Post by AngelQueen on Apr 18, 2005 14:37:04 GMT -5
Well, here's my first attempt for writing in the Challenge Tag. Actually, this is the first A/M story I've ever actually written. I hope you enjoy it!
Some Scars Do Not Fade, But Wounds Do Heal
by AngelQueen
Every time she saw them, she shuddered with revulsion. Four dark, ugly marks criss-crossing one another just above the valley between her breasts. The healers at St. Mungo’s had assured her that they would eventually fade and become almost unnoticeable like almost all other scars, but even after a month, they still stood out starkly in her eyes, absolutely hideous.
Her aversion to her new, unwelcome adornments had been relatively easy to ignore, at first. When she’d come home to Hogwarts, there had been plenty to do in attempting to gain control of the chaos that was engulfing the castle. Getting the children under control, speaking with those who had been at the Department of Mysteries, watching with barely-concealed satisfaction as Peeves hounded That Woman out of the school by beating the horrid woman with her walking stick, all of it had left little time to think of anything else.
But, eventually, the dust settled. The children left on the train, carrying the knowledge that their headmaster and fellow student had been right all along in saying that You-Know-Who had indeed returned, the staff was either preparing to go off to enjoy their own holidays as best as they were able or to continue their work for the Order. Minerva knew that her part in that was out of the question for at least another month, both on Poppy’s orders and her own instincts. And with her work load slowly diminishing, Minerva found herself with time to think on her situation, to reflect on what happened.
Her true feelings began to assert themselves when Poppy and Olivia Vector had invited her to join them in Hogsmeade for a day of pampering before they left Hogwarts for the summer. Normally, she would have joined them without hesitation, but the moment she heard their words, Minerva nearly choked on the lump that suddenly appeared in her chest. She cleared her throat as best as she could and politely declined the invitation, saying that she was going to relax with a book and perhaps a nap in her rooms. Poppy immediately narrowed her eyes and asked if she was feeling alright and she had to fight the urge to snap back. Gritting her teeth, Minerva assured her that she was fine.
And that was not an isolated incident. When Albus was actually home, Minerva found herself fighting the urge to cringe every time he so much as brushed near her. What had once been familiar, comforting gestures such as running his fingers through her black tresses or caressing her cheek lightly now only made her flinch as though someone was about to attack her.
Her husband had noticed, of course. How could he not? He noticed practically everything. His blue eyes glinted brightly with concern, but Minerva had no answers for him. How could she say it? How could she tell him that she was ruined? That she was beyond help now? She couldn’t say anything. So, she stayed silent and turned away from him, unable to endure the hurt that was so clear on his features.
How much time passed in this way, she wasn’t exactly sure. If she wasn’t in her office, then she sequestered herself in her private chambers, coming out only to eat at the meals with the few that chose to remain during the summer holidays. As always, Minerva was aware of the anxious looks that several of them were giving her, but she did her best to not meet any of their gazes, quickly finishing her meals and disappearing back into the depths of the castle.
But then, one day, when she found it time to begin assembling the school letters for the students, things finally came to a head. Minerva recalled that the previous summer, she had packed the supplies for the letters in her study in the rooms that she and Albus combined as their own. She really had no desire to be faced with his hurt when she still found she could not explain her actions to him, no matter how much it wrenched her heart to see him in such pain, pain she had caused.
She hesitated when she saw him sitting in his purple, thickly-cushioned wingback chair near the fireplace. He had to have heard her entrance, but he did not look up from the large book resting in her lap. Biting the inside of her cheek, Minerva straightened and hurried towards her study, doing her level best not to skitter away from his silent form.
She hurriedly grabbed the quills, parchments, and lists from their storage area and returned the way she had come. As she walked past Albus, who still had not said a word to her, she distractedly glanced at the book he was studying so intently. And froze in her stride.
Within the pages of the book, their wedding photos stared serenely back. Memories flooded her mind. Memories of her own years as a student. Memories of the growing terror inspired by the activities of Grindelwald and Adolf Hitler.
