Post by HappyReader on Aug 25, 2004 22:33:34 GMT -5
This one will be a sad one...
He felt slim arms slide around his shoulders.
“Hello darling. Are you ready to go?”
“Ah, yes, hello.”
Turning towards her, he stood from his desk and kissed her cheek.
“I’m afraid I have bad news. It’s about our plans for this evening. Unfortunately I cannot make it.”
She let her disappointment and anger show.
“And why not?”
“Dearest, the Wizengamot are holding a conference with the Minister of Magic regarding the trade agreement between ourselves and the wizarding nations of France and Australia. They have requested that I attend. I can hardly say no to the Wizengamot or the Minister of Magic, can I?”
She turned away from him but she nodded her head in understanding.
“At any rate it shouldn’t take longer than two hours, perhaps even less. We might still salvage the rest of the night for ourselves. What do you intend to do until then?”
“Nothing much, though I may call upon my Aunt Theodora in Belfast. She owled me yesterday, requesting my presence at my convienience. I was planning upon visiting her next week, but since I have the free time now…”
The disappointment was evident in her voice. He pulled her towards him.
“I really am very sorry Minerva, but I will make it up to you. Perhaps a repeat of last night in the following days to come?”
He frowned at the wan smile she gave.
“You don’t…regret last night, do you?”
“No, of course not Albus. I instigated ‘last night’, don’t you remember?
He gave a relieved chuckle at her answer.
“The wait for the wedding night seems overrated. Why wait to experience such happiness?”
Pleased with her reasoning, he watched her play with the ring hanging from her neck.
“Are you sure you would not like a proper engagement ring?”
She shook her dark head. Biting her lip, she moved to unclasp the chain at the nape of her neck.
“Unless you would like it back?”
He swiftly claimed her hands and gave them each a quick kiss.
“No! It’s alright. I want you to keep it. Know that I am always with you.”
He touched her face gently. He kissed her just as tenderly and with the intention to appease.
“I should go now, love.”
She sighed frustrated. “Alright then.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. See you later.”
***
Historical fact: December 11th 1956. The Irish Republican Army begin its ‘Border Campaign’, organising bombings on the Ulster border as well as the cities of Belfast and London. The campaign ends in failure in 1962.
***
Belvoir Park Hospital, Belfast, Northern Ireland
The young man removed his hand from the rigid wrist and shook his head sadly.
“Nay, it’s too late. She’s gone.”
Beside him his colleague sighed heavily. Together they made the sign of the cross and prayed for the woman’s soul.
“Fooking animals. Look what they’ve done,” said the young man with vehemence. He studied the delicate features of the dead woman. “She looks like an angel.”
“Aye, it’s a pity alright,” answered the older man. He had seen many such heartrending scenes in his lifetime and career that his personal feelings became disconnected. “Does she have any identification?”
“No belongings, nothing. The poor dear, her purse must have been looted while she lay wounded. Christ, what scum steals from a injured woman?”
The older man spied something.
“What about that cloak? Check it for a name tag.”
The young man picked up a burnt and tattered tartan cloak lying on the foot of the hospital bed; it was stiff with dried blood.
“Her name was Minerva McGonagall.”
The older man nodded somberly. He recorded the name on the clipboard he carried.
“Alright. Let’s get her ready.”
The young man’s gaze lingering upon the woman’s pale face before he covered it with a crisp white sheet.
The two men left. Minutes later they returned, wheeling in a gurney. As they prepared the body for trasport to the hospital morgue, on the bed adjacent to the dead woman lay another woman in a critical condition. Dark red bled through the white bandages wound around her head. Her left arm was set in a cast while her face was puffy and scratched from sharpnel given off from the bomb. Breaths came in shallow hisses for three of her ribs had been fractured after being thrown back by the bomb’s shockwave and colliding with a wall. Though she had been near the epicenter of the blast, this woman’s incredible vitality secured her survival.
Around her neck hung a delicate chain of silver. It secured a man’s signet ring, handsomely crafted and engraved with the initials ‘A.D.’.
*suspense muzik* Dun dun DUN!! I’ve always wanted to do an identity swap fic.
'Et In Arcadia Ego'
He felt slim arms slide around his shoulders.
