AN: I didn't forget it I swear!!
Severus stepped into the circular office as the gargoyle slid closed behind him. Surrounded by books and rumpled parchment, Albus DUmbledore sat at his desk, a contented smile threatening to overtake him. “I don’t mean to be the voice of reason Headmaster, but how exactly are you planning on finding Minerva? She could be anywhere; there must be thousands of separate time lines to search.”
Albus shook his head, and chuckled lightly for the first time in days. “Really SEverus, I’m disappointed. Surely you’ve figured it out by now.”
Waiting, he only received an annoyed glance in return. “The potion Severus my boy, the potion! It acts as an anchor. Minerva is a thorn in the side of the Universe. It knows she shouldn’t be there, and it wants nothing more for her to return. With the bnonding, it creates somewhat of a tether between us. If everything works to plan, a rift should open, and I’ll be standing right beside her, ready to pull her back though, and the Universe will reseal the tear.” Severus looked skeptical. “If it works Headmaster?”
The smile seemed to slide right from Albus’ face, and a grim determination took its place. “This has never been tried before Severus. There was an attempt back in the early 16th century, but the wizard blew himself up as he brewed the potion. It seems that when Thomas Donnaly created the Bonding potion, he didn’t intend for such great distances to be between the participants. That’s why I need you by my side Severus. If something goes wrong, the tear should still appear, and I’ll need you to bring Minerva back.”
Severus blinked, his mind taking in what he had learned. “And the reason you won’t escort her is?”
Severus had to force his body not to recoil at the age and weariness he saw as Albus leveled his full gaze on him. “If something goes wrong, I’ll most likely end up as bits spread out across time.”
Her breaths heaved in her chest as Minerva ran. She batted away the leaves that stuck to her glasses, intent on getting away. There’s only so much a person can take, and being all but forced over the last several hours to tales of life since she died was more than she could handle. So, she managed to excuse herself, and, when she was sure no one was around to see, broke out in a run, not sure of her exact destination.
Clumps of dirt flew into the air at the force of her steps. Her pace only increased as she reached a bend in the road, taking her through a patch of trees. They swayed gloomily in the wind, casting menacing shadows along the ground. She could see her breath in the rapidly cooling evening as a fog began to descend around her.
Even the dementors would have been proud if they could have seen the many thoughts filling her mind, each forcing its way forward. Images of starving children, others being separated from parents as their resistance was discovered. She thought she had understood, but she was wrong; it was so much worse. And now, at least for him, there was no hope. Perhaps, it had escaped her as well, but it seemed to matter less and less with each passing day.
Minerva clamped down on her own mind as the stories seemed to waft through the air around her, taunting her, and she ran faster. She ran, the cold and her overwrought emotions, causing tears to stream out of her eyes. She ran until she came to a large wrought iron gate. A single phoenix was emblazoned on the front, guarding whatever lay beyond.
Leaning against the barrier, Minerva tried to catch her breath, even as she felt the gates part under her weight and she stepped forward. She would never have been prepared for what she would find.
A pair of worried blue eyes glowed in the darkness. The fire had long since died in the comfortable dining room, the sparse candles floating though the air providing the only light. The house elves had taken the food away more than an hour ago, and she had still not come. Not that he truly expected her to. Albus closed his eyes and leaned against his hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He had been an utter prat, and the fact that he knew it only made it worse.
That morning had been awkward, each once again too unsure of the other to completely relax after the previous night’s debacle. It was just one more mistake to land squarely at his feet. Breakfast had been quiet, if a bit strained, until one his aids had arrived.
He still wasn’t sure exactly how it began; the aids interruption was of little importance. The young man had only asked Albus to verify his schedule for the following week, but he had seen an immediate change in Minerva. She waited until they were alone, desperately biting her tongue, before she spoke.
Never one for skirting an issue, Minerva simply said it. “You can’t still be Minister next week Albus; surely you’ve realized it by now.”
He stared at her, the tea cup stopped partway to his parted lips. He knew she was utterly serious by the gleam in her eye and the set line of her lips, but he could hope. “And just what is it I should have realized Minerva?”
“Don’t toy with me Albus; we’re both to old for games. Are you going to look me in the eye and tell me after everything you’ve seen this week, everything that’s happened these last years, that you would continue? I never thought you sadistic Albus; please don’t tell me I’ve been wrong on that count as well.”