Memories of the wonderful Transfiguration Professor who was not only a symbol of light and hope to them all, but also the subject of crushes from nearly the entire female population of the school, both staff and students.
Minerva remembered the war all too clearly. She remembered accompanying Albus, along with four other witches and wizards, deep into the heart of a war-torn Germany, despite Albus’ pleas that she remain in the relative safety of France. She remembered fighting Grindelwald’s followers, keeping them away from Albus as he dueled with the madman who had helped to tear all of Europe to bloody shreds.
None of them had escaped without injury, but Albus had been in the worst shape of them all. Deep, festering gashes covered his chest and abdomen, spell damage done to his knee, all wounds which required more than the basic first-aid they had all been trained in. They had been unsure if Albus would even survive the rough trip back to France and safety, but somehow he heard their entreaties that he hold on.
When the healers finished with him, he was healed, but scars had covered his chest and he had been so reluctant to even let her near him…
Oh…
The supplies dropped from her suddenly boneless fingers…
As though he sensed the direction of her thoughts, Albus, still staring at their wedding photographs, spoke up softly.
“I was rather ashamed of those scars, marks that had been put there by a man who slaughtered everyone in his path, even children, for pleasure. I could not comprehend how you would wish to be in the presence of someone so marked. But, somehow, you did… and you stated that you would not stand to listen to ‘such hogwash.’ You considered them marks of honor, the testament to the many lives that had both been lost and saved. And you told me that if I tried to back out of the promise I had made to you, even for your supposed own good, you’d hex me into the next world.” He now looked up at her, his expression inscrutable, but his mustache did twitch slightly. “Have you forgotten the lesson you taught me, Minerva? Have you forgotten that such wounds can be healed?”
Minerva stared down at him and felt her hands begin to tremble slightly. Her vision grew blurred and she sniffled slightly. She had forgotten. A time she had sworn to remember, she had forgotten.
She felt his hands on her own, pulling her towards him and suddenly, Minerva found herself in Albus’ lap, leaning against his chest as simultaneously stroked her back comfortingly and pulled the pins out of her bun, allowing her black hair to flow down her back freely.
“I… I’m sorry, Albus,” she whispered hoarsely, clutching at his robes tightly as she closed her eyes, ashamed to meet his gaze. She knew she had hurt him greatly in keeping her distance from him. “These marks, Albus, they are different from yours. Mine are a testament to my own arrogance, my inability to keep my temper restrained. But I was just so angry… And the children saw it…”
“I know, my darling,” she heard him reply as he ran his fingers through her hair. “But that was not your fault… You should never have had to endure what you did this past year.” He sighed. “None of you did. But, Minerva, what happened to you that night does not make you any less than you are.”
“What am I then? A foolish –”
Laughter bubbled up inside his chest, making it rumble. “Foolish? You, my dear? ‘Tis I who am the foolish one in this room, not you. You, Minerva, are the brave, courageous, beautiful woman who made me the most fortunate wizard in the world by marrying me. You are as perfect in my eyes as you were when I first fell in love with you.” He reached down and placed a finger beneath her still-trembling chin. Watery green eyes met misty blue. “You will never cease to be perfection in my eyes, no matter what happens.”
“I love you, Albus Dumbledore,” Minerva blurted out, suddenly gripping his robes tightly. “I love you and I’m sorry for being a fool. Even if you deny that I have been one, I know I was. And I’ve hurt you –”
“Shh,” he replied, placing at finger on her lips. “Wounds can be healed, my love. Time, for all the bitterness it heaps upon us, does heal.” He leaned forward slightly and pressed his lips against her forehead.
Minerva closed her eyes, feeling a small smile creep onto her lips. Sighing contentedly, she leaned against him fully and allowed him to hold her tightly in her embrace. It didn’t matter, she realized, if the scars faded or not. The wounds that had been inflicted were slowly healing and soon would only be a memory. And she would come out better for it.