“Hello darling. Are you ready to go?”
“Ah, yes, hello.”
Turning towards her, he stood from his desk and kissed her cheek.
“I’m afraid I have bad news. It’s about our plans for this evening. Unfortunately I cannot make it.”
She let her disappointment and anger show.
“And why not?”
“Dearest, the Wizengamot are holding a conference with the Minister of Magic regarding the trade agreement between ourselves and the wizarding nations of France and Australia. They have requested that I attend. I can hardly say no to the Wizengamot or the Minister of Magic, can I?”
She turned away from him but she nodded her head in understanding.
“At any rate it shouldn’t take longer than two hours, perhaps even less. We might still salvage the rest of the night for ourselves. What do you intend to do until then?”
“Nothing much, though I may call upon my Aunt Theodora in Belfast. She owled me yesterday, requesting my presence at my convienience. I was planning upon visiting her next week, but since I have the free time now…”
The disappointment was evident in her voice. He pulled her towards him.
“I really am very sorry Minerva, but I will make it up to you. Perhaps a repeat of last night in the following days to come?”
He frowned at the wan smile she gave.
“You don’t…regret last night, do you?”
“No, of course not Albus. I instigated ‘last night’, don’t you remember?
He gave a relieved chuckle at her answer.
“The wait for the wedding night seems overrated. Why wait to experience such happiness?”
Pleased with her reasoning, he watched her play with the ring hanging from her neck.
“Are you sure you would not like a proper engagement ring?”
She shook her dark head. Biting her lip, she moved to unclasp the chain at the nape of her neck.
“Unless you would like it back?”
He swiftly claimed her hands and gave them each a quick kiss.
“No! It’s alright. I want you to keep it. Know that I am always with you.”
He touched her face gently. He kissed her just as tenderly and with the intention to appease.
“I should go now, love.”
She sighed frustrated. “Alright then.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. See you later.”
***
Historical fact: December 11th 1956. The Irish Republican Army begin its ‘Border Campaign’, organising bombings on the Ulster border as well as the cities of Belfast and London. The campaign ends in failure in 1962.
***
Belvoir Park Hospital, Belfast, Northern Ireland
The young man removed his hand from the rigid wrist and shook his head sadly.
“Nay, it’s too late. She’s gone.”
Beside him his colleague sighed heavily. Together they made the sign of the cross and prayed for the woman’s soul.
“Fooking animals. Look what they’ve done,” said the young man with vehemence. He studied the delicate features of the dead woman. “She looks like an angel.”
“Aye, it’s a pity alright,” answered the older man. He had seen many such heartrending scenes in his lifetime and career that his personal feelings became disconnected. “Does she have any identification?”
“No belongings, nothing. The poor dear, her purse must have been looted while she lay wounded. Christ, what scum steals from a injured woman?”
The older man spied something.
“What about that cloak? Check it for a name tag.”
The young man picked up a burnt and tattered tartan cloak lying on the foot of the hospital bed; it was stiff with dried blood.
“Her name was Minerva McGonagall.”
The older man nodded somberly. He recorded the name on the clipboard he carried.
“Alright. Let’s get her ready.”
The young man’s gaze lingering upon the woman’s pale face before he covered it with a crisp white sheet.
The two men left. Minutes later they returned, wheeling in a gurney. As they prepared the body for trasport to the hospital morgue, on the bed adjacent to the dead woman lay another woman in a critical condition. Dark red bled through the white bandages wound around her head. Her left arm was set in a cast while her face was puffy and scratched from sharpnel given off from the bomb. Breaths came in shallow hisses for three of her ribs had been fractured after being thrown back by the bomb’s shockwave and colliding with a wall. Though she had been near the epicenter of the blast, this woman’s incredible vitality secured her survival.
Around her neck hung a delicate chain of silver. It secured a man’s signet ring, handsomely crafted and engraved with the initials ‘A.D.’.
*suspense muzik* Dun dun DUN!! I’ve always wanted to do an identity swap fic.
Poor Albus though, he's going to be heart broken. 
The start is so good and I want to read more!!! Please!!!! PLEASE! anyways I'm rereading this and I still want it to be continued but if you no longer want to continue it...fine I will try to let it go...