It was all too much. She couldn’t recall how she had come to abandon the shell of her childhood crush, her sweetheart, her best friend… her… her husband but now she was back in her room and waves of truth were crashing over her in icy torrents.

He had known, that much was clear… the more she thought about it, the more obvious it became. He had been hinting since the previous summer that his time was near, ever since he had injured his arm he had been trying to prepare her for the fact that he would soon be… But she hadn’t heard him, hadn’t wanted to hear him. Their relationship had always been filled with uncertainty; built out of tragedy it was always a strong possibility that their marriage would end the same way, but that did little now to alleviate the ache in her heart. That ache had only intensified when she had learned that he had begged for his own death for the sake of others, because as sure as day is day and night is night, Albus Dumbledore would never have pleaded for salvation… not his own, anyway.

Minerva was at once furious and proud that he had given up his life for his wayward charges. She continued to glare out of the window and curse the night sky; why couldn’t life be simple? Was it too much to ask for a living husband rather than a martyred saint? She rubbed her temples and felt her anger dissipate. She could never stay angry with him for long. Raising her eyes to the heavens she thought idly of the similarities between her now late husband and the muggle St. Paul. She had once thought that Dumbledore was the model of perfection; through the eyes of an adoring teenager, the professor could do no wrong, but then she had learned the truth about his less-than-flawless past.

Leaving the Great Hall with a broad smile on her face she swore that if she ate another mouthful she would be sick; she had excused herself in order to perform a loosening charm on her robes, honestly concerned that they might soon burst. On the way to the toilet her honed cat-like senses noticed a strange noise coming from the end of the Transfigurations corridor; frowning, she went to investigate. It sounded like crying but she couldn’t imagine who would be crying on such a happy occasion; besides, she had seen everyone present at the victory meal except…

“Professor Dumbledore?!” she exclaimed as she saw him. He was huddled at his desk, his head in his hands and sobs shaking his gaunt frame. As he raised his head to the intruder, Minerva could not stifle her gasp. He looked like death. Apart from the blotchy redness, his skin was as grey and waxen as a corpse’s and his eyes- those blue orbs that once seemed to exude a magical light of their own- were glazed and haunted. The Seventh Year student looked at her professor in barely disguised horror; here was a man who was not only her hero but the hero of the entire wizarding world, broken and spent, sobbing into too-thin hands.

She approached him cautiously, frightened by the fact that he showed no signs of having recognised her or even having registered her presence. She placed a tentative hand on his bony shoulder “sir?” He looked at her now and she tightened her grip on his trembling body.

“I’m a bad man, Minerva” his voice was hollow as he spoke the words his young protégée least expected to hear.
“Sir?” it was all she could manage to say. How could this man say such a thing? He had just saved both the wizarding and muggle worlds from the clutches of the darkest wizard in an age… how could he possibly consider himself a ‘bad man’?!

“He was my friend, Minerva” his voice cracked as he told the sorry tale. He told of how he had met Grindelwald, of how they had been the best of friends, of how they had shared plans for world domination… he let out a humourless laugh that sounded more like a gasp of pain. “‘The Greater Good’… I believed in it, Minerva, I truly believed in it…” Minerva kept her hand stubbornly on his shoulder as he told her about his family, about his tragic and misguided past; tears ran down her cheeks and still she maintained the contact, wanting to comfort him in any way that she could.

When he had recounted it all, he let out a groan and his body shuddered. Minerva had assumed that he had not been at the feast because he was involved with some celebration somewhere, she had never expected this. Taking a deep breath she found her voice “sir, I think we’d better get you to the hospital wing.” He had been too weak to protest and had leaned on her heavily as they made their slow way there.

When he was settled on the bed, she took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “We all make mistakes, sir, but you’ve more than made up for yours.” Dumbledore’s weary eyes opened and Minerva saw flashes of disbelief and hope cross the previously blank blue expanses. He had really thought that she would hate him when it all came out. Shaking her head with a tremulous smile, she leant forward and planted a small kiss on his forehead before leaving him in the capable hands of the mediwitch.

Despite the pain, Minerva could not help but smile at the memory. St Paul indeed… but Dumbledore had created his own road to Damascus. His conversion towards the light had come from within; he hadn’t needed a muggle God to show him the error of his ways. This, in Minerva’s eyes made the man she had married even more special, even more saintly, and made her even more sad to have lost the wizard whose complex shades of being had captured her heart so completely.

Author Note: thank you to those who replied to the last post and please do so again. I'm going on holiday for a few days and thus won't be posting for a bit but should be able to get an update up by the end of next week

[dianahawthorne]

great chapter- very good characterizations of Albus and Minerva- can't wait for the next update!