And he thought her perfect? He, the one who had brought her this healing? She would rather think the roles were reversed.
Some Scars Do Not Fade, But Wounds Do Heal
by AngelQueen
Every time she saw them, she shuddered with revulsion. Four dark, ugly marks criss-crossing one another just above the valley between her breasts. The healers at St. Mungo’s had assured her that they would eventually fade and become almost unnoticeable like almost all other scars, but even after a month, they still stood out starkly in her eyes, absolutely hideous.
Her aversion to her new, unwelcome adornments had been relatively easy to ignore, at first. When she’d come home to Hogwarts, there had been plenty to do in attempting to gain control of the chaos that was engulfing the castle. Getting the children under control, speaking with those who had been at the Department of Mysteries, watching with barely-concealed satisfaction as Peeves hounded That Woman out of the school by beating the horrid woman with her walking stick, all of it had left little time to think of anything else.
But, eventually, the dust settled. The children left on the train, carrying the knowledge that their headmaster and fellow student had been right all along in saying that You-Know-Who had indeed returned, the staff was either preparing to go off to enjoy their own holidays as best as they were able or to continue their work for the Order. Minerva knew that her part in that was out of the question for at least another month, both on Poppy’s orders and her own instincts. And with her work load slowly diminishing, Minerva found herself with time to think on her situation, to reflect on what happened.
Her true feelings began to assert themselves when Poppy and Olivia Vector had invited her to join them in Hogsmeade for a day of pampering before they left Hogwarts for the summer. Normally, she would have joined them without hesitation, but the moment she heard their words, Minerva nearly choked on the lump that suddenly appeared in her chest. She cleared her throat as best as she could and politely declined the invitation, saying that she was going to relax with a book and perhaps a nap in her rooms. Poppy immediately narrowed her eyes and asked if she was feeling alright and she had to fight the urge to snap back. Gritting her teeth, Minerva assured her that she was fine.
And that was not an isolated incident. When Albus was actually home, Minerva found herself fighting the urge to cringe every time he so much as brushed near her. What had once been familiar, comforting gestures such as running his fingers through her black tresses or caressing her cheek lightly now only made her flinch as though someone was about to attack her.
Her husband had noticed, of course. How could he not? He noticed practically everything. His blue eyes glinted brightly with concern, but Minerva had no answers for him. How could she say it? How could she tell him that she was ruined? That she was beyond help now? She couldn’t say anything. So, she stayed silent and turned away from him, unable to endure the hurt that was so clear on his features.
How much time passed in this way, she wasn’t exactly sure. If she wasn’t in her office, then she sequestered herself in her private chambers, coming out only to eat at the meals with the few that chose to remain during the summer holidays. As always, Minerva was aware of the anxious looks that several of them were giving her, but she did her best to not meet any of their gazes, quickly finishing her meals and disappearing back into the depths of the castle.
But then, one day, when she found it time to begin assembling the school letters for the students, things finally came to a head. Minerva recalled that the previous summer, she had packed the supplies for the letters in her study in the rooms that she and Albus combined as their own. She really had no desire to be faced with his hurt when she still found she could not explain her actions to him, no matter how much it wrenched her heart to see him in such pain, pain she had caused.
She hesitated when she saw him sitting in his purple, thickly-cushioned wingback chair near the fireplace. He had to have heard her entrance, but he did not look up from the large book resting in her lap. Biting the inside of her cheek, Minerva straightened and hurried towards her study, doing her level best not to skitter away from his silent form.
She hurriedly grabbed the quills, parchments, and lists from their storage area and returned the way she had come. As she walked past Albus, who still had not said a word to her, she distractedly glanced at the book he was studying so intently. And froze in her stride.
Within the pages of the book, their wedding photos stared serenely back. Memories flooded her mind. Memories of her own years as a student. Memories of the growing terror inspired by the activities of Grindelwald and Adolf Hitler.
