Chapter 5: - Don’t make me Explain
Minerva awoke with a jolt as the image of herself looking in the Mirror of Erised ran in a continuous loop in her mind. The laugh of her father echoed in her ears, and she closed her eyes tightly and tried to calm down her heavy breathing. Her chest heaved as she inhaled deeply, and the fabric of her blouse was strained as her flesh pushed against it. She looked out the window in an attempt to divert attention away from her own memories, to see that it was dusk; the last rays of sunlight were fast disappearing below the horizon, leaving her estate a place of shadows and light.
“Good evening, sleeping beauty.”
Minerva’s neck cricked painfully, so fast was the speed that she jerked her head upward. Albus Dumbledore looked down at her; his sapphire blue eyes dark in the flickering light of the fire. For an indeterminable amount of time they merely stared at each other; he with desire burning in his eyes, she with resignation.
Minerva had been seventeen when she lost her virginity to none other than the Ancient Runes Professor. They had been discussing the latest discovery of Runes in Persia when he had placed his hand on her neck and run his fingers through her hair; releasing it from the constrains of the clip that held it high above her neck. His lips had followed soon after his fingers as he leant over her shoulder and unbuttoned her outer cloak, revealing the Muggle clothes she wore beneath. A maroon calf-length skirt and a white blouse; she had burnt them that night when she returned to the Gryffindor Common Room.
Fire, she’d found; was a far better cleansing agent than water.
She could still recall with more clarity than she wanted, the moment he had pushed her against his desk and stepped within the space of her legs. The wood had been hard against her back as he loomed above her. A transparency had flickered across her vision as he looked down at her trembling form, and she saw the eyes of the man she had murdered when she was 13. A scream had emerged from her throat at this point, but was quelled by a vicious slap that made her cheek burn like fire.
The minutes following, she deliberately avoided revisiting, though the animalistic grunts still visited her in somnolence. Afterward, he had dismissed her without a second glance though she remembered his smirk and statement of ‘melting the Ice Queen.’ She hadn’t cried as many would over her ‘loss of innocence.’ If anything she had treated it as she would an exam; one more item to be crossed off the list before being forgotten about.
Minerva shook her head roughly to dispel her macabre reflections, and tore her eyes away from Albus’. In a manner only achievable by those light of foot, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and leapt upright. She stood, poised like a cat, staring at the old wizard at the other side of the bed.
“What are you doing here, Albus?” she asked, smoothing down an errant lock of hair that had escaped from the French Twist.
“I came looking for you,” he said simply. His eyes were focused not on her eyes, and she looked down to find that the two upper buttons of her red blouse had come undone, revealing the simple black bra she wore.
Minerva nodded slowly as she quickly rectified her partial state of undress. “Well you’ve found me,” she said loudly.
Albus’ eyes moved upward and he focused his attention to her grey eyes, which had hardened. “I have, yes,” he agreed.
Feeling decidedly disconcerted, Minerva moved forward toward the door that led to the corridor. Albus echoed her movements and grabbed her wrist before she could turn the handle. The touch of his hand sent a jolt of heat through her body and she wrenched her hand away.
“Albus…” she warned.
“I need you.”
Minerva closed her eyes tightly.
I need you. Three simple words. So simple. “As what, Albus?”
She pushed him away with her hands, but his grip was strong and he pulled her back so that they stood entwined. His hands, holding her wrists in a vice grip. He didn’t answer verbally as he released one of her hands and reached upward to clasp the nape of her neck, his fingertips tracing images on the soft skin.
“I think you know, Minerva.”
His voice was gentle and Minerva found herself arching her neck as his fingers danced upward until they traced the contours of her jaw line. Her fingernails dug into his wrist as she struggled to free herself but his thin frame belied a strength that easily surpassed hers and he clasped his mouth against hers, as if by doing so he could consume her whole.
I need you…Minerva inwardly sighed as she allowed him to explore her mouth with his tongue. His fingers undid the buttons of her blouse with absurd ease; exposing her torso. She suppressed a shudder as his fingers traced the outline of the four jagged scars that marred her otherwise pristine skin. He shed his own clothes in a ferocious silence, and she paid little attention as he lifted her bodily from the ground and placed her on the bed.