Her words hit their target as Albus felt his anger rise and his heart constrict. How dare she suggest he step down! How could she expect he would just abandon everything he had built? The people would be lost now without his leadership; there would be chaos in the streets. Slowly, carefully, Albus set down his cup and took a breath. “It would do well not to speak of things you don’t understand Minerva. My vision may have gone astray..I may have gone astray, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. Our world can be saved, revived. It can be as it was before. These are my people Minerva; I will not simply abandon them.”
Minerva stared at him, her jaw tight and her face flushed with anger. “No Albus,” she spat, “you did that years ago. Your world has gone more than astray. It would be closer to hell in a handcart. If you cared one wit about your people, like you say, you would resign tomorrow at the ceremony, and hope beyond words you get out of the country before they catch you. Do you really expect that if things went back to the way it was that you wouldn’t be dangling from the city gates by the day’s end? I don’t care how great a wizard you were, even you can’t take on an entire country alone. And, you would be alone.”
She rose from the table and threw her napkin at him, hitting his gobsmacked face. “You Albus Dumbledore are an idiot, and as much as I may love what you could be, you deserve whatever may come to you. You may be interested to know I received a letter from Severus this morning. He was doing a little research on Thomas Donnaly for an article he’s writing, and found an old reference that matched my situation. With some digging he’s found a way to send me back. It will still take some time to prepare, perhaps a few weeks. So, you have no real reason to worry. I’ll soon be gone, and you will be free to torture your subjects as you please without my incessant nagging. I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
Albus groaned and leaned back in his chair. That had been that last he’d seen of her. He waited in his chambers for her to return, to apologize, but it didn’t happen. And, with each passing hour, he became more and more unsure of himself.
She had been wrong to say such things, that was without question, but there was no reason for him to be cruel to her. She worried for him, and he threw it back in her face. It was little wonder she hadn’t returned. Sure she would return for dinner, he had pot roast, her favorite, prepared for dinner, and waited. Looking over to the quietly ticking grandfather cloak, he saw it was approaching nine o’ clock. Allowing worry to overwhelm his normally rational thoughts, he quickly summoned his warmest cloak and set out after her.
Apparently, the story of her return had spread to all quarters. Groups of wizards were huddled together, talking excitedly to each other, falling silent and bowing as each noticed his presence in the street.
After searching for an hour, he was still no closer, and the wind was beginning to pick up. He took refuge from the gale against a building, the stones blocking the worst of the gusts. It turned out to be a tavern, and Albus’ luck changed.
A short wizard with more hair on his arms than head failed to notice him as he stumbled out of the bar, a tankard still clutched in his clammy hands. “..bum on that one? No wonder Dumbledore flipped his lid.”
Before the little man could say another word, he found himself flush up against the freezing stones, an arm pressed firmly against his windpipe. “You’ve seen Minerva?” Albus asked, putting more pressure when the answer was not forth coming.
The little man nodded his head quickly as his eyes grew. “Where did she go?” He let go of Albus’ arm just long enough to point up a winding road.
Albus stepped away and headed up the path, never noticing as the man slid down the wall, holding his throat. Albus knew exactly where she was; it was a path he hadn’t traveled in five years, but this had been a week of firsts, and he hurried on.
The wind whipped violently around her, and Minerva pulled her traveling cloak tightly around her shoulders, trying to fend off the chill that had nothing to do with the weather. She stood, eyes fixed downward, in a vast forest of grey.
For as far as the eye could see, grey slabs, some with names, others ominously blank, protruded from the sea of green. The smell of moss filled the air, and a sense of mourning seemed to pervade the area, making even the trees weep in despair for so many lost.
The land had grown so quickly that the curator had been forced to institute a cataloguing system for the few visitors he received. So, the single plot she had wanted, no needed, to locate was far simpler then she had imaged.
It was a beautiful headstone, black marble instead of grey granite like the others. She stood transfixed as the stone glimmered in the moonlight and the words screamed at her. She had been standing there for almost an hour, yet it still felt surreal.
Minerva McGonagall 1937-1998. Love alters not with his brief hours or weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.*
It had sounded so like him, the man she remembered now as almost a dream. It had only been days, but it had seemed ages. “Why did you have to die,” she whispered to her grave. “Why did you have to leave him alone? Why did you..we have to be so damn stubborn?”
Hope to see more soon