Memories of the wonderful Transfiguration Professor who was not only a symbol of light and hope to them all, but also the subject of crushes from nearly the entire female population of the school, both staff and students.
Minerva remembered the war all too clearly. She remembered accompanying Albus, along with four other witches and wizards, deep into the heart of a war-torn Germany, despite Albus’ pleas that she remain in the relative safety of France. She remembered fighting Grindelwald’s followers, keeping them away from Albus as he dueled with the madman who had helped to tear all of Europe to bloody shreds.
None of them had escaped without injury, but Albus had been in the worst shape of them all. Deep, festering gashes covered his chest and abdomen, spell damage done to his knee, all wounds which required more than the basic first-aid they had all been trained in. They had been unsure if Albus would even survive the rough trip back to France and safety, but somehow he heard their entreaties that he hold on.
When the healers finished with him, he was healed, but scars had covered his chest and he had been so reluctant to even let her near him…
Oh…
The supplies dropped from her suddenly boneless fingers…
As though he sensed the direction of her thoughts, Albus, still staring at their wedding photographs, spoke up softly.
“I was rather ashamed of those scars, marks that had been put there by a man who slaughtered everyone in his path, even children, for pleasure. I could not comprehend how you would wish to be in the presence of someone so marked. But, somehow, you did… and you stated that you would not stand to listen to ‘such hogwash.’ You considered them marks of honor, the testament to the many lives that had both been lost and saved. And you told me that if I tried to back out of the promise I had made to you, even for your supposed own good, you’d hex me into the next world.” He now looked up at her, his expression inscrutable, but his mustache did twitch slightly. “Have you forgotten the lesson you taught me, Minerva? Have you forgotten that such wounds can be healed?”
Minerva stared down at him and felt her hands begin to tremble slightly. Her vision grew blurred and she sniffled slightly. She had forgotten. A time she had sworn to remember, she had forgotten.
She felt his hands on her own, pulling her towards him and suddenly, Minerva found herself in Albus’ lap, leaning against his chest as simultaneously stroked her back comfortingly and pulled the pins out of her bun, allowing her black hair to flow down her back freely.
“I… I’m sorry, Albus,” she whispered hoarsely, clutching at his robes tightly as she closed her eyes, ashamed to meet his gaze. She knew she had hurt him greatly in keeping her distance from him. “These marks, Albus, they are different from yours. Mine are a testament to my own arrogance, my inability to keep my temper restrained. But I was just so angry… And the children saw it…”
“I know, my darling,” she heard him reply as he ran his fingers through her hair. “But that was not your fault… You should never have had to endure what you did this past year.” He sighed. “None of you did. But, Minerva, what happened to you that night does not make you any less than you are.”
“What am I then? A foolish –”
Laughter bubbled up inside his chest, making it rumble. “Foolish? You, my dear? ‘Tis I who am the foolish one in this room, not you. You, Minerva, are the brave, courageous, beautiful woman who made me the most fortunate wizard in the world by marrying me. You are as perfect in my eyes as you were when I first fell in love with you.” He reached down and placed a finger beneath her still-trembling chin. Watery green eyes met misty blue. “You will never cease to be perfection in my eyes, no matter what happens.”
“I love you, Albus Dumbledore,” Minerva blurted out, suddenly gripping his robes tightly. “I love you and I’m sorry for being a fool. Even if you deny that I have been one, I know I was. And I’ve hurt you –”
“Shh,” he replied, placing at finger on her lips. “Wounds can be healed, my love. Time, for all the bitterness it heaps upon us, does heal.” He leaned forward slightly and pressed his lips against her forehead.
Minerva closed her eyes, feeling a small smile creep onto her lips. Sighing contentedly, she leaned against him fully and allowed him to hold her tightly in her embrace. It didn’t matter, she realized, if the scars faded or not. The wounds that had been inflicted were slowly healing and soon would only be a memory. And she would come out better for it.
And he thought her perfect? He, the one who had brought her this healing? She would rather think the roles were reversed.
Great responce 