If physical contact was what he wanted; then she would oblige.
She only hoped she would not hate herself afterward.
The Ministry, Luna Lovegood, the Ministry, Alastor Moody, Neville Longbottom…Minerva placed the letters into three piles according to the recipient. The five owls that had delivered the letters sat on the table expecting an owl treat, and she shooed them away irritably. Amid the indignant hoots a sob escaped from her lips and she leant heavily against the bench.
Two floors above her, Albus lay in her bed, stretched out languidly with the trace of a smile on his lips. They had laid awake last night, she allowing him to run his fingers through her hair as he spoke to her of his problems. He told her of finding Harry sitting numbly next to his best friend’s body; of the way Harry had lain in a state of catatonia for the next three days, refusing to eat of drink, and of the way the boy had beaten his fists against Albus’ chest, venting his anger and frustration at the older wizard.
Eventually he had fallen asleep, with one hand resting on her hip, holding her as if she were a porcelain doll that could shatter into a million pieces. His slumber was heavy and Minerva closed her eyes and tried to will her tired body to rest as he did. Sleep however, continued to elude her and she had crept out from the bed and retrieved her dressing gown from the end of the bed and wrapped it tightly around her waist. She could not help but feel contempt for herself. Though she had not resisted Albus’ advances, she felt used and unclean; like a whore.
Her tread had been light as she padded to the bedroom down the hall from her own, and she didn’t make a sound as she crossed the room, discarding the dressing gown as she walked. She entered the bathroom and continued straight toward the shower. Albus’ scent lingered on her skin where his lips and hands had traveled, making her feel strangely claustrophobic. She flinched slightly as she turned the tap and scalding water burst forth. Steam hissed as the water pounded against her skin, each droplet a pinprick of fire. She raised her face to the burning water and a smile flickered across her face. The pain had been oddly…satisfying.
It’s a fine line between pleasure and pain…She whirled around on the tips of her toes as the creaking of a floorboard alerted her to another’s presence. Harry looked at her from across the room as if seeing her for the first time, his head tilted and brow furrowed. Green met grey as Minerva studied him just as intently as he did her. The earnest light of youth had vanished for Harry no longer dwelled in the myth that good would always rein supreme. If she were honest with herself, Minerva was surprised it had taken so long for that idealism of youth to fade. Now those once bright and inquisitive eyes were clouded; his emotions shrouded in the emerald pools. Harry’s eyes held a reserve she knew all to well; she herself had worn it since she was 13.
She bit her lip as a brief surge of anger coursed through her veins. It had taken one bellicose megalomaniac, just one, to render Harry’s childhood non-existent. Where was the justice in that? If the Ministry weren’t so inept…Minerva stopped herself before her thoughts turned to inevitable anarchy. She had opted more than once to try and persuade Albus…ah Albus…no she would not think about him either. A wetness bubbled on her lips and she touched her fingers to her mouth to find that blood had poured from the self-inflicted wound and was now dripping steadily from her chin to the polished hardwood floor.
“You’re up late, Potter,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said quickly, tearing his eyes away from hers and staring fixedly at the floor.
Minerva’s chest hurt, such was the empathy she felt for the young man before her.
“And you?” Harry asked.
Minerva raised her eyebrows. “I..?”
Harry shuffled his feet, looking for an instant like the awkward teenager he should be. “You’re up late as well.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but found that words escaped her. Harry had always been able to do that with her. Indeed if she didn’t know the boy so well, she would think he had perfected the art of lulling people into a false sense of security. “I…I was sorting the mail,” she said lamely, gesturing at the three piles before her.
A flicker of interest crossed over his face as Harry moved toward the table and took the sheaf of parchment from the scarred table. His face fell as he flicked through them and he replaced the pile wordlessly and put his hands in his pockets.
“Were you expecting a letter from someone in particular?” Minerva asked, moving around the table that sat between them and placing a hand on his shoulder.
Harry shrugged aimlessly. “I thought there might be something from Hermione,” he said softly, his voice cracking slightly.
Minerva squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m sure she’ll write soon.”
“Her and Ron were together.”
The words resounded around the silent room, and if she could Minerva would have caught them and done the metaphorical equivalent of tearing them to shreds. Harry’s body began to shake as sobs convulsed through his body and she pulled him wordlessly toward her and allowed him to cling to her tightly. Hermione and Harry had been through many difficult and often dangerous times together, but she knew that a death of a mutual loved one could tear even the closest apart. She had seen it often in her time as an Order member. Families turned on themselves as mother’s blamed fathers for allowing their children to fight and fathers blamed mothers for the same reason.
Harry’s fingernails dug into her skin and she felt her flesh tear beneath his grip. Pain shot through her body, but she uttered no sound as he buried his face into her shoulder. Minerva rubbed small circles on his back, realizing with a start that she held him just as tightly. It was this revelation that made her draw back and clasp his hands in hers instead. Harry looked down and his eyes widened as he saw the blood that stained his fingertips.
“I’m sorry,” he said urgently, “I didn’t mean…”
Minerva shook her head, effectively silencing him. “Skin heals easily, Potter,” she said simply.
Emotional wounds on the other hand…Her words hung unspoken in the air and she stepped back in an effort to dispel them.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Harry said hoarsely, “To lose everyone close to you…” A harsh, foreign laugh burst from his throat and Minerva suppressed a shudder. She’d heard another laugh almost exactly like that when Death Eaters had attacked a small restaurant where a small number of Order members were dining. Only she and Albus had escaped with their lives that night. As she had disapparated from the scene of devastation, she had heard the high-pitched laugh from behind a Death Eater mask. It still haunted her somnolence.
“I have to kill him, did you know that?” Harry continued, “It’s my ‘destiny’ to murder someone.” His voice cracked as he looked at her. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
Minerva merely stared at him. “It’s not hard,” she said eventually.
“What’s not?” Harry said sharply.
“Killing someone,” she whispered, “It’s the aftermath that’s difficult.”
Harry’s eyes widened as Minerva pushed past him and walked briskly down the corridor.
You said far too much… Fool woman!Her own voice mocked her as she ducked into a small room and leant against the closed door. She could hear Harry’s footsteps echoing in the hall and paused in her breathing as he passed the room where she sat. As his footfalls diminished she exhaled deeply and rested her head against the wall. Her eyes were clenched tightly as she willed time to unfurl itself and allow her to rectify her slip of the tongue. She had never spoken of her childhood to anyone, and she had no intentions of starting now. Especially to an already traumatized 16-year-old boy.
Though he’s no child now…She opened her eyes and rose to her feet in one fluid movement. Harr,y it seemed, had disappeared to another region of the castle in search of her, leaving her time to return to her bedroom. She shook her head roughly; it was 1 o’clock in the morning. Any possible discussions with Harry could wait until later that day. Preferably when the sun had risen.
Her resolution reaffirmed, Minerva reached out and turned the door knob. Moonlight flooded the room as she opened the door and she stepped outside and closed it softly.
“What did you mean; ‘it’s not the killing that’s difficult?’”
Minerva jumped slightly at Harry’s voice. The boy stood, leaning against the wall, looking at her intently.
“It’s…nothing, Potter,” Minerva said hurriedly.
“Does that mean you’ve killed someone, Professor?” Harry continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “Who was it? Why’d you kill them? How old were you?”
Minerva held up her hand. Harry wasn’t the sort to let any matter lie, and it was easier to answer his questions rather than attempt to dissuade him. “I never found out his name, he had just murdered my father and I was 13,” she said answering each of his questions in sequential order.
Harry’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious…?”
He faltered as there was a loud banging at the door. Minerva withdrew her wand as she hurried past him and halted several feet in front of the door. A muttered incantation saw the door burst open and both Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody rushed inside. Moody glared at her, his magical eye drifting over her body, whilst his normal eye held her gaze. The two had never got along; he was if anything, a chauvinist, and had never liked that she was both more powerful and more intelligent than he.
“Can I help you, Alastor?” she said coldly.
She looked sideways and Remus shrugged his shoulders apologetically. Harry moved forward, flanking her like a body guard, and Moody glanced at him briefly before returning his attention to Minerva.
“We need you to look at something,” Moody said gruffly, stepping back to allow her to pass, “Boy, go back to your room. You shouldn’t hear this.”
Minerva’s jaw clenched at Moody’s patronizing tone, and she leapt to Harry’s defense before he had a chance to utter a word.
“Alastor, the boy has earned the right to know everything. Now can we proceed?”
Her eyes glittered dangerously as Moody’s darkened, but when he spoke, it was in affirmation.
“Alright, McGonagall. Lead the way.”
Minerva rolled her eyes, earning herself a smile from both Remus and Harry as she marched past them. Her gait was long as she walked down the corridor and entered the library. A flick of her wand caused flames to burst forth in the fire place, and she sat down in one of the armchairs and crossed her legs.
“What is it you want me to look at?” she said, retrieving her glasses from the small table in front of her and perching them on her nose.
Moody handed her a sheaf of parchments as he took sat down heavily in front of her. “There were three attacks tonight,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “There’s no apparent pattern, but we thought we’d get you to take a look anyway.”
“Were they simultaneous?” Minerva asked, thumbing through the parchment and withdrawing a small map, which had the locations of the attacks highlighted in red.
“Yes, all were at exactly midnight,” Remus interjected as he sat down next to Moody.
Minerva’s eyes skimmed over the map of the British Isles as Moody continued his narrative.
“There were attacks in England, Scotland and Ireland. Which doesn’t make sense.”
Minerva didn’t answer as she conjured a ruler and connected the villages. “Not particularly brilliant,” she whispered, “The Dark Lord has lost his touch.” She looked upward and found the three men looking at her intently.
“He’s going to attack Hogwarts,” she said simply.
“How’d you figure that?” Moody asked incredulously, leaning forward and peering at the map as if the answer would suddenly rise from the heavy parchment, “The attacks were nowhere near Hogwarts.”
Minerva flicked her wand again making red lines appear on the map. “Three locations. Kettering, Crieff and Dungarran,” she said, pointing to each of them in turn. As you can see Crief and Dungarran line up perfectly. Continue the line upward through Scotland and you’ll hit Hogwarts.”
“That doesn’t explain Kettering,” Moody interrupted, “Or are you just ignoring that?”
Minerva shook her head. “No. If we draw the line from Hogwarts and join up Kettering, then you have the pattern.”
Moody shot her a baleful look as she leant backward, and sunk into the soft leather of the armchair. “What? A triangle? How clever of you, McGonagall,” he said scathingly.
Minerva waved her wand, taking Moody’s sardonic tone in her stride, and moved the parchment upside-down. “Not a triangle, Alastor,” she said calmly, “A ‘V’. For ‘Voldemort’ I imagine.”
Remus whistled softly. “Nice one, Min,” he said, obviously impressed, “I’d never have seen that.”
Minerva flashed him a brief smile as she leant forward again. “Any towns, cities or villages along those lines need to be protected,” she said seriously. “He’s trying to make you run around like headless chickens.”
“So that’s London, West Bridgeford, Bradford, Dunoon, Carrickfergus, Belfast, Kilkenny and Hogwarts that need protecting,” Moody said gruffly, counting each of them off on his fingers as he studied the map, “And you’re sure, McGonagall?”
Minerva gave him a pointed look and Remus tried to suppress a giggle, but failed and was forced to disguise it badly with a cough.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Moody said, rising to his feet and clunking toward the door. “Well I need to go and inform the Order. Remus? Are you coming?”
Remus nodded grudgingly. “I suppose I should.” He leant over Minerva and gave her the customary kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Min.”
Minerva nodded as she sunk into the leather armchair, reveling in the way the cushion contoured to her slight frame. The front door closed with a resounding bang, leaving the castle in an eerie silence.
“Barty Crouch said in fourth year that even if the entire class hit him with ‘Avada Kedavra’, he wouldn’t get more than a nosebleed. So how come you could kill someone if you were only 13?”
Minerva kneaded her temples with one hand. It seemed that Harry was not about to let her childhood lie in her cerebral cenotaph where it belonged. She clenched her hand tightly, and felt her fingernails dig into her palm. The pain this action brought sent a jolt of release through her body, and with it came the ability to speak.
“As you would know, Potter,” she began slowly, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to look into Harry’s face, “It takes power to be able to perform any spell. The harder the spell becomes, the more power is necessary. Do you follow me?”
“Yes,” came Harry’s voice from in front of her.
“The more complex the spell, the more power is necessary. Emotion also plays a part. As you can imagine I was extremely emotional having just watched my father being killed. This can act as a catalyst, bringing one into a stage of ‘Absolute rage.’ That is what happened that night. I am quite powerful in my own right, but add the emotional aspect and my powers were enhanced.”
“How powerful are you?”
Minerva opened her eyes to find Harry leaning forward in the chair opposite her; his eyes fixated on her.
“Powerful enough,” she said wearily, squeezing her hand again, and wincing slightly as her nails pierced the skin. “My point is, Potter, that the killing curse is no trivial matter. It requires concentration, skill, and above all a degree of finesse. Mere wand wielding will not be enough. Even if you make the correct wand movement, and pronounce the incantation correctly, if there is not enough focus behind the curse, then the curse will not work.”
Harry’s eyes darkened. “I’ll have enough focus,” he said coldly.
Sheer fury radiated from him and Minerva shivered slightly, despite the room being relatively warm. “I don’t doubt it, Mr. Potter.”
Harry’s eyes returned to their customary emerald as his surge of anger abated, and Minerva once again saw a glimpse of the shy teenager he might have been.
“It must be hard, living with the memories,” he said softly.
“Of what?”
“Seeing it happen. I was a baby, so I can’t remember much.”
Minerva shook her head sharply. “Oh well…it gets easier…” She faltered as Harry looked at her skeptically. “All right, that’s a lie…” She trailed off as she tried to put her tumultuous thoughts into a few simple words. “You move on, Potter,” she said finally, running her hand through her hair. “The memories are always there, and they’re never easy to examine, but I’ve moved forward and made a life for myself.”
She finished her sentence abruptly and clenched her jaw. The conversation was far more personal than she liked. If it was one thing that Minerva had learnt during her time at Hogwarts, was that masking her emotions enabled her to function on a day-to-basis. At night she could cast silencing charms around her bed and cry herself to sleep, or… She glanced down at her left arm where the sleeve had ridden up. The silver watch that Albus had bought her as a Christmas gift sat on her wrist, but the band couldn’t hide the two white scars that ran the length of her forearm.
Minerva was not inclined to do anything by halves, and it had been sheer luck that Albus had come looking for her in her 7th year, thus saving her life. He’d found her lying prone on the floor of the prefects bathroom in a pool of her own blood. Immediately he had summoned Fawkes, and the phoenix had donated his tears and healed the two wounds that ran the length of both the artery and the vein of her forearm. She’d awoken in the hospital wing to find him sitting by her bedside reading a book. They had never spoken of that day, but had reached an unspoken tacit agreement. Minerva had never again reached for a razor blade, and Albus had never divulged her secret.
His voice, ever authoritative, echoed in her head.
You gave me quite a turn, Miss McGonagall…“Did you always want to teach?”
Harry’s voice brought her back to the present, and she hurriedly pulled down her sleeve. “Yes and no. I was an Auror before I began teaching.”
“Why’d you quit?”
Minerva surveyed him overtop her square spectacles. “It’s not all fun and games, Potter. To be quite honest I became bored with the fact that because of my gender, I was forced to work twice as hard as any male, for the same type of operation, to ‘prove’ myself.”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “But Tonks is an Auror…”
“I’m quite a bit older than Tonks,” she pointed out, a half-smile curving at her lips, “Feminism has come forward somewhat since I was recruited.”
Harry flushed slightly and opened his mouth to speak, but was overcome by a large yawn. Minerva rose to her feet and gestured for him to do the same.
“It’s late,” she said, steering him toward the door, “Any other questions can wait until you’ve slept.”
“But…”
“No arguments, Potter,” she said, as they reached the staircase.
He nodded once, realizing that she was in no mood for further protestations on his behalf.
“Goodnight, Professor,” he said, as she stepped onto the hall of the second floor.
“And to you, Mr. Potter.”
He gave her a brief smile as he continued his ascension up the stairs, and Minerva turned and walked down the corridor back to her own bedroom. She paused at the threshold, and steeled herself for the sight of Albus in her bed.
You gave me quite a turn, Miss McGonagallSighing deeply, she turned the handle.
It's very annoying but I get lots of stuff written and read lots of books. There is a very good reason I have full bookshelves in my house. 
